At the other extreme was the chicken coop. It seemed undamaged by the flames. The shed and the last barn were in the middle, badly battered, though largely intact.
“They’re definitely gone,” said Josh, returning from a quick check of the groves and nearby fields. M? had gone with him, refusing to let go of his leg until he picked her up. “Think they’ll be back?”
“I don’t know. Not soon.”
Mara reached into her pocket for her satellite phone. She hit the Power button, then realized the phone was already on. Either she’d forgotten to turn it off, or somewhere in the scramble the phone had accidentally been switched back on.
The battery was at 20 percent.
“Problem?” asked Josh.
“It’s nothing.”
She dialed into Bangkok. The Million Dollar Man answered.
“Where are you, darlin’?” he asked.
“You’re supposed to tell me.”
“Figure of speech. I have the GPS reading right… now.”
“Good. And where are we?”
“About two miles southwest of the spot where you grabbed MacArthur. What’s going on? You missed your check-in.”
Mara explained what had happened. “When are we getting out?” she asked.
“We’re working on that right now. We should have a plan firmed up in a few hours. It’ll be tonight,” he added. “I’m just not sure exactly when.”
“Or how?”
“How is a good question, too. Do you think you could stay where you are?” he asked. “Is it safe?”
“That’s a relative word.”
Peter Lucas broke into the line. “Mara?”
“Yes, Peter?”
“We have a plan. It will be in place soon. Right now, we need you to just hang tight. Okay? No more stealing bicycles and riding to Hanoi.”
“It wasn’t a bicycle.”
“Listen, I’m being serious. We may have someone land at that farm.”
“A helicopter?”
“No. It’s too close to their forward air base. But I may be able to parachute some SEALs in. They can escort you out.”
“I don’t need escorts, Peter. I need transportation.”
“I’ll call you back in an hour.”
“Wait!”
But the line had gone dead. Mara angrily pushed the phone into her pocket — then retrieved it to turn it off. The battery was now below 7 percent.
“What’s up?” asked Josh.
“Nothing.”
He glared at her. “You want me to trust you, but you don’t trust me.”
“They want us to wait here.” Mara struggled to get her anger under control.
“Staying here until dark isn’t that bad an idea,” said Josh. “We can eat the rice.”
The rice — she’d left it in the cellar. Her stomach growled in anticipation.
“We can build a fire to cook food,” added Josh. “It won’t look suspicious.”
“I’d rather be moving south.”
“Once it’s dark, right?”
“Yeah.”
He pointed to the rifle. “Maybe we can kill something substantial for dinner.”
“I’m not a hunter.”
“I hunt a lot,” he said, holding his hand out for the gun.
17
“What are we doing?” asked Zeus.
“We can’t outrun them,” said the pilot, as if that answered everything.
By heading straight toward the enemy planes, Thieu was making it harder for the MiGs to fire their heat- seeking missiles. All but the newest of the missiles had to home in on a tailpipe to be effective. Thieu’s maneuver also surprised the Chinese, who didn’t expect a Vietnamese aircraft to take them on.
The enemy aircraft began to separate, preparing to turn as the Albatros approached. They hoped to swing behind Thieu, jerk their throttles to max, then goose off the heat-seekers before he could get away. It was a tactic they had employed countless times in similar situations during training.
But they hadn’t encountered Thieu. As the two planes began to separate, he pushed his nose in the direction of the plane on his right and started to climb.
Had either of the MiGs been carrying medium-range homing missiles rather than laser-guided bombs under its wings, he would have been dead meat; the MiG could have lain back and fired, confident that the missiles would be close enough to stay with Thieu as he broke from his maneuver. But then the same could have been said for the Chinese planes had Thieu been equipped with American AMRAAMs or even Sparrows — something the Chinese pilot Thieu targeted clearly knew, since he immediately dropped his bombs so he could climb faster.
As soon as Thieu saw that, he jerked the plane to the left, hoping to get the other MiG to do the same. But this pilot wasn’t so easily spooked. He turned his nose in toward Thieu’s and accelerated.
The two aircraft closed so quickly that Thieu barely got off a few cannon rounds before he was by him. The MiG pilot immediately turned, hoping to get on his back. But Thieu turned as well, dipping his right wing down and then tipping it over so that he could twist back. The acrobatic moves took him so close to the MiG that if the canopy hadn’t been in the way, Zeus could have reached out and grabbed the other plane.
Thieu fired a few cannon rounds, but he was out of position to get a hit and began falling steadily behind as the MiG dumped fuel into his engine in an effort to pick up speed. The MiG headed north; Thieu broke off, turning to the south, running back toward the reservoir.
The MiG that had dumped its bombs earlier had not given up the fight — a fact Zeus didn’t realize until tracers shot past the canopy.
“Shit!” said Zeus.
“No worry, Lieutenant. You see.”
Thieu pushed the plane into a dive. The MiG, temporarily out of maneuvering energy, headed off farther south.
“The Tomahawks are going to hit any second,” said Zeus.
“Good idea!”
Thieu pushed the plane down toward the bridge. Zeus spotted the MiG banking about five thousand feet above them. The Chinese pilot was starting to understand how he had to fight the other plane; he swung out to the east and began a turn, undoubtedly plotting an intercept where he could open up with his cannon as he closed on the Albatros.
Behind him and much farther below, Zeus spotted a black pencil hurtling through the air, barely above the ground. As the MiG closed, the pencil leapt upward. It turned white and grew tenfold — a trick of the sun shining on the Tomahawk’s surface.
The MiG pilot didn’t know that the bridge was about to be blown up. He had no idea that the Tomahawk was
