Wilding stood up. “Madam President, we’ve been through this before.”
She nodded. “Indeed. But hear me out. The moment the Germans launch their offensive, seal off the northern end of the Spider. I do not want any supplies returning north.”
Wilding’s head came up as his fatigue disappeared. “Brilliant. We hit the southern end hard, they push more supplies into the Spider to make up for the losses and keep their offensive going, the Germans attack, and we seal off their logistical effort in the Spider.” His face grew hard as he looked at her, the pieces falling into place. “They’ve dug their own graves.”
“Exactly,” Turner said, returning his gaze.
The lights were on in the Oval Office when Bobbi Jo Reynolds and the election committee sat down to meet with the president. “Thanks for staying so late,” Turner said.
“Thanks for the dinner,” Bobbi Jo replied. The small group went to work, bringing the president up to date on the campaign. “There is bad news, Mrs. President. We’re running out of money. Campaign contributions have slowed to a trickle, and our supporters appear to be in a wait-and-see mode.” A serious matter, but they were all pros and knew how to work around the problem of diminishing finances. They were about finished when the door opened and Patrick Shaw slipped into the room.
He gave them all a big grin. “I just got off the phone. Leland and his boy have agreed to a debate. Tomorrow evening, 6:00 P.M., at Georgetown University.” His news was greeted with approval all around, and the committee rapidly finished its work. Finally they were gone, and her day was over. “Well, Mizz President,” Shaw said, “you gotta render that son of a bitch tomorrow.”
“Any suggestions on how to do that?” she asked.
“If we’re lucky, he’ll bang the drum on three issues: leadership, failed intelligence, and diplomacy.” Shaw could hardly contain himself. “You know the answers — but give them the last word every time.”
Twenty-six
Zack and Brian arrived ten minutes early for the afternoon briefing in Dow Hall. Neither teenager’s strong suit was punctuality, and ten minutes early set a new record for them. But it was a wasted effort, as every seat in the room was taken and they had to stand at the back. Just as the Army captain giving the update on the war stepped up to the podium, two football players came through the door and edged in front of them. “What happened to practice?” Brian muttered.
The bigger of the two players, a defensive lineman, stepped on his foot. “Hey, this is where the action is.”
The captain looked around the room. “We’re going to have to find a larger place,” he said. Zack and Brian agreed with him as the two football players squashed them against the back wall. The computer-driven projector clicked on, and the captain quickly summarized the fighting in the Gulf and in Malaysia. “The UIF’s rate of advance toward Riyadh appears to be slowing, but there is still some hard fighting ahead for the coalition forces before it is stopped. The arrival this Friday of two major convoys will certainly improve the logistics situation. However, the situation on the Malay Peninsula is much bleaker. At the rate the PLA is advancing, it appears Singapore will fall within two to three weeks.”
“Hey, Pontowski,” the lineman said, “it looks like your old man is gonna get his ass kicked.”
“Asshole,” Brian muttered.
The captain called up another image on the screen. “Today I’d like to look at the win-hold-win strategy being pursued by the United States. I think it’s fair to say, given the circumstances, it is the only viable option.” He outlined the details of the strategy, focusing on the lack of strategic airlift necessary to make it work. He finished, “Unfortunately, the timing is all wrong, and I seriously doubt that we can win the war in Saudi Arabia in time to redeploy to Malaysia and save the hold. It looks like SEAC and the American Volunteer Group are being hung out to dry.”
The briefing was over, and the room rapidly emptied, but before Zack could escape, the football player stopped him. “Hey, man. I didn’t mean it the way it sounded. I mean, well, shit, I mean, I wish I was there…with your dad.” His big hand pounded Zack’s left shoulder. “I’d follow your old man anywhere.” Embarrassed by his show of emotion, he spun around and hurried out the door.
“Can you believe that?” Brian said. Zack shook his head, and they walked in silence back to the barracks. “Your dad is something else again,” Brian finally said.
Zack looked at his best friend, his eyes filled with worry. “Do you think that asshole might be right?”
“About your dad getting his ass kicked if Singapore falls?” Zack gave a little nod. “No way my mom would let that happen,” Brian assured him.
The Super Puma flew through the early-morning dark, relying on GPS navigation to keep it on course and clear of high terrain or any obstacles. The bright moonlight also helped the crew navigate, but they were drenched in sweat as they neared their destination. The terrain flattened out, and instinctively the pilot dropped lower to the ground. He had never flown so long at night, much less over enemy territory. Two minutes out he asked his copilot to recheck the coordinates for the landing zone he had punched into the GPS. The copilot did as ordered and confirmed they were the same as those in Kamigami’s message requesting resupply. When the display read two-tenths of a kilometer to go, the pilot reached for the throttles overhead and inched them back, slowing the big helicopter.
On cue, a small clearing appeared in the moonlight and a light flashed, clearing them to land. The big helicopter settled to earth as the gunner slid open both doors in the cargo compartment. Men ran from the surrounding trees and, in less than two minutes, offloaded a ton of ammunition and supplies. Two wounded men were helped on board as a tall, lanky figure jumped off the Puma.
Tel turned and watched as the helicopter lifted off and disappeared over the treetops, heading back to Camp Alpha. He shouldered his heavy bergen and followed the men into the tree line, where Kamigami was waiting. “Good morning, sir,” Tel said. Kamigami gave him a studied look but said nothing. “Colonel Sun suggested I join you.”
“Suggested?” Kamigami said.
“Well, he did want me to outline a possible operation. There is some urgency.”
“We have to move out,” Kamigami said. In his world of special operations, movement was life, and he assumed, rightfully so, that the helicopter had been detected. Someone would be investigating at first light, and they had to be miles away by then. However, he planned to leave a few interesting “surprises” behind to discourage anyone who might want to follow them into the jungle. Kamigami quickly packed his portion of the supplies that had been offloaded, and then checked on the two claymore mines that had been rigged as booby traps. He personally set the timers that would detonate them in thirty-six hours if some hapless soldier didn’t trigger them first. He lifted his bergen and picked up an ammunition box. “Go,” he said, his voice barely audible. Two corporals took the point and led the way down a trail. Tel adjusted his night-vision goggles and fell in behind Kamigami.
For the next hour the thirty-six men ghosted through the jungle, moving fast and spread out over a quarter of a mile. No one had to urge them to maintain a killing pace. Finally Kamigami called a halt. He removed his night-vision goggles and rubbed his forehead. “What possible operation?” he asked Tel.
Tel took a long drink from his canteen. “SEAC wants you to take out the bridges at Bahau.”