Slowly Cindy reached under the body and pulled Boyca’s leash out of Jessica’s rear pocket. She stood and wiped at her tear-stained face. Then she handed the leash to Rockne.
Thirty-nine
The teams moving into position were little more than shadows in the night. Twice they had to take out sentries who posed a threat, but for the most part they bypassed the guard posts. Lieutenant Lee’s team was the last to reach its assigned position, less than three hundred meters from the tunnels. He radioed two words when his team was ready: “Tiger Red.”
Colonel Sun’s radio operator copied the transmission and relayed it to Kamigami. “Get ready,” Kamigami told his team. He raised the gold whistle to his lips. Again he checked on his men. They were alert and waiting. He blew on the whistle, faintly at first and then crescendoing to a long, hard blast. The sound carried down the low valley, echoing between the karst formations. The moment he stopped, the team broke cover and ran. Kamigami fell in behind, hard-pressed to keep up. Six minutes later they halted, and again Kamigami gave a long blast on the whistle. He let it dangle around his neck as they listened. They could hear shouts and movement from the main camp less than a hundred meters away.
“They got the message, sir,” a sergeant said. It was true. The legend of the vampire inhabiting the area was too strong, too vivid for many of the superstitious soldiers to ignore, and panic swept the camp. At first there was general confusion, while officers and senior NCOs tried to restore order. But the second whistle had sent a few racing for sanctuary in the tunnels. Kamigami helped it along by a third blast, and what had been a trickle turned into a torrent flowing into the tunnels.
A few officers managed to reach the entrances and were beginning to regain control when Kamigami blew the whistle for the fourth time. Then he dropped the whistle and sent his team into the camp. Fear had started the soldiers moving, and now survival drove them on, as Kamigami’s team annihilated what little opposition remained on the perimeter.
From the far side of the camp another team opened fire, catching many of the soldiers in a deadly crossfire. Now it was a general rout, as the survivors made for the tunnels. But an officer gathered three NCOs and started to regroup, blocking the fleeing soldiers. Lieutenant Lee signaled for his sniper to take the officer out. Compared to the missile, it was an easy shot.
But the three NCOs were made of stern stuff and didn’t give up. Slowly the flow into the tunnels stopped. Lee radioed for support. Farther back, Sun gave the order, and the two fire teams on the ridge saturated the area with mortar rounds. Gradually they drove the defenders away from the tunnels and back into the camp. A squad of seven soldiers emerged from the left tunnel, commanded by a gutsy NCO, and headed directly for Lee’s position. Again the sniper fired, and the NCO fell to the ground. Lee redirected the mortar fire, and the squad took a direct hit. Three survivors crawled back into the tunnel, leaving their wounded behind.
Ropes dropped from above the tunnels, and three men rappelled down the face of the ridge. The center man stopped at a big outcrop and shoved two satchel charges into the deepest cracks. He climbed back up, trailing the firing wires behind him. The man on the left had to descend almost to the entrance as gunfire splattered around him. The sniper fired at the muzzle flashes, and the gunfire tapered off as the man swung back and forth, slapping limpet charges on the brow of the tunnel. He swung farther to the left and caught a handhold, then pulled himself into a chimney and worked his way back to the top, safe from hostile fire. A burst of submachine-gun fire cut into the third man, leaving him swinging back and forth over the right entrance.
With two men safe, the team leader above the tunnels blew the charges. The big outcrop above the center entrance caved in on itself, and most of the ridge collapsed into the center. The charges on the left were less effective but still collapsed the roof of the entrance, partially sealing the tunnel. The right tunnel remained open.
A sixth sense told Kamigami that resistance in the main camp was stiffening and it was time to withdraw. He spoke into his radio, giving the order, and started to fall back. The gunfire slowly died away, as dust and smoke rolled down the valley and into the jungle. A lone mortar round crashed into the camp, followed by the sharp crack of a sniper rifle. Kamigami counted his men as an eerie silence came down.
Doc Ryan took one look at Rockne and went back to work on the Chinese soldier lying on the operating table. “Have a medic check you out.”
“And take two aspirin?” Rockne said. He was much better and feeling foolish for even coming to the base medical station. But Clark had been most insistent.
“In your case, four.”
Rockne grunted and did as he was told. Outside, he paused, surprised by how quiet it was. But “quiet” was all relative. Dull explosions still reverberated from across the runway and mixed with distant cannon fire. He hurried to the BDOC, steadier on his feet and thankful that his headache had subsided to manageable stabs of pain. Clark met him on her way out. “Bossman wants us in the command post. We got a white flag near the gate.”
Clark held a white flag out the window as her driver slowly maneuvered through the concrete barricades at what once was the main gate. Rockne sat behind him and guided him through the minefield. A small group of men were waiting on the far side, also holding a white flag. The driver stopped and got out, holding the white flag above his head.
“Okay,” Pontowski said, “play it cool and just stand behind me. Don’t say a word.” Rockne and Clark nodded in agreement. Rockne got out and carefully adjusted his black beret, convinced that appearances still mattered. Clark was right beside him, looking neat and trim as always. They fell in behind Pontowski and marched toward the group waiting for them. Halfway there, they stopped. For a moment nothing happened. “I guess they don’t want to talk,” Pontowski said. He turned to leave.
“They’re coming,” Clark said. Pontowski turned back around and stood at parade rest.
The three men coming toward them were tall and wore neat and well-tailored uniforms. Pontowski recognized the rank of the middle officer, a major general. As he was junior in grade, Pontowski saluted first. The general waved a salute back. “General Pontowski, I presume?” His English was impeccable and carried the trace of an English accent.
“How may I help you?” Pontowski said, dropping his salute.
“By surrendering, of course.”
“That might be a problem,” Pontowski replied. “We don’t have the facilities for processing and feeding all your men.”
The two-star general allowed a little smile. “Please, do not play games.”
“I assure you, sir, I am not playing games.”
“And neither am I. I am in direct contact with our embassy in Washington, and our special ambassador informs me that your president refuses to discuss your situation, which, to say the least, is untenable. Apparently you are expendable.”
“Ah,” Pontowski replied, taking a wild chance. “Mr. Zou no doubt. How wrong can he be?” The general caught the pun on Zou Rong’s name and frowned. A mistake. Pontowski leaned forward and lowered his voice. “How many of your men died in your last attack?” He motioned to Whiskey Sector across the runway. “Must this go on?”
The general went rigid and snapped his fingers. Behind him, there was a flurry of activity, and two soldiers dragged a tall security policeman out of a truck. They shoved him forward. “Paul Travis,” Rockne said in a low voice. In the half-light of the van’s headlights they saw he was dirty, battered, and bruised. But there was something in his stance. His right eyelid started to blink as Rockne stared at him.