“Now, that’s impressive,” Maggot said. “T-72s shooting on the move. Never saw that before.” He had killed fourteen tanks in the 1991 Persian Gulf War, and it was common knowledge that the Russian-built T-72 had to stop in order to fire its cannon with any degree of accuracy.
“Publicity,” Pontowski replied. “Stock footage.”
The scene changed to one of soldiers charging fearlessly across the desert and jumping into trenches. “Our brave soldiers quickly overran the cowardly Americans, who could not surrender fast enough.”
“Looks like training trenches to me,” Maggot said.
The scene changed to real footage from the field, and Maggot fell silent. An armored personnel carrier was churning across the desert floor dragging a long rope with a bundle at the far end kicking up a cloud of dust. The APC slammed to a stop, and the camera zoomed in on the bundle as the dust settled. It was an American soldier. An Iraqi soldier ran up, cut the rope, and kicked the lifeless body. But the American was not dead and raised a hand in supplication. The soldier kicked him in the head and motioned at the APC. The driver gunned the engine and spun the APC around, pivoting the vehicle over the American and grinding him into the gravel before stopping. The camera panned to laughing soldiers dragging two more American soldiers out of the APC. They held one upright and propped him against the side of the APC. A man ran at the prisoner with a fixed bayonet. The American grabbed the bayonet with his bare hands but couldn’t stop the soldier from driving it into his abdomen. The soldier twisted the rifle until the man fell to the ground. The Iraqi leaned on the rifle butt, driving the bayonet completely through the American’s body.
The camera focused on the last soldier, a woman. Rough hands tore away the top of her fatigues, exposing her bra. A knife flashed, and her bra was cut away. Two soldiers grabbed her arms and twisted them out, behind her back, as they forced her to a kneeling position. Another soldier grabbed her hair and pulled her head straight forward as a man advanced holding a ceremonial sword. The scene suddenly went blank as he raised the sword above her neck. The waving flag of the UIF filled the screen. “Thus Americans receive justice,” the translator said, his voice flat and unemotional.
Pontowski’s hand was a blur as he hit the power button to the TV. “Son of a bitch,” he growled.
“Why did they show that?” Maggot asked, his voice shaking.
“In a word,” Pontowski said, “ratings.”
“I mean the Iraqis,” Maggot said.
Pontowski shook his head and reached for the direct line to the Flight Service Center. “Cancel the flight plan for Mentor 4315. I’m refiling for Washington, D.C.”
He was airborne and over St. Louis when the call from Patrick Flannery Shaw was patched through.
Sweat streaked the faces and fatigues of the officers waiting in the hardened bunker that served as the 1st SOS’s command post. A lone fan in the doorway stirred the air and moved it toward the opened emergency escape hatch in the rear wall. Kamigami entered and spoke in Chinese: “Please be seated.” Although it was early in the morning, he estimated the temperature at ninety degrees and rising. “I know this is uncomfortable. Bunkers in the field are. They also make good targets. From now on, everything we do, all our training, is based on the assumption we are in the field on operations. We will train as we plan to fight. Our motto is ‘Mobility is life.’ For you who don’t understand that, remember three words”—he switched to English—“shoot and scoot.”
Kamigami waited while his staff talked among themselves, deciding what “shoot and scoot” meant. He knew how the Chinese mind worked, and it would take some reinforcing on his part. But he accepted that. “Our first exercise is to create a mobile command post in the field and establish contact with Headquarters Central in Singapore. You have four hours, gentlemen. At that time I expect the new command post to be up and operating.” He spun around and walked out. “I’ll be with Tiger Red,” he called over his shoulder.
Tel followed him outside. “What now?”
“We’re leading Tiger Red on the morning run,” Kamigami said.
“Oh, no,” Tel said, mostly to himself.
“Is that a problem?”
“Those guys are charged up after yesterday.”
“That’s the idea.”
Two hours later Kamigami led Tiger Red back into the camp. The men were all bunched together and jogging in lockstep, more than willing to run over Kamigami should he stumble and fall. First, Second, and Fourth Squadrons were right behind them, threatening to do the same. “How many have dropped out?” Kamigami asked Tel.
“Three,” came the answer. “I think.”
“Find out,” Kamigami ordered. “I want them all off the island by sundown.” He turned to the four squadron commanders. “Dismiss your men for breakfast.”
Colonel Sun Dan was waiting and escorted him into the brush, leading him to their new command post. They trudged along the base of one of the low ridges that radiated out from the center of the island. Sun pushed aside some heavy foliage and motioned Kamigami toward a group of canvas-covered shelters hidden below the crest of the ridge. “We established contact with Headquarters Central an hour ago,” Sun announced, “and received our first message.” Sun checked his watch. “Mr. Deng Shikai is arriving by helicopter in twenty-four minutes.”
“Gus coming back so soon?” Kamigami mused. “I must have pissed someone off.”
“Two of the men who fell out yesterday and who you ordered to leave are from very prominent families. Very well connected politically.”
Kamigami shrugged. “Too bad they couldn’t hack it. Well, let’s go meet the gentleman.” They walked in silence back to the helipad. Kamigami understood too well how the Chinese did business and fully expected to be on the helicopter when it left. He waited patiently until he heard the familiar beat of rotors. Then he snapped to attention as the aircraft came into view and landed.
Gus was off the helicopter before the blades had stopped turning. “We need to talk,” he said.
“Alone?” Kamigami asked.
“It would be better if Colonel Sun and your staff were there.”
So it’s going to be a public humiliation, Kamigami thought. He led the way into the brush and to the new command post. It started to rain, and they took shelter under the canvas of the largest shelter. Colonel Sun called for the staff to squeeze in around them.
Gus came right to the point. “I have just received word of unusual activity around the Chinese base camp in Malaysia’s National Park.”
Kamigami caught the surprised look on Sun’s face. The colonel obviously had not been told about the Chinese presence in the Taman Negara. Kamigami fingered the gold whistle hanging from his neck as he related what he and Tel had discovered after their kampong was destroyed. His soft voice hardened into granite as he spoke, and Tel recoiled at the rage he sensed was lurking below the surface. He gave a silent prayer of thanks that he would never have to face Kamigami in combat.
Sun didn’t hear the fury in Kamigami’s voice, but he understood the implications for Singapore. “So we have a real threat on our doorstep,” he said when Kamigami finished. “We could have been training for this.” Gus didn’t answer. “I assume you are here for a reason,” Sun said.