It had been a brief but somber farewell with Van Dam and his men. They agreed that if the big gun was destroyed, they would guide the refugees back home, and once the runway was cleared, they would crater it beyond repair. But no matter what happened, they knew Hunter would not return.
We’ll wave when you go over, the Dutch colonel told him. Hunter wished them all luck and promised to do everything he could for them.
Now the huge airplane was rising out of the darkened valley, heading towards the last of the sunlight. No one inside the bomber could bear to look back. This was like taking the last plane out of Hell. But they knew that the memories of the horror and degradation they’d seen at Ras Muari Rim would stay with them forever.
Hunter did his best to get his mind back on other things. Despite their steep ascent, the stripped-down bombed-up biplane was still hanging tightly to the right wing. The wash from the two great propjets was just passing over the top wing of the Gnatsnapper, actually causing a kind of calm area around the biplane.
So far, so good, Hunter thought.
They reached an altitude of fifty-five hundred feet before finding the sun again. As soon as those last dying rays of light hit the huge snout of the airplane, Hunter leveled it off and put the big Bear into a wide orbit. Okay, they had made it up here, intact—but still, they had no time or fuel to screw around. Both Chloe and Baldi had their noses pressed up against the cockpit glass, straining their eyes in the fading light, trying to find any evidence of the big gun.
“If only they fired it, right now,” Chloe declared. “The flare from such a monster would guide us right to it.”
But the big gun remained silent. Perhaps the people who were using it had seen the Bear take off, or maybe they’d received a report from one of their spies who did. Or maybe the ghostly gun crew was simply eating its supper. Either way, Hunter & Co. would not have their help in finding the big gun.
But as it turned out, they didn’t need it.
Hunter turned the huge airplane towards the north and west, following his instinct, the rough trajectory of the shells that had fallen on the city, and the scant information provided to him by the crude weather map.
But it was Baldi who spotted it first.
“I don’t believe this…” he gasped, his breath fogging up the cockpit window.
Chloe saw it, too. “How strange!” she cried.
Hunter was quickly squirming in his seat, craning his neck in an effort to see what they did.
“What?” he pleaded with them. “What is it?”
Chloe reached over and guided his line of sight down and away from the clutter of controls on the Bear’s contact panel.
“Way out there,” she told him. “See it? Through all those clouds?”
Finally, Hunter did.
It was a peak about forty-five miles north of the city, bordered on two sides with mountains slightly taller than itself. With their enormous shadows, and the way the light was hitting its top, damn if the peak didn’t look like a two-mile high Tyrannosaurus Rex.
Hunter had to blink a couple times. Maybe the fumes inside the shitbucket Russian bomber were getting to him—getting to them all. This thing just didn’t look real.
The peak was either rounded off or had been artificially flattened. A crack on its south face perfectly mimicked a dinosaur’s mouth, craggy and snarling, with rows of teeth. Long lines of fallen rock formed its small, raptor hands. Its enormous spine stretched to the next mountain over; a small range to the east provided the gigantic, coiled tail. Two smaller mountains at its base looked like its huge feet. It all combined to give the illusion of a huge dinosaur, hunched over, as if ready to strike.
It was one of the damnedest things Hunter had ever seen. Was this a natural formation? Or had someone taken the time to blast out the enormous relief, as a kind of Jurrasic Mount Rushmore? It was impossible to tell. If it was man-made, then it could only be described as too ambitious, too bizarre. But if it was artificial, then Nature was certainly playing a grand joke on everyone who lived in the region.
“It’s frightening!” Baldi gasped.
“It’s art!” Chloe exclaimed.
“Either way, enjoy it while you can,” Hunter told them, turning the huge bomber towards the strange formation. “Because it’s not going to be around much longer…”
It was pure luck that the small, camouflaged AMX scout car reached the top of the hill just as the huge Bear bomber was beginning its bombing run.
Four mercenaries were crammed inside the scout; they were part of a small army of hired troops approaching Karachi from the north. This force, made up of Afghans, Chechins, and assorted jihad warriors, was known in the region as wazi bugti-kalat, literally “the raghead warriors.” They had been hired by a Persian combat-broker to attack the old Pakistani capital and seize the Ras Muari Rim air base located on its outskirts. Not even the Wazi’s officer corps knew why they were being paid to blitz the Paki city and its air facilities. All they’d been told was the city was practically undefended and opposition from unarmed citizens would be nil. This would be an easy job.
The main column of the Wazi army was now moving down the old Dwina highway; they would soon be within forty kilometers of Karachi itself. A mixed infantry/light-armor force, the Wazis specialized in quick response and “clean operations,” leaving no survivors or witnesses. This was why they were paid almost double the normal wages for hired guns operating in this part of the world.
The AMX scout car had been sent ahead to check the road to Karachi for any obstacles or mines. In strictest confidence, their commanders had also told them to keep an eye out for a huge gun said to be operating somewhere in the area. Though there was no reliable information on this supposed weapon, the Wazi’s intelligence service had heard that another mercenary group, the hated Turkish Star, Inc., was being paid by a group of wealthy Ubekis to pummel Karachi for one hundred days and nights, apparently in return for a long-simmering feud between the two territories. They might be fulfilling their contract by using some kind of huge weapon. Though the owners of Wazi had been intentionally vague about how this big gun might affect their own operation, they assured their command staff that the shelling, if there was any, would not affect the most important part of their job—that was, seizing and clearing the huge Ras Muari Rim air base.
The scout car had reconnoitered the Dwina road all the way down to the approaches of Karachi itself and was returning to report back when its driver pulled up to the top of this hill for one last look-see.
No sooner had they stopped when they heard the ungodly screech coming from above them. It was dusk by now, but the golden sunlight, shining about two thousand feet above them, was enough to illuminate the long thin aircraft high overhead. They immediately shut off the scout vehicle, killing all its electronics and radar systems—the last thing they wanted to do was to present themselves as any kind of target.
They watched in fascination and growing concern as the big bomber began spiraling down towards them. At that moment, a large, fast-moving cloud that had been obscuring their view of the east suddenly cleared out. Now the crew of the scout car could see the awesome and strange mountain formation, too. They were stunned by the sight of it. All four men became very nervous, very quickly. They might be fierce warriors, but they were also very superstitious. Coming to a strange valley to make war was odd enough. Doing so in a place protected by the symbol of such a great creature—well, it got them thinking.
But even stranger, now this huge bomber was falling out of the sky in a manner they didn’t think was possible. As they stared, openmouthed, it swooped right over their heads, banked sharply to the left and somehow leveled out. All four caught a glimpse of the strange aircraft the bomber was carrying beneath its right wing. It looked like a biplane, but one without a propeller, an engine, an undercarriage or crew.
With growing astonishment now, the scout crew watched as the gigantic aircraft turned once again; it was so low now, it was below them. It
s nose was pointing right towards the strange mountain. Suddenly they saw the muzzle of an enormous gun poke out of a cave located halfway up the mountain’s side, right where the mouth of the great creature was located. There was a tremendous roar. A stream of fire a quarter mile long came spewing out of the gun. Some kind of shell—it looked bigger than the scout car itself—went rocketing away from the mountain, just missing the oncoming, airplane and quickly disappearing over the southern horizon.
At that moment, the airplane’s engines emitted another terrifying screech. Each belched a storm of smoke and fire as the bomber was suddenly thrown ahead in a violent burst of thrust and power. An instant later, the small aircraft dropped off the bomber’s right wing and began gliding along, rising and falling, dipping and jinking in the high winds. It looked very unsteady, almost out of control—yet it flew right into the mouth of the cave. There was a brief moment when everything just seemed to stand still. Then a tremendous explosion shook the valley, the mountains, the air itself. The scout car began swaying in the shock wave. Even their emergency/low-battery powered systems began to blink off, the sudden turbulence was so powerful.
In a heartbeat, the monster mountain was swallowed up in a whirlwind of flame and smoke. A major avalanche rumbled down its south face; it gave the illusion that this great monster himself was shaking, mortally wounded.
The scout car crew was absolutely astonished. Somehow, someway, the pilot of the big bomber had been able to perfectly fling the smaller aircraft—which must have been full of explosives—right into the monster’s mouth. The one in a million shot had destroyed the huge gun inside, and presumably most of its crew as well. One moment, it was there—the next it was gone.
After releasing the glider-bomb, the bomber went nearly straight up the side of the burning mountain, its engines chorused in an even higher octave now. It reached a height of about seventy-five hundred feet and then it began to turn over again. This alone was a frightening sight for the men in the scout car. Whoever was flying this beast was handling it as if it were a fighter plane, not a huge bomber.
No one inside the recon vehicle wanted to see what this crazy pilot would do next. They quickly shut all their hatches, put on their helmets and jammed the vehicle in gear. With speed not recommended for such an expensive piece of machinery, the scout car flew off the hill and back onto the Dwina highway.
If they made it back to the main column, they all agreed, they would urge their commanders to call off this job and turn the Wazis back to where they came from.
If any of their superiors balked, they would tell them to go on up ahead, and look for the devastated mountain that once looked like a dinosaur and let them figure out how it suddenly got that way.
Part Four
Twenty-four
South China Sea
THE FOUR AIRPLANES APPEARED out on the northern horizon two hours after sunset.
Two of them were F-20 Tigersharks of the Football City Air Force. The pair of high tech fighters were riding lead for the third aircraft, the C-5 turned flying radar station known as Black Eyes. The fourth aircraft, trailing about a half mile behind the C-5, was the RF-4X super-recon fighter owned by Captain Crunch of the Ace Wrecking Company.
The four airplanes were picked up by the small radar sets hidden on Tommy Island and tracked for the final twenty miles of their journey. Rising to meet the airplanes were the two Tornados of the small British force. Now riding shotgun for the small group, they escorted the visitors into the small island’s landing pattern, pulling away once the first plane began its final approach. Only then did the barely discernible lights illuminating Tommy Island’s single runway blink on.
The C-5 came in first. Tires screeching, its engines thrown suddenly into reverse, the huge radar ship floated down, coming to a stop in less than one thousand feet thanks to the trio of drag chutes deployed from its rear end.
The Tigersharks landed next. They, too, were able to shorten their roll with engine reverses and drag chutes. Coming in last for a slightly noisier, slightly longer landing was the venerable RF-4X. In all, the planes were down in less than forty-five seconds. All the lights went out on Tommy Island again.
The dark ground began moving. Figures dressed in black coveralls were running everywhere. Maintenance vehicles whose engines had been muffled down to nothing began wheeling around. A huge fuel truck was brought up into the night air, emerging from a large underground bunker located nearby. In seconds, a ghostly ground crew was swarming all over the new arrivals.
The fuel truck headed for the C-5 first. Using high-pressure pumps, it quickly gassed up the depleted tanks inside Black Eyes. The Tigersharks came next; they topped off both their internal and external drop tanks. Last came the RF-4X. Being older, it took longer for the fuel crew to do its work on her, the pressure pumps were turned down to half power, almost in tribute. Still, the Phantom was filled within ten minutes.
A troop truck appeared on the runway, it, too, materializing out of the underground bunker. Driving past the warming F-20s and the RF-4X, it stopped at the open-nose front door of the C-5. Eight men climbed off the troop truck—they were the Tommy Island communications unit—and onto the huge radar ship. No sooner were they aboard when the massive door closed again.
This done, the C-5’s engines suddenly roared to life. Already the F-20s were moving back out onto the runway. with a minimum of flare, they roared off into the early evening, quickly taking up stations high above the island.
Black Eyes went off next. Its massive bulk rose slowly, majestically into the darkening sky. Once again, bringing up the rear, the X-Phantom was last. It quickly overtook the radar plane and slotted into its place at the head of the aerial column.
There was a brief series of radio checks and a moment of self-diagnosis. All four planes checked out okay. With that, a prearranged signal was given and each pilot reached over and turned off his main and secondary radio units.
This curtain of radio silence in place, the four airplanes turned to the east and streaked away, leaving behind Tommy Island, as dark and as quiet as before.
It was almost as if they’d never been there at all.
The An-124 Antonov Condor was still circling in its holding pattern just off the Filipino Palawan Passages when the F-20s arrived.
The Tigersharks’ sudden appearance startled the crew of the heavy-lift ship. One moment their radar screens had been clear; the next, the F-20s were rising out of the low clouds, their weapons systems turned on and maneuvering in a very aggressive manner.
The weary Condor crew stared with bleary eyes out at the spectral airplanes. Who were these guys? Friends or foes? It was hard to tell. The An-124 had been circling like this for nearly a full day now; buoyed by no less than ten aerial refuelings and a handful of radio messages from their Indonesian middleman telling them to hang on, promising triple and even quadruple-pay if they stayed at their position. Each time such a message arrived, the crew voted on whether to bag it or not. Each time, the lure of big money caused them to stay.
Now it appeared as if all that had been a huge mistake. Any chance that these two superfighters might be part of the same operation which brought the Condor here in the first place was dashed when the F-20s cranked up their air-to-air missile power and began painting the huge cargo plane. They were lining up the Condor for a spread of Sidewinder missiles. It was a deadly serious tactic used these days when one aircraft wanted another to open up its radio channels.
The Condor crew had no choice now but to click on their radio sets. The alternative was a long fiery plunge down into the dark, and heavily shark-infested waters below. No paycheck was worth that.
The F-20 pilots were already hailing the Condor, using a low-frequency, wide-band UHF channel that could only be picked up within one thousand feet of its intended receiver. When the Condor crew came on, the F-20 pilots made it brief: Follow us, quietly, or you’ll swim with the hammerheads. Again, the Condor crew had no choice but to comply.
So they finally broke their orbital pattern, the whole crew feeling dour and anxious as the airplane finally leveled off and began accelerating to higher than cruising speed. Reluctantly, it fell in between the two F-20s and all three streaked away to the west.
No sooner had they departed when the second half of the flight arrived: the C-5 radar ship and Crunch’s RF-4X. The big Galaxy quickly moved into precisely the same circular flight pattern previously flown by the Condor. The C-5 was just a few inches shorter, a few pounds lighter than the grand Condor. On a radar screen, they looked exactly the same.
Once in place, Crunch took his airplane up to thirty-nine angels, and snapped off a three hundred sixty-degree video sweep of the far horizons in every direction. Save for the F-20s and the escorted Condor moving off to the west, the sky was empty.
He sent a live feed from his camera down to Black Eyes, where its combined crew viewed it with relief and confidence. No one had seen the switch—this was very good. Even better, between the RF-4X riding sky-high and their own myriad of radar systems, they would be able to see anyone coming from many miles away.
Its own radios now set to the frequency formerly used by the Condor, the C-5 settled into the orbital pattern and reduced its speed to a slowish two hundred ten-knot cruise. High above, Crunch kept top guard.
Together, they would hold this position for the next ten hours.
Ben Wa and JT Toomey were there when the enormous Condor landed on Tommy Island.
Still under the protective eyes of its F-20 escorts, the huge Russian cargo plane bounced in, using the entire length of the substantial runway to come to a stop.
The big plane was surrounded by heavily armed Tommy troops as well as special ops teams from the United American Command even before it stopped rolling. Only then did the Condor crew see the five C-5s lined up in hidden shelters just off the runway. Each plane was painted in a different flashy color scheme; each one had a separate name and design. That’s when it dawned on the Condor crew that they’d been hijacked not by some rival mercenary group, but by the United Americans themselves. This deflated their morale even further. It was well known that the Americans didn’t make deals when it came to matters like this. They always played it straight and cool. Any last hope of the Condor crew buying their way out of this predicament had just gone up in smoke.
Target: Point Zero Page 23
