Another explosion rocked the building.
“Those bombs are getting closer,” John said, worried. He handed the altimeter to Murphy, who got to work connecting it and setting the detonator to go off at a hundred and sixty thousand feet.
Once that was done, the three men pushed the rack the warhead was resting on over to the Humvee and loaded it in using the winch.
“I won’t arm it until the last minute,” Murphy said. They’d be out in the open with a nuclear warhead while Chinese fighters were busy dropping bombs on their heads.
The pungent smell of cordite was thick in the air outside as they struggled to move the heavy warhead toward the Humvee’s rear door.
Nearby a pile of aircraft wreckage burned on the ground near the Y-12 salvage yard.
“Looks like they got them,” John said as the air-raid sirens stopped.
Reese smiled. “Lady Luck is smiling on us, I can feel it.”
“Don’t jinx it,” John shot back.
The three of them finished loading the warhead, hopped into the vehicle and headed for Jerry and his balloons.
They’d turned a corner onto the runway when three enormous translucent spheres came into view.
As they arrived, John could see that even Jerry looked hopeful. John sprang out. “Are we ready to launch?” he asked.
“Almost,” Jerry said, wiping sweat from his brow. “Only one more balloon to go.”
The soldiers with him also looked anxious. Just then the radio on Lambert’s belt went off.
“Private Lambert, this is Colonel Porter. I need you and Fuller back at headquarters right away.” The strain in Porter’s voice was obvious even to John, who’d only just met the man.
“Yes, sir,” Lambert replied. “On the double.”
“What’s going on?” John asked. “Is the train about to leave?”
“No clue, sir.”
John held out his hand. “Let me have your radio a moment.”
“Sir?”
“Your radio, give it to me.”
The soldier did as he was told.
“Colonel Porter, this is John…”
“Colonel Mack,” Porter shot back, “I suggest you and your friends finish what you came here to do because we’ve got a whole Chinese division heading your way.”
John’s pulse quickened. “The defensive perimeter’s been breached?”
“Breached? It’s been annihilated. We’re pushing out of here in ten minutes. I suggest you do the same.”
“What about our air cover?”
“I’ll hold on as long as I can, but I’m not interested in leaving any of my men behind.”
John tried not to let the others see the worry on his face.
Then came the thunder of more jets streaking in from the west and John’s concern wasn’t only for the mission. He was beginning to wonder if they’d make it out of here alive.
Chapter 7
The air-raid sirens began blaring again as John and Murphy helped Jerry fill the final weather balloon.
“Reese,” John called out. “Find Billy Ray and tell him to get the Cessna ready.”
“With those things flying around?”
Almost in response, AA fire erupted from the roofs of the nearby buildings.
“Just do it.”
Hopping into the Humvee, Reese sped away, heading for the airplane hangar where Billy Ray had sheltered the Cessna.
The balloons were attached to wire cables that were in turn connected to a stainless-steel ring jutting up from the ground. This was the same place from which Jerry had launched countless balloons in the past, although John was sure he’d never sent this kind of payload aloft.
A giant explosion nearly knocked them off their feet as the Uranium Processing Facility went up in a massive fireball.
“Once we get this warhead attached,” John told Murphy, “I suggest you make a beeline for that train.” Bristling with anti-aircraft defenses, the locomotive was the scientist’s best chance of escape.
Murphy didn’t argue.
“All right, let’s finish this.”
The three men seated the warhead into the cradle and secured the cables to each of the shackles. The procedure was similar to the way a Chinook helicopter used a towing cable to move vehicles and heavy artillery.
“How much longer on that balloon?” John shouted. Already in the distance was the sound of Chinese tanks engaging Porter’s forces on the complex’s perimeter.
“Almost there,” Jerry replied.
John knelt beside the warhead. “All right, let’s arm this thing.”
Murphy nodded and went ahead. The sound of battle nearby was growing louder. Just then Reese appeared.
“Billy Ray and the Cessna should be here any minute.”
John tried to control his breathing. This was when they were at their most vulnerable.
“I think it’s time you catch that train,” he told Murphy, whose red hair and pale skin were smeared with streaks of grease and dirt.
Murphy held out a hand and John shook it. “Good luck.”
John nodded. “Give General Dempsey our best.”
The scientist got into the Humvee and sped away right as the final balloon was completed.
“I hope you boys said your prayers this morning,” John told them, his hand on the release.
Reese grinned while Jerry stood stiffly, sweating like a hog, his lips slightly parted as he glared at John’s index finger.
“Here goes nothing.” John released the clasp. A clang rang out as it let loose and the balloons jerked into the air, lifting the warhead beneath it. All three men watched it rise, heading for the thick cloud cover. Once there, it would be safe from the enemy fighters circling around.
The AA guns continued to spray streaks of fire into the sky. Beneath that came another sound, one they’d become all too familiar with. Billy Ray’s Cessna. The plane emerged from behind a row of buildings, pushing toward the runway. Reese was still watching the balloon rise when an artillery shell struck a nearby water tower. Three hundred yards away, the silhouettes of enemy troops appeared. Soon rounds were impacting all around them.
“That’s our cue,” John said, gathering Jerry and Reese together and ushering them toward the Cessna. He grabbed Jerry’s arm to pull him forward right as the man’s legs gave out. More bullets dinged off the storage shed as they hit the ground. With chaos all around him, John struggled to assess whether Jerry had been hit. Then John found a small hole in his shirt and an exit wound in his back the size of a child’s fist. It had severed his spine, killing him instantly. Jerry’s eyes were still open and John closed them.
Reese looked over.
“He’s dead.” John scanned over to where the fire had come from and found at least a platoon-size group heading their way. “Buy us some time,” John told Reese.
“That’s the most sensible thing you’ve said all day,” Reese quipped, swinging his Barrett around and flipping up the lens covers.
He dropped to the ground, estimating the enemy’s range at around three hundred yards. With a few careful clicks he adjusted his scope and set to work.
The first shot hit the target’s shoulder and took his arm off. He made another tweak, adjusting for wind speed, found his next target, steadied his breath and squeezed. The rifle cracked and jerked back as a Chinese soldier three hundred meters out was struck an inch below his throat.
“Most folks think snipers go for headshots, but most of the time that isn’t necessary. Especially when you’re firing a .50 cal round. Personally, I aim for the sternum.” He fired twice more, killing both targets. “The real problem with a Barrett no one likes to talk about is that it kicks up a ton of dust. Risks giving away your position.” An enemy poked his head around the edge of the groundwater treatment facility. “I see you, little buddy,” Reese said, sending a round in his face. “That was a headshot, but see, I didn’t have a choice.”