by Larry Bond
To the right was a row of darkened warehouse buildings. The walls were right up to the concrete surface of the ramp. The ramp was about the width of a road, wide enough for a small aircraft but not a large one.
Setco said something in Vietnamese. Solt responded tersely.
“Shit,” muttered Setco in English. “What are the odds?”
Up ahead, a pair of J-11 fighters outfitted with a full load of bombs and missiles were taxiing toward them. The J-11s—Chinese adaptations of the Su-27 Flanker—were staggered one behind the other so that their wings covered practically the entire span of the ramp.
Solt didn’t slow down. Zeus stared in disbelief as the jets came at them, their running lights a blur and shadows dancing off the wings and fuselage. He grabbed the back of the seat and tucked his head down, bracing for the impact.
The van swerved hard to the left, the side crashing along the fence as the jets passed. Zeus turned his head sideways and looked up, surprised to see that they were still intact. They had barely missed the fighter.
The second van wasn’t as lucky. The pilot of the aircraft saw the vehicle and started to veer to the left. But the driver of the van was trying to escape that way, squeezing next to the warehouses rather than the fence. The wingtip ECM pod smashed into the corner of the windshield, hooking the vehicle and dragging it around. The van rolled on its wheels, catching the rear of the jet, which spun hard to the left and clipped the other aircraft. One or both of the planes caught fire instantly; a few seconds later they both exploded. The van rolled on its side through the flames and also ignited in a massive fireball.
“Keep going,” said Setco calmly. “Get us out of here.
49
The South China Sea
Silas jerked up in his bed as the buzzer sounded. He was needed on the bridge.
He pulled on his shoes—all he’d removed to sleep—then went out to the bridge. The officer of the deck met him practically at the door.
“What?” demanded Silas, still half-dazed from sleep.
“The Chinese ships are challenging another merchant vessel,” said the lieutenant. “Crew is at general quarters.”
The ship being challenged was a small cargo vessel, currently several miles south of the Chinese cruiser. The cruiser was just under twenty-five miles away, at the edge of the horizon; her frigate was nearby. They were making good speed, steaming toward the merchant ship.
“What nationality?” asked Silas.
“She’s Korean, but she’s not flying a flag. She’s not responding.”
“Do we know who is she?”
“The Nam Nam,” said the officer. “Left Seoul two days ago.”
The fact that she wasn’t responding and wasn’t flying a flag were more than enough to make the ship suspicious. The Chinese had every right to stop the ship under international law, and this time Silas was too far away to intervene.
A few moments later, the Chinese ratcheted the confrontation up several notches by putting a shot across the merchant ship’s bow.
“Should I notify Fleet, Cap?” asked OD.
“Absolutely. But I’m not waiting for them.” Silas tapped the button on the command unit for his headset so he could speak directly to the CIC. “Li?”
“We’re ready, Cap—Jesus!”
“Li?”
“They just hit the port side of the freighter’s bow,” said Li. “That wasn’t a warning shot. They’re firing again.”
“Well I’m goddamned if I’m going to watch this. Korea’s an ally of ours.”
Li hesitated. “Captain, I should point out that our orders–”
Silas cut her off. “Duly noted.” He turned to his helmsman. “Get me between those ships.”
“Captain, sir, you want to be in the line of fire?” asked the sailor. It was not an unreasonable question.
“Damn straight, Johnny, get me there.”
McCampbell immediately began cutting to the east. But there was too much distance between them—there was no way the destroyer could get there in time to do anything but fish out survivors.
The only way to stop this was to fight.
Which was exactly what he had been ordered not to do.
Before he could ask if Fleet had responded to their call, Li came on Silas’s circuit with a new warning.
“Both Chinese ships are locking their gunfire control radars on us.”
They were well out of gun range, but the message was clear: Keep off the grass.
“Hold our course. Our radars—”
“Aye, aye, Captain. We’re locked and ready. Tit for tat.”
They had played this game before.
Silas had his comm officer attempt to reach the Chinese commander of the cruiser. He didn’t acknowledge.
“Tell him that he is to stop firing immediately,” said Silas. “And to cease acting in a hostile manner.”
That had exactly the effect that Silas expected it would—none. The Korean ship, meanwhile, had changed course south, by all appearances attempting to run away. Silas had to admit, it didn’t exactly look innocent. Still, firing on a civilian ship in international waters was not exactly a peaceful activity. The cruiser sent another round at the vessel; this one fell short.
“They’re trying to see what I’m going to do,” mumbled Silas.
“Captain?” said the helmsman.
“Steady as you go. Communications?”
“Transmission from the Chinese, Cap.”
“Patch me onto that line,” said Silas.
“American vessel. We are enforcing a blockade of a war zone. You are in the way and in a danger area. We suggest you sail out of the range of fire.”
“Stop firing on a civilian vessel!” said Silas.
The Chinese commander didn’t respond. His gun sent another shell toward the Korean. This one narrowly missed the Korean vessel.
“We will not permit you to continue firing on an unarmed vessel,” warned Silas.
“Cruiser is ceasing fire,” reported Li. “Turning.”
For a moment, Silas thought he had won, once more bluffing the Chinese away. Then he saw that the frigate was moving, too.
“Communications, where is Fleet?” demanded Silas. “I need the admiral himself. Now.”
His communications officer was just about to respond when Li’s voice cut through the slight static in his headset.
“The Chinese are launching missiles!”
50
Kunming
No one spoke as the van sped out the unguarded gate at the north side of the Kunming airport complex. Solt took a left and then a quick right, driving through some local roads before finally reaching a ramp to the highway. This took them to a massive circular interchange, where several regional arteries came together.
“Forgot your lights,” said Setco, finally breaking the silence.
Solt flipped them on. It was the first indication that she was nervous, or had been affected in any way by the accident they had just escaped.
There was fortunately little traffic on the circle, making it easier to navigate the complex network as they found their way south. They got on S102, the Kunluo Highway, and started to relax. They were about fifteen miles from the base.
“You might cut your speed,” said Setco. “We don’t need to be stopped.”
“We won’t be.”
Zeus was just as glad to be moving quickly. The sooner they had something real to do, the better.
About a mile from the base, Setco had Solt pull off the road so they could arrange their positions in the vehicle and go over assignments. Kam took over the driving; his accent was the best. Setco reviewed what he would say—almost nothing—and even made him practice holding up the counterfeit ID placard the Chinese used as passes.
Once inside, Setco would lead the team into the building, with Longjohn and Gimhae, another of the Koreans, right behind him. Solt and Kam would stay outside. Everyone else would be in the middle.
“Hold off shooting as lon
g as possible,” Setco told them.
“We might be able to sneak around the back,” said Zeus. “Since there’s usually no one there. We could drive—”
“We’re going straight in, Major,” answered Setco. “No change in the plan now.”
“We have less people—”
“We’re going straight in.”
Zeus pursed his lips but said nothing.
The telephone landline ran through a conduit just around the corner from the entrance. Solt or Kam would cut it, using either a knife or, if that proved impossible, a charge of plastic explosive. The power ran through a conduit next to it. If they blew the line, the power in the building would die as well, but Chinese headquarters buildings always had backup generators. Because of that, Setco believed the lights would stay on in the building during the raid. Night-vision glasses would have been problematic in any event; they were easily defeated by flashes of light from flash-crash grenades, and were heavy and bulky besides.
“I’m the first to fire,” added Setco. He said it in Korean and Vietnamese, then looked at Zeus. “I’m the first to fire.”
“OK.”
Setco turned to the others. “All right? It’s only half of us, but we’ve dealt with this shit before.”
The others nodded. It wasn’t much of a pep talk, but at this point no one really wanted one. They wanted to get in and get the job done.
There were eight of them now, roughly half of what they had started with, a number that itself Zeus had thought barely enough to pull off the job. But it was too late to change things, too late to turn back.
All the way in. That’s where they were now.
Zeus swapped places with one of the Koreans, while the Taiwanese mercenary who’d been sitting next to him went up to the front. Setco took the middle where Zeus had been. It was a tight fit. The vehicle smelled of sweat and farts; someone’s stomach was acting up.
Zeus was grateful it wasn’t his.
He positioned his rifle barrel down between his legs, set his hand so he could grab it easily, and hunkered down, waiting.
It seemed to take forever to drive the last mile to the base. Zeus breathed slowly, his mind empty. He stared down at the rifle, focusing on the trigger loop barely visible in the dark van. They slowed. His heart pounded inside his chest. He emptied his lungs carefully, feeling the breath move between his teeth.
He thought of Anna. He saw her on the bed, their first night together in Hanoi.
I would die for this woman. I will die for this woman.
Setco raised his Glock. “I fire first,” he said in English, then in Korean and Vietnamese. He slipped it back down under his jacket.
No one spoke as they came up to the gate. They slowed; the driver rolled down the window and held out the card.
And then they were in.
Just like that, past the guards, who were too busy with whatever gossip they were sharing in the guardhouse to do more than glance at the papers.
They were in.
“Another fifty yards,” whispered Setco. “Everyone careful now.”
The fifty yards could have been fifty miles as far as Zeus was concerned. He clenched his teeth, waiting. He was afraid to think.
The truck veered right.
“Steady. Steady,” hissed Setco.
Solt said something in Vietnamese. Setco answered. Zeus closed his eyes. His fingers started to press against the trigger guard. He jerked them away—an accidental shot now was the last thing they needed.
Kam whispered something to Setco.
Setco repeated it in English for the others. “We’re coming up to the armored car.”
Another whisper.
“All right. We’re past. Here’s the door. Kam flashes the ID. Let’s move in. Don’t fire until we’re stopped, or we’re all in. Whichever comes first. Look sharp.”
The men started to pile out of the van. It was dark. There were no lights in the missile complex to the right, the side that Zeus got out on. Only a single light marked the entrance of the headquarters building.
Zeus looked toward the entrance of the missile battery. He could see black shapes moving around.
A shot rang out behind him. Kam had been challenged, and Setco took no chances.
Two, three—a burst. Zeus pulled his gun up. But the gunfire had already stopped.
Everyone was running into the building. There were shouts from the missile barracks.
Zeus told himself to ignore them and followed the others.
Kam was at the threshold. He dropped a duffel bag to the ground, then bent over it. Thinking he’d been wounded, Zeus slowed to help, then stopped as Kam pulled a small, thick tube from the bag.
It was an RPG 27, a stubby short-range antitank weapon manufactured by the Russians. It was loaded—he had it ready and was kneeling.
“Ha!” he yelled, or something close.
Zeus stepped to the side. The launcher roared.
Almost instantly, the armored car exploded.
I need to be inside, thought Zeus. He turned quickly and followed to the building. There were two bodies by the door.
Bullets flew around him.
The doorway was open. One of the Korean team members, Squirt, was on his knee just inside the door. Zeus ran to him, squatting next to him. Then he pointed inside, and thumbed his chest:
I’ll go first.
Squirt nodded.
Zeus took a breath, then lunged inside. He caught the sight of a small green chem light on the floor to his left, in the threshold of room—it meant it had already been cleared. Then he saw something moving on the far side of the long hall. He thought it was another member of the team, but something was wrong—the man was wearing the wrong kind of uniform.
His brain couldn’t process what he was seeing. There was gunfire, a pop. Zeus brought his rifle up but unsure what or who the shadow was, held off from firing. He managed to tuck his shoulder down and tried to roll, ducking down in case he was fired on. He landed against the wall, hard, struggling to process what he saw.
A full green uniform.
Not one of theirs—they were wearing camis.
The AR15 jumped in Zeus’s hand as he fired. The man went down.
Squirt took a step and bounded in, sliding in next to Zeus. Further down the hall, someone emerged from one of the rooms.
“It’s clear, it’s clear,” he yelled with a decided accent. There was a loud pop and a series of bangs downstairs—a Polish flash-crash grenade going off.
Zeus glanced to his right. There was a dead body behind him. As he rose, Zeus felt something wet on his knee—the man’s blood.
“Blue, blue, blue,” yelled Setco, emerging from another room. “Move to the stairs. The stairs!”
The stairs were where the man in the green had come from. Just beyond his body was another, this one in Chinese camis.
One of their guys. Park.
“Down, coming down!” Setco shouted.
“Clear,” yelled whoever was downstairs.
Zeus was the last man in the small train down the steps. Setco crouched in the hall, listening as the Korean who’d met them explained something.
Setco waved at him, then pushed him forward. There were four of them, tight now as a group, Zeus at the back. Two men took a room, the others stayed outside. They used the grenades, swarming in and hugging the walls, taking no chances.
Zeus told himself not to look back at the man, their man, lying on the floor. It was his job not to look back.
Someone had screwed up or guessed wrong or been incredibly unlucky for him to have been shot. Most likely it was the man himself—he probably had been left to hold the stairs. The soldier in green who came up must have been the one who shot him.
Setco had it under control now. They worked in and out of the rooms, each man taking his role—the door-banger in, another, Setco directing, Zeus tailgun, watching the hall.
“That’s a comm room,” said Setco, thumbing at the next door. It was closed. “Joo
ch’ll take the door, we’ll toss a grenade. Stay down for the shock. Zeus, watch the hall.”
Zeus nodded. There were only two more rooms that they hadn’t checked. But he could hear gunfire upstairs; there wasn’t much time now.
He crouched, waiting. Jooch—the Korean who had been first-in upstairs—rose and fired at the door handle. Even as he pulled his gun back, Zeus had his foot on the door, trying to slam it in.
It didn’t go.
He cursed and tried again.
The door remained in place.
“Leave it.” Zeus tapped the other Korean on the shoulder. “Stay.”
They ran to the next room. This door was locked as well. Setco went to a knee, then removed a small box from his cargo pants pocket. He popped it open; it contained a small amount of C4-like plastic explosive, and some igniter charges. He put the plastic on the door and shoved in the igniter.
“Back!” he hissed.
All four of them retreated to the stairwell. Zeus pressed the back of his arm against the banister. The pressure somehow felt reassuring.
The explosive went off with a sharp bang, amplified by the hallway. Zeus’s ears rang as he followed the others back into the hall. The explosive had punched a large hole in the door, nearly obliterating most of the wood; bits hung around the frame on either side like a fringed decoration.
“Back!” yelled Setco again as he tossed a grenade underhand into the room. A few seconds later it exploded, the sound softer than the C-4, muffled not only by the walls but by whatever temporary damage had been done to Zeus’s ears.
Zeus caught a whiff of acrid smoke as he stepped through into the room. Two bodies were laying at the far side, behind an overturned table. They were officers.
Jooch stepped over and fired a burst into the nearest man’s head. Zeus, scanning right as he went down along the wall, saw the Korean going toward the other officer. He was moving. He had a pistol in his hand.
