Eagle Station Part 35

"Ah, Phantom, there is a bit of a problem. We can't clear any birds in until we have permission from Victor Tango, and if we get it then we have to pa.s.s that through 7th for final approval."

"What do you mean, 'if' we get the approval?"

"Well, sometimes it has been denied because of friendlies in the area."

"How the h.e.l.l does he know?" Court asked.

Mister Sam walked over. "Let it go," he said. "I'll explain it to YOU.".

"Okay," Court said into the microphone, "do what you can as fast as you can. Meanwhile I'm taking a Fox Mike radio and going back out to the attack site. I'll call you from there and tell you what's going on."

Cricket gave Court the primary and secondary FM frequencies and they signed off.

"What the h.e.l.l is all that 'permission' stuff?" Court all but yelled at Mister Sam.

"Take it easy. We've got some pretty tough rules of engagement out here and--"

Court cut him off with an impatient gesture. "Okay, okay. I gotta get back to Wolf. Do what you can." He made hasty communications arrangements with Mister Sam and put Pearson and Verbell to work helping him pack ammunition, radios, and the other equipment that Wolf wanted into canvas bags. He set both radios to the frequency Mister Sam had given him for contact, using the call sign of "Maple."

"I want to go with you," Pearson said.

"You got any infantry training?" Court asked as he strapped on water canteens and shouldered the bags.

"Not any more than you."

Court gave him an appreciative glance. "Look, you guys stay here. Do what Mister Sam tells you. I have a hunch you'll get your chance."

"I've got some of Hak's men waiting for you," Mister Sam said. "Lead them back to where Wolf is."

Court went out the bunker door and found a squad of Hak's men, with M- l6s, crouched to the side of the structure. He could barely see them in the gloom. Heavy firing and the crump of mortars came from the hehpad.

Court handed each of two men a sack of ammo, waved for them and the others to follow, and moved as quickly as he could toward where he had left Wolf.

He tried to stay low in the gra.s.s as he neared the spot, but had trouble in the dark and had to feel his way. He stood up to get his bearings and a burst from his left sent him diving for cover. A man behind him cried out and dropped like an empty sack. Court jerked when a loud burst of answering fire from Hak's men cracked over his head. He rolled over on his back and wiped the sweat from his face on the bandana he pulled from his safari suit. He could barely make out the forms of Hak's men crouched behind him. He saw two of them crawling and dragging a body back to the rear. In minutes it would be pitch black and he knew he had to get the radio and supplies to Wolf before that or he would never find him. Another burst of fire from the helipad snapped over their heads. This was not a situation for which the Air Force had prepared him.

"Any of you speak English?" he asked in a low voice.

The only answer he got was a few words of Hmoung.

"Spread out," he said, and waved his arms to each side.

"Move forward, find"-he remembered the Hmoung words"find Animal-Man." He repeated the name twice more and pointed with his finger in the direction he thought Wolf to be. He kept one sack by himself and pointed to the other, then forward while repeating Animal-Man. A tribesman Court guessed was in charge seemed to understand. He rattled off a few words and three of his remaining six men scrambled forward into the darkness, one of them dragging the sack of supplies and a radio. The firing became sporadic as the area became pitch black.

Court lay on his side and slapped at a bug crawling on his face. He felt sticky and sweat-soaked. Now there was no noise toward the helipad. By feel he pulled the radio from the bag and turned it on. He cupped the telephone-like headset to his mouth.

"Maple," he said in a voice barely above a whisper, "this is Phantom. Do you read?" Maybe I'm not trained for this, he thought as he wished for a reply, but I d.a.m.n near enjoy it. If I wasn't a fighter pilot I'd probably be in Special Forces.

"Phantom, this is Maple. What's the situation?"

Another burst went over Court's head. He heard a rustling in the gra.s.s at his feet and a Hmoung crawled next to him and said a few words he could not understand. Court keyed the radio.

"The situation is we haven't made contact with Wolf yet and we are pinned down. I've got a guy here I don't understand. Get someone to start talking Hmoung and I'll hand him the headset.

Have him ask my guy what he's trying to say, then relay to me."

He gave the handset to the Hmoung. There was much talking back and forth, then Mister Sam spoke to Court.

"Ah, now don't get all p.i.s.sed about this, but, heh heh, they say you are not a soldier. That you go through the bushes like a three-legged water buffalo and would you please return to the bunker so they can get about their business."

"They said all that?" Court asked in chagrin. Me? Special Forces?

"Actually, a bit more, but best we let it go."

"Well, h.e.l.l. I'm staying here. I already sent out some of them with the supplies and radio for Wolf, and I haven't heard from him yet. So tell them to go ahead out there and find where supplies are and get them to Wolf" All right, so I'm only a pilot, but I'll do what we do best-press on.

Mister Sam acknowledged, spoke a few words to the Hmoung, and came back on to Court.

"No word from Victor Tango yet. They said they are studying the problem but feel we can handle it ourselves. They say there are absolutely no Russians around here and quit trying to make things worse by saying there are. So, ah, sorry 'bout that."

"Who the h.e.l.l is the real enemy around here?" Court shot back and signed off. He checked his area and realized with a start that all the Hmoung were gone. It also occurred to him he had been doing a lot of talking on the radio and that his voice had been rather loud.

I better get my a.s.s out of here, he said to himself and started crawling in the direction of the helipad. A burst of fire pa.s.sed over the area he had just vacated. It was awkward moving with his AK-47, radio, and bag of water and ammunition.

He crawled as quietly as he could until he came to an area where the gra.s.s stopped. He flattened to look around but it was pitch black and he saw nothing. He reached out to touch the clear area and felt what he guessed was the dirt surface of the helipad. His mouth felt dry and he took the canteen from his belt and swallowed several times. He heard the whump of a mortar, then, with a loud pop, a small parachute opened and a mortar flare illuminated the battle area in a sickly yellow light as it drifted earthward trailing a thick stream of smoke.

It oscillated in its parachute, causing shadows on the ground to move black fingers to and fro.

He saw two figures at the far end of the helipad who were dressed differently and much larger than the Hmoung. They moved swiftly and he could see they would be upon him in seconds if they stayed moving in the same direction. He eased the AK forward, fumbled the big safety lever to what he hoped was full auto and carefully sighted along the barrel at the moving men. They wore dark camouflaged clothes, had thin packs on their backs, and carried what he thought to be AK-47s at port arms as they ran. They had small caps on their heads and wore some kind of masks or goggles. His heart started thudding.

There was no doubt they would be upon him, and he pulled the trigger as the flare hit the ground. He saw one man go down, then all went black as the flares burned out.

Then he was so stunned by the terrific light given off by the muzzle flash of his weapon that he released the trigger. Instantly, the man fired back and Court realized he had compromised his position. He scuttled backwards in the gra.s.s, then got to his feet and started running what he hoped was parallel to the edge of the pad. He quickly slowed because it was so black he was afraid he might slam into a rock or fall into a hole. He slowed, then stopped and crouched down. it was only then he realized he had left behind the bag with the extra ammunition and the radio. He flattened himself on the ground and tried to think.

Okay, okay, calm down. He rolled over on his back and realized a light drizzle had begun. The adrenaline surge through his body was decreasing and he felt his heart slow its heavy thumping. The picture of the two men he had seen impressed itself in his mind. One man had definitely gone down, but the other had been still running. With a shock he realized what the goggles they wore meant: they had to be night-vision devices.

With them, the wearer could see in the dark if there was any faint light to be gathered and amplified. Court looked about.

He figured the overcast prevented starlight and the fine mist would coat the lenses. For the moment they were as blind as he was.

He jerked as a shriek pierced the blackness. It came, Court thought, from the area he had just fled, or beyond, maybe across the helipad. He was disoriented and wasn't sure. The shriek sounded again. He felt his stomach contract and a spasm in his bowels as the shriek became a hoa.r.s.e scream and died off in a burbling groan. He thought he heard Hmoung syllables in the groan. Then several shots sounded and he heard a man yelling guttural words that he knew were not Hnioung. Another flare popped over the helipad and was so absorbed in the mist the light was as dim as in the hour before dawn. But it was adequate for Court to get oriented. He lay on his back in the tall wet gra.s.s and raised his head just enough to look around.

He could barely make out some of the antennas and Mister Sam's shack, but was able to triangulate his position as away from the helipad and in a gra.s.sy area that b.u.t.ted up to a shale pile. He could see he had curved away from the open area as he had run. There were figures by Mister Sam's shack and a strange form against the wall of the shack, There was a struggle among the standing figures, then they pushed something else against the wall. Another loud shriek split the air and Court realized what was happening. The camouflaged men had thrown ropes around the feet of two Hmoung they had captured and were hanging them upside down from the bamboo rafters that protruded from under the roof.

One figure was still. As he watched, two of the men worked over the second figure with something in their hands and he heard the man shriek again and again. As he did, several of the big soldiers faced outward, weapons at the ready. In seconds they began firing at small figures, Hnioung, Court knew, that ran toward them, screaming like madmen and firing weapons from the hip. Just before the flare died, Court saw all of the Hmoung cut down and he realized what the camouflaged men had done. They had baited a trap with screams and goaded Hak's men into an uncoordinated wild charge that had ended in death.

It was black again, but in the brief light Court knew where he was and where his radio and ammunition were hidden. He wondered if Wolf had received his supplies before the Hinoung had been cut down or captured.

He wasn't sure whether to try to make it back to the bunker or find his supplies and look for Wolf.

A panicked voice inside said to go back to the bunker.

Nothing you can do out here-you aren't trained for this. Get back there and call in some air support. That's what you do best. Get back to the bunker. He took a deep breath and tried to rationalize what he really should do. The other voice in his mind said he was a fighter pilot and fighter pilots don't quit and that the hardest decision was invariably the correct decision.

Thoughts tumbled through his mind.

Oh s.h.i.+t, I don't want any part of this, now I know what scared truly is.

Wolf's dead. If not, he can take care of himself I'll never find those supplies in the dark, or those other guys will find me and I'll wind up hanging on the wall. Maybe I should just stay here and wait for daylight. Maybe this will be all over by then. Yeah, and turn my wings in while I'm at it. Bannister, don't be an a.s.shole. Maybe I'm not infantry-trained, but I am a f.u.c.king combat pilot--and this is combat, so I ain't got no excuse. Press the f.u.c.k on.

He fixed in his mind where the supplies were and started to crawl in that direction. Dragging his rifle was awkward.

Then, clear as a movie in his mind, he saw a training film demonstrating that a crawling soldier was supposed to cradle the gun in his arms. He s.h.i.+fted the weapon and resumed his crawl. it occurred to him there had been no shots and no sounds since the Hmoungs had been cut down. He figured the invading force was headed for the radar site and would probably leave a holding force at or around the helipad. He moved as slowly as he could to avoid noise. The wet gra.s.s slid across his face and had a sharp vinegary smell. He moved several feet, then stopped to listen. He repeated that several times until he came to the edge of the gra.s.s and realized he had veered back to the helipad. He thought about the man he had shot. Maybe he was still out there and had a pair of the night goggles. Then he dismissed the thought. These were obviously elite forces, and they would never leave a known wounded or dead companion just to lie there. He would be brought to a central point.

The thought struck him that maybe the helipad was the central point.

Maybe a helicopter would come in to lift the force out when their job was done. He crawled toward the center.

He estimated he was halfway to where the body should be when the thought struck him that if a mortar flare went off now he would be as obvious as a mouse on a billiard table.

He scuttled faster along the ground and then realized he didn't have a good fix on the body. Then he realized he no longer had a fix on the edge of the pad where his gear was located. He stifled an urge to jump to his feet and start running, running in any direction. Then he smelled something. It was an odd mixture ... then he knew he smelled the dead man. It was a mixture of excrement and blood and came from close by. He swung his head back and forth until he had the strongest scent and started in that direction. The smell got worse and then he realized he was within a few feet of the corpse. For an instant it was as if he could feel the warmth of the body on his cheek.

He put his hand out and felt a booted foot.

Lying flat, his rifle on the ground next to him, Court fumbled with the body, feeling clothes and belts, and a harness, then he realized his hand had come away sticky with blood, and the stench from the man's voided bowels was overpowering, and he was afraid he would retch and throw up but he held on and continued working his way up the corpse. He got to the face and found that the goggles had slid up the man's forehead. He reached to take the goggles and almost cried out loud as a hand grasped his wrist in a grip of iron.

He snorted in desperate fear and rolled away and the hand let go, then he heard a gagging noise that sounded terribly loud in the night air.

His heart had resumed its chest-thudding gallop and be was afraid the man would scream and his companions would come and find him and kill him. Without a conscious decision, Court's survival instincts took control and he rolled over, found the man's neck, and strangled him.

When it was over he lay panting for an instant next to the body of the man he just killed. With a surge he rolled back, fumbled in the dark, and s.n.a.t.c.hed the heavy goggles and tried to slide them over his head and found they were attached by a wire to what he surmised was a battery pack. He freed the battery from the man's harness, pulled the eyepieces into place, and saw absolutely nothing. He slowly moved his head to see all around his position, and found if he tilted his head back he could see a faint greenish glow in one direction. He dropped the goggles to his neck and looked in that direction. The drizzle had stopped and the best he could tell was that there was a slight break in the low overcast and faint starlight was causing some illumination. He pulled the goggles into place and by craning his neck and looking almost sideways, he could just make out the edge of the helipad where he thought Wolf Lochert had gone. Then he heard the cough of a mortar leaving its tube and knew he had scant seconds to clear the pad before the flare opened up. He sprang to his feet and took off in the direction of the green glow. When he reached the tall gra.s.s he ran in several feet, then flung himself to the ground just as the pop of the opening flare sounded and the yellow light flooded the area.

Court lay still for a moment, then rolled over on his back.

was then he realized he had left his gun at the side of the man. Not trained isn't the word, he said to himself. Dumb. Stupid motherf.u.c.ker is more like it. He lay back and felt a terrible lethargy start to creep over his body as if some foreign substance were replacing his blood. His legs felt like lead and he knew he couldn't raise his arms.

His brain fogged and he thought he would just sleep for a little while and he would feel much better. He mused over whether the lethargy was caused by the letdown after the adrenaline high or the realization that he was doomed and might as well accept the inevitable. He closed his eyes for an instant, then snapped wildly awake as he heard the hissing of the burning magnesium in the flare. He looked up and saw that the flare dangling under its parachute would drop right on top of him if he stayed where he was.

Is this where I am to die? Some obscure dot on a map in a country few people have even heard or Someplace where I have no control? Used to the positiveness of flying an aircraft that always had something functioning a pilot could use, Court felt totally helpless. He felt like a bug in the bottom of a bowl that someone was toying with. Some absurd being was letting him climb up the sides to freedom, then shaking the bowl so he would slide back to the bottom.

He almost laughed.

The flare grew larger and was almost burned out.

Christ, man, get hold of yourself.

Okay, fighter pilot, move it, move it. There's always one last trick, one last maneuver, one last hope. Move it. He grew alert again, galvanized, and crawled off in the gra.s.s, still toward the direction in which he thought Wolf Lochert had gone. When he was sure he was clear of the flare, he stopped and hastily pulled the goggles up to his eyes to get a fast look around before the flare went out. He sat up and cautiously raised his head. He looked slowly in all directions. Seeing through the lenses was like looking at a murky green world through two long tubes.

There was no depth of field and no peripheral vision. The two forms were still dangling by Mister Sam's shack, and he could see green blobs making their way up the path toward the radar buildings. He swung his head farther toward the rock pile and saw a green blob near the top that appeared to move. With a a hiss in the wet gra.s.s, the flare fell to the ground him and the night was black once more.

He kept his eyes in the direction of the rock pile and saw the faintest of a green gauze blob that could possibly be a man. He noticed the man never fired a weapon. If he had, his goggles would have lit up with an unholy green light caused by the muzzle flash. He crept slowly toward the area, then realized there was no way he could approach Wolf-if the blob was Wolf-without his head being shot off as a potential attacker.

Firing broke out toward the radar buts. Court swung his head around and by the light generated by the muzzle flashes he could see several of the armed intruders das.h.i.+ng toward the bunker. Nothing I can do from here, he said to himself and pushed on toward the man he hoped was Wolf. The firing created enough noise so that he didn't have to move as cautiously and was able to cover ground faster. He sensed the ma.s.s of the rock pile the same time he saw it in his goggles and took refuge in a crevice between two rocks.

It was now or never. He took a deep breath and cupped a hand around his mouth.

"Wolf," he called softly. "Wolf. Do you hear me?"

There was no answer. The rocks prevented him from seeing up to where he thought his friend was crouched.

He waited a few more seconds and was ready to try again when his world suddenly turned upside down and he was on the ground with a hand over his mouth and an arm around his throat. He was pinned so quickly and so expertly he couldn't cry for help or move an arm or hand to get at the attacker behind him. The goggles were ripped from his head in the struggle. He braced his feet against the rock and tried to buck and shove backwards to bash the man who had him against the other rock. The man was braced, and it was like trying to move the rock itself. Then he became aware that the man was talking very quietly in his ear. He lay slack and gasping through fingers that slowly released pressure so he could gulp in more air.

"Hey, that's better, jetjockey. Maybe now you quit squirming we can get on with it."

"Oh G.o.d-Wolf."

"You said that so nice I think it was more a prayer than a wear," Wolf whispered and released him completely. They in the shelter of the rocks but could not see each other.

"How did you know I was here? How did you know it was me?" Court asked.

"I smelled you."

"What? How?"

"Your soap, your after-shave."

"How could you smell me from up there?"

"Up where?"

"Up on the rocks. That's where you were, weren't you?"

"No," Wolf said and tensed. "How did you know someone is up there?"

"These," Court said and fumbled around until he found the night vision goggles. He found the wire had separated from the battery. "They won't work now, the wire is broken. I can maybe fix it if we need them."

"How did you get them?"

"From one of the attackers."

"How?"

In a whispery voice Court told him the story of the man he had wounded then strangled.

"Umph. Tough duty ... for a jet jockey. Do you know you just killed one of the Russian Spetsnaz troops? If they ever find you and know you did, you would not have an enjoyable episode." Wolf moved. "These gla.s.s things, they any good?"

"Only if there is some residual light. Starlight is enough."

Court looked around. To the west the break in the overcast had increased, causing the faintest of glow to his naked eye.