by Larry Bond
The man who’d been there was dead.
A bullet hit into one of the nearby sandbag, sounding like a clod of dirt hitting the ground. Zeus ducked. The gunfire was coming from the missile battery. He started to turn the machine gun in their direction, then stopped as Solt came running up.
“Come on, through the entrance,” she yelled. “Run!”
He leapt out of the position, and ran, head down, following her out of the complex. More gunfire followed him out, but it was poorly aimed, fired only in the general direction of the trouble.
They ran until they reached the highway. Cars passed, apparently unaware of them. Solt, a little ahead of him, slowed and began to walk along the shoulder.
“Let’s get to the other side,” said Zeus.
“I need my breath.”
“Come on.” He grabbed her hand—it felt small—then pulled her across. They made it just in front of a truck, which showed no sign of slowing, let alone stopping. They hadn’t been seen in the dark.
Zeus lay on his back in the grass. Every part of him hurt—his body had been pounded, and not just by bullets hitting the vest. He needed to rest. He wanted to sleep for a few days if not weeks.
“What do we do?” Solt asked.
“Get the hell out of here,” he told her.
“To where?”
“Anywhere we can. Do you have contacts?”
“Some. If things are too hot, they won’t help.”
“If we can get a car, maybe we can get to the airport,” Zeus said.
“It’s too late for that. I know someone in Yaowancun I trust.” Solt’s voice became more assured as she spoke. “She can help get us closer to the border. Or to Beijing.”
“All right,” said Zeus.
“Come on.” She started to tug him back in the direction of the camp.
“South?” He held fast.
“Yaowancun is south of here. Come on.”
“We’ll never make it past the base.”
“Yes. Come on. If we hurry. Come on.”
Zeus hesitated. But really, what choice did he have? She knew the country far better than he did. Setco was gone. They were completely on their own.
He’d gotten out of China before.
“All right,” he said.
They trotted a few yards along the ditch, Solt in the lead. She quickly grew tired and slowed to a fast walk. Zeus caught up and started to walk himself.
The base was quiet. There was some activity back near the buildings, but nothing at the road.
“It took us too long to get to the phone lines,” said Solt. “I’m sure they made calls out.”
“Don’t worry now,” said Zeus. “There was someone in the radio room. I’m just surprised there’s no one here yet.”
“They must be on the way.”
A handful of cars passed. The ditch became shallower after they passed the gate; before they’d gone twenty yards they were nearly at the level of the road.
Zeus thought of getting rid of the armored vest he was wearing. Its weight drained his energy. But it had already saved his life; very possibly it might have to do so again.
“Keep moving,” Solt urged. “Come on.
A car sped past from the north. Almost as soon as it passed them, the driver hit the brakes and pulled a U-turn.
Solt flattened herself. Zeus dropped to a firing position.
Zeus heard Setco yelling from the car.
“Get the hell in the car,” he growled. “Why the fuck didn’t you answer our hails?”
Zeus pulled his radio unit from his pocket. It had been hit by two rounds, one of which was still embedded in the unit.
“Not covered by warranty,” said Setco.
* * *
The van had been so banged up that Setco decided to exchange it for a new vehicle within minutes of breaking out of the base. They had ended up pulling over two cars, the nondescript JAC sedan that had picked up Zeus and Solt, and a small Lifan SUV.
The SUV was waiting for them about a quarter mile up the road. They stopped, then arranged themselves in what Setco thought was the least conspicuous groupings. He had Solt sit in the front of the JAC with him; Zeus went into the back, sitting in the middle.
The three people who’d been pulled from the cars when Setco grabbed them were sitting against the back of the battered van, tied up and blindfolded. Zeus felt a twinge of regret when he saw one was a woman; none of them had been harmed but this wasn’t exactly going to be the high point of their lives.
“They didn’t see me,” said Setco as Zeus stared. “Once they were blindfolded, I spoke Vietnamese, though I doubt they realized that’s what it was.”
“Yeah.”
“The pistol I left at the base was Vietnamese,” added Setco. “The black boxes will have blown up by now and taken out the control center. Kam set satchel charges outside that the Vietnamese use, complete with watches made in Saigon. There’ll be enough confusion. As long as we make it back. And if we don’t who cares?”
“Is the plane there?” asked Zeus.
“Yeah. Longjohn won’t leave without us unless a lot of shit really hits the fan.”
Zeus couldn’t help but wince—more than a little shit had hit the fan by any definition.
“I just talked to him,” Setco added. “They’re there. They’ll tell me if they have to leave. And if he blows up, his radio sets off a distress signal if it stops transmitting.”
“I see,” said Zeus.
“Hell on the batteries.”
Zeus settled back in his seat, trying not to feel the bruises and scratches covering his body. Solt steered their car into the lead, moving steadily but not past the speed limit up the highway. She was quiet, following but not acknowledging Setco’s bare instructions as they drove back north toward the airport.
Zeus wondered why her eyes had reminded him of Anna’s. How could he be confused about that?
He leaned his head back on the top of the seat, trying to empty his mind. The world rushed by, a confused jangle. The op was back to being surreal, back to moving well, back to succeeding—they were driving through a Chinese city, having just assassinated the general of one of the country’s armies. The dead body of one of their teammates was inside the trunk. They smelled of sweat and blood. Yet no one who saw them passing would suspect any of this.
There were almost no cars on the highway as they went into the city proper. Setco fooled with both the car radio and the team scanner, trying to see what if anything was going on at the airport. About two miles from the large circle, cars started bunching up and the traffic thickening.
“We better come on to the property from the north,” Setco told Solt. “We can climb the fence. There’s no sense taking a chance at the gate.”
She didn’t acknowledge, but angled the car to the right lane, leaving the highway near Zihuncun district. From there they took a succession of local roads, tracking around the warehouses and the adjoining housing developments to circle toward the airport. Setco used the satellite map on the laptop to guide her through the thicket of warehouses abutting the airport property; they finally made their way to a fenced field where they could see the blinking runway lights a few hundred yards away.
There were also blue emergency lights in the distance.
“We’re going to have to cross the runway to get to the plane,” Setco said. “Everybody out. Take everything you have. Except the grenades. They’re Vietnamese. Leave those.”
“All of them?” asked Zeus.
“No, just leave one,” said Setco, reconsidering.
He got out and went to the SUV, telling them the same thing. Then he came back and opened the trunk.
“Give me a hand,” he yelled.
No one moved.
“He looks Vietnamese,” said Kam. “Leave him.”
Setco frowned. “Zeus?”
Zeus walked over.
“They might figure out he’s Korean somehow,” said Setco. “I don’t want to take that chance.�
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Zeus nodded. He knew now the explanation was just a way of covering for his emotions—Setco didn’t want to leave his man behind.
The Chinese would figure out from the van that they weren’t Vietnamese, at least not all of them—Roo and Robbie were pretty clearly not Asian, and unless their skeletons were completely disintegrated, the Chinese would eventually figure out or at least suspect who had hit them.
Setco was acting partly out of professionalism, just as he had leaving the Vietnamese gear at the base. But it was more, much more, that he felt responsible for his men, and wanted to bring him home.
Zeus respected him for it. He helped lift the man onto Setco’s shoulders, checked the trunk for anything that might have been left behind, then joined the others at the fence.
The area on the other side of the complex where the planes had crashed into the van earlier was awash in light from mobile floodlights. The bright, artificial white was polka-dotted with flashes of blue from police and emergency vehicles.
Their AN-24 was parked a good distance from the accident. But there were plenty of vehicles between them and the plane. The runway seemed to have been closed down; there were aircraft over by the terminal building, but none queued for takeoff.
Setco got on the radio and spoke to Longjohn at the airplane. Once again he assured them that the plane was ready to take off, which it would do as soon as they were aboard.
“So far, they’re leaving them alone,” Setco told the others. “But we can’t be too long at this. We gotta get in.”
Kam had already started cutting the bottom of the fence, making a hole large enough for them to pass through one at a time. Kam went first; the wounded Park, who was huffing but claimed he was feeling better, went next.
One by one, the others followed until only the dead man and Setco remained. As they pulled their dead companion through, his vest snagged on the wire. Setco reached under and cut off the fabric. When they pulled him free, he cut away the rest of the vest.
“Makes him a lot lighter,” said Setco, as if an explanation was necessary. “He doesn’t need it anyway.”
They started across the field, angling to the right in the direction of the plane. Park limped heavily, but was able to walk with only a little help from Kam. After a few yards, a beam of a searchlight began sweeping in their direction. They went down to the ground, waiting as it passed.
“OK,” hissed Setco, staggering to his feet with the dead man on his back.
They got about ten yards before the light returned and everyone ducked again. It didn’t seem aimed, at least not at them, but they couldn’t take a chance.
“This is going to take forever,” said Kam. “And we still have to get past those military trucks.”
“Yeah, let’s think about this.” Setco raised his head, observing the field.
“Why don’t we grab one of the trucks?” Zeus suggested. “They’d let an army truck go right through.”
“Yeah, but there’s bound to be sentries on it, or at least a driver with a gun,” said Setco. “Besides, there are too many people nearby. What do you think about one of the fire trucks?”
Zeus looked to the left. There were two fire trucks parked along the runway, one on each side, not quite parallel to each other at the end of the runway.
“That might work.”
“All right.”
Setco started to get up. Zeus grabbed his arm and pushed him back down.
“Just a couple of us go,” suggested Zeus. “Then we swing the truck over to the road. The others catch up. It’ll be quicker.”
Setco thought about it for a moment. “I don’t want to split up.”
“We’re already split up,” said Zeus. “Half the team’s back at the plane.”
“All right. Kam, when you see us at the truck, start moving up the roadway there. Squirt and Zeus, come with me.”
“Three is too few. I can come,” volunteered Solt.
“No, three’s fine. Stay.”
Crouching as he ran, Setco led the small group back toward the fence, moving into the shadows before looping back toward the fire truck. They stayed near the fence until they were roughly even with the truck, then began crawling toward it on their hands and knees.
When they were about thirty yards away, Setco stopped and studied it more closely. It was a large pumper with a double cab and a long, flat body. Two firemen sat in the front.
They couldn’t see much of the second truck from where they were. But whoever was in it would have an unobstructed view across the runway.
“Squirt, how’s your Chinese feeling?” asked Setco.
The Korean said something. Setco frowned.
“That’s going to have to do. Go up to the driver’s window and distract them. Tell them you’re looking for infiltrators or something. Here, tuck in your uniform.” Setco pushed the Korean’s shirt down, straightening it a little. “Zeus and I will get into the cab behind them. If we shoot, get ready to take out the guys in the other truck. Understand?”
“Shì de.”
“Right.”
Zeus checked his rifle, then began crawling toward the rear quarter of the truck. There was a compartment there for the pump controls. He froze, thinking he saw something move across it.
It was only a play of light, shadows crisscrossing wildly from the far end of the field.
Relax, he told himself. They were almost home.
Zeus had just gotten up to move again when someone inside the truck began shouting. Squirt stood and waved his hand.
“Shit,” muttered Setco, starting to run.
Zeus began running as well. Squirt began saying something in Chinese to the effect that they were looking for infiltrators—had the firemen seen any?
The fireman was shouting. He appeared angry, though it wasn’t clear why.
Setco cursed again. Zeus looked toward Squirt and saw that he was raising his rifle.
Zeus began running. Setco dropped to a knee and fired at the cab, taking down the man who’d been on the passenger side.
Zeus changed direction, sprinting behind the vehicle, aiming to get around to the driver’s side in case the driver made a break for it.
There was a man on the running board of the other fire truck, on Zeus’s left. He was holding a pistol, looking in the direction of the truck that had just been attacked. Bringing his arm and the butt end of his gun against the side of his chest as he ran, Zeus pressed the trigger of the AR-15.
The shots went wide, wild and poorly aimed. The fireman started to turn. Zeus stopped, shouldered and squared properly, and put three bullets into the fireman.
The truck on the left started to move.
Zeus threw himself back into motion, racing to catch the vehicle before it got away. He pulled even with the cab before it gained momentum, but as he reached for it its steady momentum started to tell. It was accelerating faster than he could run.
Zeus lunged at the side, but there was nothing to grab onto. He kept running, and saw the control bay at the rear coming toward him. As it drew parallel, he leapt up, grabbing the fairing on the back opening. But his feet had nothing to step onto, and they slipped back to the pavement.
The truck was moving so fast his legs couldn’t keep up. He swung them up and in desperation managed to get his right foot into the opposite end of the galley. He was all crossed up, twisted, hanging off the end of the truck. He willed his other leg in alongside the other, then pulled himself up and managed to grab onto the rail at the top of the truck.
From there, it was almost easy: He did a pull-up, rising up and over to the roof of the vehicle.
The driver, meanwhile, thought he had lost him and started to slow down. He reached for his radio, flipping the switch when Zeus swung his fist down and pounded on the driver’s side window.
The driver, terrified and surprised, veered hard to the right, nearly knocking Zeus off the top.
Having lost his rifle somewhere along the way, Zeus struggled to grab for the p
istol in his drop holster while still remaining on top of the slaloming fire truck. He managed to get the gun and smack the front of the windscreen.
The driver ducked down below the dash, pulling the wheel as he went and jamming his foot on the gas. Zeus felt the truck starting to tip under him. He flattened himself on the roof, holding on as best he could.
Panicking, the driver turned the wheel back the other way. The rear of the vehicle swung back. Momentum pushed it over to the other side.
Zeus lost his grip and flew off the cab as it bounced back the other way. The truck flipped off the runway, skidding on its side.
Zeus stayed on his knees a moment, stunned, his brain momentarily floating in a void away from his body. Then he heard Setco shouting at him.
“Let’s go, let’s go,” yelled Setco. He was in the cab of the other fire truck, a few feet away.
Zeus got up and went to the truck, climbing in the back of the cab as it started down toward the others.
“What happened?”
“Squirt thought the guy was going to shoot him. The firemen are military. They’re soldiers. Something about the uniform or the way Squirt started talking to him made him suspicious. It doesn’t matter now.”
Squirt was sitting in front of him, hunkered over in the front, gun pointing out the window.
Solt rose from the shadows ahead. Zeus squeezed across to the opposite side of the cab. She came in next to him, her body soft and warm against his. Welcome.
“All sorts of vehicles coming to find out what’s going on,” said Kam, getting in. He had the dead man on his lap.
“Yeah,” muttered Setco.
He floored it toward the airplane, hitting his siren for good measure. The radio was squawking, but they ignored it.
Longjohn and one of the Vietnamese soldiers ran out to the truck as they came up. When everyone but Zeus and Setco had piled out, Setco threw the vehicle into reverse to get it out of the way.
“Let’s go, Major,” said Setco.
Several vehicles were headed in their direction. As far as Zeus could tell, no one fired at them, though in truth the aircraft engines were so loud, he might not have heard any bullets anyway.
