"Sir, we've planned as best we can for those contingencies. Ultimately, one man with the explosives could destroy this target. With twelve of us, we have a lot of redundancy built in. If someone drowns or is killed, we bury them and drive on. If someone is missing we have several alternate assembly points, as already briefed, and if push comes to shove, the pickup zone is our 'go-to-shit' rally point. Pardon the expression, sir, but if the shit does hit the fan, that's where everyone will head to regroup and reconsider options."
For another hour, Hossey and Hooker bombarded the team with questions, what-iffing every stage of the operation. Finally Hossey turned to Sergeant Major Hooker. "Any questions for the team, Sergeant Major?"
Hooker indicated negatively. "Looks good to me."
Hossey stood up. "I'll be sending a summary of the briefback to the SFOB. We should get their reaction in a few hours."
Mitchell nodded. Maybe then they'd find out if this was real or if they would have to start planning for an offset mission. He glanced toward the back of the room where their rucksacks and weapons were stacked. Regardless of how this turned out, the presence of live ammunition and explosives, combined with the Combat Talon parked outside and the high-level intelligence they were receiving, had certainly made this the most realistic isolation in which he had ever participated.
7
"All warfare is based on deception."
Meng stared in amazement at the scene on the television screen. A single man, dressed in a white shirt, walked into the street with his right hand raised. He stood slightly taller than the sloping front of the tank, eye level with the invisible driver seated in its bowels in front of the turret.
The man placed his body in front of the first armored beast in the long column and signaled for it to halt. Amazingly it did, the treads of the lead tank clattering to a halt just a few feet in front of him. The man was yelling something at the tank, but whatever it was, the words were lost in the shouts of students from the sidewalks and the sound of gunfire that still crackled through the air.
The tank moved again, angling to the right, attempting to go around the man. He sidestepped to his left. The tank pivoted left. The man went right. The tank gunned its engine. The man stood fast. Tanks that were bottled up behind the first one gunned their engines, spewing diesel exhaust into the street. Then the man bounded onto the lead tank and leaned over the hatch, yelling at the crew inside.
The man stood on top of the tank for a little while, then climbed down. Two other men ran out into the street, their arms raised as if to say, Don't shoot. They grabbed the man and hustled him off the street. The armored snake crept forward again toward the center of Beijing.
Meng felt his heart torn. Pride at the man's actions was overwhelmed by shame at his own position, safe in America. He had never seen a more brave gesture than the one he had just watched. If an ordinary man could risk everything like that, why couldn't he do the same?
Seeing his dead son had caused him to reevaluate his^osition. He had always tried to justify his life in the United States with a belief that he was aiding a country that one day would help the people of China achieve freedom. He now knew that that was a shallow and misdirected concept.
The news shifted to a report that the American president was resisting suggestions of stronger sanctions against the Chinese government. The president apparently didn't want a total break in relations. Meng knew that that was the wrong course. The Old Men would see it as weakness. The Americans had to take a stronger stand or more would die. The news also reported rumored clashes between units of the Chinese Army.
The Old Men were doing it again. He rubbed his forehead, feeling an itch from the scar that was much deeper psychologically than physically. An idea had been plaguing Meng for the last twenty-four hours. Now he knew what he must do. He turned from the TV to the computer terminal behind his desk. His decision had been triggered by emotion, but Meng was an intelligent man. He would act on his decision with all his knowledge and expertise. After twenty-three years, it was time.
Riley and Mitchell had spent the day drilling the team on every aspect of the plan, running through their SOPs, practicing actions at the objective, simulating the placement of the charges on the cables. The lurking feeling that this was just an exercise was fading — this was the real thing and that somber fact was sinking in.
"Thinking about what's going to happen?" Jim Trapp sat down on Riley's ruck in front of him in the darkened hangar where the Talon awaited them.
"Yeah. How'd you know?"
"I was thinking about it, too. You had that faraway look. Remember, I've been there before. Of course, we don't know that this is real.
You've got to admit they've supported us pretty well so far, though. Enough to make you believe it's real. I think we can do it."
Trapp surveyed the team in various stages of sleeping and equipment preparation. "They're good soldiers," Trapp said. "Other than my second team in Vietnam, this is the best team I've ever been associated with. I appreciate your asking for me. Of course if this goes tits up, I'm gonna deny I ever said that."
Riley looked around. "Yeah, they are good. Exfiltration is the one part that really worries me. It's always been the weak link. You and I both know what happens when you don't leave yourself any slack with helicopters."
Trapp nodded in agreement. "For what it's worth I'm not happy about the chopper thing, either. Not much we can do about it. We've got to depend on the SFOB to a certain extent. They've got their hands on the aircraft and communications, which means they control our lives."
Trapp stood up and stretched. He looked at his friend and tapped him on the shoulder. "Hey, get some sleep, OK? We all should be thinking with clear heads when we hit the ground tonight. Murphy's going to be waiting on the drop zone, and who knows what he's thought up. We've done all we could do in the time we had. I'll tell you one thing I learned a long time ago: Always stick with the plan. Believe in the plan." Trapp gave Riley a thumbs-up as he walked off toward his gear.
Riley tried to nap but couldn't. Thoughts kept flitting through his head — live border missions early in his career in Thailand, various training missions to other countries. Soldiering was a profession— a way of life. A soldier didn't just get up in the morning and punch the time clock in at eight and out at five. A soldier's life was funny, Riley thought to himself. In other professions people wanted to do what they had been trained to do. A soldier spent years training to do something he hoped and prayed he'd never have to do. At least Riley did. He knew others, like Trapp, who liked going on live missions. They felt that it was the only time they really came alive. They enjoyed living on the edge.
Riley started running the operation through his mind from start to finish, trying to find something he hadn't thought of. Something they'd missed in their planning. He could imagine a thousand ways this mission could get messed up and a thousand ways he could end up dying. Too much imagination was dangerous. "I think too damn much," Riley muttered to himself.
Meng had not slept. He'd been too busy modifying the Dragon and Sim-13 programs. He was finally done. With a perverse sense of pride, he knew that it was his greatest creation yet. He pressed the send key. It was started.