Ralph Peters (73 page)

The wind blew from the south, but it was cold. Racing down from the high Iranian desert, then chilling itself as it skimmed over the Caspian Sea, the wind struck land with a force that narrowed the eyes. The M-l00s were so well
stabilized
that you did not get a proper sense of the intensity of the gusts when you were inside. But here, where the dead, colorless grass stretched from horizon to horizon, there was nothing to interfere with the wind's progress. It was a worthless, defenseless place, no matter which way you pointed yourself.

Taylor looked at his watch, then looked at the sky.

Nothing.

The afternoon continued to wither.

He could not bear the thought that it might end like this. After all the years of longing for a chance to strike back at the enemy who always lurked behind his country's enemies. After the fighting and the losses, the frantic planning and the experience of seeing a president backed against the wall, it was unbearable to think that it would all simply sputter out in a wasteland, for want of fuel.

He knew this would be the end, and he could not understand why none of the others seemed to grasp it. A failure now, on this day, in this place, would settle the order of the world for a generation. Or longer. His country would withdraw into its tattered hemisphere, and the Japanese would get what they had wanted for so long.

He tried to keep his personal prejudices out of the equation. But it was very hard. He
blamed
the Japanese. He could not help it. He wanted more than anything else in the world to face them one last time with a weapon in his hand.

He took off his helmet, and the wind pried at his matted hair. He thought of Daisy and smiled bitterly. He could not believe he had been so foolish as to imagine that there was anything real there. No woman, no matter her tarnish, was about to bind her life to his. No, he was good for one thing and one thing only: soldiering. The rest of it was an idle dream.

Surely, it could not end here. When they had come so close. He scanned the empty sky.

A voice feinted at his ear before the wind carried it off. He turned. Merry Meredith was coming toward him. Behind the intelligence officer, the M-100 merely looked like a natural blemish on the landscape. The automatic camouflage system had unfolded its fans, and the sensors read the tones of the earth, coloring the upper plates to match. The system was effective in every environment except snow. The plates could not go white and had to compromise on a mottled gray. But here, where the withered steppe remained naked to the wind, the camouflage worked magically. An enemy would have needed to know exactly where to look to find him and his men.

All this. The technology and the trying. The magic. And the sacrifice. Surely, it could not just end like this.

Meredith closed the distance. His skin was taut with cold, but his eyes had the old fire.

"
Sir?
"
Meredith asked.

"
What's up, Merry?
"

"
I've got an idea. Maybe you won't like it. But it's all I can come up with.
"

"
About what?
"

"
The mission. There's a way we can still do it. Without the extra fuel.
"

"
How?
"

"
Well, given that we don't have enough fuel to hit Baku and make it back to secure Soviet territory
...
"

"
Given,
"
Taylor agreed.

"
Okay. Then where else could we go? After we hit Baku?
"

Taylor looked questioningly at the younger man. Meredith's expression was that of an excited boy.

"
What about Turkey?
"
the S-2 asked.
"
Okay, we don't
have the legs to get back. So we just keep going. I've calculated the distance. We can just barely make it. Head
west
out of Baku, right across Armenia, and put down inside the Turkish border. Turkey's remained neutral— the fundamentalist movement's an old nightmare there— and the Turks will obey international law. We'll have to scuttle the ships as soon as we set down. But at least we can accomplish the mission. They'll intern us until the end of hostilities—but so what? We'll at least get to strike a blow instead of going home with our tails between our legs
...
"

It was beautiful. And so simple. Taylor realized he would never have thought of it himself. He was too old, too well-conditioned. You had to bring your unit back to friendly lines. No matter what. Yet, history was full of examples of forces that had been thrust by circumstances onto neutral territory. The procedures were regulated by international codes.

And if he and his men missed the rest of the war? Well, if they didn't do it, there wouldn't be any war left to fight.

Taylor stared off to the south, imagining the sea rolling just beyond the horizon and the rest of the world beyond the sea.

"
The State Department's going to hate it,
"
Taylor said softly, as if a credentialed ambassador might be within earshot. But he was smiling.
"
What the hell. I've always wanted to see Turkey.
"

He held out his hand to the younger man.

Suddenly, a massive explosion colored the near horizon. The blast wave did not take long to reach them. Hot, rushing air pushed the southern wind aside. The noise, despite the distance of several kilometers, was deafening. The impact had been to the north, exactly where the Soviet fuelers had been designated to link up with the M-l00s.

A second blast quickly followed the first.

"
Ambush,
"
Taylor shouted.
"
It's a fucking ambush. The Russians sold us out.
"

The two men ran for the M-100.

Ryder had been standing just outside the rear ramp of the aircraft, relieving himself. As Taylor and Meredith ran toward him, the young man stood dumbfounded, watching
the inferno
spread
across the rear horizon,
penis in hand
as though he intended to use it to put
the
fire
out.

"
Mount up, mount up
,"
Taylor shouted, waving
the hel
met he still held in his hand.

Flapper Krebs had been quicker to grasp the
situation
than any of them. The M-l00's engines were
already whin
ing to life.

"
Merry
,"
Taylor yelled,
"
get on the hor
n. Get everybody up in the air.
"

The large camouflage fans began to withdraw into the M-l00's fuselage.

Taylor shoved Ryder up into the control compartment behind Meredith. He threw his helmet down on the floor, counting heads as he hustled toward the front of
the
aircraft. Behind him, Parker was already drawing up the ramp.

Taylor glanced furiously at Kozlov, whose face was utterly blank. He almost drew his pistol and shot the Russian on the spot. But he did not have the time to waste.

Taylor shoved the Soviet out of the way and ducked through the hatch that led toward the cockpit.

He jumped into his seat, grabbing his headset as he moved. He gave Krebs a thumb's up.

"
Let's go.
"

The M-100 began to lift into the sky.

Across the horizon two big bursts colored the steppe bright orange, yellow, red. A border of black smoke began to expand above the fires. In quick succession, half a dozen more blasts erupted. Each one came closer to the ship as it struggled to gain altitude.

"
Fucking Russians,
"
Taylor growled into his headset.
"
Fucking goddamned Russians. They fucking set us up.
"

"
Foxtrot one-four. Airborne. Over,
"
the first of the other M-l00s reported in. Then another ship called in, the voice of its pilot reflecting how badly shaken everyone had been by the surprise attack.

A ripple of explosions chased the M-100 into the sky.

"
Rockets,
"
the copilot reported drily.
"
Standoff, air-launched, looks like. Compact conventional explosives and fuel-airs. Couldn't have had too good a fix on us. We'd never have got off the ground.
"

The
goddamned
Russians, Taylor thought. They
had
never
had
the least intention of sending out refuelers. Instead, they had
tipped
off the Japanese or the Iranians as to the designated site. But for what? A better deal at the
peace talks? For what?

Taylor
thought
of Kozlov and his mind whitened with anger.

"
We've got
a
bird down.
"
Parker's voice. Through the intercom.

"
All stations, report in sequence,
"
Taylor ordered.

"
Bird down
."

"
It's
One-five,
"
another
crew reported.
"
He's gone. Fireball.
"

Underneath
the
ship, a cushion
of explosions buoyed
them upward,
rocking
the
cabin. Taylor had to clutch the
sides of his seat.

"
Altitude,
"
he shouted, jamming his safety harness
buckles together.

"
I'm giving it all she's got,
"
Krebs shouted back.

Merry's voice came through the intercom, struggling to remain calm.
"
Verify the loss of One-five. Too slow getting off the ground.
She
disappeared in the flames.
"

"
All stations,
"
Taylor barked into the mike,
"
report, goddamnit.
"

The other M-l00s reported in sequence. Only One-five was missing. Everyone else was above the carpet of fire now.

"
Merry,
"
Taylor ordered,
"
start working on the new exfiltration route. Forget everything else. Hank,
"
he called to the assistant S-3,
"
let's get back on the flight path. We're heading for Baku.
"

Krebs looked over at Taylor in doubt.

"
Don't worry, Rapper. We've got a new plan.
"

The warrant officer shook his head.

Behind them, powerful explosions chased their tails with shock waves, bucking the speeding aircraft.

"
Hank,
"
Taylor called.
"
Try to call up some imagery of the spot where One-five went down. See if there's anything left.
"

"
Roger.
"

Suddenly, the gray sky parted. Ahead of them a scudding green-gray sea stretched toward distant shores. The sight seemed to promise safety.

"
You know,
"
Taylor mused bitterly to Krebs,
"
their system must be in godawful shape. We must've really hurt them yesterday. By all rights, they should've gotten us back there.
"
He could feel the sweat beginning to chill on his forehead. He stared out over the sea. It looked like steel mesh come to life.
"
The strike was too ragged. They should have hit us with everything at once.
"

"
Imagery up,
"
Parker's voice interrupted.

Taylor looked down at his central monitor. An X-ray radar image erased the flames and smoke to show the wreckage of an M-100 spread across several acres.

"
Jesus,
"
a voice whispered through the intercom.

Taylor touched the button that canceled the image.

"
Forget it,
"
he said in his coldest voice.
"
We got off lucky.
"

Nothing was going to stop him now. Not friendly losses. Not the Iranians or the rebels. Not the Japanese. Not even the Russians.

He slipped off his headset to rise from his seat. He wanted to talk to Kozlov. The sonofabitch had questions to answer.

The sound of Krebs's voice stopped him.

"
Oh, fuck me,
"
the old warrant said in disgust. He glanced over at Taylor. But Taylor did not need any further explanation. The flashing monitor made the situation very clear.

"
I guess they wanted to make sure,
"
Krebs said.

"
Bandits,
"
Taylor called into the command net.
"
Nine o'clock high.
"

Krebs began to bank the ship upward to the left.

"
I'll fly,
"
Taylor said, grasping the manual controls.
"
You do the shooting.
"

Taylor's ops indicator showed the remaining four ships of his raiding force following his lead. But the formation was too neat, too predictable.

"
One-one, One-two, this is Foxtrot one-zero. Go high. Work a sandwich on them. One-three, One-four, stay with me. Out.
"

Meredith's voice came over the intercom.
"
Good fix.

I've even got voice on them.
"
Then he hesitated for a moment.

"
What is it?
"
Taylor demanded.

"
Japanese gunships. The latest Toshiba variant.
"

"
Roger. Execute countermeasures program.
"
The opposing formations were closing rapidly. Forty miles. Thirty-nine.
"
What else, Merry?
"

Again, there was a slight hesitation.

"
The voices,
"
Meredith said,
"
sound like South Africans.
"

Taylor gripped the controls. Time playing tricks. Above the Caspian Sea.

So be it, he thought.

"
Confirm activation of full countermeasures suite,
"
Taylor said. He was determined not to let it shake him. There was nothing special about the South Africans. But he could not entirely resist the flashing images. A cocky young captain winging over the African scrub. Transformed into a terrified young captain. A pistol lifted to the head of a broken-necked boy. Ants at a man's eyes and a river journey through the heart of a dying continent.

Yes. Taylor remembered the South Africans. Suddenly, his battle monitor fuzzed.

"
The sonsofbitches,
"
Krebs said.
"
They've got some new kind of shit on board.
"

"
Merry,
"
Taylor half-shouted, struggling to maintain control.
"
Hank. Hit them with full power. Jam the fuck out of them.
"

"
Twenty-eight miles,
"
Krebs said.
"
And closing.
"

The target-acquisition monitor distorted, multiplying and misreading images.

"
Going full automatic on the weapons suite,
"
Krebs said.
"
Let's hope this works.
"

Taylor felt sweat prickling all over his body. Frantically, he punched override buttons, trying to clear the monitors.
"
Twenty-five
...
"

Taylor strained to see through the windscreen. The battle overlays were little help now. He struggled to pick out the enemy aircraft with his eyes.

"
I've got them,
"
Merry called forward.
"
Clear image.
"

"
Transfer data to the weapons suite,
"
Taylor ordered.

Other ships called in their sudden difficulties with their own electronics.

Remember, Taylor told himself, you're doing the same thing to the other guy. He's as frightened as you are. Stay cool, stay cool.

"
Negative,
"
Merry reported.
"
The weapons program won't accept the transfer.
"