“I hear our ride,” Captain Noble commented, as the chopper’s roar grew louder.
“Thank God,” one of the SEALs said.
“Get ready to move out, baby!” said another.
“Rock and roll!” Zack said in the dark. And by the time Diane planted a flirtatious pat on the middle of his back, as if to remind him that he was not really a Navy SEAL but a Navy JAG, the black silhouettes of the two choppers were upon them, hovering perhaps a hundred yards down the ridge over a relatively flat surface on the slope.
“Night goggles on. Move out, men,” Captain Noble ordered. In an instant, the entire wave of SEALs was on its feet and instinctively rushing down the slope toward the roaring Seahawks.
“Come on, Diane.” Zack took her by the elbow. Peering through the eerie greenish glow thrown off by her night goggles, she rose to her feet, crouched, and ran in single file between Zack and Captain Noble toward the warm air blast of the helicopters.
Residence of General Perkasa
Indonesia
2:45 a.m.
The general was pacing back and forth behind his desk, arms crossed, with a look of satisfaction on his face. “How much longer does Mack Williams have?” he asked.
“Just a few more minutes,” Colonel Croon said. “We have already initiated our operation in San Francisco, just in case Williams does not cooperate.”
“What precisely does it mean that we have initiated our operation?”
“The driver has left his hotel and is driving toward the Golden Gate Bridge.”
“Ahh,” Perkasa said smugly. “Captain Taplus, pour me another drink.”
“Yes, General,” Hassan said, trying to project a cheery spirit. Deep down, however, Hassan fumed. Too much repartee was taking place between the general and the colonel in the midst of a crucial operation, while he, the glorious architect and executor of Gag Island, one of the most significant events in Indonesian history, was relegated to staff bartender.
Hassan mixed the whiskey and handed it to the general. The general took it without so much as a thank you, and took a swig.
One of the secure telephones rang. Air Force Chief of Staff blinked on the caller ID. A chance to become involved again. Hassan grabbed it quickly. “General Perkasa’s office. Captain Taplus.”
“This is the chief of staff. I need to speak with the general.”
“He is detained at the moment. I will be happy to pass on any message to him.”
“Tell the general that we have US Navy jets swarming all over Jakarta!”
“Stand by, please.” Good. He was back in the game. “Excuse me, General. It is the air force chief of staff. He says American navy jets are over our skies here in Jakarta.”
Perkasa slammed his glass down. “Well, tell the general that I am already aware of the US Navy jets in our airspace. His orders are to get his planes in the air and shoot them down.”
“Yes, General,” Hassan said. “General, your orders from General Perkasa are to get our jets airborne and shoot down the Americans. Is that clear?”
“Tell General Perkasa that my commanders are reluctant to engage the Americans because we have no way of overriding their jamming.”
“Are you sure you want me to tell him that?”
“Tell him!”
“Excuse me, General,” Taplus said. “The chief of staff wishes to inform you that our pilots are reluctant to challenge the American navy.”
“What?” Perkasa screamed. “Give me the phone, Hassan.” He ripped the receiver from Taplus’ hand. “This is General Perkasa! On my orders, any pilot who refuses to fly will be shot! Is that clear?…I thought so!” Perkasa slammed the phone down. “That should take care of that.” He looked at Hassan.
“Taplus.”
“How can I help, General? Would you like for me to personally drive over to Jakarta Air Base to oversee the nation’s air defense?”
“Perhaps later. For now, I want you to arrange for another broadcast.” The general picked up his whiskey and downed the rest of it. “The Americans have upped the stakes.”
“Yes, sir.”
Jakarta Air Base
2:48 a.m.
General Megawati Wahid, the chief of staff of the Indonesian Air Force, slammed the phone down. Perhaps this coup had not been such a great idea. War with America was imminent now, it appeared, and the general was in no mood to sacrifice every plane in his air force to the superior US Navy air wing from the carrier Reagan.
But Perkasa had issued his order. And Perkasa already had been powerful enough to take out the president and the vice president, and to launch a nuclear attack against America.
Wahid wrung his hands. He had no choice. At least not for now.
He picked up the microphone to speak to the two F-16 jets sitting on the runway in takeoff position.
“Falcon Leader. Jakarta Tower.”
“Falcon Leader.”
“This is General Wahid. Your orders are to take off and engage the American jets.”
“But, General…”
“This is an order from Perkasa himself. He has said that any pilot not flying will be shot.”
“Yes, General.”
“Falcon Leader and Falcon 2, you are clear for takeoff on Runways 1 and 3. Stay low and be safe.”
“Jakarta Tower. Falcon Leader. Roger that.”
“Jakarta Tower. Falcon 2. Roger that.”
Wahid put down the microphone and picked up a pair of binoculars. He aimed over to the far right of the twin runways, where two of his F-16s that he had commanded into the skies were still sitting. Through the binoculars, he could make out their silhouettes and could clearly see their running lights. One started rolling, and then the other.
They whizzed down the runway from right to left, a parallel tandem, and as they lifted into the sky, fire from the back of their twin rocket engines was clearly visible in the binoculars.
They had been airborne less than twenty seconds when chaos boomed over the air traffic control frequency. “Jakarta Control, Falcon Leader! I’ve got a bogie up my rear!”
“Jakarta Control, Falcon 2! I’ve got one too!”
General Wahid rushed to the microphone and grabbed it back from the air traffic controller and barked instructions. “Falcon Leader! Falcon 2! Split! Split!”
“Jakarta Tower! Falcon Leader! Missile in the air! On my tail! Closing fast!”
“Falcon 2! I’ve got one too!”
“Falcon Leader! Falcon 2!” Wahid yelled. “Fire chaff! Evasive maneuvers!”
A bright fireball lit the skies.
“He’s hit!” came over the radio from one of the planes.
A second fireball nearly turned night to day.
“Falcon Leader, Falcon 2! Come in. Come in! Falcon Leader. I say again. Falcon Leader, talk to me. That’s an order!”
Nothing.
Wahid was breathing heavily. He set the microphone down, still panting as the fireballs broke into long strings of light reaching downward, now looking like a pair of bright octopuses on the horizon.
“General.” He heard the voice of his aide but did not respond. “General,” the voice spoke again.
“What is it, Colonel?”
“Sir, we have two more F-16s in takeoff position. What are your orders, sir?”
Nothing. There was nothing he could say.
“Sir, shall the tower clear them for takeoff?”
His heart still pounding, Wahid exhaled again. “Tell them to stand down. I will not sacrifice our young men and our air force in an impossible situation.”
“But what shall we say if General Perkasa calls again?”
Wahid looked at his aide. “Tell him if he wants to shoot anybody, he can shoot me.”
The White House
3:59 p.m.
We’re running out of time, gentlemen,” Mack Williams said, checking his watch again, as he paced across the Oval Office. “Secretary Lewis?” He looked at the secretary for homeland security, who had just arrived back in Washington from a meeting in Portland. “We found those U-Hauls yet?”
“Still working on it, Mr. President.”
“We’ve got about twenty minutes max before San Francisco blows.” He checked his watch again. “Find those U-Hauls.”