Ralph Peters (48 page)

"
I
told
him,
"
Taylor said. His voice had an unmistakable tone of pain in it which Meredith had never heard before.
"
I
told
him to get the hell out of there.
"

Everyone in the cabin had gathered around Meredith's bank of intelligence monitors. One showed the unchanging image of the wing-in-ground sitting placidly on the ground at Omsk, while others tracked the progress of the enemy aircraft.

They had tried everything. Relaying to Martinez. Alerting the Soviet air defenses. But the Japanese-built penetration bombers were jamming everything in their path. Exactly as Taylor's force had done and was still doing.

Taylor grabbed the hand mike for the command set, trying again.
"
Sierra seven-three, this is Sierra five-five.
Flash traffic.
I say again:
flash traffic.
Over.
"

Only the sound of the tormented sky.

"
Sierra seven-three,
"
Taylor began again,
"
if you are monitoring my transmission, you
must
get out of there
now. Evacuate now.
Enemy aircraft are heading your way. You only have minutes left. Over.
"

"
Come
on,
Manny,
"
Meredith said out loud.
"
For God's sake. Think of your goddamned Corvette. Think of the goddamned senoritas, would you?
Get out of there.
"

The enemy aircraft inexorably approached the red line that defined their estimated standoff bombing range.

"
Manny,
for Christ's sake,
"
Meredith shouted at the sky,
"
get out of there.
"
Tears gathered in his eyes.

Taylor slammed his fist down on the console. But the image of the transport craft at Omsk would not move.

Taylor took up the mike again.

"
Manny,
"
he said, dispensing with call signs for the first time in anyone's memory.
"
Manny, please listen to me. Get out of there
now
. Leave everything. Nothing matters. Just get on board that ugly sonofabitch and get out of there.
"

The console began to beep, signaling that the enemy aircraft were within standoff range of Omsk.

In the target monitor he could actually make out magnified human figures in the first light of dawn.

"
We're in the box,
"
 
the navigator told him through the headset.

Zeederberg shrugged.
 
"
Releasing ordnance,
"
 
he said.

"
Releasing ordnance,
"
 
a disembodied voice echoed.

Manny Martinez was in the best of spirits. From the last reports he had received over the log net a few hours earlier, the fight was going beautifully. Wouldn't even be much repair work. It sounded like a battle men would bullshit about for years to come. Over many a beer.

"
Hurry up,
"
 
he called.
 
"
It's time we unassed this place.
"
 
But he said it in an indulgent voice. His men were weary. They had finally gotten the last M-100 repaired. It could be flown to the follow-on assembly area under its own power. A present for the old man.

And he would not even be late. They could make up the lost time en route.

The new day was dawning with unexpected clarity. The storm had passed to the southwest, and the night's snowfall had given the tormented landscape an almost bearable appearance. Good day for flying, after all, he thought.

He breathed deeply, enjoying the cold, clean air, using it to rouse himself from the stupor to which the lack of sleep had brought him.

Behind him, the mechanics were rolling the repaired M-100 out of its shelter.

The old man's going to be proud, he thought. Then he strolled toward the transport to treat himself to one last cup of coffee.

17

3 November 2020

"
Americans,
"
Takahara repeated.

Noburu sat down. His eyelids fluttered several times in a broken rhythm. It was a small nervous tic he had developed over the years. The uncontrollable blinking only manifested itself for a few moments at a time, and only when Noburu was under extraordinary stress.

"
That's impossible,
"
he said.

"
Sir,
"
Takahara began,
"
you can listen to them yourself. The station is broadcasting in the clear. Apparently there is a defect in the encryption system of which the sender is unaware. Everything is in English.
American
English.
"

"
It could be a deception,
"
Noburu said.

Takahara pondered the idea for a moment.
"
It would seem that anything is possible today. But the intelligence specialists are convinced that the transmissions are genuine.
"

"
Intelligence . . .
"
Noburu said,
"
does not have a very high standing at the moment. Does Tokyo know?
"

"
Sir. I personally delayed the transmission of the news until you could hear it first yourself.
"

"
We must be certain.
"

"
Intelligence believes—
"

"
We must be absolutely certain. We cannot afford another error. We have already paid far too high a price.

Americans
, Noburu thought. He could no longer speak the word without conjuring the dead faces from his nightmares. What on earth were the Americans doing here? They had no love for the Russians. How could it be? How could it be?

Everything is a cycle, Noburu mused. We never learn. Misunderstanding the Americans seemed to be a Japanese national sport.

But how could it be? With the Americans still struggling to hold on to their own hemisphere, where Japanese-sponsored irregular and low-intensity operations had kept them tied down for over a decade. Japanese analysts preached that the United States had accepted its failure in the military-technological competition with Japan, that the Americans had neither the skills nor the funds to continue the contest on a global scale.

Noburu saw his personal aide, Akiro, making his way purposefully through the unaccustomed confusion of the operations center. What was it that Akiro had said just the day before? That the Americans were finished?

Now it would fall to him to finish them.

"
Track them,
"
Noburu told Takahara.
"
Identify who they are, what weapons they're using. We need targetable data.
"

"
Yes, sir.
"

Only yesterday, he had been flying triumphantly above the African bush. Surprising the Americans. Vanquishing them. Today they had surprised him. But it wasn't finished yet. Noburu knew only too well what was going to happen. It had been written by more powerful hands than his.

The dream warrior had known this too. In his contest with the dream Americans, with their dead and terrible faces.

"
Sir
"
Akiro addressed him. Noburu could see that the young man had been badly jarred by all this. Unaccustomed to the taste of defeat. Even temporary defeat.

"
Yes?
"

"
Sir.
Tokyo. On the satellite link. General Tsuji wishes to speak with you.
"

Noburu had known that the call would come. It was inevitable. And he knew what the caller would command him to do.

"
I will take the call in my private office,
"
Noburu said.

"
Sir
"
Akiro and Takahara responded in near unison.

"
Oh, and Takahara. Contact Noguchi. His readiness test is canceled. Instead, he is to hold his unit at the highest state of combat alert.
"
Noburu hated to speak the words. But it was no less than his duty. And he would always do his duty.
"
But he is to take no further action until he hears from me personally.
"

Takahara acknowledged the instruction and turned to its execution. But Akiro seemed to shrink ever so slightly. As Noburu's aide, the younger man was privileged to know the highly classified capabilities of Noguchi's aircraft awaiting a mission at the airfield in Bukhara on the far side of Central Asia. The uncertainty around Akiro's mouth made it clear that he was not nearly as hardened as the uncompromising words that passed so easily between his lips pretended. Yes, words were one thing . . .

"
Stay here,
"
Noburu told his aide.
"
I can find my office on my own. Sit here in my chair and pay attention to all that goes on around you today. This is war, Akiro.
"

Noburu marched through the half-chaos of his operations center, proceeding down the hall past the room where the master computer soldiered in silence. He stopped at the private elevator that had once served a Soviet general. The guard slammed his heels against the wall as he came to attention.

Noburu used the few seconds remaining to him to muster his arguments. But he found them fatally weakened by the events of the early morning hours. Why had the Americans—if they truly were Americans—interfered? He knew in his heart he would never convince old Tsuji to behave humanely. But just as it was his duty as a soldier to follow orders, it was his duty as a human being to make one last effort to break the chain of events.

His office was cool and very clean. Its austerity and silence normally soothed him, but today the empty suite felt like a tomb.

He sat down at his desk and picked up the special phone.

"
This is General Noburu Kabata.
"

"
Hold for General Tsuji,
"
a voice told him.

He waited dutifully, imagining the magic beams that sliced through the heavens to allow him to speak privately with another man so far away. The technology, in its essence, was generations old. Yet, at times, such things still filled Noburu with a sense of wonder. It still amazed him that metal machines could carry men through the sky.

I'm a bad Japanese, he thought. I don't know how to take things for granted.

"
Noburu?
"
the acid voice startled him.

"
General Tsuji.
"

"
I cannot be certain of the view from your perspective, Noburu. However, from Tokyo, it appears that you are presiding over the greatest defeat suffered by Japanese arms in seventy-five years.
"

"
It's bad,
"
Noburu agreed. Ready to take his medicine.

"
It's far worse than 'bad,'
"
Tsuji said, loading his voice with spite.
"
It's a disaster.
"

"
Yes.
"

"
I would personally relieve you, Noburu. But I can't. To take you out of there now would be an embarrassment to Japan. A
further
embarrassment. An admission of failure.
"

"
I will resign,
"
Noburu said.

"
You will do nothing of the kind. Nor will you do anything . . . foolish. This is the twenty-first century. And your guts aren't worth staining a carpet. All you can do now is to try to turn things around. Have you got a plan?
"

"
Not yet,
"
Noburu said.
"
We're still gathering information.
"

"
You know what I mean, Noburu. You know exactly what I mean. Have you formulated a plan for the commitment of Three-one-three-one?
"

Three-one-three-one was Tokyo's code name for Noguchi's command. Everyone else simply referred to them as Scramblers. But Tsuji was a stickler for the details of military procedure.

"
No.
"

There was silence on the other end. Noburu understood it to be a calculated silence. Tsuji showing his contempt.

"
Why?
"

"
General Tsuji ... I continue to believe that the employment of . . . Three-one-three-one . . . would be a mistake. We will never be forgiven.
"

Tsuji laughed scornfully.
"
What? Forgiven? By whom? You must be going mad, Noburu.
"

Yes, Noburu thought, perhaps.
"
The Scramblers are criminal weapons,
"
he said.
"
We, of all people—
"

"
Noburu, listen to me. Your personal ruminations are of no interest to me. Or to anyone else. You have one mission, and one only: to win a war. For Japan. And can you honestly tell me, after what we have all seen this morning, that you are in a position to guarantee victory without the employment of Three-one-three-one?
"

"
No.
"

"
Then get to work.
"

"
General Tsuji?
"