'No joy on primary,' he said. The words hurt as he said them. But there was no way now to find any American prisoners in that camp. 'Repeat, no joy.
Crocodile is engaging.' Crocodile referred to the That contingent, and he wanted Green Throne to know that it was the locals who'd screwed the pooch.
'Understood, Alligator,' the voice on the handset said. 'Green Throne' was Colonel John Caruso, monitoring the action from his CIC back on board the Chosin. Communications were being relayed through a circling Navy Hawkeye somewhere over central Thailand. 'Revert to original op plan. We will direct Chickenhawk and Thunderbird to move in.'
'Roger that, Green Throne. Wilco. Alligator, out.' He handed the radio handset back to the commo operator. 'Okay, Sciaparelli. Hohum. Break out the GLDs. Move it! Move it! We don't have all day.' In fact, he knew, they had very little time now at all.
It was too damned bad about those Western prisoners the Karens had reported seeing. But there was nothing more that could be done for them now.
Hsiao was gathering his maps and papers when an aide entered his office.
Hua! Get my pilot. Have him ready my helicopter. And send some men to get the Americans and bring them here.'
'You are leaving, General?'
Hsiao nodded. 'It is perhaps best if I take the Americans to Mong-koi.'
'It could be dangerous. The air battle-'
'I shall be traveling at treetop level, and the border is only a few minutes away. The Americans will not pursue me into Burma.'
'Yes, sir.'
'A precautionary measure only, Hua. I think it best that I and my prisoners stay out of the line of fire until after the Q-5s destroy the That forces.'
'As you command, General.'
The aide hurried out, and Hsiao began gathering his maps and papers.
This was more than precaution, he admitted to himself. The arrival of the American carrier planes had been a complete surprise. Wu might be holding them at bay, but at last word he'd lost five aircraft doing it, with no American kills reported yet. The Yankees' technology and their skill might yet turn the battle against his forces. If Wu was defeated, Dao's Q-5s, now on the way across the border from Burma, would be easy prey. And if the Q-5 attack was stopped, the That assault would come, possibly within minutes.
He did not wish to be in the area if that happened.
From Burma, Hsiao could retain control of his forces whatever happened, and the American prisoners would give him considerable bargaining power, both with the Thais and the Burmese. He might even be able to make a deal with the Americans, if they thought highly enough of their female news reporter.
He collected the last of his papers and strode unhurriedly from the room.
CHAPTER 27
'Made It!' Pamela said. 'What's that? Shooting?'
She'd heard the sound before in the streets of Bangkok, a distant rattling sound. It was hard to associate that fireworks snapping with gunfire and death.
'Sure as hell is,' Bayerly said, listening. 'We'd better get ready to didi.'
'Pardon?'
'Di di mau. Move out!'
'Move?' she asked, confused. 'Where?'
Bayerly jerked his head toward the door. 'Gunfire means someone's closing in. Probably a pretty big op if it's supported by Tomcats off the Jeff. These bozos here can't afford to let us go or get rescued. They'll either move us, maybe try to use us for bargaining later… or they'll shoot us.'
'Oh, God…'
He gave her a tight-lipped smile. He seemed calmer now than he had earlier, calmer and more self- possessed. 'Something tells me our friend Hsiao isn't going to want witnesses around talking about his part in things. Like kidnapping, torture, and murder for a start. Or revolution.' He stood next to the shed's door, stooped slightly as though listening. 'Okay. Stand back.'
'What are you doing?' she asked.
He didn't answer but took several steps back to the far end of the shed, then threw himself at the door, smashing against the wood with his shoulder.
There was a loud crash, but the door held. 'Made It! What are you doing?
The guards will hear!'
'Shit,' he said, rubbing his shoulder. 'It always works in the movies!'
He backed up again, paused, then took another run at the door. The crash was so loud that Pamela thought the sound must be carrying all over the base.
'They'll hear…!'
'I think our guards took off the first time those Tomcats buzzed us,' Bayerly said. He slammed his shoulder against the door again… and again.
'By now they're halfway back to Burma.'
He hit the door once more, this time with a splintering crash which tore the door from its hinges. Bayerly plunged through, landing on his hands and knees on the wreckage of the door.
Bayerly grinned. 'Let's get out of here.'
'Yin kin! Yin kin!' The soldier appeared out of nowhere, an AK-47 raised to his shoulder, the muzzle thrusting at Bayerly's face. Pamela didn't know if he'd been there all along or had just arrived to investigate the noise. His face twisted in fury. 'Reho kaho!'
'Okay, okay!' Bayerly said, holding up one hand. He started to rise.
'Keep your shirt on-'
He sprang forward and up, getting under the soldier's AK and knocking its muzzle toward the sky just as the man's finger jerked at the trigger. A burst of full-auto fire rattled the walls of the shed.
The rebel soldier went down on his back, Bayerly on top of him, both men wrestling for the AK between them. The American outweighed his opponent by at least fifty pounds and had the advantage of having one knee on the man's chest. Bayerly tugged hard at the weapon… then changed tactics and pushed down as hard as he could. Caught off guard, the enemy soldier took the full force of the blow across his chest. Bayerly pulled again, and this time broke the AK free of the soldier's grasp. Pamela saw the assault rifle rise in the air, butt down… then descend sharply. There was a crack, and the guard lay motionless on the ground, his forehead oddly misshapen.
Bayerly racked back the bolt on the AK, checking the chamber. A gold cartridge spun through the air. 'Let's go.'
They hurried around the corner of the shed, then sprinted for the fuel tanks.
Beyond, a hundred-yard clear stretch separated them from the jungle.
Tombstone kept the Tomcat in a vertical climb, afterburners howling. At thirty-five thousand feet he put the aircraft into a half-twist, then cut the burners and let the plane fall on its back, canopy down, as his fingers stabbed at the chaff-release button. Looking 'up,' Tombstone could see the dark green folds of mountains and valleys, the silver twistings of the Taeng River.
The contrail of the Atoll AAM arrowed toward him from the Earth.
