“No, not yet. I want to appear reasonable — for now.” She thought for a moment. “Is there a word in Chinese for ‘piss off’?”
A gentle rain misted down from the trees as the two men ghosted out of the dark. For a moment the incessant buzz of insects halted while they paused to make sure the way was clear. One spoke into the whisper mike pinned to his shoulder, and they moved on, bent under the weight of their heavy bergens. A voice spoke in the night. “Sergeant Hu, over here.” The two men halted and spun around, weary and fatigued. A dark shadow materialized into human form as Tel moved away from a tree. Like them, he was wearing night-vision goggles and resembled some strange nocturnal creature.
Again the sergeant spoke into his whisper mike. A few moments later Colonel Sun led the rest of the team into the rendezvous. He gave an order, and the fifty-four men disappeared into the dark. “You made good time,” Tel said. “I just arrived.” He appreciated the distance they had traveled from their insertion point, the closest helicopters could get without drawing attention.
Sun slowly lowered his bergen. He was tired to the point of collapse, and his face was streaked with sweat. He pulled off his goggles. “How much farther?”
“Thirty miles” came the answer.
“How soon can we get there?” He swayed with exhaustion.
Tel worked the problem, balancing the distance with the threat. “Tomorrow night, if we’re lucky. Probably sometime early Wednesday morning. We have to do the last ten miles at night to avoid patrols.”
Sun cursed under his breath. “Not in time. F-16s are going to bomb the tunnels tomorrow, and we’re supposed to mop up.”
“I hope they’ve got something better than the A-10s,” Tel said. “They put a missile into the entrance. Twenty minutes later missiles moved out.”
“Then we’ll do it alone,” Sun said. “Those missiles have to be destroyed.” There was steel in his voice. “As soon as possible.”
Even in the dark Sun saw the surprise on Tel’s face as the pieces came together — the heavy combat loads they were carrying, the urgency. “A daylight attack is suicide.”
The colonel didn’t answer.
Thirty-five
The six team leaders who trooped down the ramp and into the BDOC at two o’clock in the morning were soaking wet. Jessica watched from the back wall as they removed their helmets and gathered around Rockne to report in. Rockne listened impassively as each leader confirmed that his team had not found a single intruder, much less one with a radio, GPS, and laser range finder. “Did you check every tree?” he asked.
The answer was unanimous. If they couldn’t visually scan the branches, they sent someone up.
“Okay,” Rockne said. “Good work. We had to check it out.” He studied the map of the base as they left. “He’s here. I can feel it in my bones.”
Jessica joined him. “He’s in the northern end of Whiskey Sector,” she said. “Probably outside the fuel dump. That’s where the trees are the heaviest and he can see the northern end of the runway, where the mortar shell landed and they got the C-130.”
He agreed. “It makes sense. But you heard. It was a good sweep.”
“Let me and Cindy take Boyca and have a look.” Rockne didn’t answer. “Wouldn’t hurt anything,” she cajoled.
“Do it. But I want my dog back.”
The pickup crossed the runway at midfield and stopped at the intersection of the roads leading to the fuel dump to the north and the weapons storage area to the south. Jessica and Cindy hopped out of the back and adjusted their fighting loads. Cindy moved the ammunition cases so she could lie comfortably in the prone position if she had to, while Jessica got Boyca out of the passenger seat. They buckled their helmets and adjusted their night-vision goggles as Boyca strained at her leash, sensing action. Without a word, they moved into the night, Boyca ranging ahead of them.
It was slow going as they crossed back and forth through the trees, always careful to report their position so the teams manning the defensive fire positions wouldn’t fire at them. At one DFP they found the two men asleep. “Do you have any idea what the Rock would do to you?” Jessica asked.
Cindy answered the question. “He’d rip your balls off and feed them to you for breakfast.” One of the cops snorted in disbelief. “Believe it,” Cindy warned. They continued the search, constantly moving northward, toward the minefield that formed a giant cap on the base. Finally they reached the edge of the minefield and sat down to rest. Cindy squatted against a tree, her M-16 lying across her lap. “Nothing,” she said, resignation in her voice.
“It’s the rain,” Jessica said. “It washed away the scent.” She radioed the BDOC and reported in. They sat in silence, totally defeated. Above them, the clouds scudded across the sky, breaking up in a gentle breeze and allowing moonlight to shine through. To the east the first glow of sunrise marked the horizon. Jessica removed her helmet and pulled off her heavy goggles. She wiped the sweat from her forehead. “I hate these damn things.” Boyca came alert and growled, straining at her leash. Jessica looked in the same direction. “She’s onto something.”
A short burst of gunfire shattered the dark. “Oh, shit,” Jessica said, jamming her helmet back on. She came to her feet and pressed her back against a tree, shielded from the gunfire. Another burst raked their position. Silence. Jessica counted to ten. Nothing. She counted to ten again. She keyed her radio to call the BDOC. “Rat Hole, this is Lima One.” Her voice squeaked as adrenaline pumped through her. She forced herself to calm down and tried again. “Rat Hole, this is Lima One. We’re taking fire.”
Rockne answered. “Roger, Lima One. Are you in the same place?”
“That’s affirmative,” Jessica replied.
“Lima One,” Rockne radioed, “help’s on the way. If possible, proceed to the empty defensive fire position a hundred yards to the west, next to the runway, and occupy.”
“Copy all,” Jessica replied. She broke the connection as more gunfire erupted. Then it was quiet. “Go,” Jessica ordered. They bolted for the DFP, but Boyca was moving in the opposite direction.
“Follow her,” Cindy said.
“Oh, shit,” Jessica whispered. She fell in behind Cindy as the dog moved through the trees. Boyca lay down on her stomach, her head up as she looked directly at a tree. A shot rang out, and the dirt kicked up inches in front of her nose. Jessica reacted automatically. She brought her M-16 up as she stepped from behind a tree and fired in the direction of the muzzle flash.
“You muthafucker!” Cindy yelled. “Leave the dog alone!” She fired Rambo style as she darted from tree to tree, closing on the shooter.
“Cindy! No! Take cover!”
The airman skidded behind a tree and stopped firing, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Cindy hit the eject button on her rifle and slapped in a fresh magazine. “He’s running!” she shouted.
Jessica’s head darted out from behind her tree and back, chancing a look. She caught a glimpse of a shadow moving in the rapidly improving light. “Got him!” She fired blindly. A short burst of gunfire in reply chewed at her tree. A coppery taste flooded Jessica’s mouth as fear coursed through her. Cindy fired from a different spot, and Jessica realized that Cindy had moved, using her fire for cover. Now it was Jessica’s turn to advance as Cindy fired. She darted to the next tree. Safe, she fired a short burst.
Boyca moved off to the left. “Stay!” Jessica commanded. The dog stopped, frozen in motion, a stationary target. A mistake. “Come!” Jessica shouted. The dog came to her as three slugs ripped into the ground where she had been a second before. Cindy fired a short burst from yet another position. A woman screamed in a language they didn’t understand. Silence. Another shout, the same words. “Hands up!” Jessica shouted. A shadow moved, and the woman stood in the open, hands in the air. “Cover me,” Jessica said. She moved toward the woman. Up close, she was staring into the face of a frightened young girl, no more than eighteen or nineteen years of age. She was wearing black tennis shoes and pants with a military green tunic. A web belt hung around her waist with a canteen, a radio, and an empty ammunition pouch. A small GPS hung on a lanyard around her neck. Jessica spun her around, frisked her, and pushed her to a spread-eagle position. “It’s okay,” she told Cindy.