Keith Douglass
Viper Strike
PROLOGUE
General Hsiao Kuoping stooped beneath the still-turning blades of the helicopter as he strode across the tarmac toward the group waiting to receive him. It had rained the night before, and the runway was slick with pools of water on which the helo's prop wash etched churning patterns.
The long flight northeast from Rangoon had only added to Hsiao's anger.
Twenty-four hours before he had been in Bangkok. Travel from the That capital to this remote corner of Burma was dangerous, and the chance of discovery became greater each time he risked travel between the two countries.
Hsiao was not in uniform, but the Burmese honor guard snapped to attention and the officers saluted. One of the three officers present wore the austere uniform of a general of the Chinese People's Army. The other officer, a ponderously fat man, wore the gaudy uniform trappings of a Burmese army general.
With his glasses, short stature, and graying hair, Hsiao Kuoping looked more like a college professor than a military officer, but the attitude of his reception committee was one of deference. Once, he had been director of the foreign service branch of China's intelligence directorate. Theoretically, he still was. Beijing did not yet know that he was now working not for them, but for himself.
Thunder rolled through the sky, and Hsiao looked up. A pair of Chinese fighters, Shenyang J-7s, dropped below the overcast and overflew the field, the tops of their swept-back wings trailing white contrails in the wet, morning air.
"This is indeed an honor," one of the Chinese officers said. A small, waspish man, General Xiang Xu was Hsiao's commander of the PRC forces covertly based in Burma. "We thought you were remaining in Bangkok until the end of the week."
"That was my plan, yes," Hsiao replied, his voice low and dangerous.
Xiang and the Chinese colonel at his side shifted uncomfortably under his stare. The fat Burmese officer, who did not speak Mandarin, just looked confused. "Unfortunately, events seem to have dictated a change of that plan.
What cretin ordered the suspension of flights from Fuhsingchen?"
Xiang swallowed. "I… I gave the order, Comrade General."
Hsiao stared down at the smaller man until Xiang dropped his gaze. "And your reason?"
"We received word here two days ago that an American aircraft carrier battle group was entering the Gulf of Thailand, possibly in support of the Bangkok regime. I thought it would be best if we suspended the flights from Fuhsingchen, rather than risk being detected by the Americans."
"And are the Americans so formidable that everything I have planned, everything I have worked for must be suspended simply because a few of their ships approach the That coast?"
"Sir… comrade… we tried to notify you. But communications between our base here and Bangkok are slow and uncertain."
"I sent the message alerting you to the situation yesterday, General," Colonel Wu Ying added quietly. He gave Xiang a sideways glance. "I thought you should be apprised of the situation."
"Quite right, Colonel." Thunder echoed again as the two fighters approached the airfield once more. Their landing gear were down, their flaps deployed as they settled toward the end of the jungle runway. "I see the transfers have been resumed."
"Only this morning, yes, sir," Wu said. "Eighteen have arrived already, counting those two. Those still at Fuhsingchen should all be here within the next twenty hours. I ordered the flights resumed as soon as your message reached us this morning."
Hsiao watched in silence as the two J-7s touched down and shrieked past the spot where the group stood. Drogue chutes popped from their tails, slowing them.
This operation had been years in the making. It was complex and far-reaching, and the most insignificant of incidents could unravel everything. Xiang's interference could have destroyed the timetable completely.
Hsiao arrived at a decision. "Colonel Wu, place General Xiang under arrest."
Wu stiffened to attention. "Sir!" Two of the soldiers nearby stepped forward, flanking Xiang. One pulled the pistol from the general's holster.
"I protest!" Xiang exploded. "I have friends on the Central Committee!"
Hsiao ignored the man. "Colonel Wu, you are in command here now."
"Comrade General," the colonel said, drawing himself up taller and squaring his shoulders with pride. "You honor me!"
Hsiao knew exactly what thoughts were going through Wu's mind ― recognition, advancement, promotion… It was a shame that so capable an officer was doomed to disappointment. As far as the fighter squadron commander knew, he was here with his command in Burma on the orders of Beijing, part of a covert program sanctioned by the Central Committee.
Colonel Wu would have been shocked to learn that the Chinese aircraft now based at Mong-koi had been diverted from other duties by Hsiao's own intelligence apparatus, that Beijing knew nothing of this operation. The planes were being assembled at Mong-koi using the same arms pipelines that had funneled Chinese arms to revolutionary governments around the world for decades.
But the requisitions and the approvals had been Hsiao's, not the Party's.
Wu would be lucky not to be shot once his part in this affair was known. As for Xiang and his friends in Beijing, he would never have a chance to communicate with them. Their fates, however, did not concern Hsiao, except for the need to keep the colonel's suspicions allayed until after Sheng li was fully under way.
Sheng li. The phrase, Mandarin for victory, sang in Hsiao's brain like the theme of a people's triumphal march. Soon, soon…
"You will maintain the timetable as I have written it," Hsiao told Wu.
"Events in Thailand have reached the point where nothing must interfere with the timing of this operation. Nothing!"
"Understood, Comrade General. And General Xiang?"
Hsiao spared the general a single glance. The man stood between his two guards, half supported by them. His eyes were glassy, and he looked as though he were in shock.
Hsiao had known Xiang was a fool from the beginning. The man's sole virtue lay in the ease with which Hsiao had been able to manipulate him, and the former intelligence officer had needed a high-ranking puppet at Fuhsingchen airbase in south China in order to divert the stolen aircraft.
But he was no longer needed, and his weakness made him a liability now.
"Shoot him," Hsiao said.
"No! I am a loyal general officer of the People's Republic! You cannot do this!" Xiang struggled in the grip of his captors, but he was helpless.
His screams and shouted protests and threats dwindled away as the guards frog-marched him away.
"I insist you tell me what is going on!" the Burmese general said, speaking Burmese. General Nung Kol's round and florid face gave the impression that he was sweltering in the braid-heavy coat with its row upon row of medals.
"Nothing that need concern you, General," Hsiao said, easily slipping into Burmese himself. "A breach in discipline is being corrected."
The sharp crack of a gunshot rang from around the corner of the air operations building punctuating Hsiao's bland statement. Kol's eyes widened at the sound and he licked his fat lips. "I warned General Xiang that the shipments of fighters from China should not be interrupted. I warned him that-"
"Sheng li will continue as planned," Hsiao said quietly, interrupting him.
General Kol cast a brow-furrowed glance toward the sky. As commander of the new military base at Mong-koi, he was continually worried about the Chinese presence here, unsanctioned by his superiors in Rangoon. He, in his way, was as much a traitor to his own people as was Hsiao. "You are certain, General Hsiao, that the Americans cannot detect these aircraft with their satellites? I have heard that they can see in the dark, that they can read newspapers from space-"