Never enough airborne fuel!
“Condor, from Broadsword lead,” Annie transmitted. “We need gas down here. Get Mother to send another Texaco and two alert fighters to relieve on station.” Annie was aware of preps for a large night strike, but with a downed airman and active SAR effort, the strike could wait. Annie needed their jets.
Annie finished scribbling on her kneeboard and took action.
“Lumber three-six and three-seven, sorry, not enough fuel. You guys RTB. Jelly four-four flight, I want you at max endurance and wait for the en route Texaco. Whisk one-four, you stay with us and take 2K with me on one-zero-five. Macho, you take 4K on four-zero-one.”
With this plan, Annie would get three jets, and the Jelly suppression element, back in the fight some 15–20 minutes later. They would then relieve the aircraft holding on scene near the survivor so they could find another tanker in order to do one of two things: tank to relieve them or RTB. With no guarantees, they all had to hope that the helo was airborne and en route. After Annie coordinated the tanker rendezvous 75 miles away, she moved everyone over to the briefed CSAR frequency.
“Flintlock, Lumber two-zero. You up?”
“Affirm, Lumber. Just departed the lily pad, en route.”
“Roger. Whisk one-two is down. I’m the on-scene commander. We have good comms with him, approx fifteen miles off the beach.” Using base number code, Annie relayed a rough lat/long coordinate to the Sierra crew to enter into their navigation computer.
“Lumber lead from Flintlock, expect base-time minus twenty.” By referencing the briefed base-time, Annie determined they were fifty minutes away from the datum. Annie rogered him, and asked Condor to give the ship a status report. She needed to concentrate on finding 105 and taking on 4,000 pounds of fuel, enough for almost an hour of “playtime” at max endurance.
As she searched for Raider 105 ahead of her, Annie could relax a bit. Two tankers and the CSAR helo were en route. Everyone knew their roles, and the ship was informed. She could join on a tanker and take fuel in her sleep. Once complete, in some 20 minutes, things were going to get intense again. At a safe altitude, she flicked off a mask bayonet fitting and took in several lungfuls of air in an effort to relax.
Annie found 105 on the horizon, locked it with her radar, and turned to intercept.
You can do this, she thought.
CHAPTER 71
Monique screamed in terror as the bullet shattered the glass next to Wilson.
There was someone in the woods, he thought as he fell to the wooden floor and eyed his .45 pistol. Father Dan crouched low and looked at Wilson, now the de facto leader in Father Dan’s cabin. Outside, they heard a man shouting in Spanish — one man.
“Father, slide the pistol to me,” Wilson said. Father Dan remained frozen, but acquiesced when Wilson nodded that he meant it.
Wilson took the pistol and dropped the clip out. Four rounds left. He popped it back in and chambered a round.
The man outside continued to shout. “Ven afuera! Ahora!” Monique was beside herself in fear, curled up in a ball on the floor.
“Father, I need—we need—your help! That man is going to kill us.”
Father Dan was unsure about what to do. He had never dreamed he would be in such as situation: asked to kill, self-defense or not. He considered his options. Wilson was almost pleading with him to help. The morality of it all pulled at him. Monique whimpered on the floor with her hands around her ears. She needed protection, but how was he to offer it? Pray? Go out and confront the man as he had with the first? Pull the trigger on a handgun?
“Father!” Wilson growled. “Is there any opening where you can see behind the cabin?”
The priest nodded, and crawled, his elderly body showing its age, to the log bin by the fireplace. For the first time, Wilson noticed it had a door. Father Dan opened an inside door and then, inch by inch, an outside door from which he could see the tree line behind the cabin in a 30–40 degree cone. Better than nothing, thought Wilson.
“Can’t see anything or anyone out there, Jim.”
“Good,” Wilson said at the same moment the man outside changed his tactic.
“El hombre Americano! No kill! Dame el Americano… solamente. Padre, you okay! Santa Maria digo la verdad. Truth.”
Wilson could understand the man’s pidgin English enough to know what he meant. Hand over Wilson, and he would let Father Dan go, invoking Saint Mary that he was speaking the truth. Wilson considered it. He was the cause of their danger. Father Dan smiled at Wilson and shook his head. “Don’t worry, Jim.”
Wilson eased up to the windowsill and peeked over it. Nothing. He was exhausted, and his injuries made it difficult to move, much less move well.
“Father, I need your eyes,” he whispered and motioned to the windows.
Father Dan crawled to the side window and raised himself up to peer over it, then lowered himself back down. He shook his head. Nothing.
The man fired, and, with a crack, the slug buried itself in the board above the door. Ahora, he shouted, and Monique’s whimpering increased in pitch.
Wilson then heard other voices in the distance. The man outside answered them in Spanish. Dammit!
A peek over the windowsill revealed two men darting among the trees.
Sonofabitch, Wilson thought. Three men could surround the cabin. Set it on fire and smoke them out. With his injuries, Father’s advanced age, and Monique’s emotional paralysis, an escape was out of the question.
Outside, the sun was lowering. Where are the damn embassy guys? Wilson fretted. No matter. He would have to hold out as long as possible. And he did have two pistols and, if he could only motivate them, two additional sets of eyes. Monique appeared to be a basket case, and he didn’t think he could trust her to report what she saw with accuracy, even if she could peer out a window. Maybe she could move furniture.
“Monique,” Wilson called out in a low tone. “Move the table to the window. Put some cushions on top of it.” Monique looked at him in confusion. “Now!” Wilson barked at her in an effort to snap her out of her stupor.
Staying low, she pushed the table to the window under Wilson’s direction and crawled to retrieve cushions from a couch and easy chair. With Father Dan’s help, she made a soft spot where Wilson could lie prone and shoot through the space where the window pane had been blown away by the bullet. They added a small stool and stacks of books to give Wilson added cover and helped him up on the table. From this position Wilson had a 30-degree line of fire. Father would have to be his eyes elsewhere in the cabin.
Wilson had nine rounds left in the .45, another ten in an extra clip, and four in the other pistol. Twenty-three total rounds. He knew he would have to expend some to keep them honest out there and slow their movements. He waited, motionless, looking at the trees down the sight of the pistol. Father and Monique stayed low, watching him watch the trees.