Thirty-six hours ago, the issue reached crisis level. A Ukrainian Backfire bomber flying low toward Iraq had been intercepted over Turkish airspace by two American F-16s assigned to NATO. The Backfire had refused to land, and the F-16s had attempted to force it down. The result had stunned the world as the Backfire disintegrated in a nuclear fireball, taking with it the two American jets.
According to the intelligence analysts, the Backfire had been caught while trying to smuggle a nuclear weapon to Saddam Hussein’s regime in exchange for desperately needed cash. When confronted with the possibility of capture, the crew of the Backfire had chosen suicide.
The Ukrainians claimed the aircraft had wandered off course during a routine training mission and an on-board accident caused the explosion.
It was a feeble excuse at best. No one seriously believed that the plane could be that far off course and the experts pointed out that nuclear weapons did not explode by accident.
The incident infuriated Congress. Claiming treachery and deceit, it demanded that the START II treaty be scrapped.
Boomer knew that in the biblical tradition of an eye for an eye, he was here to inflict hurt on those that had harmed the United States. In this case the radical politicians who had sent the Backfire on its fateful mission. Intelligence had placed them in a bus on this road.
Boomer and his team were here to kill them.
Boomer wasn’t exactly sure how his team’s mission was going to affect things, but in a few minutes there would be fewer people opposed to NATO gaining positive control over the nuclear stockpile. Boomer, like most of his comrades in arms, drew no ethical lines when it came to nuclear weapons in the hands of extremists. Using the cold calculations of the professional military man, the potential body count of a rogue nuclear bomb weighed against the lives of the men approaching his kill zone left him with no qualms.
The lead car came around the bend and into sight, closely followed by a bus. Boomer twisted the focus knob on his goggles. The Ukrainian flag flapped from the radio antenna on the right rear of the car. It roared by, rapidly approaching the ambush area. Boomer looked at the bus and blinked.
There was some sort of emblem pasted to the right side of the bus, next to the door. As the bus rumbled by below him, he tried to make it out; he could almost swear it was the globe compass marking of NATO.
The car had entered the kill zone, and the bus was less than thirty meters away from the point of no return. Boomer knew he had less than two seconds to make a decision.
“Abort!” he hissed into his radio. There was no immediate reply.
“Martin, abort! Answer me, goddammit!”
A bright flash split the night sky, followed immediately by the roar of an explosion as a remotely detonated mine went off under the front tire of the lead car. The blast lifted the car twenty feet into the air and tossed the crumpled ‘ machine off the road. A line of fire seared from the area of Martin’s team and slammed into the bus — the warhead of the RPG rocket detonating on impact. Designed to stop tanks and armored personnel carriers, the warhead tore through the thin metal skin and exploded inside, blasting apart flesh and machine with equal ruthlessness.
“Abort!” Boomer yelled helplessly.
Green tracers licked out from the hillside disappearing into the ravaged body of the bus, the crack of the PK machine gun filling the silence left by the explosions. Boomer could see men crawling out the windows of the bus, trying to claw their way to safety.
“Get the chopper here!” Boomer ordered Lanscom. He got to his feet and ran along the hillside toward Martin’s position. He slipped and fell, grabbing onto a sapling to keep from rolling down the hill. As he got to his feet, he could hear the snap of AK-74s adding to the din of the PK machine gun.
Just as Boomer arrived at the kill team’s position, the firing suddenly stopped. In the sudden absence of the sound of killing, the screams of the wounded echoed up the hillside.
The members of Martin’s team were standing, peering down, weapons at the ready, the barrel of the machine gun glowing bright red. Boomer grabbed Martin on the shoulder, and the captain turned, startled, a glazed look in his eye.
“Why didn’t you obey me?”
Martin blinked.
“What?”
“I ordered you to abort, goddammit!”
Martin shrugged and pointed downhill.
“They were in the zone. There was nothing else we could do. It was too late.”
“You didn’t have to fire up the bus,” Boomer retorted.
“What’s the big deal?” Martin asked.
“This was what—” They both froze as an eerie voice floated up the hill, crying out in English: “Oh God, help we!”
“That’s why!” Boomer yelled.
“That was a NATO bus.”
The members of the kill team stared at him. Boomer was looking down the hill, thinking furiously. Flames were flickering out of the engine of the bus. He could make out some movement among the bodies lying around the shattered vehicle. There appeared to be one or two unwounded men down there, dragging the hurt to the shelter of the drainage ditch on the far side. Lanscom and the other man from his headquarters element came running up.
“Chopper’s inbound, sir,” Lanscom informed him.
“Two minutes out.”
Boomer reached out and grabbed the handset for the Satcom radio.
“Thunder Point, this is Mustang. Over.”
“This is Thunder Point. Over.”
Boomer’s voice was harsh as he reported.
“We’ve got a fuck-up here. We hit the target, but it was a friendly.
Looks like a bus full of NATO inspectors. Over.”
Colonel Decker didn’t hesitate.
“Get out of there ASAP.
Over.”
“There’s wounded down there. We need to help them.
Over.”
“Negative, Mustang. Over.”
“Let me talk to my six. Over,” Boomer said, trying to get a hold of his commanding officer.
“Your six is not available. Exfil immediately. You are not to render any assistance. You are not to compromise your presence. That’s an order. Over.”
Boomer held the handset, unable to reply. He felt the gaze of the other, members of his team upon him.
Colonel Decker’s voice took on an edge of anxiety at the lack of reply.
“Mustang, do you hear me? Mustang?
Confirm that you will comply with your orders. Over.”
“Let’s get down there,” Boomer ordered his men, dropping the handset.
“Thunder Point says to exfiltrate,” Martin objected, pointing at the radio.
“And I say let’s get down there and help who we can.
We’ll put the wounded on board the chopper and take them back to Turkey.”
Martin shook his head.
“I’m sorry, sir, but we have to obey orders.”
Boomer stared at his executive officer. The sound of helicopter blades started to override the cries of the wounded.
Martin half lifted his AK-74, 17 a vaguely threatening gesture in Boomer’s direction.
“You’re going to have to shoot me in the back if that’s what you’re thinking,” Boomer snapped. He turned and started downslope. Behind him, Martin lowered the weapon and grabbed the handset for the Satcom radio, rapidly speaking into it.
Boomer was less than twenty feet from the road, when the Hind-D changed its landing pattern, roared up the road, and the 12.7mm Gatling gun in the nose opened fire.