“Where the tanks are,” Kamigami said. It wasn’t meant to be a question.
“The tanks are still on the northern side,” Tel replied. “They’d like to keep them there.”
“The AVG can drop those spans in a heartbeat.”
“Unfortunately,” Tel told him, “the PLA’s using refugees as human shields to protect the bridges from bombing.”
Kamigami scoffed. “The ROE won’t allow Pontowski to bomb civilians on an LOC, and the PLA figured it out days ago.” He stared at the ground. “The Americans never learn.” He thought for a moment. “For us to go after the bridges is a suicide mission.” A distant explosion echoed over them, and Kamigami checked his watch. “They got there sooner than I expected.” They heard a second explosion. “They’re aggressive — they’ll be after us in a few minutes.”
“Do they have dogs?” Tel asked.
“Not for long. We also booby-trapped the trail.”
“Won’t the dogs sniff out the detonators or trip wires?”
Kamigami shook his head. “Hope not. We used motion-detection detonators.” He passed the word to move out, and the men set a blistering pace, fully aware they were being chased. Ninety minutes later Kamigami motioned for a halt and quickly checked their position with a GPS. “I’ve got an idea about the bridges. But it will take some coordination.” He called for his lieutenant and two sergeants. The three men joined him, and he outlined his plan. “How long will it take you to move two mortar teams into position?” he asked the lieutenant.
The lieutenant thought out loud. “The max range of the L9 is seven hundred fifty meters.” The L9A1 was a fifty-one-millimeter-caliber mortar, light and accurate, but with limited range. “We’ll have to infiltrate to get in range.” He considered his options. “We go in tonight, hide during the day, attack at sunset so we can E-and-E out at night.” E and E was escape and evasion.
“That will give us plenty of time to coordinate with the AVG,” Tel said.
“Let’s do it,” Kamigami said. He gave them map coordinates for a rendezvous and told the lieutenant to select two other men and a radio operator.
“Can I go?” Tel asked.
The lieutenant gave him a long look. “How many mortar rounds can you carry?”
In the distance they heard the muffled explosion of the last booby trap. “Aggressive bastards,” Kamigami said, paying their pursuers a compliment.
Pontowski’s small staff gathered around him while he read SEAC’s latest air-task order that sent his A-10s into combat. He snorted as he reread it and he paced the command post like a caged animal. He waved the offending message in front of them. “Two missions?” he asked angrily. “Four jets in twenty-four hours?”
“That’s all, boss,” Maggot replied. “I told SEAC we could launch sixteen Hogs on the first go, twelve on a second go, and eight on a third.”
Pontowski let his disgust show. “Why are we even here?”
Colonel Sun coughed politely for attention. “We received a message from General Kamigami earlier this morning. You might find it of interest.” He handed Pontowski and Maggot copies to read.
“This is more like it,” Maggot said.
“Timing is critical,” Sun told them. He passed out target folders his intelligence officer had put together. “The plan calls for two mortar teams to shell the northern approaches to the bridges at 1750 hours, approximately ten minutes before sunset, tomorrow evening. The teams will walk the barrage toward the bridges and seal off the approach. If it goes as planned, the people and soldiers on the highway bridge will run for cover to the south, leaving the bridge clear. However, given the short range of the mortars, the teams will come under immediate attack and have to withdraw. But there should be a narrow window of opportunity for your Warthogs to attack.”
“And we coordinate the attack,” Maggot said, “so the mortar teams can withdraw under the cover of darkness.”
“Exactly,” Sun replied.
“I’ll get Weapons and Tactics on it,” Maggot said. Weapons and Tactics was the planning section made up of pilots who were experts in weapons employment and tactics. “Four Hogs should do the trick. Two on each span.”
“We can have a Puma in the area if search and rescue is required,” Sun added.
“Will we need SEAC’s blessing?” Maggot asked.
A frown crossed Sun’s face. “Perhaps,” he hedged, “it would be best if only Mr. Deng knew.”
An image of the tall, elderly man in charge of Singapore’s Security and Intelligence division flashed in Pontowski’s mind. “Why Gus?” Pontowski asked. “What’s going on?”
“Shall we say,” Sun said in a low voice, “that there are problems with security within SEAC.”
“Lovely,” Maggot muttered. “Can’t tell the players without a program. Hell of a way to fight a war.”
“Does that explain the lack of tasking on the ATO?” Pontowski wondered. From the look on Sun’s face, he knew he had touched the truth of the matter. “I’m going to Singapore to sort out the ATO. I can talk to Gus then about the bridges.”
“Please,” Sun said, “keep this very close-hold.”
“I understand,” Pontowski said. He looked at the others. “Anything else while I’m down there shaking the bushes?”
Clark studied her notes. “Can you check with SEAC about a dedicated shuttle for fuel?”
“I’ll put the pressure on,” Pontowski promised.
Rockne stood. “I know I’m sounding like a broken record, but we do need the rest of our cops.”
“I’ll check with the MAAG,” Pontowski said. “But I doubt if I’ll have much luck.”
“Well,” Rockne replied, “I could use a truckload of mines and a dozen or so M-60s.” The M-60 was a light machine gun firing a 7.62-millimeter slug. Combined with land mines, it was an excellent weapon for denying terrain.
“Doc, do you need anything?” Pontowski asked.
“Arrangements for air evac would be nice,” Ryan replied.
Pontowski stepped up to the big situation chart on the sidewall. “I don’t like what I’m seeing. They’re driving straight for Singapore, and we’re directly in their path.” He measured the distance from Camp Alpha to the edge of the battle area. “Seventy-five miles away.” He sat down and leaned back in his chair, his chin on his chest. “Start thinking evacuation, folks.”
Rockne closed his eyes and took a deep breath. If that happened, he knew who wouldn’t be leaving. “I really need those mines and M-60s,” he said. “A few antitank weapons would be nice. I suppose tactical nukes are out of the question.”
Nobody thought it was funny.
Pontowski sat in the backseat of the dark blue staff car as it turned out of the embassy’s garage and eased into the late-afternoon traffic. “Have you ever met Mr. Deng?” the driver asked.
“I met Gus in Washington,” Pontowski replied. He decided to get right to it. “Mr. Stans, I take it you’re not an administrative services officer.”
“Call me Tom, sir. Whatever else would I be?”
“CIA? Chief of station?”
Stans gave a little laugh. “Is it that obvious?”
“And you’re hoping to be part of this meeting,” Pontowski replied.
“One does hope. But we would appreciate a back brief. Don’t be taken in by Gus’s grandfatherly image. This is his territory, and he’ll cut your throat in a nanosecond if he thinks you’re a problem.”
Pontowski shook his head. “I guess I don’t want to be a problem.”
“That’s encouraging,” Stans said. The traffic was very heavy, and they were late when they turned into the large estate. Two extremely fit young men wearing flak vests and carrying Uzi submachine guns were waiting for them. “I’m glad they know you,” Stans mumbled under his breath.