Black Star

by Robert Gandt

  “Don’t!” yelled Bass, six feet away.

  “Shut up.” Chiu swung the muzzle of the pistol down to the lock mechanism. Shielding his eyes, he fired at the deadbolt. The bullet twanged into the metal, creating a flash and a shower of fragments.

  It still didn’t open.

  He fired again. Another flash, more sheared metal.

  He stepped back and gave the door a kick. It swung open.

  He shoved Mai-ling through the open door. “Take us to the equipment shop. No more excuses.”

  <>

  She hated him. She despised him with the cold, unthinking abhorrence one feels for a rabid animal.

  Chiu was a madman, Mai-ling decided. She had been certain that he was going to kill her when he was forcing open the door of the equipment shop. If his second bullet hadn’t shattered the lock, the next one probably would have gone into her skull.

  Now she felt his hand between her shoulder blades, shoving her. “Move!”

  Where was the shop? She prayed that it was in this building, somewhere on the bottom floor. She had never been in the crew life support equipment shop. She only knew of its existence from Shaomin.

  The door into Building One led them to a wide hallway with branches to separate bays on the ground floor. Chiu was holding a floor plan of the building in front of him, studying it under the red beam of his flashlight.

  “Where is it? You said it would be at this end of the building.”

  She stared at the plan. Vaguely she remembered seeing the Dong-jin crews emerge from the building on the northern side, the side facing the shelters. If so, then the equipment shop would be to their right.

  She saw the hostility in Chiu’s face.

  “There,” She pointed to the place on the map. “Maybe.”

  Another flurry of gunfire from outside caused all their heads to swivel. Chiu listened for a moment, then stuffed the plan into his pocket. He seized her shoulder and steered her on down the hallway. “Be quick. We’re out of time.”

  She moved down the darkened hallway, following the red beam of Chiu’s flashlight. Behind them Maxwell and Bass followed, keeping their silence.

  They came to another door. It too was locked. Again Chiu produced his pistol, but this time he blew apart the lock with only one shot.

  He swept the darkened room with his flashlight. From a row of pegs on one wall hung several hard-shelled flying helmets. A shelf contained oxygen masks and emergency equipment. Cabinets lined two walls, and another rack held torso harnesses with the fittings that secured the pilot to a jet’s ejection seat.

  The life support equipment shop.

  Mai-ling took a deep breath. Chiu would let her live, at least for five more minutes.

  It took Maxwell and Bass less than a minute to find suitable helmets. Then oxygen masks. They attached them to the helmets with the peculiar Chinese bayonet fittings.

  Mai-ling was conducting her own search, pulling out drawers, opening cabinets. At the far end of the room she yanked open a wall-length metal cabinet. It contained an array of peculiar-looking lenses, similar in appearance to the NVG they were wearing.

  Chiu came up behind her. “Well?”

  “This is it. Just like I said. The ultraviolet goggles.”

  He kept his face impassive. No acknowledgement, no sign of approval. “Get what you need,” he called to the two pilots. We’re leaving.”

  He turned to Mai-ling. He was still holding the pistol at his side. “Now we see if you are a patriot or a traitor. Take us to the Black Star.”

  She nodded, feeling the confidence ooze from her. Be calm. Your real objective is almost in reach.

  She gathered up two sets of the UV goggles and turned to leave. Almost as an afterthought, she reached back in the cabinet and snatched one more.

  <>

  Stepping into the darkness, Maxwell pulled down his NVG. In the eerie green light of the NVG lens, he saw the four aircraft shelters arranged in a semi-circle around a connecting taxiway. Each of the shelters had a large, folding door at the entrance. Just like the model back at Chingchuankang.

  Chiu was signaling for the group to gather around him. He turned to Mai-ling. “Which one contains the Black Star?”

  “Number One, the shelter on the far right.”

  “You are certain?”

  “Unless it has been moved.”

  He gave her a withering look. “Or unless you’re leading us into a trap.”

  He gestured with his pistol for her to move out toward the shelter.

  Maxwell could feel the heightened tension. The commandos advanced in a half-crouch, holding their submachine guns at the ready. Chiu moved like a hunting dog, stopping every several paces, scanning the terrain through his NVG.

  When they were still fifty meters from the shelter, a figure emerged from the darkness. Behind him, another dark-clad figure. Each carried an assault rifle.

  Sentries. They stood by the corner of the sprawling aircraft shelter, peering into the darkness.

  The commandos froze. The sentries weren’t wearing NVG. They hadn’t yet spotted the intruders.

  Chiu made a barely discernible gesture with his right hand. The two commandos on his right each fired a half-second burp of automatic fire from their MP-5Ns.

  The first sentry toppled backwards. The second spun around and fell. Wounded but still moving, he scuttled like a crab across the concrete for the cover of the shelter. The nearest commando ran to him, finishing him with a short burst before he reached the door.

  “Move!” Chiu barked. “Get to the shelter.”

  In a fast jog they stormed across the remaining tarmac. Stealth was no longer a consideration. The distinctive sound of the submachine guns had been enough to give their presence away.

  As Maxwell sprinted behind the commandos, he heard a chuffing noise behind him. He turned in time to see Mai-ling stumble and roll on the hard surface.

  He stopped, ran back to help her. Her cheek was bleeding.

  “I’m okay.” The voice seemed tiny and uncharacteristically subdued. He felt her hand shaking as he hauled her to her feet. For an extra second she clung to him, then she continued jogging toward the shelter.

  When the first commando was twenty meters from the side entrance, the door abruptly opened. Silhouetted in the doorway was another sentry, his assault rifle mounted to his shoulder.

  He fired a quick burst, shooting the lead commando squarely in the chest. The commando tumbled onto the concrete. His SMG skidded across the surface and clattered against the wall of the shelter.

  The sentry was swinging his weapon, picking his next target, when the hail of bullets tore into him. The rest of the fire team stormed out of the darkness, leaping over the bodies of the guards and the fallen commando. Kee and his team took positions on either side of the open door.

  Maxwell knelt over the body of the commando.

  “Leave him,” said Chiu.

  “He might still be alive.”

  “He’s not. His job is finished and yours hasn’t begun. Stay with me.”

  Maxwell hesitated, looking down at the commando’s lifeless face. Chiu was right. The young man’s chest was shredded. He had died instantly.

  Maxwell rose and followed Chiu and three of the team inside the shelter.

  A single yellow overhead light illuminated the cavernous space. While the commandos swept the shelter for more sentries, Maxwell gazed around in the subdued light.

  Chiu’s eyes were blazing like embers. Mai-ling’s face was filled with despair.

  The shelter was empty.

  <>

  Colonel Zhang paused at the top of the boarding ladder. Even through the thick walls of the shelter, he could hear the sounds of automatic fire outside.

  They’re looking for the Dong-jin. They haven’t found it yet.

  He threw a leg over the cockpit rail and settled himself into the front seat. After he’d stowed his kneeboard and survival equipment, he allowed Chung, the crew chief, to assist him with
the straps.

  Chung was nervous, fumbling with the fasteners and connectors. He tried several times to connect the oxygen hose and radio jacks before he finally succeeded. “Why have they attacked Chouzhou, Colonel?”

  “Because this is a military base and we are at war. Stop talking and hand me my helmet.”

  “Are they after the Dong-jin?”

  “How do I know what they’re after? Stop this useless talk and do your job. Hand me the helmet and UV goggles, then get Captain Yan strapped in.” He nodded his head toward the back cockpit where Yan, the weapons systems officer, was hurriedly setting up his station.

  “Yes, Colonel. I would just like to know if we were in danger from—”

  “Shut up! These matters are not your concern.”

  Zhang was sure that the sergeant knew exactly why the enemy had come to Chouzhou. Chung had been with the Dong-jin project since its inception. Zhang made it a point never to discuss urgent matters with low-ranking subordinates, particularly ignorant sergeants like Chung. For all he knew, the sergeant had allied himself with the dissidents.

  Zhang felt another wave of anger as he thought of the traitors who had betrayed the PLA and allowed the enemy to penetrate their defense network. When this war had been won—which would be in a matter of days—he would launch a purge of the PLA that would rid it once and forever of traitors.

  It had been a close thing, getting to the shelter and into the cockpit of the Dong-jin. He had nearly run head-on into a unit of enemy commandos out there on the tarmac. Only at the last second did he see them. The bastards were wearing NVG—an item of equipment the idiot base commander at Chouzhou probably never thought to issue his own troops.

  Zhang had swerved the Bei-jung—the Chinese-built, jeep-like utility vehicle—wildly off the taxiway, nearly rolling it over as he escaped the squad of black-suited commandos. One had fired several rounds into the Bei-jung, shattering glass and narrowly missing Zhang’s head.

  Now it was imperative that they get the Dong-jins airborne, not just to escape the invaders at Chouzhou, but to accomplish their mission over the Taiwan Strait. Victory was within their grasp. Taiwan was about to be defeated and absorbed into the PRC.

  In quiet moments, he liked to visualize the glorious moment. Col. Zhang Yu would be recognized as China’s greatest modern hero. He would be awarded the military’s highest medal, presented by the President of the People’s Republic himself. He would be promoted to the rank of senior general. His portrait would hang in the Hall of Heroes beside those of Mao and—

  The voice of the weapons systems officer, Captain Yan, crackled over the intercom. “Systems initialized and target coordinates inserted. Byte check complete.”

  Zhang’s thoughts returned to the cockpit. “Very well. Begin your pre-start check list.”

  “Complete, Colonel. Ready for engine start.”

  <>

  “Ten seconds,” Chiu said. He trained the muzzle of his SIG Sauer automatic on her. “You have ten seconds to tell us where the Black Star is.”

  His words echoed in the emptiness of the empty shelter. For several seconds no one spoke. All eyes were on Mai-ling.

  “It was here. They have moved it.”

  “I have lost four soldiers to reach this shelter.” He shoved the muzzle of the semi-automatic pistol beneath the rim of her helmet and pressed it against her ear. “Enough lies. Where is it?”

  “If they moved it. . .” she moved her lips in thought for a moment “. . . it would have to be in one of the other shelters—number two, probably. The one with the lift bays and the overhead fork arm.”

  Chiu seemed to be weighing the decision whether to continue the search or kill her on the spot.

  His finger tightened on the trigger.“Listen to her,” said Maxwell, trying to sound calm. “It makes sense to search the next shelter. We’ve come too far to turn back.”

  Chiu whirled on him. “I give the orders, not you. You want to save the defector because you think you will have more sex with her. Don’t you know her job was to seduce you?”

  “It’s not true,” blurted Mai-ling.

  Bass stared at Maxwell, then at Mai-ling.

  Chiu still held the SIG Sauer to her head. “We are in this position because of your false information, and now the entire PLA knows we are here. If the Black Star is not in the next shelter, we return to the helicopters and withdraw. And I will put a bullet in your brain. Is that understood, Madame Defector?”

  Mai-ling responded with a barely perceptible shake of the head.

  “Move!” He gave her a hard shove toward the door.

  Maxwell watched with a mounting sense of alarm. Chiu was a ticking bomb. He meant it. He would kill Mai-ling. He’d probably kill her even if she did take them to the Black Star.

  Shit. His job description didn’t include interfering with the mission commander. That much Chiu was right about. He did give the orders. He had his own reasons for distrusting Mai-ling, and maybe they were valid. Maybe she was a double agent, working both sides of the strait. Maybe she was leading them into a trap.

  Bullshit.

  Or was he blind to the truth? Not more than nine hours had passed since they had been together back on the darkened ramp at Chingchuankang. He no longer qualified as an objective judge.

  What would he do if Chiu decided to terminate her? He didn’t know.

  He pushed the matter out of his brain—for the moment. If she was leading them into a trap, it wouldn’t matter who killed whom. It would all be over.As Chiu and the team re-entered the semi-darkness outside the shelter, Bass pulled on Maxwell’s sleeve. “Is he making that stuff up? About you and Mai-ling? Have you two—”

  “Come on,” said Maxwell, heading for the exit. “We’ve got other stuff to worry about.”

  Bass stood motionless for another moment. Then he headed for the door.

  The Number Two shelter was a hundred meters nearer the still-raging petroleum blaze. Maxwell could see vehicles, hoses, dark figures moving around the flaming tanks.

  In the dancing light of the fuel fire, he could make out the rounded top and the slab sides of the shelter. The entry door was in the same position as in the first shelter.

  In front of them lay another fifty yards of open tarmac. Again they were exposed, vulnerable to snipers and guards and roving PLA security troops. Maxwell wondered whether the sentries were equipped with night vision goggles. Probably, he decided. NVG was nothing new. A prize as technically sophisticated as the Black Star would be protected with the most sophisticated devices they had.

  Ahead, the orange glow of the blaze flickered over the dark outline of the shelter. The Black Star had to be there. It had to be.

  <>

  On signal from Chung, standing in view beneath the cockpit, Zhang initiated the start cycle for engine number one. When the whine of the turbine had settled at idle power, he started number two. Chung scurried beneath the belly of the jet, disconnecting the umbilicals for electrical and pneumatic power. When he reappeared in front of the cockpit, he gave the signals for control surface checks and flap extension. Zhang cycled the controls, then extended the flaps to take off setting.

  This hangar, like the other two specially-constructed Dong-jin shelters, permitted the crew to start the engines inside the closed building, with the jet exhaust muffled and ducted to the outside. Not until the Dong-jin was fully ready for flight would he order the massive electro-hydraulic bi-fold door raised. By this means the Dong-jin received minimum exposure to prying eyes before leaping into the air.

  The Dong-jin was ready.

  “Activate cloaking.”

  “Airframe cloaking coming on,” answered Yan.

  Yan was a competent WSO, more reliable than the blundering Lo Shouyi, whom Zhang had ordered terminated. Lo’s removal had served as an excellent example to the rest of the Dong-jin unit. Fear was the most powerful of motivators.

  Over the whine of the engines Zhang could no longer hear the outside chatter of machine gu
ns. It didn’t matter. He would make an abrupt departure and put his trust in the Dong-jin’s cloaking technology. The second Dong-jin would trail him by a few minutes. By the time they returned from the mission, the raiders would be dead or captured.

  He took a deep breath to steady his nerves. Then he gave the signal to open the door.

  CHAPTER 18 — KILLING MACHINE

  Chouzhou Air Base, People’s Republic of China

  0510, Monday, 15 September

  Muzzle flashes.

  Chiu sensed bullets thudding into something close by. Then he heard the staccato rattle of another Chinese assault rifle. Ten meters away, a commando dropped to his knees and pitched forward.

  “Down!” he barked over his shoulder, knowing it was too late. Rolling onto his side, he slipped the MP-5N off his shoulder.

  Chiu cursed himself. More sentries. He should have anticipated that there would be more, probably equipped with their own NVG. Each shelter would have sentries posted in the same location. The PLA was predictable.

  He peered into the shadows beneath the high slab side of the shelter, searching for the shooters. There were two, maybe more. He couldn’t spot them in his own NVG, but he sensed movement where he had seen the muzzle flashes.

  He glanced over his shoulder again. The two Americans were on their bellies, eyes fixed on him. Watching, waiting to see what he would do. The woman seemed to have attached herself to Maxwell. Why? Was she using him to betray the operation? Or was she—

  Another burst of fire. This time Chiu got a fix on the shooter. He was crouched behind a low wall. From this angle, neither Chiu nor his troops could get a clear shot at him.

  Chiu lay in the darkness, trying to assess the matter. They were pinned down, out in the open. He’d lost another commando and his ground time was running out.

  He scuttled over to Kee, six meters away. “Over there,” he ordered, pointing to the left. “Take two men with you, thirty meters away, draw their fire and give me cover.”

  Kee gave him a quick nod and crawled into the darkness.

  Chiu waited until they were in position. More muzzle flashes appeared from the low wall. When Kee’s SMGs opened up, returning the sentry’s fire, Chiu was on his feet. Sprinting toward the concealed sentry position, he kept an oblique angle to the low wall.