Chiu came up behind her. “Well?”
“This is it. Just like I said. The ultraviolet goggles.”
He kept his face impassive. No acknowledgement, no sign of approval. “Get what you need,” he called to the two pilots. We’re leaving.”
He turned to Mai-ling. He was still holding the pistol at his side. “Now we see if you are a patriot or a traitor. Take us to the Black Star.”
She nodded, feeling the confidence ooze from her. Be calm. Your real objective is almost in reach.
She gathered up two sets of the UV goggles and turned to leave. Almost as an afterthought, she reached back in the cabinet and snatched one more.
Stepping into the darkness, Maxwell pulled down his NVG. In the eerie green light of the NVG lens, he saw the four aircraft shelters arranged in a semi-circle around a connecting taxiway. Each of the shelters had a large, folding door at the entrance. Just like the model back at Chingchuankang.
Chiu was signaling for the group to gather around him. He turned to Mai-ling. “Which one contains the Black Star?”
“Number One, the shelter on the far right.”
“You are certain?”
“Unless it has been moved.”
He gave her a withering look. “Or unless you’re leading us into a trap.”
He gestured with his pistol for her to move out toward the shelter.
Maxwell could feel the heightened tension. The commandos advanced in a half-crouch, holding their submachine guns at the ready. Chiu moved like a hunting dog, stopping every several paces, scanning the terrain through his NVG.
When they were still fifty meters from the shelter, a figure emerged from the darkness. Behind him, another dark-clad figure. Each carried an assault rifle.
Sentries. They stood by the corner of the sprawling aircraft shelter, peering into the darkness.
The commandos froze. The sentries weren’t wearing NVG. They hadn’t yet spotted the intruders.
Chiu made a barely discernible gesture with his right hand. The two commandos on his right each fired a half-second burp of automatic fire from their MP-5Ns.
The first sentry toppled backwards. The second spun around and fell. Wounded but still moving, he scuttled like a crab across the concrete for the cover of the shelter. The nearest commando ran to him, finishing him with a short burst before he reached the door.
“Move!” Chiu barked. “Get to the shelter.”
In a fast jog they stormed across the remaining tarmac. Stealth was no longer a consideration. The distinctive sound of the submachine guns had been enough to give their presence away.
As Maxwell sprinted behind the commandos, he heard a chuffing noise behind him. He turned in time to see Mai-ling stumble and roll on the hard surface.
He stopped, ran back to help her. Her cheek was bleeding.
“I’m okay.” The voice seemed tiny and uncharacteristically subdued. He felt her hand shaking as he hauled her to her feet. For an extra second she clung to him, then she continued jogging toward the shelter.
When the first commando was twenty meters from the side entrance, the door abruptly opened. Silhouetted in the doorway was another sentry, his assault rifle mounted to his shoulder.
He fired a quick burst, shooting the lead commando squarely in the chest. The commando tumbled onto the concrete. His SMG skidded across the surface and clattered against the wall of the shelter.
The sentry was swinging his weapon, picking his next target, when the hail of bullets tore into him. The rest of the fire team stormed out of the darkness, leaping over the bodies of the guards and the fallen commando. Kee and his team took positions on either side of the open door.
Maxwell knelt over the body of the commando.
“Leave him,” said Chiu.
“He might still be alive.”
“He’s not. His job is finished and yours hasn’t begun. Stay with me.”
Maxwell hesitated, looking down at the commando’s lifeless face. Chiu was right. The young man’s chest was shredded. He had died instantly.
Maxwell rose and followed Chiu and three of the team inside the shelter.
A single yellow overhead light illuminated the cavernous space. While the commandos swept the shelter for more sentries, Maxwell gazed around in the subdued light.
Chiu’s eyes were blazing like embers. Mai-ling’s face was filled with despair.
The shelter was empty.
Colonel Zhang paused at the top of the boarding ladder. Even through the thick walls of the shelter, he could hear the sounds of automatic fire outside.
They’re looking for the Dong-jin. They haven’t found it yet.
He threw a leg over the cockpit rail and settled himself into the front seat. After he’d stowed his kneeboard and survival equipment, he allowed Chung, the crew chief, to assist him with the straps.
Chung was nervous, fumbling with the fasteners and connectors. He tried several times to connect the oxygen hose and radio jacks before he finally succeeded. “Why have they attacked Chouzhou, Colonel?”
“Because this is a military base and we are at war. Stop talking and hand me my helmet.”
“Are they after the Dong-jin?”
“How do I know what they’re after? Stop this useless talk and do your job. Hand me the helmet and UV goggles, then get Captain Yan strapped in.” He nodded his head toward the back cockpit where Yan, the weapons systems officer, was hurriedly setting up his station.
“Yes, Colonel. I would just like to know if we were in danger from—”
“Shut up! These matters are not your concern.”
Zhang was sure that the sergeant knew exactly why the enemy had come to Chouzhou. Chung had been with the Dong-jin project since its inception. Zhang made it a point never to discuss urgent matters with low-ranking subordinates, particularly ignorant sergeants like Chung. For all he knew, the sergeant had allied himself with the dissidents.
Zhang felt another wave of anger as he thought of the traitors who had betrayed the PLA and allowed the enemy to penetrate their defense network. When this war had been won — which would be in a matter of days — he would launch a purge of the PLA that would rid it once and forever of traitors.
It had been a close thing, getting to the shelter and into the cockpit of the Dong-jin. He had nearly run head-on into a unit of enemy commandos out there on the tarmac. Only at the last second did he see them. The bastards were wearing NVG — an item of equipment the idiot base commander at Chouzhou probably never thought to issue his own troops.
Zhang had swerved the Bei-jung—the Chinese-built, jeep-like utility vehicle — wildly off the taxiway, nearly rolling it over as he escaped the squad of black-suited commandos. One had fired several rounds into the Bei-jung, shattering glass and narrowly missing Zhang’s head.
Now it was imperative that they get the Dong-jins airborne, not just to escape the invaders at Chouzhou, but to accomplish their mission over the Taiwan Strait. Victory was within their grasp. Taiwan was about to be defeated and absorbed into the PRC.
In quiet moments, he liked to visualize the glorious moment. Col. Zhang Yu would be recognized as China’s greatest modern hero. He would be awarded the military’s highest medal, presented by the President of the People’s Republic himself. He would be promoted to the rank of senior general. His portrait would hang in the Hall of Heroes beside those of Mao and—
The voice of the weapons systems officer, Captain Yan, crackled over the intercom. “Systems initialized and target coordinates inserted. Byte check complete.”
Zhang’s thoughts returned to the cockpit. “Very well. Begin your pre-start check list.”