“That’s too long! They’ll be gone by then!”
The voice on the other end of the secure link drew in a breath. “Then what the hell do you want me to do? Wendover’s out in the middle of nowhere.”
McGriffin spoke quickly. “Get a squadron of F-16’s out here from Hill. It’s not over half an hour away. They could stop the helicopters from airlifting the nukes out of Alpha Base.”
It sounded like an argument was taking place on the other end. Muffled voices came over the airways. The link cleared up and the voice sounded strained. “Major McGriffin, if I’m going to relay this without proper verification, I’m going to need some sort of proof you’re who you say you are. We’ve alerted STRATCOM and the NEST team for you—”
“I gave you my serial number. What the hell else do you want? All you have to do is check with any outfit that monitors Alpha Base.”
“And I told you we’re checking that out. Now convince me.”
McGriffin slumped back in his seat. The super Jolly Green Giant’s blades made a sound that dug into his gut. Below him flames and smoke still broiled up from Alpha Base. Wasn’t there anything he could do? He started to retort when it hit him.
A Colorado cuckoo — of course, the guy’s a grad! After all these years, graduating from the Blue Bastille finally helped him out. He clicked the mike excitedly. “You said something a minute ago: speed out.”
The voice came back cautiously. “Maybe I did. What about it?”
“What squadron were you in?”
Silence. Then, “Three.”
“Before or after it became professional?”
“What the hell are you doing—” The voice stopped, then came back slowly. “I see. All right, McGriffin. What was Three’s nickname and why did they change it?”
“It was ‘Thirsty Third,’ but the Comm decided drinking was unprofessional and changed it to ‘Cerberus Three.’“
A full minute passed. “You’ve just about convinced me, McGriffin. But that was something someone could have dug up by doing their homework. Give me one more thing that even a touri wouldn’t know.”
McGriffin racked his brains. There had to be something that he would have done, or said, or read, as a cadet that no one outside the Wing would know … especially touri, or tourists, as the cadets called them.
Finally he remembered something from his Doolie year, but it was dated. And completely distasteful.
He clicked his mike. “Uh, I do have something, but it’s pretty sexist.”
The voice sighed. “If things are as bad as you say, do you really think I’m going to be worried about being politically correct?”
Turning red, McGriffin drew in a breath and started singing:
McGriffin held his breath, embarrassed.
Manny looked at him with wide eyes.
A new voice came over the secure link. “Major McGriffin, this is the Hill Air Force Base command post. I understand you have a little problem. What can we do for you?”
Chapter 18
Vikki pressed herself against the side of the bunker. Renault scrambled up to the top, kicking dirt down the side in tiny rivulets. Vikki slowed her breathing. It seemed as though her gasps could be heard all over Alpha Base.
Gunfire cackled in the distance. High-pitched “pops” punctuated the air as mortars found their targets. The cool night air seemed hot now, after the incursion down into the heart of Alpha Base. Vikki fought to regain her composure. Crouching, Renault signaled for her to join him. Balancing her rifle, she toed her way up the dirt berm. She grasped a bush and pulled herself up. When she reached the top, Renault cautioned her to keep low. She edged over on her stomach.
Renault pointed to a group of men mulling over a radio. “The big black guy in the middle — the one with insignia on his collar. He’s an officer.”
“What rank?”
“Can’t tell from here.” Renault scooted backward. Vikki followed, and when they were hidden from sight, Renault whispered, “We’ve forced them to splinter into small groups. This guy just might be the one who can get us access to the nukes. Wait here while I coordinate this.”
Vikki only nodded. As he moved backward, Renault’s face reflected the fires that dotted Alpha Base. Only twenty minutes ago they were overwhelmingly outnumbered. But Renault’s surgical removal of the barracks, command post, and security post had turned the odds in their favor. Who’d have thought that Renault’s fifty men would have the Air Force on the run? she thought.
Renault insisted that she and Harding split up, arguing that they had too little experience in tactical movement and they’d only hurt each other if they went together.
Renault scooted back up to her. “Here’s the plan, Ms. Osborrn. I want you to move to the side, and when I signal, roll off the bunker and start shooting. Don’t roll to the front — you’ll be our diversion while two other teams jump them. So keep to the side, away from us — got it?”
Vikki nodded and grasped her rifle.
“All right.” He slapped her on the shoulder. “We’re waiting for your shots — get moving.”
As she crawled along the top of the bunker to the side, Renault flashed hand signals. When she reached the edge, Renault pointed at her and mouthed “Now.”
Vikki took two quick breaths, brought the rifle over her head, and started rolling. She let off a succession of rounds.
Shots peppered the bunker, ricocheting off the thick steel door and zinging into the dirt. Vikki kept her finger on the trigger. She held her breath, the world spinning crazily around, dirt grinding into her face.
Someone screamed. A grenade went off over her head — then the shooting stopped.
She pushed up from the ground. Rounding the bunker’s corner, she saw Renault and six of his men standing over a group of security policemen. She trotted toward the group. Renault looked up as she approached. He held his rifle to the officer’s head but spoke to her. “Good work.”
He turned back to the officer. “One more time. How do we get into the bunkers?”
The man slowly shook his head back and forth. “Fellows, Curtis L., First Lieutenant, United States Air Force. Serial number 765-2—”
Renault toed Fellows. “Cut the act, Lieutenant. We both know we’re not at war, and you’re not a POW — the Geneva conventions don’t apply here. That’s why you’re going to tell us how to get into these bunkers. So what is it — do you cooperate or not?”
Fellows wet his lips. Lifting his head, he heaved out, “Fellows, Curtis L., First Lieutenant—”
A burst of shots sent everyone sprawling. Renault knocked Vikki down. He rolled over on top of Fellows, keeping the husky lieutenant pinned to the ground. A crash, then an explosion ejected material over the group. Smoke boiled over the adjoining bunker.
Renault sprang to his feet. “Cover the area—” He stopped and brought his rifle up as a figure stumbled into the area.
“Dr. Harding! What are you doing here?” Renault let his rifle hang. Vikki picked herself up and turned to cover the lieutenant.