Prometheus's Child

airports had paved runways. Bardai, at thirty-five hundred feet elevation, was unpaved but its fifty-nine-hundred- foot runway would accommodate the C-130s inbound behind him.

Major Lowe, flying with Eddie Marsh, handled air-ground communications, such as they were. Though Bardai was a military field, it impressed the Americans as an extraordinarily low-key operation. They air-taxied to the area indicated by the controller, alit side by side, and shut down. The Turbomeca engines wheezed to a stop and the four men debarked. They were mildly surprised when no one met them.

“Not a bad thing,” Lowe observed. “As long as we can get refueled and arrange security, I’d just as soon be ignored until we’re finished here.”

While the Air Force officer arranged for fuel, Keegan, Marsh, and Haegelin conducted post-flight inspections on both choppers. “I’m using a little more oil than the manual lists, but I guess it’s okay,” Marsh said.

“What do you mean, you guess it’s okay?” Keegan never took anything for granted: it was part of the reason he had survived four western Pacific deployments as a sub hunter, operating in big waves off some small decks.

“Charles says it’s in limits,” Marsh replied. “And he sure knows more about these machines than I do.” The former Army flier quipped, “Hey, I’m an H-47 kinda guy.”

Keegan tried to suppress a smile, and failed. “Chinooks — they’re like women. You can’t live with ‘em and you can’t live without ‘em.”

“No lie, GI. The ‘47 was in the inventory twelve years before I was born!”

A low, insistent pulsing thrummed through the atmosphere, coming from the southwest. The helo pilots turned in that direction, shading their eyes against the slanting westerly rays of the sun. Several moments later Marsh exclaimed, “There! Just above the horizon.”

The tall-tailed silhouettes of two C-130Hs hove into view at 290 knots, slanting toward the field. They flew a straight-in approach, taking landing interval but not bothering with the traffic pattern. “They probably don’t want to draw any more attention than they need to,” Keegan surmised.

Charles Haegelin ventured a rare sentiment, as he had not been asked a question. “With that kind of noise, they cannot keep hidden so well.”

He had a point. Each Hercules’s four Allison turboprops conspired to produce a pulsing resonance that could not be ignored. The lead transport touched down in the first quarter of the hard-packed runway and the pilot reversed the propellers, visibly slowing the big Lockheed, which turned off before the end of the strip. The second plane loitered momentarily in its approach, allowing the dust to disperse. In a few minutes both planes were parked, their engines whining a descending dirge as propellers windmilled into stillness.

“Hey look,” Keegan exclaimed. “New paint job.”

Marsh squinted at the 130s. Finally he saw the Navy man’s meaning. Chad’s tricolor cockade was painted over the tactical black-on-gray American insignia on fuselage and wings. There was also a fin flash on the vertical stabilizer. “That’s not going to fool anybody,” Marsh ventured. “Besides, it’s probably not legal.”

Terry Keegan nudged him. “Like Teddy Roosevelt said, Why spoil the beauty of the thing with legality?”

44

AOZOU STRIP

The mine was a welter of noise and activity. As the mercenaries alit from their Land Rover, they were approached by the foreman.

“Jean Djimesta,” Etienne reintroduced the African to Hurtubise.

“Mr. Djimesta.” Hurtubise slung his FA-MAS rifle from his right shoulder, muzzle down. He had already chambered the first round of 5.56mm ammunition from the twenty-five-round magazine. Deladier did likewise; both had carried the compact bullpup design in the Legion.

The Chadian raised a hand and gestured behind him. “We are proceeding as fast as possible, monsieur.” He anticipated the Frenchman’s concern, adding, “We should be able to load the first truck before sunrise. The second perhaps two hours later.”

Hurtubise nodded; it was better than he expected. “We can expect uninvited guests before dawn. Keep the men working.”

Before Djimesta could reply, Hurtubise turned away and strode toward the perimeter. His colleagues followed.

“Paul, I want you to go with the first truck. Stay with it until it’s ready to leave. You know the procedure at the border?”

“Yes,” Deladier said. “Moungar already gave us the details.”

“All right.” He turned to Stevin. “Etienne, you will remain in command of perimeter defense. But I need you sober, you understand?”

The Belgian ignored the implication, unflappable as usual. “What do you think they’ll hit us with, Boss?”

Hurtubise rubbed his chin. He needed a shave but hardly registered that fact. “I’m not sure they’ll come in shooting. I think they’ll make a show of force to make us back down without a fight. I wish we had more heavy weapons, but there’s no time to bring them up here. Anyway, I’ll talk to the men in a little while, but be sure they all understand: no shooting unless we’re attacked. If we need to slow them down so the trucks can get away, I’ll give that word. After that it’s up to you again.” He gave Stevin an unaccustomed pat on the arm.

Good of you to die for me, mon ami. That’s what you seem to want.

Deladier asked, “What are they likely to bring?”

“I don’t think they’ll have APCs or anything like that. Probably they’ll arrive in trucks. Maybe a few helicopters. But they won’t pursue us into Libya, that’s for sure.”

Stevin chuckled aloud. “We can handle a chopper or two.”

45

BARDAI AIRPORT

Steve Lee found himself functioning as a company commander again. It had been several years, but he relished the challenge.

In a large tent erected well clear of the flight line, he described the plan to his unit: the first platoon plus the SSI team and some support personnel. He spoke slowly and clearly, allowing J. J. Johnson to translate for the Chadians.

“First platoon is the assault element. Second platoon will provide the blocking force and perimeter security.” He described a semicircle around the entrance to the mine and a roadblock to the north. “We will use both helos: one to lift a squad to overtake any vehicle that gets past the roadblock, the other to insert a second squad as a reaction force, wherever it might be needed.”

In the orange-yellow glow of the suspended lights, he indicated where he wanted the Alouettes positioned at the moment of the assault. He glanced at Terry Keegan and Eddie Marsh; both seemed attentive and composed.

“Now this is important,” Lee stressed. He paused longer than necessary after Johnson said, “C’est important.”

“No one will open fire, even if we are fired upon, unless we take casualties.” Lee awaited the expected murmur of protest from the Chadians. “I repeat: this is important. We want to secure the mine as quickly as possible. If we have to shoot our way in, that gives the smugglers time to get away, possibly with some yellow cake. That’s why we want a blocking force in position, but we cannot assume it will stop everybody trying to escape.”

When Johnson finished elaborating, Lee continued. “We want to intimidate the guards into surrendering. Therefore, we will not return fire if they merely shoot in our direction. When we close with them, if they’re still