belly.
At the side of one of the monkey bombs, Sykes called his group for one last pep talk. “For the next six hours we’re nothing more than passengers who” — he glanced into the open capsule — “have about the same amount of room as folks who get stuck in coach.”
There were a few nervous chuckles.
“We’ve been working with this system for a couple of months now. We’ve all taken a tethered drop from the twenty-foot tower and know how to handle a landing. The only thing we have to worry about is the chute opening. And that’s something we face every time we go so that means there’s no difference in this op from any other we’ve ever done. We don’t have to sweat it. Once we’re on the ground we know what to do.”
“Rules of engagement?” Bashful asked.
“Take down anyone with a gun or anyone threatening you. The only person we care about is Tisa Nguyen. Snow White’s given us a pretty good idea what she looks like, but don’t take chances. Any woman under the age of say, forty, is off limits.”
Bashful raised his hand. “Even if they’re coming after us, Doc?”
“Ain’t no
“Anything to add, Snow?”
Mercer looked around at the confident faces. “Just that these guys blew a hole in a ferryboat in Greece two weeks ago to stop Tisa from talking to me. They killed almost fifty people. Take Doc Sykes’s advice. They won’t give quarter so don’t offer it. And if one of you tags a big bastard who dyes his hair like Elvis, you earned yourself two weeks on the Caribbean island of your choice with the woman of your choice.”
“Hoo-yah!”
“Except for Bashful,” Mercer added. “You monkeys will have to get him the girl.”
With that the meeting was over. It was time.
Two air force technicians helped Mercer into his MMU. Harnesses went around his legs and waist and over his shoulders. He was asked to unbutton the fly of his black fatigues and was given an appropriately sized sleeve for the relief tube. From down the length of the hangar he heard Dopey complaining that even their biggest one was too tight.
“You don’t put it over your mouth,” Sneezy joked back.
Mercer’s helmet was jacked into a communications console and the closed-circuit television was tested. The camera was placed on the bottom of the pod and on the four-inch flat screen he saw workers bent over the other capsules like something out of a sci-fi movie. He was shown the climate controls and ventilators and the mouthpiece for a specially concocted fruit beverage full of electrolytes and minerals. Two hours from the launch, he would draw from another tube. This brew contained stimulants and natural painkillers plus something to counter the effects of altitude sickness. Sykes warned Mercer that after drinking the potion it would be best if he didn’t submit to a drug test for a month or two.
“How do you feel, sir,” the tech asked, his hand on the lid ready to close Mercer in.
“Like I’m about to be interred.”
“Then you’re good to go.”
The lid came down and a vacuum system engaged to seal the MMU. Mercer cracked his jaw to adjust to the slight change in air pressure. The television screen was four inches over his face. The lighting inside the MMU was subtle and warm, a concession to the men who had to endure them for long flights.
A minute later Mercer’s pod rattled as the special cargo lift that had come with the team on the C-17 hoisted the MMU from its cradle and trundled over to the B-2. Clamps on the bomber’s rotary launcher clasped the capsule and drew it up into the bomb bay. No sooner had Mercer gotten comfortable again than another MMU was attached and the launcher spun. It was like being a bullet as it was loaded into a revolver. The launcher was designed to carry eight nuclear bombs and had been modified to carry four MMUs. The first four went into Mercer’s side of the aircraft, and the remaining were fed into the stealth bomber’s second bay.
External power cables were attached, as were the supplemental communications lines so the men could converse during the flight. After making each man call out his status, Sykes notified the pilots on the flight deck that the men were ready.
“Status board in the green, Doc. Taxi truck’s coming now. ATC gives us priority and there isn’t a recon satellite pass for another seventeen minutes. We’ll be cruising at a classified speed and at a classified altitude. Our flight time to target is also classified. So lay back and relax. We here at Cloak and Dagger Airways wish you a pleasant journey.”
The jagged winged aircraft was drawn from its revetment and pulled to a parking slot adjacent to the main runway. A ground crewman unhitched the tow tractor, snapped the pilot a crisp salute and motored away.
Deep in the B-2’s hull the first engine spun to life, followed seconds later by the other three. Although the powerful turbofans straddled the bomb bay, the noise level inside the soundproofed MMU was only slightly louder than what passengers experienced on an airliner.
The pilot performed one final test of the aircraft’s complicated control surfaces. Satisfied, he ran up the engines and the menacing plane began to roll under its own power.
In front of the aircraft, the end of the runway vanished in the wavering curtains of a heat mirage. Behind the plane, hot exhaust created the same effect so the bomber looked like a wraith enveloped in a chimera. Even on the ground the B-2 was otherworldly, like no aircraft ever built.
The engines’ roar turned into a scream as the Spirit picked up speed. Using less than a third of the runway, the B-2’s nose lifted and she took to the sky. The landing gear snapped closed as the bomber began climbing for the safety of the upper troposphere, high above commercial traffic.
From inside the bomb bay, the ascent felt smooth. The men made a few bad jokes and bantered for a while, but soon grew quiet as they settled in for the six hours of being locked in the MMUs with their thoughts and fears. After a while Mercer was able to forget where he was and what they were about to attempt. His mind drifted through countless random thoughts, and while he knew he should be thinking about the impending eruption on La Palma, he found himself focusing on Tisa.
Just one day and night with her had created a deeper impression on him than any woman he’d ever been with. He sought justifications and rationales for his thoughts and admitted that this wasn’t something he had conscious control over. He’d strayed from the path of what was logical and crossed into an emotional realm he seldom approached. The answer to the fundamental question of if he loved her wasn’t clear yet, but he did face the truth that he wanted to.
Mercer had earned the reputation as one of the best mining engineers and prospecting geologists in the world by making deliberate calculations and expertly assessing risk versus reward. Like so many other driven men he’d used those same analytical skills on his personal life as well. The result was a string of short but intense relationships that he ultimately cut short. The reasons were varied but underlying all the breakups was his belief that the affair would ultimately fail anyway and it was better for the women to have it end quickly. For the first time he got a sense that it was his own fear of getting hurt that made him end those other relationships. He wasn’t doing it to protect the women. He was doing it to protect himself. By breaking up quickly, he shielded himself from the risk of possible rejection and the associated doubts that came with it.
“Goddamned strange place for an epiphany,” he muttered as the plane streaked across the Indian Ocean.
And also for the first time, he believed in risking that kind of pain for the opportunity to be with Tisa. He had always been comfortable gambling with his life. That was part of any miner’s job. Now he was growing comfortable with risking his lifestyle too. He drifted to sleep with that thought foremost in his mind.
Hours later, the internal intercom squawked to life. “Gentlemen, this is the flight deck. We’re about an hour from the border with Tibet. Not that we expected they would, but Indian civilian and military radars have failed to pick us up. However we’re approaching the Chinese air defense net. Once we get closer to the border we’ll be dropping to the deck and may be forced to find a route where their radar coverage is thinnest. There’s nothing to worry about, but you guys may get tossed around down there.” He clicked off, returned a second later, and quipped, “Oh, and depending on conditions we might have to dodge a mountain or two.”
The strategic bomber’s flight path had kept it over the ocean for as long as possible, allowing her to top her tanks with an aerial refueling from a KC-10 tanker over the Arabian Sea. The plane made landfall north of Bombay
