was wrong. “So, Colonel, what about the two 212s, will you catch them too? How?”
Changiz went to the wall map quite sure that though both of them had been duped he was commandant and responsible if the mullah wanted to make him responsible. But don’t forget this is the mullah who made a deal with Colonel Peshadi the night of the first attack on the base, this is the same one who befriended the American Starke and the odious maniac Zataki from Abadan. And am I not a supporter of the Imam and the revolution? Didn’t I ? correctly give over the base to the soldiers of God?
Insha’Allah. Concentrate on the foreigners. If you can catch them, even one of them, you’ll be safe from this mullah and his Green Band thugs. Several standard flight paths were drawn on the map from Kowiss to various oil sites and to rigs out into the Gulf. “That dog clerk said spares to Abu Sal,” he muttered. “Now if I were them, where would I refuel?” His finger stabbed the rigs. “One of these, Excellency,” he said excitedly. “That’s where they’d refuel.”
“The rigs carry spare fuel?”
“Oh, yes, in case of an emergency.”
“And how are you going to catch them?”
“Fighters.”
ON SHORE AT THE RENDEZVOUS: 2:07 P.M. The two 212s were parked on the desolate, undulating beach in light rain. Dejectedly Freddy Ayre and Lochart sat in the open door of one of the cabins, their two mechanics and Wasari in the other, all of them tired from handling the big, cumbersome forty-gallon drums of fuel and taking turns pumping the gasoline into the tanks. Never had two 212s been refueled faster, nor full spares heaved aboard into each and secured faster, in case of an emergency. Freddy Ayre had arrived here about eleven-thirty, Lochart just after twelve, half an hour to refuel, and they had been waiting ever since.
“We’ll give him another half an hour,” Lochart said.
“Christ, you’re acting as if we have all the time in the world.” “It’s stupid for both of us to wait, safer for you to go separately - how many times do I have to say it? Take everyone and I’ll wait.” “When Mac arrives we can all g - ”
“Goddamnit, take the mechanics and Wazari and I’ll wait. That’s what Mac’d say if he was here and you were waiting for me. For crissake, stop trying to play hero and push off.”
“No. Sorry, but I’m waiting until he arrives or we both leave.” Lochart shrugged, his spirit as drab as the day. As soon as he had arrived he had worked out McIver’s tentative schedule: “Freddy, Mac was safe out of the Kowiss system by eleven-twenty. Say at the very outside he flies on for another half an hour, then another half an hour, maximum, to fake the emergency, land and get rid of Kia, maximum an hour to get here, absolute max, at the very outside means one-thirty. My bet’s he’ll be here one to one-fifteen.”
But it was after two and no Mac yet and maybe no Mac at all - there’s got to’ve been a foul-up. He studied the clouds, seeking answers in the weather, and refining plans and counterplans. Empty drums were in a neat pile, another five still full. The drums had been brought here during routine runs to the rigs and cached under tarpaulins and camouflaged with sand and seaweed. Out to sea, barely visible, was a rig, high above the water level, perched on stilts.
He had had no trouble getting here from Kowiss. As soon as they were airborne and it was safe, Wazari had crawled forward. “Best you stay under cover until we’re launched into the Gulf,” Lochart had said. But once they had landed, Wazari had become very sick so he had changed his mind and told the others what had happened. Now Wazari had recovered and was accepted. But still considered suspect.
The shore stank of rotting fish and seaweed. Wind, steady at about thirty knots, throbbed the rotor blades, still adverse to their planned escape route to Kuwait. The murky ceiling had lowered, now down to about two hundred feet. But little of this registered on Lochart. More and more his mind was pulled northward to Tehran and Sharazad - while his hearing reached out over the wind and the waves for the sound of the 206. Come oh, Mac, he prayed. Come on, don’t let me down. Come on Mac, don’t let me down… Then he heard her. A few seconds to make sure, and he jumped out of the cabin, mouth slightly open to increase the strength of his hearing and directional ability. Now Ayre came out of his reverie and was beside him, both of them peering into the overcast, listening now, the engine growing louder, out to sea, then passing them by and Lochart cursed. “He’s missed us!”
“VHF?” Ayre asked.
“Too goddamn dangerous… not yet… he’ll make another pass, he’s too good not to.”
Again waiting, sound of the engines dying, dying, then the level holding. The engine sound grew. Again the chopper made a pass and missed them and began to die away, then once more turned back. Engine sounds growing and growing, then she came down through the murk half a mile up the beach, spotted them and began her approach. No doubt now that she was theirs, McIver the pilot and alone. They cheered.
IN THE 206 COCKPIT: McIver had had a very hard time finding the rendezvous, mud flats all looking the same, coastline the same, with conditions bad. Then he had remembered the non-working rig just offshore and had eased out to find it and, using that as a marker, had come inland.
When his skids were solid on the ground he muttered, “Thank God for that,” and exhaled, stomach aching and desperate to urinate, opened the cockpit door at once, and said over their questions, “Sorry, got to pee. Freddy, shut her down for me, will you?” Lochart, who was closer, said, “I’ll do her, Mac.”
“Thanks.” McIver had unsnapped his seat belt, scrambled out, and hurried under the blades for the nearest dune. When he could speak he glanced around, saw Ayre waiting for him, the others over by the 212s. “My back teeth’ve been floating for an hour or more.”
“I know how it feels.”
McIver shook himself, zipped up, and noticed Wazari. “What the hell’s he doing here?”
“Tom thought it best to bring him, safer than leaving him and he did help. We’d better get going, Mac. We’re all refueled. What about the 206?” “We’ll have to leave her.” She was not equipped with long-range tanks and it would take too much time to rig a temporary inflight refueling system. Even then, this adverse wind would gulp fuel and make the voyage not possible. McIver pointed out to sea, “I thought about parking her on the rig in the hope we could come back and pick her up, but that’s a pipe dream. There’s not enough space to land her and a 212 at the same time to pick me up. Bloody shame, but there you are.” “No problem with Kia?”
“No. He was a bit of a pain in the butt an - ” He whirled. Behind them Lochart had gunned the 206 and now she was lifting and backing away. “For God’s sake, Tom…” he bellowed and ran for the helicopter but Lochart backed faster and hauled her up twenty feet. ‘Tommrnm!”
Lochart leaned out of the cockpit window. “Don’t wait for me, Mac!” he shouted.
“But you’re almost out of fuel…”
“There’s plenty for the moment - I’ll wait till you’re gone then I’ll refuel. See you in Al Shargaz!”
“What the hell’s he playing at?” Ayre said dumbfounded.
“Sharazad,” McIver said, cursing himself for forgetting. “He must’ve had fifty plans to take the 206, one way or another.“Then he cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “Tom, you’ll screw up Whirlwind for Christ’s sake! You’ve got to come with us!”
“They’ll never make me a hostage, Mac! Never! It’s on my head, not yours… it’s my decision, by God. Now push off!”
McIver thought a second, then bellowed, “Land now, we’ll refuel for you, save you trouble.” He saw Lochart shake his head, point at the 212s. “I’m going back for Sharazad,” Lochart shouted. “Don’t try and stop me or wait me out… it’s my neck not yours… Happy Landings.” He waved then moved away to safety down the beach, turned into wind facing them and landed. But the engines were kept up, ready for instant takeoff. “No way to rush him,” McIver muttered, furious with himself for not being prepared.
“We… we could wait till he runs out of fuel,” Ayre said. “Tom’s too smart to be trapped.” Almost in panic McIver glanced at his watch, his mind giddy. “Bloody fools, me and Tom.” He saw all the others looking at him.
“What’re we going to do, Mac?” Ayre said.
McIver forced himself to think clearly: You’re the leader. Decide. We’re terribly late. Tom’s decided after everything I said. That’s his privilege. Sorry but that means he’s on his own. Now think of the others. Erikki’s got to be all right. Rudi and Scragger and their lads’re safe - let’s presume they’re safe - so get into the 212 and begin the next leg.
He wanted to groan aloud, the thought of having to nurse a 212 to Kuwait at low level for the next two and a half hours plus almost crushed him. “Bloody hell,” he muttered. The others still watched him. And waited. “Tom’s going back to get his wife - we’ll leave him to it.”
