The truck parked in the hardened shelter nearest the med station, and Clark ran for the command post. Pontowski was waiting for her. “How many left?”
She ran the numbers from memory. “We got two hundred thirty-seven to go. Twelve pilots, seventy-eight maintenance, a hundred and twenty-two cops, nine medics, and seventeen support — that includes the two controllers in the tower, two in the command post, and two in intelligence. The rest are augmenting the cops.”
“We got ten Hogs good to go for one more sortie, so that leaves two extra pilots.”
“When are you going to launch them?” she asked.
“At first light.” Pontowski glanced at the master clock. It was 2206 hours. “In about eight hours, if SEAC has still got any kind of defensive line left.”
Clark pulled on her headset to listen to the security police net. “All quadrants except the north are taking sporadic small-arms fire,” she reported. “Rockne is reinforcing the perimeter.” She moved to the base defense map and circled each defensive fighting position as it reported in. “The minefield is keeping the north clear, and he’s only manning two DFPs on the northern side.” She circled the two defensive fire positions, one on each side of the runway. When the last team checked in, she counted each position and wrote a big “56” on the board.
“Jess,” Cindy whispered. “Someone’s out there.”
Jessica stood up and looked through the night-vision sight fitted to Cindy’s M-16. “I don’t see anything.” She turned the objective-focus ring, sharpening up the image. Still nothing. Then she turned off the reticule brightness. The sight was good out to four hundred meters, and still nothing appeared. She sensed movement at the extreme edge of the sight’s amplification. “I got it,” she said. The image became more distinct. “Someone’s moving along the ground.” She watched for a moment. “He’s clearing mines.”
“Can we get a flare?” Cindy asked.
Jessica handed the M-16 back and called the BDOC. Rockne answered. “You still got my dog?” he asked, fully aware everyone on the net was listening.
“That’s affirmative,” Jessica replied.
“Good. Feed her Cindy if she gets hungry.”
Jessica snorted, but it did help break the building tension. “Very funny. Any chance of getting a flare over the minefield?”
Paul answered. “We got a tube. A sixty-millimeter, courtesy of the long-departed MA.” An enterprising security cop with a touch of larceny had found sixteen mortars abandoned by the Malaysian Army and had distributed them over the base.
“I hope you clowns know how to use it,” Rockne said.
“On the way,” Paul said. A dull whomp echoed out of the trees, and a single round arced over the base. It popped over the minefield, and a bright flare drifted down.
“Look at that,” Cindy whispered. At least twenty men were on the far side of the minefield working their way across. She squeezed off a shot. “Keep the flares coming,” she said. Jessica asked for another flare as Cindy fired again. “I got one.” She fired again. Jessica stood up and fired with her. Across the minefield a soldier stood up and ran for cover.
“Let him go,” Jessica ordered. They watched as the rest of the men followed his example and bolted for safety. A cloud of dirt and smoke mushroomed up, catching the red glow of the flares. The dull report of a mine exploding rumbled across their DFP. “Well,” Jessica said, her voice shaking, “that’s one way to clear a minefield.”
The radio net came alive. “Tanks!”
It was drizzling when the team leaders joined Kamigami and Sun under the camouflaged shelter. Four hours of rest had performed a minor miracle for most, but Sun was still showing the effects of the forced march. As always, Kamigami carefully evaluated each man, looking for any telltale sign that could turn into a major problem once the action started. After talking to Sun for a few moments, he was certain the colonel could hack it. He turned over a chart to reveal a sketch of the area. “We’re here,” he said, pointing to their position. He ticked the base camp four miles away. “Approximately two to three hundred enemy are between us and our objective.” He circled the three tunnel entrances near the base camp. “We know the PLA has dug a major complex under the ridgeline. Exactly how big, we don’t know. How many missiles are left, we don’t know.” He looked around the small group. “So what does all this tell you?”
“We don’t know very much about our objective,” Lieutenant Lee answered, “which is a recipe for disaster.”
“Exactly,” Kamigami said. “So we’re not going to destroy the tunnels.” Stunned looks answered him. “We’re going to close them up and turn them into tombs.”
“What about the troops in the base camp?” Sun asked.
“First we have to convince them they want to be in the tunnels,” Kamigami answered. He fingered the gold whistle around his neck. “Once that happens, we blow the entrances.” His face hardened. “Once we’ve secured the area, we’ll find the ventilation shafts and seal them.”
Rockne keyed his radio and tried for the third time to raise Whiskey Sector’s command post on the opposite side of the runway. “Whiskey Ops, this is BDOC. How copy?” Again there was no answer. “Damn,” he muttered. More reports streamed in as he tried to make sense out of what was happening. Since each team manning a defensive fire position had a unique call sign based on its sector and number in line, a definite pattern started to emerge. At least three tanks supported by troops were maneuvering on the eastern perimeter. But where were they going? “Whiskey Zero-Five,” he radioed, “do you have tanks in sight?”
Paul answered. “Whiskey Zero-Five has three tanks with troops at four hundred meters.”
“Are they moving?” Rockne asked.
“Negative,” Paul replied.
Rockne radioed the next DFP in line. “Whiskey Zero-Six, do you have tanks in sight?”
“That’s affirm,” a shaky voice answered. “No movement.”
Back to the problem of Whiskey’s command post. “Whiskey Ops, how copy?” No answer. Rockne thought for a moment. Who could check it out the quickest with the least risk? He hit the transmit button. “Zulu Zero-Two, proceed to Whiskey Ops bunker and find out what the hell is going on.”
Jessica answered. “Zulu Zero-Two is on the way.”
Paul was back on the radio, his voice urgent. “Those fuckers are coming straight at us!” Rockne heard the rattle of a SAW over the open frequency.
“Paul!” Rockne shouted, ignoring all radio discipline. “Get the hell outa there!” But there was no answer. “Whiskey Zero-Six,” Rockne said, radioing the DFP next to Paul and Jake. “Are you engaged?” Again there was no answer. More reports flooded in as the entire eastern perimeter was taking fire. He made a decision. “Whiskey Sector,” he radioed, “DFPs Whiskey Zero-One through Whiskey One-Five fall back to secondary positions. Acknowledge.” He checked off the DFPs as they checked in. All but Zero-Five and Zero-Six were accounted for. If he read the situation right, the enemy was coming through a very narrow funnel directly into the weapons storage area. A very bad mistake. He called the command post. “Colonel Clark, we got a major attack forming on the eastern perimeter. Three tanks with troops. We’re falling back.”
“I’m coming to you,” Clark answered.
The two women hugged the tree line that paralleled the runway as they ran. Boyca loped along beside Jessica, apparently enjoying the exercise after the long confinement in the DFP. Off to their left the rattle of a heavy machine gun momentarily drove them to cover. Then they were up and running again. The sharp retort of cannon fire split the air, followed by a loud bang. The cannon stopped firing. Encouraged, they ran faster. When they reached the runway intersection at midfield, they slowed and turned down the dirt road that led toward the weapons storage area. Ahead of them, they saw the outline of the bunker. As expected, it was dark. “What do you think?” Cindy asked.