“Stop them,” Pamela screamed. “You’ve got a radio, don’t you? You’ve got to stop them.”
“Why the hell should I?” he snapped, the earlier confusion and apparent weakness now completely gone. “They don’t clear the LZ, we don’t get out of here.”
“You’re leaving. I’m not.”
“What?”
“I’m not,” she repeated. “I’m not military… I’m a civilian.”
Suddenly a figure broke of the tree line and started running toward them. He danced across the open field, zigging and zagging in an attempt to foil the targeting of the Tomcat. The rounds stopped falling as he came closer to them, and when he stopped he grabbed them by their arms and held one on either side of him.
Murphy was reaching into a pocket on his flight suit, and Pamela could see the outline of a handgun pressed up against the fire-retardant cloth. He fumbled as he pulled it out, and Xerxes’s hand closed around his wrist. He shook Murphy’s wrist once, then twisted his arm up behind him. “No guns. It’s her fault I’m even here, and I’m not getting shot for my troubles.”
Murphy yelped, then dropped the gun as Xerxes’s fingers dug deep into the bone. The Macedonian scooped it up and deposited it in his own pocket.
“They won’t come in if you’re here,” Pamela said, her words slightly slurred. It was getting harder and harder to stay focused — the shock creeping up on her, she supposed.
“That’s the idea.” The Macedonian pulled her hard up against him. “They’re not coming in.”
“We can leave,” she said. “We go back into the trees, let the helo come in and pick him up. They won’t shoot at me.”
“You’ve got the wrong idea again about who will shoot at who and why. Right now, he’s our only protection,” Xerxes said, shaking the pilot lightly. “We let him go and they’ll kill us both. You see what they did to the land on either side of us?”
“Murphy would tell them who I am,” she insisted. “They won’t take the chance of hitting me.”
“I think you’re missing the whole point of this. They’re
“Weapons tight, weapons tight! We’ve got friendlies in the area.” Thor was shouting now, venting his frustration over the circuit. “Dammit, they’ve got Murphy. I saw them go into the trees.”
Silence greeted his demand. They all knew the score.
“Break off, Devil Dog. We can’t take the chance,” the Tomcat lead said finally. “RTB.”
Every Marine is a ground soldier first, and Thor was no exception. His hands ached for a rifle, a sniper scope, anything that would be useful in picking off the two terrorists that had custody of his wingman. The Hornet was a powerful weapon, but it was a blunt one. This situation called for precision fire, something he couldn’t produce no matter how much he wanted to. To watch his wingman being led away, moving slowly and awkwardly in the custody of the two Macedonians was almost more than he could bear. Sheer impotent rage swept through him and he howled his frustration and anger in the cockpit, the scream echoing off the canopy around him.
But the Marine Corps habit of obedience under the most dangerous of circumstances was already reasserting itself, taking over. He was gaining altitude, falling back into position on lead, maintaining a rock steady formation flight position even as every atom of his being ached to stay overhead, waiting, hoping for some chance to kill the two captors.
“If your pilots had followed the flight plan, there would have been no danger.” General Arkady’s voice was implacable. “Yet they chose to deviate from it. They put themselves at risk.”
Tombstone watched him impassively, hiding the wild rage storming through him. “No mission goes exactly as planned,” he said. “That’s why we brief contingencies. So pilots will know how to compensate for the unexpected.”
Arkady shrugged. “In combat, one must learn to expect losses. Do you know how many men I have lost in the last six months before the United States so generously decided to come to our assistance?”
“You could have told me about the SAM site,” Tombstone said. His voice was harder and colder than it had been a moment before.
“I thought it had been destroyed. We only learned otherwise this morning. If we had deviated from the briefed plan, we would have put sensitive intelligence assets at risk. Once they are burned, they are no longer of any use, are they?” Arkady asked, as though his reasoning were eminently clear with it to anyone with the slightest common sense.
Shock and horror settled over the room, among both Greek, American and other foreign aviators alike. Tombstone glanced around room and saw that only Arkady’s general staff failed to react. One man had the good grace to look ashamed.
“The point of intelligence is to save lives of pilots,” Tombstone said. “At least in my service.” General Arkady met his harsh glare without the slightest trace of regret on his face.
“Many men have died, Admiral. Many more will before this is over. And not just men — women, children, the very old. How easy it is for us so far away to panic over the first loss of life.” He gestured to encompass the entire room. “Ask my men how many we’ve lost? Then tell me that I should risk my sensitive intelligence assets that are now making a difference.
“And may I point out, I sent my own men in first. Had your pilots stayed with the plan, followed their strike leader, they would have been home even now.” General Arkady settled back into his chair and made a dismissive gesture. “Now, for tomorrow’s strike, we will—”
“You will disclose every bit of intelligence you have.” Tombstone leaned forward and placed his hands flat on the table, splaying his fingers and nailing down the edge of the paper Arkady was reading. “Do I make myself clear? Every bit of it, General. Or my forces don’t fly.”
Arkady looked up, quiet amusement on his face. “You forget yourself, Admiral. They’re no longer your forces. They’re under my direct operational control. You’re here as a matter of courtesy—
“If I go, so do my people.”
“Are you so sure?” Arkady asked. “I think before you make such rash statements, you should consult your authorities at home. They may have other ideas.”
“Come on,” Tombstone said, gesturing to the assembled Americans. “I want talk to you — alone.”
Arkady waved them away. “You have my permission to consult with my forces, Admiral. But don’t forget who owns the firepower around here. They’re
The Americans, without exception, followed Admiral Magruder of the conference room and down the hall to an unused ready room that had been assigned to them for temporary usage. Away from the other nationalities, the stolid veneer they had all applied to their faces cracked and shattered. The skipper of the VF-95 slumped down in the front chair and buried her face in her hands. Tombstone sat down next to her, resisting the urge to place an arm around her shoulders. “I know how you feel,” he said softly. “Don’t worry, we’ll get them back.”
Tomboy looked up, anguish on her face. “Admiral — Tombstone — what he said is true. I chopped to his command and control yesterday — didn’t Batman let you know? Except for administrative matters. If he tells me to fly mission, I have to or face the consequences. How am I supposed to explain court-martialing Smith if I pick and choose what orders I’m going to obey?”
Tombstone nodded. “I know. But no one back home had this in mind when they did that. It was political maneuvering of the worst possible sort, an attempt to curry world favor by placing forces the Greeks can’t begin to imagine at their disposal. If they had had any idea that Arkady would be wasting lives like this, it never would have happened.”
“Are you so sure?” Tomboy shot back. “Hell, I don’t know what to believe right now. Maybe that’s all we are
