'The positive news, General,' said Fitzduane, 'is that we've got hold of the geological reports and they indicate you couldn't tunnel as and where you like. There is too much rock. So if Oshima is sitting underground, the chances are that she is somewhere on the north side.'
'So where will she come up?' said Gannon.
'Somewhere on the northern perimeter outside the minefields,' said Fitzduane. 'She will do it at night.'
Gannon studied the map. 'That's still a whole lot of territory to watch,' he said. 'Worse yet, it's broken ground. Not a lot of major cover, but more than enough for someone crawling on their belly. But after that, what then?'
'There will be a cache of supplies a couple of kliks away,' said Fitzduane. 'Food, water, weapons, and probably some kind of transport. Something easy to conceal that can handle this terrain. Maybe a motorcycle or all- terrain vehicle.'
'We can't find the cache either?' said Gannon.
'No, sir,' said Palmer. 'But we're still looking.'
Gannon was lost in thought. He tried to imagine what it must be like to spend days underground while others hunted you. Foul air, little or no food, stale water at best, the constant fear of suffocation, darkness, no sanitation, insects, snakes, and who knew what else. A vile existence, but some people were prepared to endure it. Evidently, Oshima was prepared to endure it. You could hate your enemies and kill them without compunction, but it never paid to underestimate them.
'Run me through the perimeter surveillance.'
Palmer explained the system of observation posts. Each sector was being watched by two teams, one using thermal sights and the other using night vision. In addition, antipersonnel radar equipment and chemical sensors had been set up. Theoretically a snake should not have been able to slither through without being detected, but Gannon knew that completely sealing off an area in reality was close to impossible. People got tired, equipment failed, batteries had to be changed. Even if you put a soldier every couple of yards, a skilled operator could get through.
'How long will she wait?' said Gannon.
'Forty-eight hours minimum,' said Fitzduane. 'Up to a month if she has to. Her main problem will be water, but she's had plenty of time to prepare so there's probably a tank of it down there. But my guess would be that she'll try and move out sooner rather than later. If she gives us too much time we could just get lucky. Also, our chemical sensors will have more to work with. She could well have carbon filters down there, but every day the stench is going to get worse.'
Gannon walked around the map. It was hard to fault the staff work, but something – some assumption – just wasn't right. Reluctantly, he admitted to himself that Oshima was probably still around and that she was certainly worth taking out of the loop.
But something was wrong. It came to him.
'Your surveillance is based on the assumption she's going to emerge outside the perimeter?' he asked.
Fitzduane nodded.
'And outside the perimeter minefields?' said Gannon.
'Affirmative, General,' said Palmer.
Gannon shrugged. 'Maybe,' he said. 'But if I was her, I would come up inside the minefield. Especially if I knew where the mines were laid.'
'Tiptoe through the tulips,' said Fitzduane. 'Only, the next in line gets blown up.'
'I've got another point,' said Gannon. 'This meticulous surveillance is all very well if the Tecuno plateau remains its normal equable self – hot days and cold clear nights. But if the weather takes a turn? If Oshima isn't alone?'
'It could get messy, sir,' said Palmer.
'Colonel Fitzduane?' said Gannon.
'It will be our mess,' said Fitzduane.
'Does ‘our’ include Lieutenant Brock's Scouts?' said Gannon.
'I guess it does, General,' said Fitzduane. 'Instant compatibility, you might say.'
Gannon smiled thinly.
28
Lightning lanced out of the sky and the battlefield radar blew in a shower of sparks.
'What the fuck!' said Brock. 'Whose side is this guy on?'
The sky flared again and again and the deafening cracks of thunder cut in so fast that Fitzduane had the sense of being directly bombarded. The sensations were primeval, terrifying. He wanted to crawl under cover, to pull the blankets over his head. This was not a thunderstorm. This was not weather. This was violence on an almost supernatural scale. And he had no blanket. Conditions in the observation post were basic.
A scorpion raced across the ground, stopped to stare at them, then headed down into a hole.
'Did he say something?' said Lonsdale.
'‘Follow me!’' said Cochrane.
Lightning cracked into a massive boulder off to the right. The huge rock cracked in two with a smell of ozone. One side swayed and then rolled over toward the Scout fire team. There was a single short scream and then a brief silence. Brock, bent double, headed toward the noise.
The thunder cut in again, and Fitzduane could hear the sound of shouting. He checked his watch. It was 0323. Something was moving up ahead and to the right. They were in an observation post on a slight rise overlooking the minefield and it was beginning to look as if Oshima was making her run. Unfortunately, she had picked her time all too well. Air was grounded, communications were haywire, and the array of vision and detection equipment was effectively neutered.
Nature was effortlessly sweeping aside their technological advantage.
The entire ground in front of him was beginning to move. The wind gusted and screamed. The surface was being blasted into the air and there flung against – and into – anything that protruded. Sand and grit stung his face, clogged his mouth and nostrils, and cut down his vision.
There was a sharp, deadly crack of high explosives, and then secondary explosions. The thunder of the storm was so loud and so close that at first Fitzduane was unsure whether he was hearing nature at work or the killing blast of a mine. The secondaries suggested a mine. Someone had stepped in the wrong place and the explosion had set off grenades they were carrying.
Oshima was out, but her people could not see much better than they themselves could. Still, they had some advantage, because the wind was coming from behind them and blowing almost directly towards the observation posts.
Lonsdale, lying beside him with the. 50 Barrett, fired.
Fire blasted back, its sounds of origin blending with the storm. Beside them a trooper slumped, his face black with blood. Further aimed bursts searched out the paratroopers' position and filled the air with splinters.
The terrorists must have fixed their position from their exit hole. A flash of lightning revealed that the screaming wind had blown away much of their cover. The camouflage netting was gone. The carefully covered mesh of their hides had been scoured clean of earth and now served only to identify their position.
Fitzduane searched for a target. He caught a blur and opened up with two aimed shots. The blur dropped and he fired again. Muzzle flashes and incoming showed he had missed.
The flying sand seemed to part in front of him, and he saw a black shape emerge out of the storm. He slid back behind the parapet as the hand grenade blew. They were being pinned down and flanked.
Lonsdale rolled backward, his Kevlar split open and blood oozing from his skull.
Fitzduane rolled out of the observation post and sought out the grenade thrower. What kind of force were they up against? He realized that he had assumed that Oshima would either be alone or accompanied by only two or three followers. Could he be wrong? Had some external force managed to infiltrate? Were they being attacked from behind as well?
