"Thanks."
"So you will be departing soon?"
"I assume that the Libyans will start getting curious about Jaghbub and send a force down from Tobruk or Benghazi to investigate," Patrick said. "I'll bet scouts are already on the way. The bomber needs to be gone by then. We can have a special-operations aircraft meet us here tonight to get us out of the country."
"Well, we're as ready as we can be," Sanusi said. "My men picked up some shoulder-fired antiaircraft missiles from their underground arsenal, and we've taken them out so we might have a chance of tagging an attack helicopter or two before it gets close enough to lob a missile in on us."
Patrick didn't like hearing that. "What will you do, Your Highness?"
"I need enough time to cart the weapons away, that's all," Sanusi said. "I've called for all the men I can muster, but they won't start filtering in for several hours. Once they get here, I'll load up as many weapons and as much fuel as I can carry, then head off to our desert bases. But we know Zuwayy's scouts will be back here before long-like you said, they could be here tomorrow morning, or even tonight." He paused, then nodded at the EB-52 Megafortress. "We sure could use your little toy there to help us hold off the heavies."
It was risky-too risky. The EB-52 had enough fuel to make it to Scotland, where a Sky Masters Inc. DC-10 I aircraft could meet them to refuel and take them back to the States. Jon Masters used to have secret deals with the British government to use their facilities in emergencies-perhaps that still held true. Bottom line: They had a pretty good chance of making it out of here if they got out tonight.
But Patrick also knew that angry Libyan soldiers could surround Muhammad Sanusi and his men any minute now. He couldn't just leave these guys to their fate. He spoke: "Patrick to Luger."
"Go ahead, Muck," David Luger responded. Sanusi shook his head and again silently marveled at the technology these Americans possessed.
"Let's get the Megafortress uploaded with target information for Zillah Air Base and Al-Jawf Rocket Base," Patrick said. "We'll have to use the intel we got from the Egyptians."
"It's several days old, and a lot of shit has happened since then," Luger pointed out.
"I don't think we have any choice," Patrick said. "Time's running out. We need to…" Just then Sanusi received a frantic call on his portable radio. "Stand by, Dave."
"I'm afraid time may have run out already," Sanusi said. "My scouts reported a convoy of four tanks af?d five armored personnel carriers heading south. They're about forty kilometers north of here, coming fast. They have also seen several helicopter patrols heading this way, but they have lost contact."
"Low-level helicopters-could be attackers," Patrick said. "Dave, let's get the Megafortress ready to launch. Me, Chris, and Hal will have to go out with the king and his men and see what we can do, but if the helicopters get past us, the Megafortress will fight better in the air."
The Sanusi Brotherhood "Sandstorm" warriors raced across the desert at full throttle in their jeeps and Humvees, leaping up and over sand dunes and gullies at more than sixty miles an hour. If they encountered a minefield, Patrick was sure they'd never set any mines off because they hardly touched earth at all. They passed the remains of one Mil Mi-8 helicopter gunship, downed by one of the warriors with a Stinger shoulder-fired missile; a few kilometers away, they found the remains of the warriors and their vehicle, blasted apart into a twisted hunk of burning metal and human tissue.
"Sorry about your men, Your Highness," Chris Wohl offered over the roar of their speeding vehicle. "They took on a gunship and defeated it."
"I wish I could say that their death made a difference, or that they will find peace in God's hands as a reward," Muhammad as-Sanusi said. "All I can tell their families and their fellow warriors is that they died trying to win back a kingdom we all believe in so much. All the others can hope for is the chance that their death might rally others to our cause. We shall see."
They proceeded another few miles until they met up with one of the Sanusi Brotherhood patrols on a slight rise, about two miles west of the Tobruk-Jaghbub highway. From there they crawled over to the edge of the rise, where they could see the oncoming Libyan scouts approaching, now about five miles away.
"I think I found the one thing this battle armor doesn't do very well-you can't fight very well on sand," Hal
Briggs observed. "You sure as hell can't crawl around with it, and the thrusters don't work very well unless you find a patch of hard-packed sand."
"All true-that's why we can't fight like the king does," Patrick said. "Your Highness, I recommend you stay in hiding and keep an eye out for newcomers or anyone who tries to escape. We'll engage-our way."
"We could use a few of those tanks and armored personnel carriers, Tor," Sanusi said, using his new nickname for Patrick in his battle armor, "Tor," meaning "bull." "Try not to destroy all of them, my friend." Patrick nodded and moved off. Patrick had Hal circle around to cross over to the east side of the highway, keeping Chris on the west side. Patrick took the middle-the highway itself.
The line of Libyan armor was following the highway but staying well off of it, spread out about a mile either side of the highway. The armored vehicles stayed on the roadthey were wheeled, not tracked-with gunners at the ready in the cupolas. The armored vehicles had AT-2 antitank missiles fitted out on the front of the vehicles along with a fifty-seven-millimeter rapid-fire cannon and a 12.7-millimeter machine gun for the commander; the tanks were ex-Russian T-60s with one-hundred-ten-millimeter main guns. They were not moving very quickly-they were probably playing it cautious after losing contact with their helicopter gunship.
The commander of the lead armored vehicle was surprised to see a lone figure standing in the middle of the highway when he crested the slight rise in the highway. He was standing right there, not moving or attempting to get away or hide. He might have been a hitchhiker-except for the weird head-to-toe outfit he wore. Both armored personnel carriers' fifty-seven-millimeter cannons trained on the solitary figure as they approached, but the stranger did not move.
"Wa'if hena," the lead APC commander ordered. The stranger was dressed unlike anyone he had ever seen. It resembled a chemical warfare exposure suit, whichrts why he ordered his column to halt-if there were biochem weapons around, he didn't want to go charging in blindly. "What in hell does he think he's doing?"
"What kind of uniform is that?" the other commander radioed in response. "Could it be one of our men, maybe a survivor from Jaghbub? Maybe that's a protective suit he's wearing. Who else would be stupid enough to be walking right up to an armored patrol unarmed in the middle of the day?"
"Ordinarily I'd say yes-but we just lost contact with one of our scout helicopters, which means everyone's an enemy until we find out otherwise. Stay back: I'll go have a chat with him. Everyone else, stay alert." He ordered his men to dismount. Eight heavily armed Libyan soldiers ran out of the back of the APC and took up defensive positions on either side of the highway. The lead APC then began to roll forward toward the stranger.
The APC hadn't gone fifty feet when suddenly two tanks, one on either side of the highway, disappeared in a ball of fire-the dismounts heard only a faint plink sound, and then the tanks exploded. The soldiers had just enough time to dive for cover in the depression on the side of the highway before they were showered with burning debris. Huge gushes of fire fed from ruptured fuel tanks poured across the desert floor, and the dismounts got to their feet in a hurry and retreated back toward the remaining APCs, firing in the general direction from where those projectiles came.