“Try to suppress them. They’re getting the range on the helos. We’ll have to—”
The next mortar exploded fifteen feet from the Bei-jung. The blast rocked the vehicle rock up on its side. Chiu heard the scrape of metal against earth, of glass shattering from the windshield.
The Bei-jung lay still. Dirt and broken glass settled onto the wreck.
It took him a moment to orient himself. He realized he was lying against the right door. Kee was atop him, writhing in pain. From the back, Bass emitted a low moan.
He untangled himself from Kee and pulled out his knife. As he tried to slash the canvas cover of the vehicle, he felt a sharp pain in his right shoulder. His collar bone. He switched hands and finished ripping away the canvas. He helped Kee climb out of the damaged Bei-jung.
Kee’s face was bleeding. He was blinded from the shattered glass of the windshield, and his left arm seemed to be broken.
With his left arm, Chiu pulled Bass out of the Bei-jung. His chest wound was bleeding again. Chiu made another compress with a piece of the slashed canvas and applied it to the wound.
For a moment he gazed around in the darkness, assessing his situation. Things had rapidly gone to hell. The Bei-jung was totaled. The left front tire was blown and steam was gushing from under the hood.
Waves of pain were radiating from his shoulder down through his left arm. Kee was ambulatory, but he couldn’t see well enough make to the helicopters without assistance. Bass would have to be dragged.
He heard more mortars, closer to the two Chinooks. The landing zone was still a hundred meters away.
From inside the vehicle came the crackle of the radio. “Reaper, Reaper, this is Whiskey Two. Come in Reaper. Do you read?”
Chiu retrieved the transceiver. “All teams, this is Reaper. Pull back to Charlie Three.” Charlie Three was the first of the two Chinooks still at Chouzhou. “Launch Charlie Three as soon as you have everyone aboard.”
“Copy that, Reaper. Where are you? Are you boarding Charlie Four?”
“We’re on our way. Be prepared to launch immediately if we don’t make it. If your position becomes threatened, go without delay. Acknowledge?”
“Charlie Three copies.”
“Charlie Four copies, but Reaper, we’ll come to—”
“I just gave you orders! Stand by to launch. Reaper out.” Chiu released the transmit switch and hooked the transceiver to his belt.
“Lieutenant Kee, you will follow me. Keep a hand on my shoulder so you won’t get lost.” He bent over and seized the collar of Bass’s utilities with his good hand. He began to drag him across the ground.
Bass cried out in pain. He shook his head. “You guys won’t make it if you try to drag me along. Go on, Colonel, haul ass for the helicopters. Get out of here.”
“I won’t leave you behind,” said Chiu.
“I’ll be a prisoner. That’s my problem.”
“No, it’s my problem.”
Bass gave him a wary look. “What does that mean?”
“No prisoners.” Chiu unholstered his Beretta. “I have to kill you.” He aimed the pistol at Bass’s forehead. “Is that your choice?”
With wide, unblinking eyes, Bass peered into the muzzle of the pistol. “You’ve got a point, Colonel. Maybe I’ll just come along for the ride.”
“Good decision.” Chiu holstered the pistol and seized Bass’s collar again. He ignored the frequent moans as Bass bumped along on the uneven ground. Kee plodded along behind, hanging on to Chiu’s sleeve.
The mortar shells were landing with greater accuracy. Chiu saw Charlie Two, the second Chinook, kicking up a storm of dirt and blown debris. The big chopper lifted and tilted its nose toward the southeast fence.
From thirty meters away, Chiu saw Charlie Four’s twin rotor blades whopping the air. From the open cargo door, the crew chief saw them coming out of the darkness. He jumped out and came running to help with Bass. The American was unconscious again, limp as a bag of laundry.
Probably dead, thought Chiu. It didn’t change the problem. He still had to take the body. He couldn’t leave evidence that Americans were involved in the raid.
While the crew chief took over the burden of dragging the pilot’s body, Chiu took one last look around.
Then he looked again.
Damn! An armored personnel carrier was roaring across the field, aimed like a leviathan toward the end of the runway.
He grabbed the transceiver off his belt hook. “Whiskey One, Whiskey One, you’ve got a target, zone two, an APC.”
“That’s the opposite side of the field from us, Reaper,” said the Cobra pilot. “Too far away. We’re engaged with the armor column.”
“I don’t care what you’re engaged with. Kill the APC.” Before it kills the Black Star.
“We’ll try, Reaper, but the action is getting very hot at the LZ. The Chinooks need cover.”
Chiu wanted to scream in rage and frustration. After all this! The lost lives, the immense risk, to lose the Black Star now, when they were so close…
Another mortar shell exploded thirty feet behind them, showering them with dirt and fragments.
Then another, closer than the first. A trail of eruptions was walking across the field, tracing a route toward Charlie Four.
Chiu felt the crew chief grab him, spin him around, shove him toward the waiting Chinook. He half-ran, half-stumbled, sensing with each new explosion that it was already too late.
Uh, oh.
Through his NVG, Maxwell stared at the apparition. In the next instant he saw a flash from the APC’s gun turret — and braced himself.
The round hit twenty yards to the left of the taxiing jet. Maxwell could feel the concussion through the airframe of the Black Star.
“How the hell can they see us?” he asked over the intercom. “Didn’t you activate cloaking? I thought this thing was supposed to be zero-viz.”
“The skin cloaking doesn’t work so well on the ground. Too much IR reflection, or some kind of photonic resonance problem.”
Maxwell had no idea what she was talking about. It didn’t matter. All that mattered now was that the gomers in the APC could see them and they were drawing a bead on the Black Star.
The next round hit closer, only ten feet from the left wing tip.
What now? For a fleeting moment it occurred to Maxwell that he could shoot back. If he knew how. By the time they figured out how to activate the Black Star’s own weapons system — the Gatling gun or the internally-stored missiles — it would be over.
The APC was angling across the field, headed for the runway. It was clear what the driver had in mind.
He was going to block the runway.
Another round, this one just behind the right wing. The gunner was getting the range.
“How do I arm the cannon?” Maxwell yelled on the intercom.
“You have to select it on the weapons display.”
“I’ve got four screens. Which one is it?”
“Bottom right. There should be an icon for each armament store.”
Maxwell looked at the display screen. He hated taking his eyes off the apparition out there that was trying to kill them. The screen was covered with icons, all with indecipherable hieroglyphics. Shit! He didn’t see anything that looked like a gun selector.
The APC had almost reached the edge of the runway. Maxwell was out of ideas. They were an easy, slow-moving, non-invisible target. He couldn’t shoot back because he couldn’t arm the damned gun! In ten more seconds they might as well abandon the jet because they wouldn’t have a runway to—