have been the arrival of the armored column from the south. And there was also the fact that the supergun itself was virtually indestructible.
Quintana was normally a hard man to read, especially over the radio, but this time his relief was evident. There were plenty more terrorists, hostages, tanks, and mercenary soldiers in the world, but his future was tied to the supergun. If it had been destroyed, his future would have been painful and short. He had made too many enemies over the decades.
Oshima decided now was the time to make her move. She was the bringer of good news, and with a bit of luck, now she could reap her reward.
'Governor Quintana,' she said. 'The attack was ground based, and I think I know where they are going. Give me the forces I require and I'll destroy them for you.'
'Explain,' said Quintana. This was the first positive suggestion anyone had made to him since the attack. He considered the angles. Oshima's theory made some sense.
If armed jeeps were being used, they could be trying to escape by land to the border, but an air pickup was an option. And in that case, a deserted airstrip built by the oil people at Arkono was a reasonable possibility. Certainly, it was worth a shot, and putting Oshima in charge was justified by the special circumstances. He smiled to himself. Certainly, she had the balls for the job.
Three minutes later, a task force of twenty armed vehicles that was camped to the northwest of Arkono was roused and dispatched to block the valley that led to the airstrip, and Oshima was headed there by helicopter to take personal charge.
Quintana terminated the radio conference severely shaken but in a better mood.
The supergun was safe; and as for Oshima, if she was successful he would reap the credit, and if she failed she would make an excellent scapegoat.
'Say again, Eagle Leader,' said Fitzduane.
He had arrived at the RV point and immediately called up the C130 flight that was coming to pick them up. No air cavalry and there would need to be a distinct reappraisal. It was one hell of a long way to home.
'Eagle flight on course on schedule for PUP,' replied Kilmara, 'but we have no Dragon. I repeat, we have no Dragon. ETA as original.'
'Affirmative that there is no Dragon,' said Fitzduane. 'Eagle's welcome nonetheless. We've got big hearts and we're homesick. Over and out.'
'’Luck to you, Team Rapier,' said Kilmara. 'See you soon. Over and out.'
Fitzduane peeled off the headset. The five camouflaged Guntracks were laagered in a rough semicircle, weapons pointing outward. It appeared all vehicles had made it so far. Only the microlight had been destroyed. There was now only twenty-five kliks to go, but it would be the most dangerous time, and the news he had just received was seriously disturbing.
He had looked at a great number of escape plans, from the obvious to the most exotic. All of the conventional options meant long land journeys and imposed serious logistical difficulties. Would they be detected given the extra time on the ground? Would the vehicles stand up? Could they carry enough fuel? Would there be enough water?
In the end he had opted for a simple solution – to be picked up by air the very same night as the raid. In essence, pull out before the opposition had time to rally themselves.
The downside was that an air pickup imposed certain obvious practical limitations. The aircraft needed a place to land, and in such grim terrain there were only so many options.
Second, a pickup was an attention-getter. Guntracks were small, quiet, and unobtrusive. Compared to them, C130 Combat Talons were big noisy beasts and their landing in the middle of nowhere would certainly attract attention if there was anyone around.
Fitzduane had studied satellite photographs for weeks prior to setting forth on the operation and there had never been any sign of activity either on, or adjacent to, the abandoned airstrip. This was reassuring, but he had been around long enough to know that the world is unpredictable and that fate likes its little games.
Accordingly, as a hedge against the downside, he had arranged for a U.S. Special Forces C130 Spectre gunship to cover the final withdrawal and deal with any interference. The Spectre combined heavy firepower with the most sophisticated night-vision targeting equipment, so it should have evened things up a little.
But unfortunately the gunship was not going to be there.
He would find out why afterward – mechanical failure of whatever – but right now it did not matter. The Spectre was code named Dragon and the message had been clear.
There would be no Dragon covering their withdrawal. No problem if the coast was clear. Serious rat-shit if it was not.
He called a final briefing. One man per gunship remained on sentry duty peering through night-vision equipment into the darkness. The rest gathered around.
'Casualty report?' he said 'I'll get the ball rolling. Shadow One has lost Steve. The microlight is out of the game and Calvin has a broken ankle.'
Each Guntrack reported in turn. There were no other fatalities, but Chuck Freeman in Shadow Three had a piece of shrapnel in his shoulder and Peter Hayden had been seriously injured when Shadow Four had received a near miss from a T55 tank round. His Guntrack was also in bad shape. The track had been damaged and would last only a few kilometers at best.
'People,' said Fitzduane, 'if I can borrow some of Al's language – you done good.'
There were smiles from the group, but little was said. They were all incredibly tired from the fear, tension, and exhilaration of the assault and the exfiltration, and they were under no illusions as to what might lie ahead. The unexpected guard convoy on the perimeter road from the south had been one major surprise, and there would be others. They conserved their energies and paid close attention. Fitzduane knew what he was doing.
'We're going to strip and abandon Shadow Four here,' he said, 'and double up where necessary. All rear pallets will be left. Ammunition and supplies will be redistributed. Fuel tanks will be topped up. The emphasis will be on speed and maneuverability. We could have a clear run, but we won't know until we are in close. We have lost our aerial recon and we are not going to have a Spectre gunship up top. So it's up to us. We should be airborne in well under an hour, but we've got to keep moving.'
There was a brief silence. Fitzduane looked at each person in the dim red glow of the map light. He could not really see expressions, but full body language was sufficient. The team was in good shape, all things considered. Certainly, there was evidence of fatigue and some doubts and uncertainties, but overall he felt fortunate. These were good people.
'One extra thing,' he said. 'We're down to four Guntracks and we're going to need a tail-end Charlie. If everything goes sweet, they'll be the last people on board. If the shit hits the fan, Charlie stays behind or no one will get away.' He pointed at the map. 'I don't need to tell you why.'
There was no argument. They had all participated in the discussions about the abandoned airstrip and they all knew the rationale and the problems. The negative side of the pickup point was that access to it from the north meant going through a two-mile-long valley that they had christened the Funnel; and there was not time to go around it.
Further, if the enemy got on the hills of the Funnel no aircraft was going to make it away. That meant, if opposition surfaced, holding the high ground until the two rescuing aircraft were safely airborne. That job could have been carried out by the Spectre, but now there was no alternative.
Fitzduane was right. But it was a crock. The Guntrack doing tail-end Charlie was not going to have much of a future.
'I will do Charlie,' said Fitzduane. 'Just so you know, that's not negotiable – but I'll need two extra crew and I'm moving to a track with a Dilger.'
'I will be one,' said a firm voice, 'and just so you know, that's not negotiable either.'
There was laughter. Fitzduane smiled and held out his hand to Lee Cochrane. 'Lee, you're one persistent son of a bitch,' he said.
There was a low murmur of voices and hand gestures as everyone else tried to volunteer and yet keep their
