He dropped the binoculars in time to see a dark object streaking toward the tunnel entrances. Experience told him it was a smart bomb, either laser or infrared guided. It flew right into the center entrance and exploded as the antiaircraft battery continued to sweep the sky. Now he could hear a single jet receding into the distance. Again he swept the skies, looking for a parachute. There wasn’t one. He made another mental note — one aircraft and one pilot exchanged for one tunnel.
The antiaircraft battery ceased firing, and he waited. The cough of a diesel engine starting echoed out of a tunnel. Soon he heard the unmistakable sound of clanking treads as a bulldozer went to work. The sound of the laboring diesel grew louder, and a mound of dirt and debris was pushed out of the central tunnel. Dark smoke from the exhaust mushroomed out as the bulldozer emerged. The driver, wearing a respirator, continued to clear the entrance. Finally he was finished and pulled off the mask. Behind him, a transporter/erector with a missile emerged into the morning sunlight.
Kamigami made another mental note: there had been no exchange. The missile disappeared into the jungle, reminding him of a giant slug he’d once stepped on by accident. He decided to do it again, this time intentionally.
Thirty-six
Janice Clark felt her heart pound as the C-130 taxied for the runway. The image of the last one burning on the runway was seared into her mind, and fear held her tight. But she couldn’t look away. “Come on, come on,” she whispered. The big bird turned onto the active runway, pointing to the south. The pilot paused and ran the engines up, a heavy drone against the erratic beat of artillery fire. “GO!” she shouted, unable to contain her worry. The pilot released the brakes, and the cargo plane moved forward, accelerating quickly to takeoff speed. The pilot honked back on the yoke and lifted off. Immediately the gear came up as he leveled off thirty feet above the runway and accelerated. Barely able to breathe, Clark watched as the Hercules pulled up and turned sharply to the west, its right wingtip a few feet above the treetops. Then it was out of sight.
She ran for her van. But her driver was already coming her way, and he slammed the vehicle to a halt, pausing only long enough for her to pile in. He raced for the command post. Her radio came alive as the tower announced that an A-10 was inbound with battle damage and a wounded pilot. They passed a crash truck headed for the runway. The ambulance was right behind it. “Follow them,” she commanded. Her driver spun the van around and hit the throttle.
Doc Ryan was standing beside the ambulance when the van pulled up at the midfield intersection. Clark got out and joined him. “There,” he said, pointing to the west. She saw the Hog and held her breath. It seemed to hang in the sky as smoke and flames trailed out behind. A pickup truck drove up, and Waldo got out. “Why doesn’t he eject?” Ryan asked.
“It’s Goat,” Waldo answered. “He’s wounded pretty bad. Probably can’t survive an ejection. The jet’s in manual reversion, but he’s gonna try to land it.”
“Where’s he wounded?” Ryan asked.
“A round shattered the canopy,” Waldo replied. “Tore up his right shoulder, split his helmet. He’s flying with his left hand.” They stood there, all hoping or praying in their own way. Waldo’s left hand moved, trying to control the throttles. “Push it up!” he shouted as the Warthog turned final. But he knew what was coming, and his hand fell helplessly to his side. “Oh, no,” he moaned. The jet never rolled out of the turn. Instead it fell away to the left, arcing toward the ground. The canopy flew off, and the rocket pack kicked the Aces II ejection seat out of the doomed bird with an eleven-G kick. The seat cleared the bird, and the drogue chute streamed out behind. The Hog crashed into the trees and fireballed as the pilot separated from the seat and the main chute deployed. Waldo looked away.
“He made it,” Clark said. Waldo didn’t answer and only stared at the ground.
“Oh, Lord,” Ryan moaned as the fireball sucked in the descending parachute.
The thunder was growing closer when Clark reached the command post. For a moment she stood and looked at the column of smoke rising out of the trees where Goat had died. A loud explosion rolled over her, and she felt the ground shudder. A cannon round had hit the base. One of the cops in the DFP outside the command post waved her on, and she ran for the entrance, holding her holster to keep it from bouncing. She skidded through the door, and it banged closed behind her. She hurried into the main room and sat down at her console. An orchid was lying on her desk. She looked at Maggot and Pontowski. “Where did that come from?” There was a catch in her voice.
“Your driver,” Pontowski answered. He handed her a bottle of water. “We’re talking to Chief Rockne on line one.” She punched at the button and listened.
“There’s only one battery in range doing the shelling,” Rockne explained.
“Do you know the location?” Maggot asked.
“According to the counterbattery radar, they’re shooting and scooting. We should get another round or two in twenty or thirty minutes.”
Pontowski studied the grim story on the aircraft status board. The AVG had arrived with twenty A-10s but was now down to fifteen. Four Hogs were still trapped on the ground at Tengah Air Base, and they had eleven on base. However, only ten were good to go, and one was a hangar queen. But the real problem was fuel. “How many sorties we got left?”
“Twenty-eight,” Maggot replied. “Unless more fuel came in on that C-130.”
Clark shook her head in answer. “No fuel. We got a hundred and nine out.” She subtracted Goat’s name from her count. “Two hundred ninety-three to go.”
Pontowski’s eyes narrowed. “If it’s only one battery, we can kill it.”
The two artillery rounds came in quick succession, falling well short of the DFP on the northern side of the base, where Jessica and Cindy had taken refuge with Boyca. Cindy checked in with the BDOC, confirming that the rounds had fallen outside the base. Across the runway the big doors of a shelter cranked back, and a Hog fast-taxied for the runway. The pilot, a young captain called Stormy, never slowed as he took the active runway at midfield. A green light blinked at him from the control tower hidden in the trees. On top of the tower the small antenna of the recently installed counterbattery radar spun at a high rate, searching for more incoming artillery fire. Stormy firewalled the throttles, taking off to the south. The Hog came unglued with two thousand feet of runway remaining, and Stormy snatched the gear up. Immediately he turned hard to the left before turning back to the south. He disappeared over the treetops with a single radio transmission: “Stormy’s clear.”
The command post monitored the radio call, and a sergeant marked the boards. “I hope this works,” Clark said.
Pontowski’s voice was flat, without emotion. “They may be able to shoot, but they can’t scoot fast enough.” Now they had to wait for the next salvo. It came twenty-one minutes later. The controller in the tower instantly transmitted a set of coordinates. “The radar got him,” Pontowski said.
Stormy did not acknowledge the radio transmission from the tower as his fingers punched the coordinates into his GPS. The number one bearing pointer and range indicator in his horizontal-situation indicator cycled to the target along with the display in his HUD. He turned toward the target-designation box in the HUD. When the box was on his nose, he flicked the radio button on the throttle quadrant. “Stormy’s in.” He flew across the base at fifty feet. Below him, Jessica and Cindy covered their ears, rocked by the noise that pounded at them. Cindy poked her head up in time to see the Hog clear the minefield as it headed to the north. Stormy jinked hard, never holding the same heading for more than two seconds. He was vaguely aware of a rocket plume flashing behind him, a Grail launched way too late. His left forefinger pushed the flare-dispensing button on the throttle quadrant, and six flares popped out behind in time to decoy a second missile that he never saw.