Return to Honor (26 page)

Frier chewed on his lip before answering. “Yeah, might as well give them a heads-up on this. It’s too late for them to screw anything up for Gould now.” As Wordel moved to make the report Frier caught himself thinking that maybe he had finally found a way to make it up to his student’s family.

Do’brai airport tarmac

Hujr slipped behind the bush undetected. He was not more than a hundred meters away from the depression where the Americans were, but he was hidden from both them and the militia. He was halfway between the Americans and the ALH 787 on the runway.

Hujr settled into the sand, pushing away the grains by wiggling until he was comfortable. He brought the rifle around and squinted through the sights. The Americans huddled together, conferring about something. One of them had fashioned a white flag made from a T-shirt and tied it onto a radio antenna.

He relaxed. That ensured Kamil would make an appearance. The General wouldn’t miss this surrender for anything in the world. And when he showed, he wouldn’t escape.

Do’brai airport—ALH 787

“I thought the Americans surrendered.”

“We did too, General. Would you care to look through the binoculars?”

Kamil grunted. His aide brought the field glasses up, and Kamil surveyed the area with a slow sweep. “I do not see anything.”

“They are hidden in a depression, General. From their height above the ground the control tower can see them, and they report the Americans have brought down their white flag.”

“Then what is the holdup?”

“The Americans are grouped together, probably praying to their God. I doubt they trust us.”

Kamil allowed himself a smile. “Ah, but their leaders do. And that’s the difference between us and them. With their high-tech communications they cannot act autonomously. They have to rely on directions from halfway across the world. They would not die for a cause—it would cause too much bad publicity for them back in America.” Kamil handed the binoculars back to his aide. “Inform me as soon as their flag goes back up. If it is not flying in ten minutes, then lob some mortar rounds in their direction to speed them up.”

Depression near the Do’brai airport tarmac

The ten men clustered around Krandel, keeping low to the ground. Although no enemy was in sight, he spoke in a whisper. “This is it. Everybody ready?”

The marines remained silent, expressing their affirmation with grim nods. Krandel drew in a breath. He almost felt like taking a vote to see if the men really wanted to go along with this harebrained stunt of his.

But he couldn’t. He didn’t know why, but he just
knew
that they’d die if they followed orders and surrendered. No matter what the NECC promised.

So this was their only option. After they acted, maybe the NECC would get off their butts and call the rescue back on. And if they didn’t, the marines still had a better chance doing it their way.

Krandel nodded to Morales. “All right, let’s get this show on the road.”

Morales sprang to his feet with the white flag and started waving it slowly back and forth over his head. Krandel spoke quietly in the microphone to BIGEYE, explaining their plan.

Do’brai airport: ALH 787

“General, the flag!”

Kamil bolted upright and snatched the binoculars from his aide. “Have the militia disperse along the runway. I will accept the surrender myself.”

“Yes, sir.” The aide barked the orders, then drew a revolver to join his general.

Kamil unbuckled his gun belt and, throwing it to the ground, shook his head at his aide. “I will go alone.”

“But, General—”

“It is a matter of honor for the Americans. They will be so thoroughly demoralized, this will be the final blow to them: the unarmed commander coming to accept their defeat.”

The aide protested. “General Kamil, I implore you. It could be a trap.”

Kamil raised a brow. “If it is, then our militia will shoot to kill.”

“Allow me to accompany you as a backup. They will at least expect an aide to do your bidding.”

Kamil decided after some thought. “Very well, but keep your weapon hidden. And use it only if we are threatened.”

“Yes, General.”

Leaving the ALH 787, they left the runway and scrambled down a sandy embankment. They passed several of the militia, dug in the sand. Soon they passed the last guard and reached the tarmac. The Americans lay before them.

Do’brai airport tarmac

Movement.

Hujr fingered the trigger and spotted Kamil through the sight. The general bounced in and out of view, walking next to his aide. Hujr could kill the aide and hope that
Kamil would be so disoriented that he wouldn’t dive for cover, but the man was too good for that. Hujr would just have to wait for the first opportunity to take him out first.

He allowed the two to continue toward the depression.

Depression near the Do’brai airport tarmac

Krandel stood with his hands above his head as the Do’brai officer approached. Morales had put another shot of morphine into Krandel’s leg, so he was feeling slightly cocky, but at least the pain had gone away.

From the ribbons, medals, and
paraphernalia the officer wore, Krandel reckoned the man had not missed Sunday school for twenty straight years. A taller yet obviously subordinate man, probably the officer’s aide, followed to the officer’s left. When they reached Krandel the superior spoke in a guttural language.

Krandel saluted. “Lieutenant Colonel William J. Krandel, United States Marine Corps, 223-15-8269. Do you speak English?”

The officer returned the salute, obviously pleased that the Americans were groveling. “I am General Kamil, commander of the Do’brainese militia forces. We will speak English if we must. There is no one among you who speaks the Do’brainese language?” The man surveyed the marines; Havisad kept silent. Krandel wanted the translator as his trump card in case something went wrong. The general spat rapid-fire sounds, but the strange-sounding words fell upon deaf ears.

Krandel’s men merely shrugged at the questioning.

The general turned to Krandel. “You are the commanding officer of this commando detachment, Colonel?” The word colonel came out as
kor-nal.

Krandel drew himself up. “Yes, sir, I am. I present my unit to you in an official act of surrender under the codes of the Geneva Convention. We are all class-one military members, and we insist upon the recognized sanctions of the International Red Cross, of which both the United States and Do’brai are signatory members.”

“You are in no position to barter, Colonel. You have launched an unprovoked attack upon Do’brai.”

“We did
not
attack. It was a rescue attempt to free our President from a kidnapping.”

The aide’s eyes grew large. Krandel noticed the expression and, watching the superior officer, knew that President Montoya’s presence here was not known to all.

“Nonsense. I do not know what you are talking about. And that is not the point of my presence here. I am ready to accept your surrender. Have your men throw down their arms.” Kamil made a slight motion with his hands. Krandel spotted movement from the corner of his eye; he saw Do’brainese militiamen in a crouch moving toward the marines. For the first time, Kamil moved away from his aide.

“Very well, sir.” Krandel turned to his men. “Gentlemen, as Knute Rockne said, ‘Let’s win this one for the gipper.’
Hike!”

Krandel tackled General Kamil.

Instantly, the popping sounds of rifle shots peppered the area.

Morales brought down the general’s aide, and once on the ground he knocked the man unconscious with a blow to the head.

Krandel straddled Kamil’s back, holding an arm to the general’s windpipe. “You have five seconds to stop the gunfire. If you don’t, you’re going to die with us.” Krandel yelled for Havisad to wave the white flag. Within seconds the gunfire ceased, and Krandel jerked Kamil to his knees. “All right, let them know we’ve got you. You have four seconds.”

Krandel let up his grip on Kamil slightly. The general started to shout, but Krandel stopped him. Still on his knees, Krandel directed his question to Havisad. “What did he say?”

“Something about not listening to him and following his orders, Colonel. His voice wasn’t too clear.”

“Then tell the general in Do’brainese, Private: no funny stuff, or he dies.”

The general’s shoulders sagged as Havisad repeated the orders. The general realized that indeed the Americans had the upper hand. “Do … not … press … so … hard.” Krandel let up the pressure slightly. Kamil rotated his neck. “I will do as you say.”

Krandel and Kamil rose to their feet. Havisad translated as the general shouted instructions in Do’brainese. Havisad remained hidden dug into the dirt, out of sight of any snipers. He held a rifle at Kamil’s midriff.

When the general was finished, several of the militiamen stood and threw their rifles to the ground. They started backing away with their hands up, and when they were some distance from the depression they turned and ran.

Krandel watched the retreat, thinking that it had almost been too easy. With his arm still on Kamil’s throat, he turned his attention to the next detail: how to get them out of Do’brai.

“Havisad, radio BIGEYE and tell them we’re busting out of here. If a TAV is not on its way to fly us out, we’re going to commandeer a crew for that 787 where we rescued the President. And tell them we need control of that damn runway clearer to cover us when we leave.”

Do’brai airport tarmac

Hujr shot off three bullets in a row, then drove his head into the sand. He could hear the sounds of shots coming from the ALH 787.

He stiffened in anticipation of one of the bullets hitting him, but nothing happened. Still the shots continued. The militia could not be that poor as marksmen; they should have hit him when he tried to kill Kamil.

Hujr jerked his head up, then back down, trying to catch a glimpse of what was going on. The shooting was directed at the depression, and nothing was coming his way.

Shouting—a hoarse, familiar voice—rang over the din: “Cease immediately! As general of the militia and chief of staff of the Do’brai militia forces, I order you to lay down your weapons!”

Hujr moved his head up from the ground. General Kamil, held from the back by an American, repeated the orders. No wonder Hujr wasn’t peppered with bullets—he had shot at Kamil the same instant that the militia were firing at the Americans. But would Kamil survive the American capture? Probably. Americans were notorious for turning the other cheek once the situation was in their favor. So if Kamil survived, Hujr was still in danger. If not now, then years from now.

He had to kill Kamil. Depending on where the Americans took the general, Hujr’s best chance was still here, hidden as a sniper.

U.S.S.S.
Bifrost

“Why do I have to be the clearinghouse for this mess?”

Wordel allowed a thin smile. “Colonel, it’s not like they’ll kill the messenger for bearing bad news.”

“I know that. It’s just that I’m always on the receiving end and never the giving.” Frier slapped at the communications screen. He shoved the remains of a sandwich down his throat before Colonel Welch came into view. With the marine rescue vacillating between stop-and-go status, Wordel brought in the food and relieved Frier only when the colonel had to use the rest room.

On the screen Colonel Welch looked ragged. He, too, only played the part of a messenger, but his superiors—Vice President Woodstone and General Peters—did not temper their emotions toward him.

Welch rubbed his eyes, trying to get the story correct. “Now let me get this straight: Major Gould has launched his TAV for Do’brai and will arrive within the half hour, and Colonel Krandel has chosen
not
to surrender and wants a Do’brainese flight crew to fly him out of Do’brai if the TAV doesn’t arrive. Is that right?”

“He doesn’t trust the Do’brainese, Colonel. Krandel will try to commandeer the ALH 787 that the President was rescued from. In addition, he urgently requests that total control of the runway clearer be given to his men, or else—”

Welch fumed. “Or else
what?
Krandel isn’t in a position to barter with the White House, Colonel.”

Frier bit his lip. “I know that, and you know it, too. Let’s face it: we have one crazy marine down there, determined that he and his men are going to make it out of Do’brai alive. No matter what they have to do.”

“I see.” Welch ran a hand through his hair. “Stand by, one. Let me see what I can do.” He was back shortly. “You’ve explained to Krandel that he’s violating a direct order?”

Frier stared. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Of course he knows he’s violating a direct order.”

“Great—and it’s too late to stop that renegade TAV pilot; he’s already on his way.” Welch’s shoulders sagged. “Give me another minute to plead their case.”

The wait was longer this time. When Welch finally appeared he looked more haggard than ever. “Vice President Woodstone has released the runway clearer to Krandel, but only because there’s a chance that something could happen to that TAV on the way down. Once the TAV is on the ground, they’re to get the hell out of there.” He cocked an eye at Frier. “The Vice President is pretty pissed about this whole affair. He really wanted to come out of this smelling like a rose, so don’t do anything to screw things up any more than they are.”

“I copy that—”

Frier was interrupted. “And Frier, no more off-the-wall requests. I’ve been bounced off so many bigwigs, I don’t know which way is up.”

Frier grinned. “Don’t worry, we’ve got you covered. I guess that those marines must not be too crazy though if they’re still alive.”

“You hit that nail on the head.”

Frier slapped off the screen and turned to Wordel. “Get Krandel on the comm link and tell him to have fun with his runway clearer. We’ll bounce his aiming coordinates directly back to Do’brai. And tell them the TAV will land in twenty minutes.”

“Right.” Wordel twisted to another comm screen to relay the good news.

Frier thought for a moment, then punched up the CRAY’S projection of Gould’s arrival in Do’brai. Eighteen more minutes; that was close enough for government work.