The guard released the weapon and went down. Rodgers drove the stock into the back of his neck and pointed the barrel at the radio operator.
The Kurd raised his hands. Rodgers disarmed the man and motioned for him to get up. He obeyed. Rodgers paused to take the cigarette from the fallen Kurd and poked it between his own lips. Then he retrieved the iron bar and walked the radio operator toward the back of the tunnel where there was a hint of daylight and the generators still puttered noisily.
FIFTY-SEVEN
The A-Team Strikers stopped when they noticed the neo-phosgene gas rising above a portion of the floor of the main cavern. The two point men held up their hands for the others to wait, then went to explore the area.
Corporal Prementine stood with Falah in the mouth of the cave and watched in the dying light of the flare. The section of yellow gas was floating slightly above the rest in an almost rectangular shape. Only heat would cause it to rise like that. Heat from a room underground. An occupied room.
Prementine looked at his watch. The Tomahawk would arrive and detonate in six minutes. If the ROC were within a quarter mile of the cave, in any direction, the explosion would still take them out with it. They didn't have time to get clear. There were still two hostages to locate.
The point men knew that too. One of them reached into his kit and cut off a small block of C-4. He placed it on the door, jabbed in a small timer, and motioned the men back. They all lay flat in the fast-dissipating gas. He joined them a moment later. Five seconds after that the charge detonated.
Iron fragments blew in all directions, zipping over the heads of several Strikers and barely missing Prementine. Gunfire erupted from underground. It drove Prementine from the mouth of the cave and prevented the Strikers inside from advancing.
Prementine realized that PKK fighters must have been able to get togas masks and hunker down below. It was going to be difficult to get them out. There were no lights and the Strikers didn't have a clear shot down the stairs. Grenades weren't guaranteed to take down the enemy, and for all they knew Mike Rodgers and the Turkish officer were being held down there.
The Strikers were going to have to take the room, and quickly. That would entail four men moving forward. Two Strikers would jump down one after the other, quickly identify targets, and open fire. With any luck, their bullet-proof vests would take the brunt of the initial barrage. With a bit more luck they would be able to take out the enemy before anyone realized the Strikers were wearing vests. Once they'd established a beachhead, the other two men would have go down and help finish the job.
It was the most dangerous kind of operation. But given the amount of time left, it was the only option they had.
Prementine moved cautiously into the mouth of the cave. The flares had died and he knew that he was brightly backlit against the blue sky. But no one shot at him. He was far enough back so that the men in the underground room couldn't see him. He raised his hands to give the order which would put the four Strikers on alert: two fingers on each hand pointed up. The point men acknowledged the order with a low thumbs-up. But before Prementine could point his fingers ahead and send the Men crawling over, he saw movement in the back of the cave.
He made two fists to put the men on hold, then watched as one figure and then another emerged slowly from the darkness. The man in front was a Kurd. He held two large, red plastic containers. The man in behind him held a rifle and a bar with a white handkerchief tied to the end. A lit cigarette hung from his lips. Prementine waited anxiously as they came closer to the light.
"General Rodgers!" he said softly as the bare-chested man came closer to the light. The man with him couldn't be the Turkish officer. Rodgers had the gun barrel pointed to the back of his head.
"He's been tortured," Falah said.
"I see," said Prementine.
"As soon as you can, you should get him out of there," Falah said. "I'll go in to get the other hostage."
Rodgers put the white flag down and raised a fist. He wanted the Strikers to wait. Prementine looked at his watch. The Tomahawk would be arriving in five minutes. They had to notify Op-Center in three minutes in order to have time to abort the detonation. The corporal knew that Colonel August would not make the call unless the area had been taken: If the ROC had been moved to some other site, August would be hard-pressed to explain why he ordered the abort. It was not a valid excuse to say, "To save the team and the hostages." In enemy hands; the ROC could be far more lethal in the long term.
His forehead and collar soaked with sweat, Prementine watched as the Kurd walked through the now-harmless white neo-phosgene. He set the containers down a foot behind the opening and unscrewed the caps. Rodgers stepped up next to him. He motioned for the Kurd to raise his arms. The frightened radio operator did so. Rodgers put the rifle barrel under his chin. Using his bare foot, he gently knocked one container over, then the other. The clear contents spread over the floor and poured into the opening.
Rodgers pulled the Kurd back several paces, then casually dropped the cigarette into the gasoline. He continued to walk back as the room below lit up with a loud whoosh.
A rippling wave of heat poured up the stairs; forcing the Strikers to scurry backwards. Shrieks and flame shot up next, followed by burning bodies rushing wildly, sometimes blindly for the stairs.
"Help them!" Corporal Prementine shouted as he ran into the cave. The A-Team rose and Falah rushed in. Together, they pulled bodies from the steps as they emerged. Prementine dodged flames as he raced around the pit to Rodgers's side.
"Glad to see you, sir," he said, saluting.
"Corporal, Colonel Seden is in the back in one of the prison pits," Rodgers said. "The ROC is back there too, down the eastern fork of the tunnel. There are six or seven Kurds guarding it."
Prementine looked at his watch. "There's a Tomahawk due to impact in less than four minutes," he said. "That gives us two minutes to take the ROC." He turned. "A-Team, this way!" he shouted.
The Strikers stopped what they were doing and ran forward. As Prementine waved them down the eastern fork, he pulled his radio from its belt-strap.
"Colonel August," he said, "we need B-Team here as backup. General Rodgers requires medical assistance and there are a lot of wounded Kurds. We're moving ahead to the ROC. Please open the recall line."
"Acknowledged, Corporal," said August.
Prementine saluted Rodgers again as he started down the tunnel. When he arrived, one of his men was already cuffing the Kurd Rodgers had knocked down. The others had continued to the back of the tunnel. The corridor jogged left and right, then opened into a gorge. While the men hugged the wall behind him, Prementine looked out. The ROC was there, roughly fifty yards away. It was sitting under a ledge and facing them. There were two Kurds crouched on the dry brush close to the ROC on either side. At least two men were inside. It didn't appear as if anyone was using the ROC's electronics. Perhaps they didn't know how.
The Strikers had a little over a minute left to "disinfect" the ROC. It was still possible that the Strikers could step on a mine and the Kurds would be able to simply drive the ROC away. The team had to own the vehicle before they called Op-Center.
It struck Prementine as damned ironic that the ROC was bullet-proof and fire-resistant. The only contingency plan which had been designed to deal with a situation like the ROC falling under enemy influence was to destroy it with a missile. Once again he was faced with a situation in which his men would have to charge armed and fortified opponents. And win in sixty seconds.