Six Bloody Summer Days

by Nick Carter

  The rain had become a blinding torrent streaked with blinding flashes of lightning. Those in the pursuing French jeep had the advantage of being under cover. I had the advantage of surprise.

  Our driver was in low gear inching down the grade and the Panhard jeep came up fast. I waited until it was about to swing out to ahead us off before I triggered two bursts at its front tires. I hit pay dirt.

  I caught a vague blur of the driver frantically trying to correct the gyrating skid of the vehicle. Then it shot off the road, up-ending in the rain gorged ditch. In the lightning's glare I saw two more like it moving down on us. The one in the lead mounted a fifty-caliber machine gun.

  The machine gun opened up at the same moment I did. The tailgate clanged and the rocks around me sang with richochets. My aim was more direct. The machine gun stopped, but through the curtain of rain I saw a second man rising to take the gun. I went for the driver and the Kalashnikov clicked empty. I had no spare ammo.

  The second gunner went for the tires which gave me a chance to get the boulder over the tailgate. It was a big brute, and if it hadn't been positioned as it was so I could leverage it off with the rifle, I could never have lifted it.

  The jeep was too close, and the gunner was throwing lead all over the landscape, as the driver tried to swerve from what he must have seen coming. His aim was no better than the man on the gun. He hit the boulder head on and the Panhard literally split in half, flinging out its riders like rag dolls.

  We weren't in such good shape either. With all his shooting the gunner had to have bit something, and just as I saw him hurtling in mid-flight, I felt the bed of the truck starting to swing out. The driver felt it, too, and fought the skid. I knew if I went over with the load there wouldn't be any need to bury me. I was off balance, but I jumped for the rim of the tailgate. I got one hand on it as the bed of the truck jacknifed and started down the road sideways. Slow as we had been going, the weight of the load supplied momentum to the skid. There could be only one result.

  I had one leg over the side when she began to flip. The tilt gave me the leverage I needed to fling myself clear. I went off in a backward vault and landed in the muck of the soft shoulder. Even as I hit I saw the truck wagon go over. The sound it made was on a par with the thunder. The load, turned loose on the down slope, went crashing away in an avalanche. The cab of the truck was all that mattered. It had been torn free of the load. Either Allah or the driver had kept it from spinning out of control. It had come to a stop on the opposite side of the road in the drainage ditch, water from the torrent over its front wheels.

  I came up out of the muck, running toward it. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the third jeep maneuvering slowly through the wreckage of its twin. I got to the cap and wrenched the door open. The three of them looked at me blankly. There was no time for conversation. I grabbed the AK in Hans' lap.

  "Hey!" was all he managed, and I realized as I spun away, looking for quick cover, he hadn't recognized me.

  Fifty-foot visibility? It was no more than twenty. The rain was my ally. The final Panhard nosed through it cautiously. Those in it had seen the destruction of the second jeep and the wreck of the truck — at least to the degree that they could see anything in detail. They did not see me flat in a puddle by the ditch. They moved past at a crawl. I came up in a crouch and followed in the jeep's tracks on the blind side. It stopped short of the cab.

  There were only two of them. They got out, AKs at the ready. I waited until they were between the cab and the jeep before I shouted at them.

  "Drop your weapons! Move and you're dead!" A flash of lightning lit us up in a drenched still life. I waited until the thunder died to tell them more. "Drop your guns in front of you!"

  The one on the left moved to do so quickly, hoping to spin around and nail me. I nailed him instead and he ended up on top of his weapon. The man on his right did as he was told.

  "Go across the road and keep on walking until you reach the valley." I ordered.

  He didn't want to do that. "But I will be swept away in the water!"

  'Take your choice. Now!"

  He started walking. I knew he wouldn't go far, but he'd go far enough. I watched him until he disappeared in the rain. Then I went back to the cab.

  The water in the ditch was climbing, and its force had swung the nose around. I hauled the door open and said, "Come on, get out of there before you go over Niagra Falls."

  "My truck! What about my truck!" the driver wailed.

  "Tell your benefactor, Hassan Abu Osman, to buy you a new one. Let's go, you two," I said in English, "we don't want to miss our flight."

  By the time we were off the mountain the worst of the storm had passed. The Panhard gave us official cover so long as we weren't stopped at a check point. We were in luck, because the cloudburst had driven everyone inside. I had been worried about the road being flooded out, but it had been built with just that thought in mind. The drainage wadis on either side were river-wide and rampaging.

  Both Erica and her father had gone silent on me. Delayed shock, with one shock on top of the other. If you're not trained for it, it can turn you into a pumpkin.

  "It's been a busy day," I said. "You've done great — only one more river to cross."

  "How are we gonna get that plane out of here?" In his gallabyya Hans looked like something out of Beau Ceste, and I had all the appeal of a pile of wet laundry.

  "We shouldn't have too much trouble," I said, not wanting them tensed up again. "The pilots will have been taken prisoner. (I didn't add, and probably shot) This car is an official car." I patted the wheel. "It won't look suspicious when I drive it on to the field and park beside the plane. You get up in the cockpit and start things moving. Erica, you get on board and relax. I'll pull the pins and take care of everything else."

  "Did you get what you came here for?" She said it very quietly, looking straight ahead.

  The direct answer was, no. The whole thing had been a paper chase. Only one tangible fact had come out of it. Doosa. As a double or a triple agent, his interest in Hans Gueyer's possible knowledge of the crash was overly pointed. Bring him in for questioning, yes. Have him shot, yes. But to push it the way he had indicated was something else.

  "Hans," I said, "what about you, did you get what you came for?"

  He sat up straight, coming back to life. "Jeesus, yeah! I forgot! I was right, I found it! I…"

  "Okay, okay," I laughed. "Tell me about it after we get out of this garden spot."

  "But I was right all the time! I knew damned well that's how they did it!"

  "Good. That's the airport ahead. Now, pay attention. Unless I tell you otherwise, even if we get stopped, the plan goes. Get on board and get those fans turning. Think you can do it?"

  "Yeah, yeah, sure."

  "One other question, could Osman put anything up to shoot us down?"

  "Nah, there ain't no fighters here. Best they've got is a twin Beach."

  "If things get rough, don't start shooting until I do."

  I cranked down the window. The rain was tapering off, but it was still something more strenuous than an afternoon shower. "Which of you was born under the sign of Pices?" I said. "I think he's on our side."

  "I was," Erica said. "What are you?"

  "Scorpio."

  "Not the age of Aquarius." She was smiling faintly.

  "Your smile is the best sign of all… Okay, here we go."

  We came around the circle, the tires throwing water, hissing on the pavement. There was no one outside the terminal. I drove up on the walk leading to the gate. There was a link chain across it. Its snapping was drowned in a thunder clap.

  The airport tower topped the terminal. Its rotating beacon was in action. There would probably be a pair of operators on duty. I swung on to the flight line and drove slowly past the front of the building, hugging its overhanging to avoid being spotted from above.

  The terminal's plate glass windows were rain glazed but I could see movement behi
nd them. "The place is full of soldiers!" Hans gasped.

  "No problem, they're keeping out of the wet. Remember, we look like we're on their side."

  I came to the end of the building and made the turn. With the rain, the plane was not under guard, which was another break for us. It stood alone, waiting.

  "Hans, if any shooting starts, you fire up those engines and get out of here. Otherwise, wait until I join you in the cockpit."

  "Give me the gun on the floor," Erica said, "I can help you."

  "You can help me in the cockpit," Hans said.

  "The cabin door is shut, does that mean it's locked?"

  "No, there's no outside lock on that one." Hans sighed.

  I swung away from the side of the building and pulled up parallel to the fuselage but far enough away for the tail to clear the jeep.

  "Okay, friends," I smiled at them. "Let's go back to Lamana. Hans, get the door open and go right in. Don't hurry, act natural. I'll tell you when, Erica." I let the engine idle.

  For a moment as I watched Hans I thought he had been wrong about the cabin door being unlocked. He couldn't get it open. Erica sucked in her breath. Then with a twist and a tug, he hauled it free. Once inside he turned in the door and gave a thumbs up signal.

  "All right, Erica, go like it was an afternoon stroll in the rain."

  After she was on board I waited, watching for reaction from the terminal. If it turned into a shoot out, I would use the jeep in an attempt to draw off the pursuit. The sky was clearing over the mountains to the north and west, and the rain was shutting down to a drizzle. The boys would be coming out for air soon.

  On every aircraft there are exterior locks for the control surfaces so that in a wind such as we had just had the alerions and elevators and tail aren't torn loose and the plane flipped over. They are called pins, three on the tail section and one for each wing. I had just released the first on the tail when the company arrived.

  There were three of them and they had their AKs at the ready.

  "Brothers," I called with a wave, "can you help?"

  "We cannot fly," one of them answered, and the. others laughed.

  "No, but you can aid others who have to. The colonel is in a great hurry."

  By the time they ambled over I had the pins off of the tail section. "The wing there," I held up the lock, "just slide it off."

  As they clustered to do so, I moved to the other wing and set the alerion free. When I came around the tail they had the lock in hand. "May Allah bring you praise," I said, taking it.

  "You would have needed more than Allah's praise had you been flying in that storm," the largest of them said, eyeing my wet down condition.

  "I was flying in it but without wings." I twisted some water from my sleeve and we all laughed as I turned from them and headed for the jeep. I dumped the load in the back. I had had one of the AKs' shoulder slings. I did the same with its twin and hand carried the third. My last move at the jeep was to cut the switch and pocket the key.

  The trio was still by the wing, watching my approach, curious but not quite suspicious.

  "Brothers," I said, "would one of you ask the mechanic in the hangar to come with the fire bottle so we do not fly before we are ready?"

  They weren't sure of themselves about planes or fire bottles and as one of them started to move away they all decided to go.

  "Ten thousand thanks!" I called, climbing aboard.

  Hans had gotten rid of Arab togs and was hunched in the pilot's seat, going through a last minute cockpit check. Erica was in the co-pilot's seat, her arm raised to activate the energizing switch.

  "All set?"

  "When you are." He nodded.

  "Are you tuned to the tower frequency?"

  "Yeah."

  "Give me the mic and let's get out of here."

  He handed it back to be. "Energize," he said to Erica, and the rising whine of the energizer filled the cockpit.

  He had the right prop spinning and the left beginning to rotate before the tower came to life. "NAA-four — one — five! Report who's on board at once!"

  "Budan tower, this is Colonel Doosa's flight." That stopped him for a second and by the time he came back Hans was taxiing.

  "Four-one-five, we have no clearance for Colonel Doosa's flight. Who are you? What is your flight plan?"

  "Budan tower, say again, I'm not reading you."

  "Four-one-five!" his voice had gone up the register, "return to the flight line and report to airport command!" I had counted on Osman not having any control tower operators in his menagerie. The man on the horn had either switched sides voluntarily or to save his neck. In any case, he wasn't at his best. "Come back! Come back!" he began shouting.

  We were on the taxi strip, paralleling the runway, heading down wind. "Hans," I said, hearing a siren starting to wail over the engines, "if you can get this bird up going in the wrong direction, I wouldn't worry about flight rules."

  He acted, moving the throttles to the stop, leaning forward as though his motion would get us off the ground. The voice in the tower was shouting, "We will fire on you! We will fire on you!"

  I was beginning to wonder whether there was going to be any need. The throttles had nowhere else to go. The props were in low pitch, the mixture was emergency rich and the engines were howling full out. But we weren't flying. The palm trees at the end of the field were growing to an incredible height. Erica was bent over, her hand on the gear lever. She was looking at her father who seemed to be frozen in place. I was standing behind them, tuning down the frantic voice of the tower operator, unable to hear gunfire through the roar of the Pratt-Whitneys.

  "Gear up!" Hans snapped. I was sure we weren't off the ground, but Erica didn't argue, and as she went through the motions, Hans brought the yoke back and we went clawing up into the tree tops. Over the engines' blast, I heard them scrape along the plane's belly.

  Airborne, he eased the yoke forward, adjusting throttle, props, and mixture. Then he sighed. "Man, don't ever ask me to try that again!"

  To the microphone I said, "Budan Tower, this is NAA, four-one-five. Over and out."

  Chapter 15

  At ten thousand feet we were locked in a curtain of haze. I shoved the co-pilot's seat back and brought out cigarettes. "Here, chum," I said, "you've earned your pay."

  Busy adjusting the auto-pilot, he gave me a crooked smile and said, "It's been some kind of day.

  "Erica's coffee should help. Is there any place to land besides Lamana?"

  "I've been thinking about it." He took a cigarette, and I held the lighter. "There's an old strip east of the city. They used to use it for practice. Maybe I can put us down there, but then what?"

  "When we get closer I'll arrange transportation."

  He cocked his head at me, squinting. "I wouldn't have believed that once. What are you lookin' for, anyway?"

  "You've been wanting to tell me about Mendanike's crash. Now's a good time. How did it happen?"

  That caught him. "Okay, now I'm gonna give it to you, slow… in the nose wheel section of the DC-6B there are six CO-two cylinders, three on each side, eleven point six gallons of the stuff in each. You got it? Well, if you have a fire in either the engines or the cargo or baggage compartments, you trigger those babies from the cockpit, and all six of them go to work and put out the fire. Now, the system operates automatically. Aluminum hose lines running from the cylinders carry the CO-two under pressure to whatever point the pilot directs. You know about CO-two?"

  "It's odorless. It's not good to breathe. It can't be traced in the blood stream."

  "Right. Breathe enough of it, it'll kill you deader'n hell. Now if someone was to fix things so that all that CO-two came up in the cockpit, and the crew didn't know it, the crew would go to sleep pretty fast. You with me?"

  "I'm holding my breath."

  "Okay, now that takes some doin', 'cause, like I said, the system is automatic, and if somebody made a mistake and fired some of that CO-two the cockpit would be
shut off from the fumes. All right, in the nose wheel section there's a twenty-eight-volt micro-switch. It supplies current to an indicator light in the cockpit that shows when the gear is up. Now if I was to run a wire from that switch to the electric solenoid on the number one cylinder on each bank, when the switch was triggered it would release the CO-two in both, which would automatically fire the other four cylinders. That's how the system works, number one goes, they all go. Still follow me?"

  "How do you trigger it?"

  "Ahh, that's the beauty of it. The wire from the solenoids is rigged to a penny-ante switch with twin terminals and a trigger. Any mechanic can make one. You attach it to the rubber nose wheel cushion so that when the gear is lifted and the nose wheel retracts into the housing it brushes against the switch and cocks it."

  "And when the gear is lowered, it fires."

  "You got it! You got it! But there's more to it than that. When that switch is installed, all connections from the cockpit to the extinguisher system, except the one to the forward cargo compartment, have to be disconnected."

  "Is that a big job?"

  "Nah. Ten minutes with a pair of pliers and you've got it made. One man in the nose wheel can do the whole job in less than twenty minutes."

  "And when he's done, what have you got?"

  "You've got a fool proof way to finish off everybody on the flight deck during the landing approach. Plane takes off, gear comes up, nose wheel cocks the trigger. Plane gets ready to land, and it doesn't matter where, gear comes down, and as the nose wheel lowers, it fires the trigger.

  The electric charge releases the CO-two in the number one cylinders, and the others fire automatically. That puts nearly eight gallons of CO-two in the forward cargo compartment. It's located under the flight deck. It rises through the air vents which have been shorted out so they won't automatically close. Like you said, you can't smell the stuff. In three minutes from the time the gear goes down, the crew is finished."

  "Sounds like you've tried it out."

  He grinned, nodding. "That's right we tried it. Only that was after the crash. We were trying to prove how another crash had happened, but nobody would listen to us, and we couldn't get our hands on the wreckage. They buried it and had it under guard. If I could have gotten my hands on…"