Echo Six: Black Ops 7 - Tibetan Fury (22 page)

"Boss," Guy murmured, pointing out through the windshield.

A line of vehicles had entered the air base. They raced out onto the tarmac. In the lead was an APC, behind it a half-dozen infantry trucks; a second APC brought up the rear of the column. At that moment, the floodlights came on, and a siren began resonating across the field. Chang leaned forward to squint at the newcomers through the windscreen.

"They're ours, Ministry of State Security. Shit, the leading vehicle is a WZ551. We have to stop. It’s armed with a 25mm cannon, as well as a 7.62mm coaxial machine gun in the turret. If they open fire, they'll tear this aircraft to pieces."

"Keep going," Talley said calmly to Guy. "General, do your best to countermand that stop order." He keyed his mic, "People, we have troops inbound, a couple of APCs, so it could get hairy. If you can get that hatch open, it might be useful to shoot back."

"We're working on it," he heard Rovere reply.

"Understood. Don't shoot until they do. We may still be able to bluff our way out of this."

He looked at Chang. "It's up to you, General. Call off your dogs."

"I'm doing my best," the Chinese nodded.

He continued shouting into the microphone, barking orders, but the voice the other end refused to back down. Chang seemed to lose it completely, eventually he hurled the microphone to the floor of the cockpit, spitting and swearing curses. Talley stared at him.

"What is it?"

"Not what? Who? Major Xilong."

"I take it he won't follow your orders."

Chang shook his head. "He's very suspicious, and I can't blame him. One moment I disappear from our headquarters, abducted by bandits. Then I turn up here, acting on information about terrorist explosives that he'd never heard of. It stinks. But I did my best."

Grace nodded, to tell him he spoke the truth.

"Understood. We could chance it and take off. He can't be certain. We might get away even if they do open fire."

The General gave him a bitter smile. "You don't get it, do you? That APC in the rear of the convoy, take a closer look at it."

He looked. The vehicles had stopped at the edge of the runway where they could threaten anything trying to take off or land. The APC in the rear mounted a surface-to-air missile launcher.

"They're PL-9s," Chang informed them, "Short-range, infrared-homing missiles. The moment our wheels are off the ground, they'll open fire, and at short range they can't miss. We have to surrender."

The cockpit speaker crackled to life again.

"It's Major Xilong," Chang told them.

They already knew. The officer spoke English.

"This is a message for the bandits who claim to be holding General Chang hostage. I have been informed the General was last seen at our headquarters in the city of Lhasa. I suspect the man on that aircraft is an impostor. Perhaps you have killed our beloved General Chang, and even now his body lies hidden in the city.

You must surrender. There is no other option open to you. If you try to take off, I will shoot you down. And if you do not surrender inside of three minutes, I will order my men to open fire and destroy the aircraft. The time starts now."

The transmission clicked off. "He's clever,” Chang acknowledged, “By pretending it is not me, but an impostor; he can get away with killing me. It would mean promotion if they believe him."

The huge aircraft was still moving slowly along the runway. Guy stared at him.

"How do you want to call this, Boss? Do I take off or stop?"

"Stop. Right now, it's our only choice, but we have to find a way out of this. Keep the engines running. We might still have a chance to get away."

Guy grimaced, but he throttled back and put on the brakes. They waited, with the engines running at a muted roar. Talley picked up the microphone.

"Major Xilong, I can give you proof that General Chang is on board this aircraft."

The voice that answered sounded amused. The bastard knew he'd won. Thought he'd won.

"What proof could you give me? And why would I believe you? No, you must surrender yourselves immediately. I take it you have the American monk with you?"

So they know who he is. Can we use that knowledge to bargain with? No, the only way would be to use it would be to hand him over, and the poor bastard would become a bargaining chip between Washington and Beijing. No way!

He decided not to reply to the question about Campbell. That information may be useful, later.

"Let us go, and we won't kill General Chang. As soon as we're out of the country, we'll release him and he can return home."

A sigh. "Not a chance. Two minutes and thirty seconds, not a second more. Then we open fire."

Once again, the speaker went dead. Guy looked across at him.

"There's only one way we can handle this. We need to abandon the aircraft. Get the men in back to lower the ramp, and you can help the nuns get out of here. I'll start the take off roll again when you're clear, so they'll concentrate on me. With any luck, you'll be able to slip away in the darkness and get back to the trucks. You might just make it."

"And you? How do you think you'd make it when they hit the aircraft with heavy machine gun fire and missile strikes?" He held up his hand, as Guy protested, "No, forget it. We have to think of another way. Grace, see how the nuns are holding up. Tell them we may need to make a run for it. Take General Chang back with you, and get one of the men to keep him covered."

He gave him a fierce glare. "That's the only way, so don't argue."

"Roger that. But it's an option you need to keep on the table."

"Yeah, right."

He looked out to survey the area around them. Something had changed. It was very dark, apart from the areas close to the blazing floodlights. And then he realized what it was. The stars had disappeared, and visibility was dropping. They couldn't have more than a minute before the deadline expired.

The deadline!

Grace hadn't yet called to confirm the civilians were all out. He catapulted out of his seat and rushed back into the cargo space. Jesse was standing just outside the cockpit door, and he gave Talley a puzzled glance.

"It's real strange. Look."

The sight that greeted him was extraordinary. They were still aboard, all of them. Most of men were gathered at the rear of the aircraft, close to the ramp. Two of them, Virgil Kane with the Minimi and Vince DiMosta with his sniper rifle, were covering the forward door. But in the center of the hold, the nuns were praying, led by Tempa Rinpoche. Chanting would be a better word to describe it, and even stranger; Grace had joined them. As had David Campbell and Lobsang Cho. The chants grew louder and louder, a long, continuous, yet curiously melodic drone. He turned back to Jesse.

"What gives?"

The Indian shrugged. "I'm not sure. It's like one of our tribal chants back home, kind of an Apache thing. But these are Buddhists, so I don't know."

Grace had been sitting in the lotus position on the floor. She saw them looking, climbed to her feet, and joined them. Her face was calm, dreamy, a long way away.

"We're praying for a snowstorm. I discussed it with the Rinpoche, and he declared it was our only chance of survival. We need a heavy snowstorm, so when we take off, the Chinese cannot target us with their heavy weapons. The Rinpoche said many Buddhists would hear our prayers. If enough of them pray with us, the snow will come. We'll be able to make our escape undercover of a blanket of snow. If the Lord Buddha wills it."

She gave him a calm, warm smile, sat down again, and began to chant. He stared at Jesse. "Jesus Christ, what is it with these people? We need to shoot our way out of here, and they're on the floor praying. Get 'em out of here! We need bullets, not prayers."

The Indian looked doubtful. "I dunno, Boss. I've seen some strange things in my time. I wouldn't dismiss it out of hand."

Even as he spoke, Jesse was starting to shift his body side to side in time with the haunting ululations, the prayers from the Buddhists.

Weird!

He gave him a savage glare. "Lieutenant Whitefeather, get those nuns off that floor and get them moving down the ramp."

Jesse just stared back at him. Talley shouted at the other troopers in the cargo hold. "You need to help, shake them out of this."

He watched them try to reason with the nuns, but it was like talking to a heap of rocks.

Fuck it! This is all we need.

He shook his head and stormed back into the cockpit. Behind him, the chanting continued almost as if to mock him.

"Guy, they've gone crazy. We'll have to negotiate surrender with the Chinese. I can't move them.

His number two didn't reply, just continued to stare out the windshield.

"Boss..."

"What is it?"

"Snow. A lot of snow."

He was in the communications center, a small windowless room in the tower immediately below the controllers. Xilong nodded to the Lieutenant who'd rushed into the room in answer to his summons. The three minutes were up. It was time to end this.

"Open fire! Kill them all."

"But, Sir, we can't. General Chang...the explosives..."

He rounded on the hapless man, the unfortunate duty officer at Tama Air Base. He was too young, too inexperienced for such a heavy responsibility. The perfect scapegoat should anything go wrong.

"Explosives! That's a ruse, you dolt. As for General Chang, besides, it's almost certain the man on that aircraft is an impostor. Open fire with the heavy machine guns, and if the aircraft shows any sign of trying to take off, order the missile crews to launch. They must be stopped, now! Get them moving, Lieutenant."

"I... Sir, it's not..."

He drew his pistol, a weapon of which he was especially proud. A Norinco QSZ-92, his uncle had bought it for him when he graduated from the officers’ academy. The weapon was the lighter 5.8mm version of the Norinco, favored by Army commanders. The butt was engraved with a silver dragon, his family's good luck symbol. Until these bandits arrived, he'd had nothing but good luck, so it had served him well. He hoped it would continue to do so.

"Two seconds, Lieutenant. If I don't hear gunfire, I'll shoot you dead for treachery."

The young man gulped and then put his radio to his lips.

"Open fire! Fire, fire!"

"But we can't! Can't you see? It's not possible!"

"It is Major Xilong's order. Fire immediately, or you'll be shot."

The man sounded resigned but also amused, "As you say, Sir."

Xilong grinned to himself as the autocannon mounted on the APC opened fire; it was quickly joined by the chatter of the auxiliary 7.62mm machine gun. The noise was deafening, even inside the control tower. He briefly considered giving the order to launch the missiles even though the aircraft was stationary. But perhaps not, there would be an inquiry, and he needed to prove he'd done his duty without the use of excessive use of force.

It felt good. Victory. He had a picture of the Yian Y-7H, its aluminum skin perforated with huge holes where the cannon fire had reduced it to wreckage. As for the people inside, it was too bad. Especially General Chang, but it was on record he'd assumed Chang was still in their headquarters in the city. And afterward, he'd be dead. Dead men weren't able to give their side of the story. He worked hard to control his gloating smile.

"Lieutenant, it's time to go upstairs and view the end of this sorry episode. Did you organize fire tenders? There is a chance the aircraft may catch fire or even explode."

He led the way up the steps. He could see the controllers staring out of the huge windows, chattering excitedly to themselves.

"Have the fire trucks arrived?" he barked at them.

"There's no need, Sir. It won't catch fire."

"It won't?" He stared at the controller, a captain.

What would he know about
combat, sitting in this heated control tower?

"And why is that, are you an aircraft safety expert?"

The man even smiled back at him.

Such insolence!

"Look out the window, Major. It won't catch fire because the gunners can't see it to hit it. It's snowing."

"Snowing? What does that have to do with anything?"

"Look, Sir!"

He went to the nearest window and savagely pushed the controllers aside. Outside, everything was white, a thick fall of heavy snow. Already, the buildings only a few meters away were almost buried, and they looked like igloos peeping out from the thick white blanket. Beyond that, there was nothing, except snowflakes blotting out everything. The overhead lights couldn't penetrate it, so there was darkness further than a few meters away. He felt his knees start to go weak. In that moment, he knew his life was balanced on the merest knife-edge.

Who can I blame for this? Someone should have forecast the snow. There must be a weatherman around here somewhere. Will it be enough to sacrifice him? Perhaps not, but it’ll be a start. I must do something.

He turned to the Lieutenant.

"Find the base meteorological officer and arrest him for treason. And get every available man outside to locate that aircraft. They'll have to use their assault rifles to shoot at it."

He heard someone say, 'If they can find it', but decided to ignore the sarcastic comment.

Where are they?

* * *

He looked at Guy, uncomprehending. "I don't get it. What you mean, snow?"

"It's like there's enough snow out there to give the entire United States a white Christmas."

He looked through the windshield. Where before he'd been able to see the airfield all the way to the control tower, there was now only a thick cloak of white.

I'll be damned.
For a few moments, he couldn't work it out and looked out the windshield again.

Those Buddhists back in the cargo hold, surely not? No way could they have caused this. They were lucky, that was all. A one in a thousand chance when it had gone right, what does it
prove? Nothing. Snow on a high Himalayan plateau in the heart of Tibet, what’s so strange about that? Nothing, but it’s a lot of snow, one hell of a lot.

Then he got his senses back together. There was a chance, just possibly, a chance to get away.

"Guy, get this heap of bolts moving. We're taking off."

"In this?"

"In anything. They can't target us as long as this snow falls. Go for it."

"Roger that. I'll need the whole of the runway, and then it may not be enough. The snow will slow us massively."

"It's that or spend the rest of our short lives in a Chinese jail."

His number two nodded and gave him a grim smile. "Not much of a choice."

He leaned forward and pushed the throttles all the way to the stops. The turboprops roared, the propellers spun, kicking up an even worse snowstorm.

"I'll have to take off using GPS. I can't see the runway."

"You can use witchcraft if you want, I don't care. Just do it. This snowstorm won't last forever."

"I only need a few minutes. Let's hope it lasts that long."

He looked at his number two. "They'll have interceptors waiting to take off, Guy. Gunships, too, you name it."

" Okay, we'll pray for more snow."

"I think someone back there is taking care of that. I'll warn them to be ready."

He left the SAS man to coax the aircraft along the runway and ran aft through the cockpit door and into the cargo hold. The nuns and civilians were still sitting on the floor, chanting. He ignored them and shouted to Rovere.

"Domenico, we are about to take off into a snowstorm. It's going to be hairy, and there's even a possibility we won't unstick. Get the ramp secured and the cabin locked down. Make sure everyone straps in."

"Thou knowest, winter tames man, woman, and beast." The Italian grinned, "I'll get everything secured, Boss, but I doubt these Buddhists will listen. I think they're a long way away already."

"Never mind them. I think we should leave them to it; they doing all right so far."

The Italian gave him a puzzled glance as he sprinted back to the cockpit. The aircraft had slowed and was slewing around. He climbed into the co-pilot's seat and looked at Guy.

"What are you doing? Problems?"

"Yeah, one or two. The snow is too soft to allow us to take off. We need more runway, so I'm making a turn to go back down the other end where we started. Then I'll try again, and this time I'll keep the wheels in the ruts we've already made."

"Will it be enough?"

He shrugged.

Talley nodded, then ducked as a burst of gunfire peppered the window next to his head. The Perspex shattered, and hot lead buzzed past them and exited, puncturing the roof and leaving a line of holes where the bitter winds shrieked through. The wind made strange, musical noises, almost as if the devil himself was playing his pipes of death. They'd passed close enough to one of the Chinese vehicles to be spotted.

"This is Echo One. There's a machine gun somewhere close. He needs taking care of."

Admiral Brooks called from the cockpit door. "I'll go aft with the Minimi. Just concentrate on getting us out of here."

Seconds later, Talley heard the chatter of machine gun fire, but this time it was coming from inside the aircraft. Their second Minimi opened up, and several assault rifles joined in. After a few seconds, the incoming fire stopped. No more shots came into the cabin, and he found a greasy seat cushion to stuff into the where the window was shattered. It wouldn't hold for long, but it was better than nothing. He grabbed for a handhold as they suddenly halted.

Guy had jammed on the brakes, and he could hear a grinding, shattering noise from the nose.

"Sorry! I steered her up the back of one of their interceptors. Damn thing was covered in snow, parked outside the revetment. I think I've just written off several million dollars of fighter plane."

"No problem, they'll have to use their slave laborers to make another one."

"Boss, it is a problem. We need to turn the aircraft, and I can't do that while the nose is jammed against something else. We need to clear it."

"Copy that. I'll get some men, and we'll go outside."

He ran aft. "There's a problem. All of you come with me. We need to go outside and clear an obstruction. Move it!"

They still had power with the engines running, and he lowered the ramp. The wind and snow whirled inside the hold, and the interior of the aircraft that had been extremely cold, suddenly became Arctic. The Buddhists didn't seem to notice. He followed Rovere and the rest of the men down the ramp, out into the snow. They ran to the front of the aircraft, and the problem was immediately obvious.

"Shit, Guy rammed his nose up the ass of a Chinese fighter jet," Virgil exclaimed.

He looked at the point of impact with dismay. The Yian 7 weighed more than they could heave out the way. And the fighter was little different. They needed a tug, and they may as well call for a crane, for all the hope they had of getting one.

"What next?" Rovere asked.

"I've no idea," he snapped back.

It wasn't Guy's fault; the dense snow was both a solution and a problem. They'd been so near. They were almost ready to take off, and then so far. They had to try and get away on foot. At least the blanket of snow would allow them to fall back without the enemy catching sight of what they were doing. Except it wouldn't get them out of Tibet. They'd be the subject of the biggest manhunt in Chinese history. Ever since Chairman Mao chased Chiang Kai-shek out of the Chinese mainland after the Long March.

He noticed Admiral Brooks crouched down, looking underneath the snow-covered fighter.

"It's a Xian JH-7," he explained, "A twin-engined fighter bomber. She's fast, almost Mach two. Weighs around fifteen tons."

Brooks continued looking around the aircraft.

"That's really interesting, Admiral," Talley replied, trying to keep the irony out of his voice.

Brooks turned to look at him, and this time his black face was split with a wide grin.

"Yeah, it is. You want to know why?" Talley shook his head, "Like most modern fighter aircraft, she has fully a retractable undercarriage. If we can drop the fuselage to ground level, Sergeant Welland should be able to maneuver the nose of the Y-7 around and get us out of there."

"But the undercarriage won't lower without the engine running, Sir."

"No. You ever hear of explosives, Commander?"

He cursed. Why hadn't he thought of it? "Drew!"

"Boss?"

Jackson suddenly appeared from where he'd been inspecting the damage to the nose of the transport aircraft.

"That fighter, we need to lose the undercarriage. Can you do it?"

"For sure. Give me a couple of minutes."

He ran to the nosewheel, pulled off his pack, and dragged out a small charge. He quickly wrapped it around the top of the leg, then went to the two rear legs and fastened similar charges to them.

"Give me a few seconds. I'll need to link a radio detonator to all three, so they all go off the same time. Otherwise…"

"I get the picture," he snapped, "Just do it. This snow won't last for long."

He nodded and began snapping fuses to each of the charges. Satisfied, he ran back.

"It's ready. You'll need to get clear. There'll be a lot of flying metal when it explodes."

Talley turned to the men who were watching. "You heard him."

They scattered like chaff, and seconds later Talley heard the immortal phrase.

"Fire in the hole!"

The charges detonated, the sound muffled by the thick snow all around them. The fifteen-ton aircraft rose up almost a meter in the air, and then dropped back down. At first, it fell onto the shattered remnants of the undercarriage legs, but they quickly gave way, and the once proud fighter flopped on its belly, leaving the transport's nose clear to maneuver. He keyed his mic.