The briefing was over, and the room rapidly emptied, but before Zack could escape, the football player stopped him. “Hey, man. I didn’t mean it the way it sounded. I mean, well, shit, I mean, I wish I was there…with your dad.” His big hand pounded Zack’s left shoulder. “I’d follow your old man anywhere.” Embarrassed by his show of emotion, he spun around and hurried out the door.
“Can you believe that?” Brian said. Zack shook his head, and they walked in silence back to the barracks. “Your dad is something else again,” Brian finally said.
Zack looked at his best friend, his eyes filled with worry. “Do you think that asshole might be right?”
“About your dad getting his ass kicked if Singapore falls?” Zack gave a little nod. “No way my mom would let that happen,” Brian assured him.
Central Malaysia
Tuesday, October 5
The Super Puma flew through the early-morning dark, relying on GPS navigation to keep it on course and clear of high terrain or any obstacles. The bright moonlight also helped the crew navigate, but they were drenched in sweat as they neared their destination. The terrain flattened out, and instinctively the pilot dropped lower to the ground. He had never flown so long at night, much less over enemy territory. Two minutes out he asked his copilot to recheck the coordinates for the landing zone he had punched into the GPS. The copilot did as ordered and confirmed they were the same as those in Kamigami’s message requesting resupply. When the display read two-tenths of a kilometer to go, the pilot reached for the throttles overhead and inched them back, slowing the big helicopter.
On cue, a small clearing appeared in the moonlight and a light flashed, clearing them to land. The big helicopter settled to earth as the gunner slid open both doors in the cargo compartment. Men ran from the surrounding trees and, in less than two minutes, offloaded a ton of ammunition and supplies. Two wounded men were helped on board as a tall, lanky figure jumped off the Puma.
Tel turned and watched as the helicopter lifted off and disappeared over the treetops, heading back to Camp Alpha. He shouldered his heavy bergen and followed the men into the tree line, where Kamigami was waiting. “Good morning, sir,” Tel said. Kamigami gave him a studied look but said nothing. “Colonel Sun suggested I join you.”
“Suggested?” Kamigami said.
“Well, he did want me to outline a possible operation. There is some urgency.”
“We have to move out,” Kamigami said. In his world of special operations, movement was life, and he assumed, rightfully so, that the helicopter had been detected. Someone would be investigating at first light, and they had to be miles away by then. However, he planned to leave a few interesting “surprises” behind to discourage anyone who might want to follow them into the jungle. Kamigami quickly packed his portion of the supplies that had been offloaded, and then checked on the two claymore mines that had been rigged as booby traps. He personally set the timers that would detonate them in thirty-six hours if some hapless soldier didn’t trigger them first. He lifted his bergen and picked up an ammunition box. “Go,” he said, his voice barely audible. Two corporals took the point and led the way down a trail. Tel adjusted his night-vision goggles and fell in behind Kamigami.
For the next hour the thirty-six men ghosted through the jungle, moving fast and spread out over a quarter of a mile. No one had to urge them to maintain a killing pace. Finally Kamigami called a halt. He removed his night-vision goggles and rubbed his forehead. “What possible operation?” he asked Tel.
Tel took a long drink from his canteen. “SEAC wants you to take out the bridges at Bahau.”
“Where the tanks are,” Kamigami said. It wasn’t meant to be a question.
“The tanks are still on the northern side,” Tel replied. “They’d like to keep them there.”
“The AVG can drop those spans in a heartbeat.”
“Unfortunately,” Tel told him, “the PLA’s using refugees as human shields to protect the bridges from bombing.”
Kamigami scoffed. “The ROE won’t allow Pontowski to bomb civilians on an LOC, and the PLA figured it out days ago.” He stared at the ground. “The Americans never learn.” He thought for a moment. “For us to go after the bridges is a suicide mission.” A distant explosion echoed over them, and Kamigami checked his watch. “They got there sooner than I expected.” They heard a second explosion. “They’re aggressive—they’ll be after us in a few minutes.”
“Do they have dogs?” Tel asked.
“Not for long. We also booby-trapped the trail.”
“Won’t the dogs sniff out the detonators or trip wires?”
Kamigami shook his head. “Hope not. We used motion-detection detonators.” He passed the word to move out, and the men set a blistering pace, fully aware they were being chased. Ninety minutes later Kamigami motioned for a halt and quickly checked their position with a GPS. “I’ve got an idea about the bridges. But it will take some coordination.” He called for his lieutenant and two sergeants. The three men joined him, and he outlined his plan. “How long will it take you to move two mortar teams into position?” he asked the lieutenant.
The lieutenant thought out loud. “The max range of the L9 is seven hundred fifty meters.” The L9A1 was a fifty-one-millimeter-caliber mortar, light and accurate, but with limited range. “We’ll have to infiltrate to get in range.” He considered his options. “We go in tonight, hide during the day, attack at sunset so we can E-and-E out at night.” E and E was escape and evasion.
“That will give us plenty of time to coordinate with the AVG,” Tel said.
“Let’s do it,” Kamigami said. He gave them map coordinates for a rendezvous and told the lieutenant to select two other men and a radio operator.
“Can I go?” Tel asked.
The lieutenant gave him a long look. “How many mortar rounds can you carry?”
In the distance they heard the muffled explosion of the last booby trap. “Aggressive bastards,” Kamigami said, paying their pursuers a compliment.
Camp Alpha
Tuesday, October 5
Pontowski’s small staff gathered around him while he read SEAC’s latest air-task order that sent his A-10s into combat. He snorted as he reread it and he paced the command post like a caged animal. He waved the offending message in front of them. “Two missions?” he asked angrily. “Four jets in twenty-four hours?”
“That’s all, boss,” Maggot replied. “I told SEAC we could launch sixteen Hogs on the first go, twelve on a second go, and eight on a third.”
Pontowski let his disgust show. “Why are we even here?”
Colonel Sun coughed politely for attention. “We received a message from General Kamigami earlier this morning. You might find it of interest.” He handed Pontowski and Maggot copies to read.
“This is more like it,” Maggot said.
“Timing is critical,” Sun told them. He passed out target folders his intelligence officer had put together. “The plan calls for two mortar teams to shell the northern approaches to the bridges at 1750 hours, approximately ten minutes before sunset, tomorrow evening. The teams will walk the barrage toward the bridges and seal off the approach. If it goes as planned, the people and soldiers on the highway bridge will run for cover to the south, leaving the bridge clear. However, given the short range of the mortars, the teams will come under immediate attack and have to withdraw. But there should be a narrow window of opportunity for your Warthogs to attack.”
“And we coordinate the attack,” Maggot said, “so the mortar teams can withdraw under the cover of darkness.”
“Exactly,” Sun replied.
“I’ll get Weapons and Tactics on it,” Maggot said. Weapons and Tactics was the planning section made up of pilots who were experts in weapons employment and tactics. “Four Hogs should do the trick. Two on each span.”
“We can have a Puma in the area if search and rescue is required,” Sun added.
“Will we need SEAC’s blessing?” Maggot asked.<
br />
A frown crossed Sun’s face. “Perhaps,” he hedged, “it would be best if only Mr. Deng knew.”
An image of the tall, elderly man in charge of Singapore’s Security and Intelligence division flashed in Pontowski’s mind. “Why Gus?” Pontowski asked. “What’s going on?”
“Shall we say,” Sun said in a low voice, “that there are problems with security within SEAC.”
“Lovely,” Maggot muttered. “Can’t tell the players without a program. Hell of a way to fight a war.”
“Does that explain the lack of tasking on the ATO?” Pontowski wondered. From the look on Sun’s face, he knew he had touched the truth of the matter. “I’m going to Singapore to sort out the ATO. I can talk to Gus then about the bridges.”
“Please,” Sun said, “keep this very close-hold.”
“I understand,” Pontowski said. He looked at the others. “Anything else while I’m down there shaking the bushes?”
Clark studied her notes. “Can you check with SEAC about a dedicated shuttle for fuel?”
“I’ll put the pressure on,” Pontowski promised.
Rockne stood. “I know I’m sounding like a broken record, but we do need the rest of our cops.”
“I’ll check with the MAAG,” Pontowski said. “But I doubt if I’ll have much luck.”
“Well,” Rockne replied, “I could use a truckload of mines and a dozen or so M-60s.” The M-60 was a light machine gun firing a 7.62-millimeter slug. Combined with land mines, it was an excellent weapon for denying terrain.
“Doc, do you need anything?” Pontowski asked.
“Arrangements for air evac would be nice,” Ryan replied.
Pontowski stepped up to the big situation chart on the sidewall. “I don’t like what I’m seeing. They’re driving straight for Singapore, and we’re directly in their path.” He measured the distance from Camp Alpha to the edge of the battle area. “Seventy-five miles away.” He sat down and leaned back in his chair, his chin on his chest. “Start thinking evacuation, folks.”
Rockne closed his eyes and took a deep breath. If that happened, he knew who wouldn’t be leaving. “I really need those mines and M-60s,” he said. “A few antitank weapons would be nice. I suppose tactical nukes are out of the question.”
Nobody thought it was funny.
Singapore
Tuesday, October 5
Pontowski sat in the backseat of the dark blue staff car as it turned out of the embassy’s garage and eased into the late-afternoon traffic. “Have you ever met Mr. Deng?” the driver asked.
“I met Gus in Washington,” Pontowski replied. He decided to get right to it. “Mr. Stans, I take it you’re not an administrative services officer.”
“Call me Tom, sir. Whatever else would I be?”
“CIA? Chief of station?”
Stans gave a little laugh. “Is it that obvious?”
“And you’re hoping to be part of this meeting,” Pontowski replied.
“One does hope. But we would appreciate a back brief. Don’t be taken in by Gus’s grandfatherly image. This is his territory, and he’ll cut your throat in a nanosecond if he thinks you’re a problem.”
Pontowski shook his head. “I guess I don’t want to be a problem.”
“That’s encouraging,” Stans said. The traffic was very heavy, and they were late when they turned into the large estate. Two extremely fit young men wearing flak vests and carrying Uzi submachine guns were waiting for them. “I’m glad they know you,” Stans mumbled under his breath.
A third man opened the car door. “Mr. Stans, you’re more than welcome to join Mr. Deng and General Pontowski.” Stans couldn’t believe his good luck and followed Pontowski inside.
Gus was waiting for them on the veranda. “Ah,” he said, standing to greet them. “Mr. Stans, I presume. Your reputation precedes you.” He turned to the two beautiful young women with him. “May I introduce LeeAnn and Cari?” The introductions made, the girls left. Gus came right to the point. “How may I help you?”
“First,” Pontowski said, “the AVG is not getting tasking, and we’re sitting on our thumbs at Alpha while the PLA’s coming straight at us. Use us or we’re going home.”
Gus nodded in acknowledgment. “Ah, yes. The air-task order. That is a problem. Shall we say there are certain factions here who are reluctant to use the AVG for fear of making the situation worse.”
“How can we make it worse?”
“These same factions,” Gus explained, “are hoping for a negotiated settlement.”
“The PLA will negotiate,” Stans said, “when you surrender.”
“Quite so,” Gus said. “I hope to convince these gentlemen that they are misguided.”
“Also,” Pontowski continued, “Kamigami and Sun have a plan to attack the bridges at Bahau.”
“I’ve seen Victor’s message,” Gus said. He smiled at their surprise. “Nothing of significance happens in Singapore without my knowing. I believe a mortar attack will clear the bridges, and it does solve your problem with your ROE. But it also puts the mortar teams at some risk.” He hesitated. “I assume your aircraft can destroy the bridges.”
“In a heartbeat,” Pontowski promised. “But we need clearance from SEAC to launch.”
“The word of your plan will reach the proper ears.” Gus’s face was impassive. “I assume you haven’t solved your problem with fuel supplies at Alpha and that you want to increase your air base defense posture.”
“That’s correct,” Pontowski said, wondering where he got his information. The answer was obvious. “Can I assume that Kamigami and Sun are operating under your personal direction?”
“You may assume that. Perhaps we can discuss your problems over a light supper?” Without waiting for an answer, Gus smiled at the two girls, who were waiting to escort them inside. “Tell me about this man you call ‘the Rock.’”
It was dark when Stans drove Pontowski back to the embassy. “Nieces, my ass,” the CIA agent said under his breath.
“They are beautiful,” Pontowski said.
“Damn good thing you didn’t take him up on the offer to spend the night. One of them would have been waiting for you in bed. That would have put you in his pocket.”
“I figured that one out on my own,” Pontowski said.
A siren started to wail, and Stans pulled over to the side of the road. Two flashes lit the sky, and two dull booms rolled over them in quick succession. Then another flash was followed by another boom. A streak of light reached up from the ground and headed into the sky, only to end in a bright flash and falling debris. “A Patriot missile got that one,” Pontowski said. A much louder explosion rolled over them, shaking the car. “That was way too big for a missile.”
“More like a truck bomb,” Stans muttered. He got out of the car and studied the sky. “Damn. Nothin’s gonna move here for a while. We better walk.” Pontowski got out and followed him down a side street. But it was obvious that Stans was not headed for the embassy. They came to another main road, and Stans pointed to a raging inferno two blocks away. “That was SEAC headquarters.” He snorted. “Gus just blew away the pro-PLA faction in SEAC. That leaves the Young Turks in charge.”
“I’ve met some of them,” Pontowski said. “They want to fight, but will the politicians let them?”
Stans gave him a long look. “That’s always a question.”
Twenty-seven
Central Malaysia
Wednesday, October 6
Tel wanted to warn the lieutenant that they were moving too fast and they had plenty of time. He checked his GPS and confirmed what he already knew. They were in mortar range of the bridge and needed to use the remaining hours of darkness before sunrise to site the mortars and find an LUP, a lying-up point. But the lieutenant pushed ahead, leading the five men past a dark kampong. Tel paused and listened. He had grown up in a very similar kampong and recognized all the signs. It was deserted. He stepped behind a low fence used to corral pigs and relieved himse
lf. A single shot rang out, and loud shouts split the night air. He fell to the ground, and the six mortar shells he was carrying dug into his back.
He slipped out of the shoulder straps, shedding his heavy load, and listened. Sharp commands in Chinese drifted back to him. A shadow moved toward him, and he drew his knife. Then he recognized the corporal whom he was following. “Over here,” he said in a low voice.
The corporal fell down beside him. “The lieutenant walked right into them,” he said.
“How many?” Tel asked. The man held up three fingers. A guard post. Tel made a mental wager that they did not have a radio or telephone. So was the single shot a warning? In the distance he heard the sharp crack of another rifle shot. Or were they dealing with trigger-happy guards afraid of the night? It was time to find out. He checked his MP5, ensuring that the silencer was tightly screwed on. He motioned the corporal to stay where he was, and slipped into the night, moving exactly as Kamigami had taught him. He circled the guard post and listened to the three soldiers decide what to do with their bag.
He inched closer until he could see. The lieutenant was lying on the ground in a pool of blood, and the other three were sitting on the ground, their hands tied behind their backs. One of the soldiers rummaged through their bergens and passed out various items. From the way the two other men grabbed the food bars, it was obvious they hadn’t eaten in some time. The oldest soldier started to argue with the youngest, a teenager, telling him to report back to their sergeant and ask what to do with their three prisoners and the dead lieutenant. The teenager refused to leave until he had finished eating. A kick finally sent him on his way.
Tel followed him, astounded at how easy it was. He slipped up behind the teenager and slit his throat. He held his face down in the soft earth, muffling any gurgling sounds as his life drained away. Tel moved quickly, returning to the guard post. The two soldiers were standing over their prisoners, sharing a pack of cigarettes. Tel shook his head in disgust at their disregard of basic security. He lifted his MP5 and thumbed the select lever to single-shot, then squeezed off two quick rounds. The incredibly smooth bolt action made a light clattering sound, not much louder than the two pops from the silencer. The soldiers fell to the ground. One rolled over on his side, and Tel was on him in a flash, jabbing his knife in an upward motion under the sternum. The man shuddered once and lay still.
The Last Phoenix Page 32
