"Corporal!"
Prementine turned as Colonel August arrived with Privates David George and Jason Scott.
"Yes, sir!" Prementine responded.
"Step aside," August said as the men set down and quickly assembled what they were carrying, their partially dismantled NQ-double B mortar.
"Yes, sir," Prementine said. "But Colonel, that may not—"
"Stow it, Corporal," August said. "I've debriefed Mr. Katzen. He didn't tell the hijackers anything about the ROC's exterior capabilites."
"Understood," said Prementine.
"Grey, Newmeyer," August said, "setup a cross fire on the ROC. If they fire, fire back. But make sure you don't hit the van or you'll blow our bluff."
"Yes, sir," both men replied as they went to opposite sides of the cave. They stayed just within the shadows. One of the Kurds fired a short burst at Private Newmeyer, who returned fire. No one was hit.
When Privates George and Scott were finished, August took a deep breath. He looked at the two men. "We have to allow the enemy to see us," he said. "I'll draw first fire, you follow."
The men acknowledged the order. August drew his Beretta from its holster and stepped from the dark at the side of the cavern. He moved quickly toward the cave mouth followed by the men.
Prementine looked at his watch. They had thirty seconds to place the call to Herbert. Radio operator Ishi Honda crouched beside him.
"Are you ready, Private?" the Corporal asked nervously.
"I've got Mr. Herbert on the line," he said, "and Mr. Herbert's got the White House on another line. I've briefed him. He knows our situation."
Prementine raised his submachine gun, ready to support the team. But his mind was on the missile and what its warhead would do to all of them if it detonated.
Bullets chewed into the cave floor as August came into view. He aimed at the ROC, fired, and kept walking. Prementine and Musicant also shot at the gunmen, and the Kurds were forced back. Privates George and Scott quickly set up the mortar. George aimed it at the van.
Colonel August holstered his Beretta. He faced the van and held up his ten fingers so the men in the window could see.
"Ten!" he shouted, and folded a thumb in. "Nine!" he shouted, and dropped his pinky. "Eight seven six five four"
When he brought down the thumb of the other hand, that was obviously enough for the Kurds. The men on the side of the van scattered into the gorge. The two men who were inside the ROC ran for the passenger's side door. They jumped out and joined their comrades.
"Grey, Newmeyer, cover us!" August shouted. "Striker, advance!" he cried as he led the charge to the van.
Prementine remained behind with Honda. There were ten seconds left on the corporal's watch. Someone fired at August from a hillside. Grey shot back at the gunman and August kept running. He reached the door of the ROC and swung inside, followed by Privates Musicant, Scott, and George.
Prementine's heart drummed as he looked at his watch. There were five seconds left.
August leaned out the door. "It's ours!" he cried.
"Do it!" Prementine said to Honda.
"This is Striker B-Team!" Honda said into the phone. "The ROC is ours! Repeat! The ROC is ours!"
FIFTY-EIGHT
Bob Herbert actually had two lines open to the White House, just in case one of them went down. Martha Mackall's desk phone and also the cellular phone on his wheelchair were both connected to the office of the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. Herbert was using the cell phone while Martha listened in on the other line. They were alone now, the night crew having left and the rest of the day team focusing on tensions which were still at a peak in the Middle East.
"Striker has retaken the ROC," Herbert told General Ken Vanzandt. "Request immediate Tomahawk abort."
"Acknowledged and hold," said Vanzandt.
Herbert listened as what he called the "ball and chain of command" made its way from the people at the site, through the military bureaucracy, back to the site again. He would never understand why the soldiers on the scene, the people whose lives were at risk, couldn't simply radio the HARDPLACE abort order to the missile. Or at least to Commander Breen on the USS Pittsburgh.
By this time, Vanzandt should have passed the word to his Naval liaison. With any luck, he would call the submarine directly. And promptly. The missile was due to strike in just over two minutes, and there was no window for error or delay. The time it would take a member of this relay team to sneeze could bring the Tomahawk an eighth of a mile closer to its target.
"This is madness," Herbert grumbled.
"This is a necessary checks-and-balances," Martha said.
"Please, Martha," Herbert said. "I'm tired and I'm scared for our people there. Don't talk to me like I'm a goddamned intern."
"Don't act like one," Martha replied.
Herbert listened to the silence on the other end of the phone. It was only slightly more frustrating than Martha.
General Vanzandt came back on. "Bob, Commander Breen has the order and is passing it to his weapons officer."
"That's another fifteen-second delay—"
"Look, we're moving this as fast as we can."
"I know," Herbert said. "I know." He looked at his watch. "It'll take them at least another fifteen seconds to transmit. Longer if they're—shit!"
"What?" said Vanzandt.
"They can't use a satellite to relay the abort code," Herbert said. "The ROC has a window of interference that's going to screw up the download from the satellite."
Vanzandt echoed Herbert's oath. He got back on the phone to the submarine.
Herbert listened as the general spoke to Captain Breen. He wanted to wheel himself into a closet and hang himself. How could he have forgotten to mention that? How?
Vanzandt came back on. "They realized the satellite wasn't responding and switched to direct radio transmission."
"That cost us some time," Herbert said through his teeth. "The missile's due to impact in one minute."
"There's still a bit of a window in there," said Vanzandt.
"Not much of one," Herbert said. "What'd they pack in that Tomahawk?"
"The standard thousand-pound high-explosive warhead," said Vanzandt.
"That'll take out ground zero plus a fifth of a mile in every direction," Herbert said.
"Hopefully, we can pull the plug well before then," said Vanzandt. "And if we do, then just the missile blows. Not the warhead. The team should be okay."
Herbert felt a jolt. "That's not true. What if the missile blows in the cave?"
"Why would it?" Martha asked. "Why would the missile even go into the cave?"
"Because the new generation of missile operates via LOS," Herbert said. He was thinking aloud, trying to figure out if he was right. "In the absence of geographical data, the Tomahawk identifies its target through a singular combination of visual, audio, satellite, and electronic data. The missile probably won't have visual contact because the ROC is behind a mountain, and the satellite's been shut down. But it will pick up electronic activity — probably through the cave, which is the most direct path. And the missile will go after it along that route. Sensors in the nose will warn it to stay away from everything which isn't the ROC, such as the sides of the cave."
"But not people," Martha said.
"The people are too small to notice," Herbert said. "Anyway, it isn't the impact I'm worried about. It's the abort itself. Even if the order is transmitted in time, it'll come when the missile is already inside the cave. Everything in the cave will be caught in the explosion."
There was a short silence. Herbert looked at his watch. He grabbed the phone to Ishi Honda.