Stephen Molstad - [ID4- Independence Day 03]

by War in the Desert (epub)

  “I don’t know. That scientist we met seemed to think that would be the best time. The most lethal time.”

  “After the hate I felt coming from the alien that attacked me, I would expect them to try and maximize the killing power. We have to go to their ship and find those weapons before they can be used.”

  Reg thought she was joking, but quickly realized she was completely serious. “That’s madness. We can’t waltz in there, grab the stuff, and run.”

  “Why not?”

  “Well, there must be a thousand reasons, but the main one is that they’d kill us before we got inside. Secondly, if we did manage to make it inside, they’d kill us there. And don’t forget, we don’t know the canisters are inside the ship. That’s nothing but a hunch. But let’s say they are inside. You must have noticed that the ship is a rather large place. We could wander around in there for weeks without finding what we were looking for. Furthermore, if we show up and start shooting, what’s to prevent them from using the weapons immediately? I could go on and on, but I hope that gives you the idea.”

  “We have to try,” she said, then began to address his concerns one by one. “We have proven we can fight against them. If we move quickly, we can break past them and get inside. The germ canisters must be inside the ship, since they have nowhere else to go. We will find them in the black tower because these are important weapons and they would be taken to the control center of the ship. Since we are a small group, we will rely on stealth more than on our guns. If we move quietly and strike quickly, we can find the weapons before they are used. I think it’s worth a try.”

  “You left out something important. Once we’ve rushed in there and gathered up enough poison to wipe out the entire planet, how do we get out again without releasing it into the atmosphere?”

  “I leave that part to you. A chance to prove yourself.” She smiled.

  “Utter madness. As bad as the American plan to bring down the shields,” he said, shaking his head. But Fadeela could see that he was thinking it over, walking through it step by step. And the longer he thought about it, the more he became convinced that it had a chance—an infinitesimally tiny chance—of actually working.

  “It would take an incredible amount of good luck, and we wouldn’t be able to do it alone. But I admit that in theory, at least, it could work if we had help from someone with an army at his personal disposal. Someone like Faisal. Without him, there’s no way.” As far as Reg was concerned, the question was closed. Fadeela took an oblique approach to opening it again.

  “Reg,” she said quietly. “Your pain is showing again. Your fear. If there is ever to be a future for us, you must tell me. What happened to you during the Gulf War?”

  He felt the doors to his heart start to slam closed inside his chest, but managed to keep them ajar long enough to ask, “Your brother never told you?”

  “I know there was an accident. But I want you to tell me. Please. I think it is relevant.”

  He didn’t see how it could be, but trusted her enough to go on. Once he started talking, he realized that despite having thought about it every single day, he hadn’t talked about it out loud for a long time. “Not much to tell really. I was flying a bombing run out of Dhahran. It was the second day of the war. We’d been out the day before and had some good success. Hit most of our targets without losing anyone, so we were all feeling good. Confident. Especially my group. We were more than confident. We were so damned cocky we were getting reprimanded right and left by our superiors. I remember that before w'e went up that morning, there was a briefing session where they showed us photographs with the latest target information. You know, hit this building, don’t hit that one, watch out for anti-aircraft positions at points X, Y, and Z. And I’m sorry to say that I hardly

  paid any attention. I was just so anxious to get on with it.

  “When we came in over Baghdad, their guns started pumping more flak into the air than I thought possible. It was an incredible fireworks show. I was certain our group leader was going to turn back, but he didn’t. He set us loose, and we flew right into the middle of the firestorm. This might sound childish, but once I was over the city, I felt like I was playing a video game. I was dodging shells like mad and hunting down my targets at the same time. I didn’t care how dangerous it was. Back in those days, I thought 1 was immortal, and nothing could scare me. I was having fun. And getting the job done. I hit a warehouse next to some railroad tracks, then an electrical station. Then, as I was making a turn, I saw a building I recognized from the briefing session. It wasn’t on my list, but there it was right in front of me, so I said why not and dropped one of my smart bombs. I can still see it as if it were yesterday. It was a reddish brown round building and my bomb hit the bull’s-eye. Went through the roof exactly in the center. I was pretty proud of that shot, especially since I hadn’t even taken any time to line it up.

  “I didn’t realize there was a problem until I landed. The reason they’d showed us the picture of the round building was to tell us not to hit it. That previous intelligence had been updated. It was a college gymnasium that was being used to house the people who'd been bombed out of their houses. And I’d had a merry old time killing and injuring them. The final toll was somewhere around a hundred and eighty people.

  “A few years later I came back to teach air combat to young Arab hotshots like your brother. You can believe I make sure they learn to do things carefully. I’m the RAF’s poster boy in the fight against carelessness.” He looked over a Fadeela. Her expression hadn’t changed at all. “Does that answer your question?”

  She spoke quietly. “You feel guilty, and you’ve come back to our country to redeem yourself.”

  Reg shrugged.

  “Then, Reg, this is your chance. When you were over Baghdad, you were playing a game, and you killed a hundred and eighty nameless, faceless Arabs. I think you’re different now. You understand that we Arabs aren’t merely pieces moving across your game board. You can never bring those Iraqi people back to life, but you can save others. Millions of others.”

  He knew she was right. The plan she’d outlined was dangerous to the point of absurdity, but he had to give it a try. He owed the families of his Iraqi victims at least that much. And even if he’d never made that horrible mistake, he would have gone through with the plan for the sake of the woman sitting next to him. Remembering something important, he suddenly sprang to his feet.

  “What is it?” Fadeela asked.

  “The other day Faisal said something to Yossi and Miriyam. He said that even though they were Jewish, and he didn’t like them, they had the right to stay with him for three days. Was he just making that up?”

  “Not at all. It is a very old tradition of ours. If a stranger enters your camp, you must offer him comfort for three days.”

  “You think Faisal would honor the custom if he saw me?” Fadeela thought for a minute. “If there are others around him, witnesses, then he would have no choice.” Reg stood up and looked around. He spotted Ali standing near the truck and started walking toward him.

  “Where are you going?” Fadeela asked him.

  “I’m going to pay your fiance a visit. But I’ll need that uniform you’re wearing before I go.”

  13

  To The Camp

  “He’s a dead man,” Sutton droned, as Reg and Fadeela climbed into the rear area of the battered truck.

  Yossi reluctantly agreed. “Faisal’s going to kill him the minute he shows his face.”

  “If he gets that far,” Tye chimed in.

  When Reg had explained that he was going to disguise himself and sneak into the army’s camp in the hills, they had tried to talk him out of it. But Reg wanted to do more than merely warn against bombarding the ship while there were bioweapons inside. He also wanted to enlist Faisal’s help. Without it, they would have no chance of pulling off Fadeela’s plan.

  “I’ll see you all in a couple of hours,” Reg said, as Ali slipped behind the wheel and s
tarted the engine. “Then we’ll have some real fun.”

  “We’ll be here waiting for you. Be careful,” the others called back, waving and smiling as if they were optimistic about his chances. Faisal seemed to get whatever he wanted from his troops, and at that point he wanted Reg Cummins’s head. Under those circumstances, visiting his camp armed with nothing more substantial to protect himself than some ancient Bedouin custom seemed, at best, recklessly dangerous.

  “See you soon,” Sutton called, as the truck drove away. “In the next life, that is.”

  Driving with the headlights off, Ali prowled up the highway and reached the Dawqah turnoff without incident. After parking the truck at the isolated crossroads, he came around the back to discover that Reg and Fadeela had switched uniforms along the way. She was now dressed as a British flight instructor and he as a Saudi infantryman.

  “How do I look?" Reg asked

  Ali wanted to answer that he looked like an English pilot wearing a Saudi uniform. The olive green fatigues, which had been baggy on Fadeela, fit Reg snugly. His wrists and ankles protruded awkwardly beyond the cuffs, and the shirt would barely button closed over his chest. Three days of exposure to the sun had darkened his skin to the point where he might be able to pass, in the darkness of night, as an Arab, but his whiskers had bleached blond.

  “You look fine,” Ali lied without hesitation, “but take this.” He took off his keffiyeh and set it on Reg’s head, pulling it down until it covered his eyes. “That’s better.”

  “Someone is coming.” Fadeela said, looking down the highway. The three of them waited tensely as the headlights came toward them through the warm night, then turned up the mountain road. It was a convoy of sand-stained Toyota trucks carrying steel water drums. Ali stood in the road and waved them to a stop. After a brief conversation with the driver of each vehicle, he came to where Reg and Fadeela had hidden themselves.

  “You can ride with these men,” Ali told Reg. “They are delivering water to the camp.”

  Reg tilted his head back so he could see the line of trucks. “Good enough,” he said, staring toward the road. “I’ll ride in back with the barrels.”

  “Wait!” Fadeela stopped him.

  “What is it?”

  She looked him over, worried about his appearance. She made a quick adjustment to his uniform. “Let me hear what you are going to say when someone asks you a question.”

  Reg grunted inarticulately.

  “Perfect.” She smiled.

  “Guess I should go,” Reg said without moving. He lifted the edge of his keffiyeh so he could see Fadeela’s face.

  She looked up at him, concerned. “And remember: Get yourself as close to Faisal as you can before you speak to him, preferably when there are many people around him. If you can put a hand on him—”

  “I know. I know.” They’d already gone over the best way to approach Faisal several times. “But before I go . ..”

  “Yes?”

  “Don’t you wish to wish me good luck? In England, it would be appropriate to give me a kiss right about now. It’s sort of a tradition.” Although it was dark, he saw that his words had startled her. Nevertheless, her lips parted slowly into a warm smile.

  “I’m always interested in trying new things,” she said softly. She moved toward him until her lips were only inches from his. "If and when you make it back alive, we should discuss this subject at length.” Then she stepped back and offered him a military salute.

  Reg let his keffiyeh fall again to the bridge of his nose. “I’ll definitely take you up on that,” he said, then began shuffling his way toward the idling Toyotas. As he wandered half-blind into the headlights, the men in the trucks all noticed his strange behavior and the fact that his uniform was too small. Reg groped the air until his hands found the tailgate. With Ali’s help, he climbed on and perched atop the stack of steel water drums.

  “How long should we wait for you?” Ali whispered.

  “Not long. If I’m not back in a couple of hours, move on to Plan B without me.”

  Ali was confused. “Plan B? What is that?”

  “You’ll think of something.”

  Ali grinned and stepped away, motioning the convoy to con-tinue. But the driver of the lead vehicle waved him over for a word. He was concerned.

  “Who is this lunatic you’re putting on my truck?” the man asked. “What’s the matter with him?”

  Ali leaned in close and stared menacingly at the driver. “Can you keep a secret?”

  Intimidated by Ali’s size and strength, the man nodded vigorously that he could.

  “He’s royal. One of the king’s favorite nephews. He went crazy under all the pressure, so I’d stay out of his way if I were you. Don’t even talk to him.”

  “Yes, yes, I understand,” the man stammered. “Thank you, sir.” Then he shifted into gear and started up the twisting mountain road. The higher the road climbed, the more treacherous the turns became. Steep canyon walls rose on either side, and Reg quickly understood why Faisal had chosen to retreat to this place: It was safe and easy to defend. Dirt service roads ran along the clifftops, allowing troops and weapons to be moved into place. In the moonlight, Reg could see the silhouettes of field cannons, mortars, and rocket launchers overlooking the road. If the aliens tried to force their way through the pass, it would be like shooting fish in a barrel. The obvious difference, of course, would be that the fish would be shooting back.

  When they’d traveled four or five miles, the first trees began to appear, and soon they reached the army’s main staging area: a large, level field on the south side of the road. Hundreds of soldiers, their weapons, equipment, and vehicles were located in the dried grass. The noise of gasoline-powered generators jackham-mered the air, and high-intensity lamps flooded the field with a glaring light. The water trucks turned off the road and, moving slowly, followed the tire tracks that led to the center of the camp. Just as Reg was about to slip over the side and make his way to the nearest shadows, the convoy was stopped for an inspection.

  Reg pushed the keffiyeh even lower over his eyes and slouched against the water drums. One of the soldiers walked around behind the truck. When the man spoke, Reg shrugged his shoulders and grunted noncommittally. Apparently, this answer was not satisfactory because the guard repeated the question, testily this time. Reg knew he’d have to try something else. After hesitating for a moment, he imitated something he’d seen his student-pilots do a thousand times: He waved a hand at the heavens, and said, “Insha’allah/” It was an all-purpose phrase meaning; Who knows? Or It’s in God’s hands. It was the thing people said when they didn’t know what else to say. Luckily, it seemed to amuse the soldier. He chuckled and waved the trucks forward.

  As they moved deeper into the camp, Reg waited for an opportune moment to slip away. Despite the late hour, everyone was wide-awake and buzzing with energy. Groups of soldiers were everywhere: Most of them were moving from place to place, preparing for the next confrontation. They drove past a cluster of utility vans that had been outfitted to act as mobile field-communications centers and on toward the loudest, brightest, noisiest part of the camp: the mess tent. Reg jumped to the ground, walked alongside the truck for a few paces, then turned away as if he knew exactly where he was headed. Some soldiers spoke to him, but he kept his head down and brushed past them without drawing much attention. Or so he hoped. As he moved away from the lights, he began to breathe easier until someone came up from behind and grabbed his arm.

  “You are the Englishman, the Teacher. I know you.”

  Reg wheeled around to find himself face-to-face with a tall man in a well-tailored blue suit caked with dust. He looked like a commercial airline pilot. He had wavy hair combed straight back, a small goatee, and bright teeth that he displayed in an ear-to-ear smile. Reg recognized him as the Yamanis’ chauffeur.

  “My name is Abdul. What happened to your uniform?” “Happy to see you again,” Reg whispered. He clamped a friendly arm around Abdu
l’s shoulders, then forced him to walk. “Listen, I’m looking for someone, and I want you to help me find him.” Abdul nodded. He was a little confused about where Reg was leading him, but he agreed to help.

  Not far away, a tent flap pushed open, and a clutch of Saudi officers stepped out of the command tent. When Faisal ducked outside and strode past them, they hurried to keep pace. He was on his way to the radio vans with a message he wanted relayed to his advance troops, the men stationed closest to the fallen destroyer. It was important enough that he wanted to explain it himself. When they saw him coming, the communications technicians snapped to attention and saluted. Faisal ordered them to ease and asked for the latest reports. It was evident from their faces that his soldiers regarded Faisal with a type of respect akin to awe. He had already defeated the aliens once, and they believed he could do it a second time. They would have followed any order he gave them.

  “The message shall say exactly this: King Ibrahim is hiding here in the mountain pass to Dawqah with an army of less than one hundred men to protect him.”

  “But, sir, we just monitored one of the king’s communiques. He is in At-Ta‘if.”

  “Can our advance troops hear those same broadcasts?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Then deliver the message as I gave it to you. Say that if the king is killed, the army will surrender. Tell them to remain in their positions but intercept any enemy forces that advance in this direction.”

  “He is setting a trap, a very intelligent trap,” one of the radiomen told the others enthusiastically. They quickly joined him in loud praise of the strategy. By that point, all of them knew the aliens were interrogating the humans they caught, and the information they gleaned gave them a powerful advantage, By planting the false information in the minds of his men, Faisal was trusting that it would eventually make its way into the alien consciousness. It might have been the first interspecies disinformation campaign. After basking in the adulation of his troops, Faisal and his officers turned to go, but a strange-looking soldier stepped into their path and lifted his keffiyeh.