“We thought about it,” Rockne said. “We rigged the fuel dump and the weapons igloos with demolition charges in case we have to withdraw. But there was no way we could get the firing wires across the runway. We have to detonate them from here.”
Pontowski saw it first. “Neat, Chief, very neat.” His eyes narrowed. “If we come under attack and have to give up Whiskey, we can blow the fuel and ammo dumps.”
“Exactly,” Rockne said. “Whoever gets caught in Whiskey is going to have a very bad day.” He showed them the panel that activated the charges.
“Let’s hope,” Ryan said, “it won’t come to that and we’ll all be long gone.”
“In an evacuation,” Clark told him, “the security police are the last to go.” Worry filled her eyes. “If they go.”
“Oh, no,” Ryan said, at last understanding.
“It goes with the territory,” Rockne said, trying to be philosophical about it.
Clark checked the time. “We’ve got an inbound C-130 with more personnel. It might be some cops. Why don’t we go meet it?”
“Sounds like a plan,” Pontowski said.
Rockne led the way in his pickup with Boyca. Doc Ryan trailed along with Clark and Pontowski in her van and sat in silence, calculating how to evacuate wounded if they abandoned the base. A dull explosion brought him back to the moment. “It came from the north,” he said.
Clark keyed her handheld radio and called the controller in the main command post. But before the controller could determine the source of the explosion, Rockne’s pickup was racing for Zulu, the northern sector. The controller in the command post was back on the radio. “Two civilians are in the minefield. One is down, the other is waving for help.”
Clark’s driver floored the accelerator, trying to pass Rockne. “Slow down!” Clark shouted in Malay. He did and followed Rockne to the edge of the minefield. Behind them, two fully loaded A-10s lifted off.
Pontowski watched them as their landing gear came up and they turned out of the pattern. “Those were the alert birds,” he told them. “I’ve got to get back to the command post.” Clark told him to use her van and that she’d stay with Rockne.
“I’ll stay here,” Ryan said.
Rockne grabbed a pair of binoculars out of his pickup and swept the minefield. “They’re kids,” he said. He pressed the zoom lever. “One’s down, the other is standing there, not moving.”
“How are we going to get them out?” Ryan asked.
“It’s for damn sure I’m not sending anyone in there without a map,” Clark told him. “How long will it take to sweep a path?”
“A couple of hours,” Rockne replied, still studying the two boys. “The one kid is indicating his buddy is hurtin’ bad. I don’t think we got the time.”
Ryan shook his head. “So we’re going to let him die?”
“Maybe not,” Rockne answered. “Come,” he called. Boyca jumped out of the pickup and trotted to him. He knelt down beside her and pointed to the boy standing in the minefield. Then he patted the ground. “Seek,” he commanded. Boyca sniffed the ground and started to range. She stopped. She had found a mine. “Good girl,” he said. “Seek.” Again the dog sniffed the ground and stopped. “Good girl.” He pointed toward the boy. “Seek.” Boyca did as commanded and worked her way toward the boy, stopping whenever she found a mine.
“I didn’t know she could do that,” Clark said.
“Neither did I,” Rockne replied, his voice full of pride. “Oh, no,” he moaned. “Doc, what the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Ryan was walking slowly into the minefield, a first-aid kit slung over his shoulder. “Following her path,” he called. “Muddy footprints.”
“Doctor!” Clark shouted. “That’s dumber than dirt!” But he kept on walking. She sucked in her breath and waited. “Losing a dog is one thing,” she grumbled. She exhaled in relief when he reached the two boys.
“Boyca,” Rockne called. “Stay.” The dog sat on her haunches and waited while Ryan worked on the boy. Then he stood and gave a thumbs-up. He handed his bag to the uninjured boy before picking the other one up in a fireman’s carry. “Boyca,” Rockne called. “Seek.” He slapped her leash against his thigh, hoping she would seek and come at the same time. She did.
Two more A-10s took off, heading north as two entered the pattern for landing while Ryan walked out of the minefield. Clark was beside herself with anger. “Doctor, that was dumb.”
Ryan ignored her. “We need to get him to the med station.”
“For his sake,” Rockne said with a straight face, “I hope you know what you’re doing this time.” He looked up as a C-130 entered the pattern. “Let’s go,” he told the two officers. They loaded the boys into the back of his pickup, and he deposited the doctor and the boys at the medical station before dropping Clark off at the command post. Then he hurried back to the parking apron where the C-130 was unloading. He parked and clipped the leash to Boyca’s collar. Together they walked across the ramp, where a familiar figure was waiting with a group of thirty-three security cops. “Welcome back, Sergeant Maul.”
“It’s good to be back, Chief,” Jessica said, meaning it. She knelt down and stroked Boyca’s head. “You been a good girl?”
“The best,” Rockne replied. He looked at the waiting cops and stifled a snort when he saw Tech Sergeant Paul Travis and Staff Sergeant Jake Osburn. “I thought you two were minding the squadron at Lackland.”
“We were,” Travis replied. “But we got backfilled from the reserve.”
Jake nodded in agreement. “We thought you might need some help.”
“We’ll find something to do with your worthless bodies,” Rockne allowed.
Clark stood at the back of the command post and waited. Maggot was at the center console talking to Maintenance Control while Pontowski was in the communications cab on the secure phone to SEAC headquarters. Pontowski waved her into the glassed-in booth when he saw her. “We’re surging,” he told her. He held up a hand and listened for a moment. “We’ll do what we can,” he promised. He broke the connection. “The PLA’s broken through at Segamat. Singapore’s two regiments gave a good account of themselves before withdrawing. It’s bad.”
Maggot stuck his head through the doorway. “Two Scuds just hit Changi Airport and Pulau Tekong. SEAC headquarters got shook up, but they’re okay.”
“Those weren’t Scuds,” Pontowski said. “SEAC better move before they find the range.”
It was near sunset when Kamigami stepped out onto the jungle trail, looked both ways, and sniffed the air. Someone was bivouacked nearby and cooking. He ordered his team into a quick-reaction drill, and within seconds they had shed their heavy bergens and were ready to engage. “We’ve been on this trail before,” Tel told him. “We’re twenty kilometers from the PLA’s base camp.” He quickly checked his GPS and plotted their position on a chart. “Sorry,” Tel muttered, “we’re twenty-one kilometers away.”
“Close enough,” Kamigami allowed. He motioned Tel to silence when he heard movement on the trail. Almost immediately a man trudged into sight, bent under a heavy load. Kamigami’s eyes narrowed as he took the man’s measure. This was a soldier, not a porter. Then another came into view, and Kamigami started to count. Every six to eight seconds a heavy-laden soldier passed in silence, totally unaware of the men hiding less than six meters away. Two hours later a bevy of officers brought up the rear, totally unencumbered and talking loudly. Finally the trail was deserted. “How many?” Kamigami asked.
“Nine hundred and eighty,” Tel answered.
“Close enough,” Kamigami said. He had counted 983. “I make it a battalion.”