There was absolutely nothing on the radar – not even a hint or a shadow.
Artillery? Was the Mexican Army making a move at last? Chiapas was relatively quiet, so maybe they thought now was the time to make a move.
Yet someone would have warned them. True, Quintana was dead, but they still had plenty of informants in place. Someone would have told them if the Mexicans were planning anything. Anyway, could the Mexicans have penetrated the plateau in strength without being detected?
Impossible.
The bunker rocked again and then again. The lights flickered and went off. Seconds later, emergency power cut in and then the reserve generator started up and full light was restored.
"Bombing, Commander. Heavy bombing," said Jin Endo, one of the few remaining Yaibo members still left alive. The few others were unfortunately not of the first rank. But, despite his youth, Jin Endo was special. He was intelligent, he was quick, and he had proved himself. Above all, he was loyal. Jin Endo would be useful.
Colonel Carranza had been General Barragan's second in command. His loyalty was based on nothing more than the stark reality that he had no place to go.
He would fight if it came to that. But this was Mexico. The Americans might conceivably bomb Tecuno if requested by the Mexican government, but they would never send in ground troops. Vietnam, Lebanon, Somalia, and the U.S. media had seen to that. Casualties were not politically acceptable.
"She's right," said Carranza grimly. "Those are bombs, and no radar warning means Stealth fighters – which means the Americans."
"Activate the monitors," said Oshima.
The command bunker exercised its command-and-control function through a network of deeply buried landlines and video monitors. The most important link was to the supergun valley. Oshima could fire the weapon from the command bunker. It was a simple matter of inserting two keys and flicking a small switch. Quintana used to be the primary key holder, but he no longer featured in the firing solution. Both keys were now around Oshima's neck.
The bank of a dozen monitors came on stream. They were on permanently during daylight hours, but in darkness they were activated only as needed to preserve the batteries on their night-vision equipment. The terrorist troops did not have night-vision devices except in key points, but a limited number of the long-lens monitor cameras were equipped with them.
As Oshima watched, one of the heavily fortified perimeter positions erupted in a massive yellow and pink blast. She could see bodies and weapon parts sail skyward and rain down. Blast followed blast with such frequency that one shock ran into another and the vibrations of the bunker on its hydraulic mounts were continuous. With each explosion, the destruction mounted.
"Do a perimeter scan," said Oshima.
The monitors followed a preset pattern. Portion after portion of the external perimeter was illuminated, but she could see nothing. If there was going to be an external attack, there would be some sign at this stage, even if it was only incoming artillery fire.
"Bring up the Devil's Footprint," said Oshima, "and let me speak to the supergun commander."
The link with the Devil's Footprint was by fiber-optic cable, with multiple redundancy built in. The images came up immediately.
As she looked, Oshima felt a surge of exhilaration. The supergun valley was not being attacked. Somehow, she suspected, the American must know what she had and they were afraid to act directly against the weapon in case they set it off. They were strong, incredibly strong, but they were vulnerable.
"Commander, look," said Carranza. "Look at the radar."
The screens had been blank. Now, suddenly, the radar silhouettes of dozens of approaching aircraft could be seen. The speeds were slow. These were not fighter bombers. These were transport planes. Even for transports they were flying slowly.
"Paratroops," breathed Carranza. "Incredible! Lightly armed paratroops. What a target! We'll slaughter them in the air and we'll slaughter them on the ground. When they jump, their air cover will have to cease and then we'll get them. Thank God for General Barragan's foresight."
Most of Madoa airfield's eighty-nine fixed weapons positions had been either destroyed or badly damaged. However, that was of limited significance. The positions were lightly manned and were primarily decoys.
The real defenses were buried. They included a heavily armored mechanized force and a hand surface-to-air held missile unit. The SAMs had been trained to regard their main enemy as the helicopter, but lumbering C130s traveling at much the same speed would be an even easier target.
"Shall I give the order, Commander?" said Carranza to Oshima.
Oshima waited until the lead aircraft were within visual range and showing up on the monitors. Carranza had been right. The bombing had virtually stopped. Another few seconds.
Suddenly she could see black dots falling from the aircraft and then parachutes opening.
"Now!" she said.
Carranza spoke into his microphone. From bunkers and tunnels all over the airfield, aircraft-killing teams erupted and took up position in prepared fighting holes.
Twenty thousand feet up, an air force C141 command-and-control aircraft circled and monitored the unfolding battle below.
Inside the spacious cargo bay of the aircraft, slide-in communications modules housed a combined services team. Data was being fed in from AWACS and JSTARS aircraft and from a host of other sources, including Special Forces A-teams that were monitoring a chain of lookout posts around the perimeter.
The closest monitoring was being carried out by a Delta unit who were actually inside the terrorist base. They HAHOed into the center of Madoa Air Base under cover of the opening assault fires and were now concealed on the roof of the main hangar and in the control tower.
They had assailed the control tower expecting it to be fully manned, but in fact it was empty. The occupants had had little to do since most of their air assets were destroyed in the microlight raid, and as soon as the first bombs had dropped they had headed for a bunker. Delta had the control tower to themselves.
It commanded a perfect view of the terrorist air base, and even with its windows blown in by the blasts of the initial bombing, it was an ideal observation point.
Delta troopers concealed on the hangar roof four hundred meters away regarded their colleagues in the tower with some envy. They did not know much about the bird life on the Tecuno plateau, but whatever was there had seemed to produce copiously and to regard the roof as its dumping ground.
The soldiers were lying in years of accumulated bird shit. It made the going hazardous and the smell vile. It might have been funny, except that the second man to land on the roof had slipped on the mess and broken his neck. Lifeless, he had been unable to stop himself and his body had slid over the edge to have several feet below the parapet. He had been hauled back by his parachute harness without being seen and now lay in a gully temporarily out of sight and mind.
Colonel Dave Palmer, the 82 ^ nd 's divisional executive officer, was the senior military man in the C141, and he regarded the unfolding developments with a blend of concern, fascination, and frustration. If military logic had had anything to do with it, the Commanding General would have been in the command-and-control aircraft. It was the location with the best position from which to direct the battle.
However, there were some situations where immediate military logic did not come into it and overall unit pride was considered more important. In the 82 ^ nd officers led from the front, and that meant the General Mike Gannon jumped at the head of his troops.