Return to Honor (28 page)

Do’brai airport: Near the ALH 787

Hujr brought his weapon around and followed the Americans.

As before, Kamil was in the center of the group, randomly moving to the outside and back to the center again. Hujr didn’t have much time; the Americans were almost to the mysterious aircraft.

He remembered to breathe normally. He slowly squeezed the trigger. He got off three, then four shots.

He hit Kamil! The Americans were scrambling about; the general jerked in spasms on the ground.

Hujr kept pulling off shots, delirious that he was finally able to kill the man who had double crossed him. Each crack of the rifle was like a blessing.

The Americans were shooting back!

Dust clouds rose from the sand in front of him, pinging bullets flew over his head. Raising his head, he started cursing.

Kamil was climbing on board the plane on his own! Hujr was infuriated; Kamil’s wound was not fatal. In a rage he reloaded his rifle and methodically started to pump bullets into the black aircraft’s fuselage.

Do’brai airport: near Ojo-1

“What the hell?! Hit it!” Krandel shoved the group of men to the ground and rolled away. Morales screamed in pain. Krandel started barking orders as bullets zinged around them. “Nail that sniper!”

The men split up, crawling in different directions toward the sniper.

Krandel swiveled on the ground and started spraying bullets in the sniper’s direction. The shooting stopped momentarily. Krandel shouted, “Morales, are you all right?”

“They … got my shoulder, sir.”

“Make a run for the TAV, and we’ll cover you.”

The response came back slowly. “Aye, aye, sir.” The corporal pushed up unsteadily and made a broken path to the TAV.

Krandel yelled, “Whoever’s on the TAV, get BIGEYE and have them expand the area of coverage of the runway clearer. Tell them a sniper managed to squeeze through a seam of the coverage.”

The sniper started shooting again, but Morales was inside, out of danger.

The marines started converging on the sniper. Havisad reached the 787 and was making his way to the plane’s rear. Krandel started to call him back but decided against it. The private should be able to keep the sniper busy until the runway clearer was redirected.

Ojo-1

Gould dropped the fuel line in the rear of the TAV. When the shooting started he attempted to increase the flow rate, trying to speed the refueling process. Pinging noises and the dull, deep sound of the reverberation of metal upon metal rang through the ship.

Suddenly, all he could smell was the heavy, musklike odor of TAV fuel. He was not alarmed at first, for the viscous JP-12 had a very high flash point. But an image of Delores’ burning TAV raced through his mind. What if one of the bullets started a spark? Gould panicked.

“Everyone out
!” Gould scrambled to the back. “We’re hit! Get out of here!”

Gould crawled over the bladder; he slipped, then picked himself up. He felt suddenly drained. The volley of bullets started up again.

He turned wildly around. Krandel was still outside, as were most of the marines. One marine had crawled inside. Dressed in the general’s medal-laden uniform, he clutched his shoulder.

Gould yelled, almost hysterically, “We’ve got to get out of here!”

“Sorry, sir—”

“Great.” Gould grabbed the marine under his arms and lowered him to the ground. Moving outside the TAV was like going from the frying pan to the fire.

Yelling erupted from the runway: “We got him! We hit the sniper!”

A lone marine sprinted from the rear of the 787 to the desert. The marine reached down and yanked a robe-covered man to his feet. After a brief struggle, the two staggered back toward the TAV.

Krandel pushed himself up and started forward, favoring one of his legs. “Gould, are you ready to rocket?”

Gould waved him and the others away. “Back to the 787! That sniper hit the bladder, and fuel is spilling out like crazy. If a spark hits it, it will blow!”

A few of the marines kept their ground in disbelief. Krandel’s voice didn’t even crack as he directed, “You heard him, get the hell out of here!”

Pulling the marine onto his back, Gould started for the 787. Krandel limped over, and they moved off. The runway clearer ensured that there was no opposition from the Do’brainese militia.

When they reached the jumbo jet Krandel helped ease the wounded marine to the deck. “Somebody take care of Morales.” He turned to Havisad.

The marine had climbed on board moments before with the sniper. He stood with a foot on the sniper’s back, holding a rifle to the Do’brainese’s head.

“I thought you’d want him alive, Colonel.”

“Like hell I do. Put him up with the general.”

“My pleasure, sir.”

Krandel spoke to Gould. “Let’s move to the back, where we can talk.”

As the men made their way down the aisle marines moved out of the two officers’ way. When they reached the back the sound of Do’brainese curses erupted from the cockpit. Krandel turned and yelled, “Shut those prisoners up!”

The sounds continued. Krandel said irritably to Gould, “Just a minute,” and he stomped to the cockpit. “What the hell is going on in here?”

The sniper yammered in broken English: “General Kamil—he is behind the kidnapping! General Kamil planned all of it!”

‘“Ifrit!”
A sharp rebuke poured from the general in Do’brainese. Kamil had somehow managed to work his gag loose.

“I was only trying to kill the general! I have no quarrel with you. You must believe me! Kill him right away. He is responsible for kidnapping your President!”

“You lying pigdog. Shit comes from your mouth.” The general squirmed and shouted at Krandel over Hujr’s rantings. “Do not listen to him. This is the kidnapper! He is the man who brought your President here—”

“Shut up, both of you!” The noise stopped abruptly.

Krandel turned to Havisad. “All right, what’s going on?”

Havisad shrugged. “I’m not sure, Colonel, but the sniper and the general aren’t on too friendly terms. They accuse each other of kidnapping the President.”

Krandel thought for a moment. “Keep them apart for now. Gag them again, and if they start acting up, quiet them with your rifle butt.”

“Aye, aye, Colonel.”

Krandel left and met Gould in the back. Krandel muttered, “Even the squirrelly Do’brainese hate each other.”

Gould slumped against a bulkhead. “What now, Colonel?”

Krandel eased into a seat. His leg continued to throb. He thought about getting another shot, but he didn’t want the morphine haze that enveloped him to get any worse. “I don’t know. I guess the only thing to do is tell BIGEYE and try to get another TAV sent here.”

Gould shook his head. “I don’t think they’ll do that, Colonel. We’ve already lost two TAVs, and besides, it will take at least an hour to get another one here. Longer if they don’t have one with a fuel bladder ready.”

“We’ll see.” Krandel turned to a marine guarding the hatch. “Private, have Havisad raise BIGEYE and request another TAV pronto.”

BIGEYE only confirmed Gould’s assessment: “Washington refuses to budge on this one, Colonel. Vice President Woodstone had the deal all worked out with Do’brai, and you’re only making things worse. I’ve been told to relay a direct order to you: Surrender immediately and don’t allow the situation to get any worse.”

Krandel muttered, “What does he mean, get any worse? What the hell does he think we’re doing, having a birthday party out here?”

Gould raised an eyebrow. “What do you think, Colonel? They say we’ve got a guarantee from Do’brai’s president himself.”

“I think that’s bullshit. We surrender and we’ll never get out of here alive.”

Krandel ran a hand through his hair. They were so close to getting out of here—it just didn’t make sense. To have Gould fly all the way back, and for what? A pilot without a plane is like a bus driver without a bus. There had to be something else they could do.

Krandel closed his eyes. Ten hours ago he was getting ready to spend an afternoon at the beach with his wife and kids. With all that had happened since then, he couldn’t just roll over and allow the Do’brainese to get the best of him. He had been incessantly drilled to consider all options, to uncover all possible avenues. It was like taking a test; he had to do things right the first time under pressure.

He reviewed what he had: a plane without a pilot….

Without a pilot! He opened his eyes and spoke excitedly to Gould. “Okay, you’re a pilot. How about flying us out of here in this?”

Gould nearly choked. “In
this?
You want me to try to fly this trash hauler?”

“Look, you said you could be flying this plane on the Dallas-Honolulu route—”

Gould straightened. “I said I
wished
I was. Colonel, there’s a big difference between knowing how to do something and
wishing
you could do it. They spend months learning how to fly this monster. If this were a helicopter, or a TAV, I could do it. But fly this? No way.”

“A plane’s a plane!”

“But they’re all different,” Gould said with an edge to his voice. “I could kill us. Besides, it’s too dangerous. And what if this baby has bullet holes in it? We’d never be able to make altitude.” He shook his head. “I just don’t know how to do it.”

Krandel was silent for a minute. “Gould, did you see the President’s feet?”

Gould hesitated. “No, I didn’t. He was pretty well banged up, though, from what the doctor said when we got to Dulles.”

“
I
saw them. He was tortured, Major. His toenails were torn out, and he was pretty badly beaten. And if they would do that to our President, can you imagine what the hell the bastards would do to us?” Krandel searched Gould’s eyes. “Are you married, Gould?”

“Eh?”

“Are you married—do you have any kids?”

Gould was silent for several heartbeats. Krandel felt he must have struck a nerve. Finally Gould whispered, “No.”

“I am—and I intend to see my family again. I left my wife and children without a word of explanation. I don’t want them to remember their daddy as someone who was too busy to care, too busy to say goodbye. I want to see them. And the only way I’m going to do it is if you get us the hell out of here.”

“I told you, it’s not that simple. I don’t know how to fly this thing—”

Krandel interrupted angrily. “If there was a truck out there and I didn’t know how to drive it, you’d better the hell believe I would give it a try. I don’t want to die because you’re too scared to fly something you’ve never flown before. I’d rather die trying than give up. Besides, you yourself said this 787 could practically fly itself. Now get your ass up there and
fly
this airplane, Major. That’s an order.”

The two stared at each other, hard, for what seemed to be an hour.

Gould finally spoke, closing his eyes. “Can you get me a link with BIGEYE through the plane’s radio?”

“We have one up now.”

Silence, then: “I’ll need that, and someone’s help on this end—one of your men who has some technical training to help me fly this thing.”

“That will be Havisad.”

Gould opened his eyes. “Then if we can get BIGEYE to relay me instructions, I’ll give it a try.”

Krandel struggled to his feet. He put a hand on Gould’s shoulder. All he could manage was, “Thanks.”

Gould threw off Krandel’s hand and headed for the cockpit. He said almost bitterly, “Don’t thank me—thank her.”

Puzzled, Krandel started to speak, but he had more important things to do.

He collared a marine. “Tell Havisad to get with Major Gould and do whatever he needs him to do. The rest of you secure the doors and the prisoners. We’ll allow them to disembark right before we take off.”

He caught himself. The general was their only way out of this quagmire. And the general would provide an alibi for their disobeying NECC directives and failing to surrender. With the enmity that the sniper and the general had for each other, it might explain some of why all this had transpired. And what if one of the two had really kidnapped the President? And the other one had planned it? He could not afford to let either of them go.

He said forcefully, “No, belay that order. Secure the prisoners in a seat. Make sure there’s no way they can escape. We’re taking them with us.”

“Aye, aye, Colonel.”

It had been a while since the men had tackled a job with such enthusiasm. Now if only Gould could come through for them.

Do’brai airport: runway clearer

The 787 showed up as a burning, bright-white dot on the runway clearer’s IR sensor. A single line extended from the dot: the runway.

New instructions from BIGEYE made it clear that the dot was sacrosanct, so the runway clearer swung its turret to other matters.

The runway clearer was fitted with OTH backscatter radar, finely tuned, so that it could detect motion even from its squat height. An array surrounding the runway clearer’s turret was packed with dynamic, acoustic, and seismic sensors. Each sensor was queried, updated, and adjusted every one hundred millionth of a second.

It detected movement: two hundred twenty-seven point zero three meters, point eighty-nine radians from norm.

A swoosh and the runway clearer let loose another round from its railgun.

The movement ceased.

The runway clearer kept up its sentinel, unmindful of the time.

Soon the red dot grew bigger. It moved down the runway, going even faster. The runway clearer was deaf to the plane’s roar.

The runway clearer detected a volley of fire directed at the dot. True to its orders, the runway clearer snuffed out the projectiles in flight, vaporizing the metal slugs with its free electron laser. One missile after another was destroyed along its way.

A score of bullets were shot at the moving dot.

The runway clearer immediately turned to the bullets’ source.

The shooting stopped as well.

As the red dot lurched from the runway the runway clearer reviewed its instructions: the self-destruct code was given in myriad different ways so that misinterpretation was impossible.

A signal was sent. Electrons trickled down to the runway clearer’s nuclear-driven core. The pile was shut down, disassembled, so that the atomic plant could never be used. Then two hundred pounds of explosives reacted with laser chemicals, blowing a crater fifty feet across.