Blow up the other spot, however, and the vehicles would have to backtrack a good distance. They would be easy targets even for Salt with his sniper weapon.
The truck and the sedan continued northward, passing parallel to their position and heading for the T-intersection with the main highway. The charred remains of a Scud launcher and some anti-aircraft weapons littered a bulldozed area at the side of a small rise a quarter-mile or so to the southeast of the intersection; Captains Glenon and O’Rourke, with some help from a group of F-16s, had blown them up the previous evening. The scarred skeletons of the support vehicles sat in the dim light, ghosts jeering from the sideline.
The oversized T-underpass at the intersection itself had been obliterated during the attack, but the Iraqis had bulldozed a detour at first light. It took the vehicles a few moments to negotiate it, bouncing along the ruts before regaining the highway and continuing toward the tank checkpoint.
Wong swung his view back to the hill. Dixon had been near the base at the far side, opposite the area where the observation post was. Wong readjusted the contrast on his viewer, panning the area. The AN/PAS-7 thermal viewer was an excellent device, remarkably rugged and, at least as night viewers went, relatively light. It looked something like an oversized camera, with a single porthole to squint through at the top of its large metal case. Its ability to read heat sources was particularly useful in picking out bodies from a distance. But it did not have the range Wong would have liked.
Two minutes of observation by a J-STARS with its attendant armada of sensor craft would have told him everything he needed to know. Five minutes with a properly equipped drone, a real-time feed from a thermal-viewing satellite…
Wong sighed. It was always a trial when your mission did not rate significantly high enough to command proper resources.
“Captain, it’s almost time for our check-in,” said Davis.
“Proceed.”
The sergeant ducked back behind the small rise to activate the encrypted radio unit. Wong turned his attention to the west. He would flank the hill, approaching it in a semi-circle. It wouldn’t be necessary to walk more than a mile. There was some low cover and the moon was not bright enough to cast a strong shadow.
“I can hit anything along that elbow,” said Salt.
“You must establish your aiming point along the ravine,” Wong said, pointing further north. “I’ll have Sergeant Davis plant the charges there.”
The Delta trooper took his AN/PVS-7A night goggles and scanned the terrain. They worked by magnifying available light rather than heat.
“Damn easy to see from the post on the hill,” Salt pointed out.
“True. But charges there will stop the convoy, especially if the detonation is keyed when the first vehicle passes. The rest will have to back up. You will have a much longer time to shoot. I believe also that you will command a wider area.”
“Yeah, okay,” said Salt, nodding. “Worth the risk.” He continued scanning the area, assessing the defenses.
“They acknowledged. We’re set,” said Davis. He tapped his demolitions pack, a special hard-shell suitcase that contained a remote trigger and a set of small C-4 explosive packs. “We ready to plant these?”
“Take note of the observation post on the hill before proceeding,” said Wong, pointing it out. Salt gave Davis his viewer. “An infra-red viewer may spot you on the roadway. Move along that ravine side to limit your exposure, and slide your charges out along the road.”
“More like a ditch than a ravine,” said Salt. “I thought you said they wouldn’t have night equipment.”
“The possibility that they do is diminishingly low,” said Wong. “But it cannot be ruled out. We are therefore better safe than sorry.”
“Davis is better safe than sorry.”
“Yeah.” Davis handed back the viewer and took his demo pack. “Wish me luck.”
Salt grabbed his friend’s arm. “What about that spot there, Captain?” he said, pointing about a quarter of a mile further south than the bend he’d targeted before. “The drop off on that north side is immense. That would make them come this way, if they could get through the rocks, and I’d have a good angle on them.”
Wong studied the spot.
“Excellent choice,” he told the sergeant. “But in that case we will have to move further south with the designator.”
“Fuckin’ easy,” said Salt.
“Looks good to me,” said Davis, examining the area with his NOD. “Take us fifteen minutes.”
“Take your time,” Wong told him.
“We can set up the sniper rifle behind that little slope up there,” said Salt, pointing to a spot about a quarter of a mile from the road. He patted the metal stock of the gun. “Easy shot.”
“Yes. I will meet you there,” said Wong. He turned back to scan the area to the west.
“You’re not coming with us?” asked Davis.
“No,” Wong told him. “In the interval, I will am going to scout the hill to our north.”
“What?” said Salt.
“It has to do with the contingency of our mission that I referred to earlier.”
“No fuckin’ offense, Captain,” said Salt, “but could you just talk fuckin’ English.”
“He’s saying this is the need-to-know shit,” said Davis.
“Precisely,” said Wong.
“What the hell are we supposed to do if you don’t come back?”
“You are to carry on with your mission. Be sure to identify the vehicle for the bomber before you fire. Exit precisely as planned if I’m not here.”
“We’re not fucking leaving you,” said Salt.
“Hey, Captain. Seriously, what’s the story here?” said Davis. “We’re about two hundred miles deep in Iraq. You got to trust us.”
“I do trust you,” said Wong. “I trust you implicitly. That is irrelevant.”
“Fuck,” said Salt.
“Carry on with your mission. You should have approximately three hours before Strawman arrives.”
“If he arrives,” said Davis.
“I believe he shall.”
“We ain’t fuckin’ leaving you,” said Salt.
Wong sighed. This was exactly the situation he had sought to avoid.
“I assure you, Sergeant, my assignment is ancillary to the main mission. And to put it bluntly, Sergeant, I am expendable. If all goes well, I will meet you back here in precisely one hundred and thirty minutes. If it does not, you will carry on without me. Please, follow the plan and my orders to you now.”
“God damn Air Force assholes,” muttered Salt.
Wong checked his MP-5, then looked back up into Davis’s face. The sergeant seemed to be trying to find the words to say something.
Wong shook his head. Davis finally shrugged and scooped up the explosives kit. Wong made sure his extra clips were easily accessible, then turned to start the long loop around the Iraqi positions.
He’d taken only two steps when he heard a fresh set of vehicles approaching from the distance. He froze, turning his head toward the sound, holding his breath as the faint rumble grew slowly but steadily. There were at least four or five vehicles approaching, maybe more. Even before he began trotting toward the others with his IR viewer in his hand, he knew one of them would be a station wagon painted with the red crescent.
CHAPTER 32
Lars screamed as he pulled against the controls of the MC-130, pitting his muscles not just against DiRiggio’s but against gravity. The big plane danced on her wing, slicing a diagonal in the sky, losing altitude even as he managed to keep her nose pointing upwards. She was ready to roll — she wanted to roll — and as he struggled Lars considered just letting her, hoping against hope that there would somehow be enough room to get her back level. But even if he’d been twenty thousand feet higher, there was no guarantee he’d recover from such a violent invert, or even that the wings and control surfaces would survive intact. It was him and it was gravity; the plane was caught in the middle, skittering just above the cold sand.