“That’s a big battalion,” Tel replied, comparing it to what he had been taught.
“God favors big battalions,” Kamigami told him. They heard movement and fell silent as another man came down the trail. Again they counted as a long line of men tramped past. As before, the officers brought up the rear. But this time there was no break before a third battalion plodded past. When the last group of officers passed, an eerie silence descended over the jungle. “Make that big regiments,” Kamigami said. “They’re traveling at night and bivouacking during the day.” He thought for a moment. “Think you can play FAC?”
“I can try.”
“Good. Take a radioman and follow them. I’m guessing they’ll make camp before morning. I’ll radio SEAC, and with a little luck we can have a few Hogs on station first thing in the morning. Your job is to get them on target.”
“Is this what I get for not obeying orders?”
Kamigami ignored his question. “Your call sign is Gopher Hole.”
Tel wiggled onto the rock outcropping near the crest of the ridgeline and scanned the top of the jungle canopy with his binoculars. As Kamigami had predicted, the regiment had marched all night and made camp while it was still dark. Below him, the smell of campfires being lit drifted up. He tried to find the smoke, but since he was looking directly into the sun as it broke the eastern horizon, he couldn’t see a thing. His radio crackled to life. “Gopher Hole, this is Mudfighter with two. How copy this frequency?”
Tel took a deep breath and squeezed the transmit button. “Gopher Hole copies you five-by. Your target is troops bivouacked under trees.” He quickly read off the coordinates.
“Gopher Hole,” Mudfighter replied, “I see smoke coming through the canopy in maybe fifty different places.”
“Those are cooking fires,” Tel answered. “Hit the smoke.”
“Rog,” Mudfighter replied. “Do you have safe area coordinates?”
This was new for Tel. “Sorry, I don’t understand.”
“Where do I punch out if I have to eject?” the pilot replied.
Tel gave him the coordinates where he had left Kamigami. “You’re cleared in hot,” he said.
“One’s in,” Mudfighter radioed. “Jaws, go tactical. Ninety cross, separate to the south, one pass, no reattack.” The flight lead was using verbal shorthand to set up the attack.
“Copy all,” Jaws replied. “Your six is clear.”
Tel scanned the area with his binoculars but couldn’t find the Warthogs. Where were they? For a moment he was certain they were bombing some other place and that he had screwed up. Suddenly a loud noise beat at him, and he looked up, directly into the cockpit of a Warthog less than fifty feet above him. The pilot had used the ridge Tel was hiding on for terrain masking and had run in from the backside. He popped to eight hundred feet to clear the crest, rolled 135 degrees, and pulled the Hog’s nose down to the valley. Tel watched as six canisters rippled from under the Hog’s wings, walking along the line of campfires. The canisters opened like clamshells and sent their lethal load of bomblets into the trees. The pilot honked back on the stick and pulled off to the right as flares streamed out the back to defeat any surface-to-air missile.
“I’m in,” Jaws radioed. Again Tel could hear but not see the aircraft. Below him, he saw flashes in the trees as the bomblets cut a swath through the jungle. The second Warthog arced around the southern end of Tel’s ridge, barely a hundred feet off the deck. Suddenly it was climbing and rolling as it gained altitude. Its nose came down like a bow in a deadly minuet as it crossed ninety degrees to the first aircraft’s heading. Six Mark-82 Airs rippled off. “Off to the south,” Jaws radioed calmly. Six explosions erupted, blowing huge gaps in the jungle canopy. Now Tel could see the ground below the trees.
“You’re clear,” Mudfighter radioed. “Join up on my left. We go home.”
Tel’s ears were still ringing, and he didn’t know what to say. Belatedly he keyed his radio. “Thanks for the help.”
“Anytime,” Mudfighter replied.
Tel waited for over an hour as bomblets with delayed-action fusing exploded. He constantly scanned the area, looking for movement or signs of life. But there wasn’t any. Finally he motioned to his radioman, and they worked their way down the ridge and onto the valley floor. He wished he hadn’t, and knew he had crossed the border into hell when he heard cries for help mingled with groans of pain. He took a few more steps and found himself on the edge of the blast effects of the five-hundred-pound pounds. But even two hundred meters from the point of impact, the carnage was horrendous. Wounded men were everywhere, parts of bodies were blown into the trees and scattered over the ground, and a sweet, sickly smell assaulted his nostrils. The buzz of insects homing on the blood grew louder as he moved toward the epicenter of the attack. He stopped when his radioman started to retch. All this in less than four minutes, Tel thought as nausea and guilt swept over him. Then he remembered his village.
A soldier stumbled toward him, dazed but unhurt. For a moment they stared at each other. The man begged for mercy in Cantonese. “This is the vampire’s land,” Tel replied in the same language. He turned and headed for the rendezvous with Kamigami.
The hostess was beside herself when she saw Secretary of Defense Robert Merritt standing in the vestibule of her lavish Georgetown home. There was no doubt the party would now be an outstanding success. “Mr. Secretary,” she gushed, taking his arm. “I’m so pleased you could come.” She escorted him into the big lounge, ensuring that everyone was aware of her triumph. “I know it must be so hectic,” she soothed, “but the news is so wonderful. Such a change in the landscape.” They both knew she meant the political landscape. “The president must be pleased.” A scattered round of spontaneous applause broke out.
“It was a gamble,” Merritt said, loud enough for everyone to hear. “It’s far from over, but we are confident of success.” Knowing heads nodded in agreement, for this was the power elite of Washington, the inner circle of men and women who could, and did, make things happen. They were all experts at reading political tea leaves and sensed that the totally unexpected turnaround of the Gulf War had changed the political landscape. What had been a millstone dragging Maddy Turner to defeat in the election was now the springboard for victory. And common sense, not to mention political survival, demanded they shift positions accordingly.
The hostess led Merritt into the library. “Senator Leland is hoping to speak to you,” she confided. She glanced up the stairs.
“I can’t imagine why,” Merritt said dryly as he turned to shake more hands and bask in the praise the media were heaping on the administration. A short, very dapper man came up. “Well, Robert, are you going to accept Syria’s offer of an in-place cease-fire?”
Merritt smiled. “CENTCOM is of the opinion they should surrender first.”
The man was aghast. “Do you always listen to your generals?”
“Only when we want to win a war.” Merritt moved on, enjoying the moment. Finally he climbed the stairs to the elegant study on the second floor, where he suspected Senator John Leland was waiting. He wasn’t disappointed.
Leland didn’t waste time and came directly to the reason for the meeting. “Have you seen the polls?”
Merritt shrugged. “That happens when you get caught on the wrong side of a war. Your boy’s looking like an unpatriotic idiot.”
“We were set up. Fuckin’ Shaw. He was behind this, wasn’t he?”
“I don’t think so. Maddy did this one all on her own. Brilliant, wouldn’t you say?”