Ralph Peters (70 page)

A new sound rose in the background. Singing. An Asian scale as foreign to Noburu's ears as it would have been to Kloete's. At first there were only a few voices. Then more took up the chant. Soon the volume overpowered the last gunfire, echoing off walls and rolling through the streets until the returning sound skewed the rhythm, as if several distinct groups were singing at the same time.

"
Bleeding concert,
"
the remaining NCO commented. His voice sounded distinctly on edge.

Kloete nodded to himself.
"
Lot of them out there,
"
he said. He smoked and talked without once removing the cigarette from his lips.
"
Something to be said for numbers, from a military point of view.
"

"
You are under no obligation to stay,
"
Noburu said in his best staff college English.
"
This is now Japan's fight. You may summon one of your transports to remove your men.
"
Noburu looked at the oversize colonel sprawled just beyond his knees.
"
And yourself.
"

Kloete laughed. It was a big laugh and it rang out clearly against the background of chanting.

"
That's very generous of you, General Noburu. Extremely generous. But we'll be hanging about for now.
"
Nearby, the other South African chuckled wearily. But Noburu did not get the joke.

"
As you wish,
"
he said.
"
You are welcome to stay and fight. But I am releasing you from the provisions of your contract, given the changed cir—
"

"
Oh, just stuff it,
"
Kloete said.
"
I'd be out of here like a gazelle, if I could. But your little wog friends took over the military airstrip while you were getting your beauty sleep. Baku's a closed city.
"
Kloete looked up with the wet porcelain eyes of an animal.
"
Pity the lads at the airstrip, I do. Crowd doesn't seem in the most humanitarian of moods.
"

Two figures emerged from the sheltered passageway that led to the elevator and stairwell. One was large and loose-limbed even under the weight of boxes and canisters, while the other was small and exact, cradling an autorifle. Sergeant Terrebork, Kloete's ammunition hauler. And Akiro.

The South African dropped the ammo boxes one after the other.

"
Bleeding last of it, sir,
"
he told Kloete. Then he turned his nose to the wind, toward the chanting. In profile, he had the look of a dog who had scented game of unwelcome dimensions.
"
Gives you the willies, don't it?
"
he said.

A burst of fire made him duck to the level where the rest of them knelt or sat.

"
Sir,
"
Akiro said. Despite the fact that he was whispering, he managed to give the syllable its regulation harsh intonation. Then he began to speak in rapid Japanese, attempting to exclude the South Africans.
"
We have unforeseen problems.
"

Noburu almost laughed out loud. It seemed to him that

Akiro had acquired a marvelous new talent for understatement.

"
Yes,
"
Noburu said, forcing himself to maintain a serious demeanor.
"
Go on, Akiro.
"

"
We do not have sufficient small-arms ammunition. No one imagined . . . there seemed to be no reason to provide for such a contingency.
"

"
No,
"
Noburu agreed.
"
No reason at all. Go on.
"

"
Should they continue to assault the headquarters . . . Colonel Takahara is not certain how much longer we will be able to return an adequate volume of fire. Another assault. Perhaps two at the most.
"
Akiro rolled his head like a horse shaking off rainwater.
"
I still cannot believe,
"
he said,
"
that the Americans could be so clever, that they could so efficiently manipulate our allies.
"

Noburu almost corrected the young man again. But he realized it was hopeless. When they were all dead, there would be an Akiro school of historians who would insist that only American subterfuge and dollars could have inspired all this. Noburu knew better. But his people were an island race in more than just a physical sense. Perhaps their worst insularity lay in their lost ability to comprehend the power of irrational faith.

"
You may tell Colonel Takahara to reduce the size of the perimeter. We will defend only the headquarters complex itself and the communications pen. Abandon the outbuildings,
"
Noburu said.
"
And make sure the soldiers are, as a minimum, in groups of twos. Frightened men waste more bullets.
"

Noburu had expected his aide to fly off with alacrity. But the younger man paused.

"
There's more?
"
Noburu asked sadly.

"
Sir.
We have been unable to report our situation to Tokyo. Or to anyone. Something ... is wrong. None of the communications means works. Except for the main computer link, which will not accept plain voice text. We're working to format an appropriate automated message, but . . . everything was so unforeseen.
"

What were the Americans up to now? Noburu shuddered. Perhaps
he
was the fool, the one who had been
living in a dreamworld. Perhaps Akiro had been right all along, perhaps this insurrection
was
American-sponsored. No. He still could not believe it.

Then what was wrong with the communications? Even at the height of yesterday's attack by the Americans, the high-end communications links had continued to function flawlessly. The only communications problems had been within or immediately adjacent to the combat zone. What was happening?

"
Akiro? What does Colonel Takahara think? Is it possible that our communications have been sabotaged?
"
Akiro shrugged. He knew how to operate command consoles. But he was not a signals officer, and he personally had no conception of what might be occurring.
"
Colonel Takahara says it is jamming.
"

Jamming? Then by whom? It had to be the Americans. Only they possessed strategic jammers.
Yet...
the Americans had not employed their strategic systems in the combat of the day before, and the omission had baffled Noburu. The situation made little sense to him.

Were the Americans attacking again? Despite the employment of the Scramblers?

"
Akiro. Listen. Tell Colonel Takahara to transfer all automated control of military operations to the rear command post in Teheran. That can be done easily enough through the computer. But it must be done quickly, in case the enemy has found a way to jam our automation feeds, as well. Just tell Colonel Takahara to transfer control. He knows what has to be done.
"

"
Is he to shut our computer down?
"
Akiro asked.

"
No
. No, absolutely not. The transfer of control is strictly temporary. The rear will control the battle until we get the local situation under control. But our computer will remain in full readiness. I want to be able to resume control the instant the jamming lifts and we . . . discourage this demonstration.
"

But he did not believe. It was all a matter of form, of the prescribed gesture. He had lost his faith. The shadow men beyond the wall had stolen the last of it and turned it to their own ends. In an instant's vision, the dark, chanting men covered the earth.

"
Sir.
Colonel Takahara says that the jamming is of such power that many of our communications sets have burned out.
"

"
It doesn't matter. I can fight the entire battle through the computer, if need be.
"
Noburu caught an external glimpse of himself, as if his soul had briefly left his body. How far removed he was from his ancestors who had led the way with wands of steel.

The huge background of chanting continued. His ancestors, he knew, would have understood that sound. The dream warrior understood it.

A few stray rounds pecked at the facade of the building, and Noburu just managed to hear a soft exchange between the South Africans.

"
What's junior on about, sir?
"
the ammunition carrier asked Kloete.

Kloete snorted as though his sinuses had been ruptured.
"
He's telling the old man we can't talk to anybody. And that we're out of bloody bullets.
"

Akiro lifted off his haunches to go.

"
Akiro?
"

The younger man turned obediently.

Noburu held out the aide's forgotten rifle.

"
Sir,
"
Akiro said. Noburu could feel his aide blushing through the dark.

"
And, Akiro. Above all, Colonel Takahara is to safeguard the computer.
"

"
Sir.
"

Noburu watched the younger man's back as Akiro scooted across the helipad. Yes. The computer. There were some things about it that even Takahara did not know. Aspects of the machine's capabilities that were known only to full generals and a handful of technicians back in Tokyo. The main military computer system, Noburu considered, resembled a wealthy man's beautiful wife—possessed of a secret that could destroy the man whose bed she shared.

Suddenly the chanting stopped. The silence was painful. Dizzying. Then Noburu registered the aural detritus of the attack—the unmistakable sound of badly wounded men who had not had the good fortune to lose consciousness.

An enormous howl erupted from the world beyond the wall. The chanting was over—this was simply a huge, wordless wail. It was the biggest sound Noburu had ever heard.

"
Here they come,
"
Kloete screamed.

A section of the perimeter wall disappeared in fire and dust. The blast wave tipped Noburu backward with the force of a typhoon wind.

"
Fire into the smoke
,
fire into the smoke
."

A smaller blast shook the floor beneath them. Grenade launcher, Noburu realized. Either they had stolen it, or rebel regulars had joined the mob's ranks.

The first shrieking figures left the pall of smoke. Someone inside the compound ignited a crossfire of headlamps and spotlights to help the machine gunners, and more flares lit the sky. But the flares were perceptibly fewer this time, and most of the light was provided by the section of the city that had begun to bum in the background.

Waves of dark figures swarmed through the gate and rushed through the broken wall. The volume of defending fire seemed to hush under the weight of the storm, overcome by the screaming energy of the mob. More banners trailed, falling and then rising again, as the attackers clambered over the ridges of the dead.

Kloete raised himself so that he could angle the machine gun into the oncoming tide.

The South African NCO to Noburu's side crumpled and stretched himself back across the helipad. In falling, his fingertips just grazed Noburu's cheek, drawing the general's attention after them. The South African lay with his face shot away, lower jaw tom nearly all the way off. He somehow continued to give off moans that were almost words.

Kloete wheeled about, eyes demonic. He took one close, hard look at his subordinate, unceremoniously drew his pistol, and shot the man where once the bridge of his nose must have been. The NCO twitched and then lay still.

The South African colonel met Noburu's eyes and evidently mistook what he saw there for disapproval.

"
It's that kind of situation,
"
Kloete said.

Noburu nodded, then automatically took up the dead man's rifle and leaned over the ledge. As he took aim, he
saw the first hint of individual features on the darting shadows. They were very close. The war was coming to him.

Noburu opened fire. The kick of the weapon was instantly familiar, even after decades of wielding only a ceremonial pistol. He aimed carefully, remaining in the singleshot mode, trying to buy value for each round spent.

The Azeris fell in waves. But each next wave splashed closer.

A ripple of close-in blasts caught the forwardmost attackers. Noburu felt a blow on the side of his head. But, whatever it was, it was of no consequence. He remained upright, sentient, firing.