Authors: AeroGirl and Daenar
Disclaimer: See Part One Chapter Eleven 1758 Local - 1328 ZULU
Deserted warehouse
Grounds of the terrorist camp
Outside Zaranj
Afghanistan Gasping, I woke from my unconsciousness, finding myself still lying on the concrete floor, tied to the metal chair, completely drenched. A puddle of water surrounded me, partly washing away my dried blood. As I looked around, I saw that Gunny was on his feet again, he, too, still tied to the chair beside me. Kourosh and Rokneddin had returned, bringing us back into the play with the help of two buckets full of surprisingly cold water.
As I struggled to get up despite the heavy chair hindering me, Kourosh stepped up to me and roughly yanked me up.
"Time for confessions, Sarah. Don't bother speaking Farsi - we have an interpreter. I know thinking is hard when you're in pain."
With that he slapped me, thus bringing me back to my true self in full. I quickly scanned my surroundings and saw Rokneddin come near with the interpreter Kourosh had spoken of. I tried to get a good look at him in the dimly-lit room, our eyes met - and we stared. I knew this man and he knew me. It was my friend Ahmad Salimi, the tailor.
I was astonished to see Salimi here. Although he had never dared to say so openly, I knew that he detested Islamic fundamentalism and was fervently praying that the Karzai government would help reform the society of his country. But I also knew that he was very pessimistic about that ever happening. Upon closer inspection, the old man didn't really look as if he were helping the terrorists of his own free will. They must have dragged him out here, knowing he was fluent in English.
When he recognized me, his eyes went wide in shock and compassion. Obviously, I had to be looking really battered.
"Maryam?" he softly called out, his concern evident. Rokneddin at once gave his ribs a nudge with his elbow, making the dignified man wince and then throw him a glance of barely-veiled contempt about his lack of civility.
"Salimi, this is the person in question." Kourosh had met him halfway across the room and now dragged the tailor over to me. "She's an American Marine colonel and her name is Sarah Mackenzie. She knows something about this camp being attacked and won't talk. We already let her have a little special treatment but I think we'll have to apply stronger measures. She might not be able to speak Farsi in the process. You will translate. And remember - if your translation differs from what she says, we or our friends are going to find out sooner or later, and then you will regret you ever lived. Is that clear?"
"Quite clear, Mr. Maghari," Salimi answered in his polite, agreeable voice.
Meanwhile, I had noticed with horror that Rokneddin was about to turn the metal chairs that we were tied to into some sort of electric chairs. So that was how they planned on making us talk. Efficient indeed. I wasn't sure how long I would be able to hold my ground once the currents came jolting through my body, grilling me alive. 'Cry, Mackenzie. Cry the pain out of your consciousness until it's over,' I kept telling myself. Looking to my left, I saw that Gunny had his eyes closed as if he were praying for strength.
"Move away, I'll test the circuits," Rokneddin eventually spoke up.
I gritted my teeth. A second later, my body was convulsing in agony as it seemed to burn up from inside. I let out an earth-shattering scream but managed to hold myself upright for the few seconds until Rokneddin disconnected the power.
Kourosh gave his brother a grimly smiling nod. "Works."
I met Salimi's glance that seemed just as pained as my own. He squared his shoulders and addressed Kourosh in a low voice, but not low enough for a Marine to miss the meaning. "Mr. Maghari, as I am to help you in this, might I make a proposition? If you go on like this, Mrs. Goshtasbi won't have too much time left to tell you anything. I think the safer bet might be to let me try and talk to her first. Hearing her own language and talking to a seemingly sympathetic mind might weaken her resolve. Torturing always makes women even more stubborn."
Kourosh seemed to ponder Salimi's words for a few moments. Finally, he nodded. "All right, give it a try, Salimi. We'll stand by right here. You have fifteen minutes. After that, we'll return to our methods."
Knowing that the pain was only put off a little, I felt inclined to be angry with the man who had tried to spare me somehow. I wouldn't tell anything anyway, so my preference would have been to get it over with as soon as possible.
Leaning heavily on his cane, Salimi drew near. When he spoke to me, his words came out in such a rush that I almost missed the most important part - but that had obviously been his intention. He spoke with a slight accent but his command of English was amazing.
"Ma'am, you heard them. Why don't you tell me what you know? Are the Americans going to attack this camp? What are their plans? What is your role in the play? There are only two more guards outside, ma'am. Do you think you can take them out? Please, play weak." While speaking, Salimi had wetted his handkerchief in the puddle on the floor and started to gently clean up the wound on my jaw.
I immediately got the picture. I let a few tears flow, sobbed a little and gave - at least in my opinion - a rather convincing performance of being torn between having to keep quiet and wanting to be spared. Understanding that he needed something to translate back to them, I decided to give him a snippet of information that the terrorists already had.
Trying to keep my voice weak and low, I answered. "They... they're coming in through the air... a fighter squadron... tonight... yes, if my... colleague gets off, too... we... we can... is there... a car?" The constant artificial sobbing almost made me choke for real.
With a seemingly satisfied expression on his face, Salimi turned to the Magharis. "She says that a fighter squadron is supposed to attack the camp tonight."
"We already know that. What are their weapons?" Kourosh seemed pleased that Salimi had obviously gotten me to talk, but his impatience was evident.
Salimi turned back to me and wetted my forehead with his handkerchief. "Keep playing, ma'am... How are the fighters armed? Yes, the brothers' car, right in front of the door. Say you want water."
I fixed Salimi's glance, amazed. The old gentleman had to know he was risking his life in helping me. But he only winked.
"I... will tell... but... I need water... they have missiles..."
"The fighters are armed with missiles. She says she desperately needs some water. Then she will give more details. If you ask me, she's about to break."
Surprisingly, Kourosh motioned for his brother to refill one of the buckets and Rokneddin instantly complied. There was still something like respect towards the elder in this society.
"Mr. Maghari," Salimi now addressed Kourosh, pretending to have found something in the pocket of my BDU pants. "You should have a look at this. Could you come over here, for a moment, please."
With raised eyebrows, Kourosh drew near. What happened then surprised me like few things ever have. Salimi gave me another barely noticeable wink, ensuring my attention. When Kourosh had reached us, the old man pointed at my pocket and when Kourosh bent down slightly and reached for it, Salimi, with a surprisingly powerful blow, brought the brass knob of his cane down on Kourosh's head, making him fall to the floor. I immediately made sure he stayed there, letting myself and the chair drop onto him. Salimi quickly untied me and I at once took Kourosh out for good.
Millions of thoughts, hopes, questions and words flooded my mind but I efficiently blocked them out. I had to free Gunny before Rokneddin came back. I ran over to where he was observing the scene, his eyes wide.
"Grab something heavy, Gunny, and go to the door. Make sure Rokneddin makes no noise when he goes down. Shooting would be too loud."
"Understood, ma'am."
As Gunny positioned himself behind the door with a pair of heavy pliers that he had found among the tools Rokneddin had used to connect us to the circuits, I guided Salimi through the room and we took cover near the entrance to the warehouse.
Not a moment too early. The door opened and Rokneddin stepped back in with the refilled plastic bucket. Gunny placed a precise blow on his head and then dragged him over to where Kourosh was lying, tying them together and gagging them. Then he joined us.
"What now, ma'am?" he asked in a low voice.
Somehow I managed to get some order into my spinning thoughts. I turned to Salimi.
"Are you sure there are only two more guards outside the warehouse?"
"Yes, ma'am," the tailor answered, his eyes actually gleaming mischievously. He seemed to be gloating that he had fooled the people he detested. I couldn't quite fight my answering grin, neither could Galindez. "From what I gathered," Salimi added, "They didn't even want too many of their own people to know that you were in here. They feared someone might come in and try to kill you right away without getting the information. You know these people tend to act impulsively..."
"I see," I acknowledged. "Mr. Salimi, could you call them inside, saying you need help with us?"
"Of course, ma'am." The tailor got up and with the help of his cane walked over to the door, opening it and sticking his head out. While he was addressing the guards, Gunny and I got ready to jump at the men.
A moment later, the guards, each of them armed with a Kalashnikov, were led into the building by Salimi. As soon as they had passed our hideout, Gunny and I approached them from behind. A few precise martial-arts movements did the trick. We were free. Well, almost, but anyway...
1823. Still time to warn the Seahawk.
"Let's get out of here, folks," I ordered bluntly, ignoring the fact that my body was aching all over, causing me heavy fits of nausea. But I didn't have the time to concentrate on that.
"Yes, ma'am. Excuse me, please, sir." With that, Gunny tossed me Salimi's cane and then lifted the old man up on his shoulder. We would be too slow if we let him walk.
Looking out from between the doorframe and the door, I could see the Magharis' car just a few yards away.
Please, let the doors be open...
Upon my signal, we rushed over, yanked the doors open, got in and slammed the doors shut again. If anybody was near, they'd have heard us by now. Gunny was sitting in the drivers' seat, hotwiring the vehicle. As soon as the motor came alive, Galindez slammed in a gear and we roared off.
Another question would be passing the gate. I didn't have my Chador, so I only ducked as best I could into the foot space of the right front seat, hoping no one would see me. If the guards hadn't changed ever since we had been brought in, we were in trouble. We could only hope that they had indeed been relieved and that the new ones didn't know yet about Gunny's true identity.
For the second time today, the little onyx lucky charms on my left wrist worked. First they had sent me an angel in the form of our friend Ahmad Salimi, now they allowed us to pass the guards at the entrance without problems. I sent a prayer heavenward, thanking God - or Allah - for his mercy.
As soon as we had reached the main road leading northeast, Gunny stepped on the accelerator as if his life depended on it. Salimi and I frantically grabbed for the door handles to somehow keep sitting up straight.
Now, I finally had the time to get something off my chest that had been lingering there for quite some time. "Mr. Salimi, thank you. You saved our lives and maybe those of a lot more if we're lucky."
The old man smiled, showing a huge gap between his lower teeth. "You're very welcome, Maryam, Vajih... or what should I call you?"
"Sarah."
"Victor."
Gunny and I had spoken simultaneously. We shared a brief, almost relieved smile.
"Mr. Salimi, why did you do it?"
"Sarah, I told you I have lost my faith that my once so beautiful country will ever rise again. So I want to go looking for a better place to spend my last few years, in a society that respects the rights and dignity of all people. Why do you think my English isn't rusty yet although my time in Europe dates decades back?" His smile was almost benign.
Intrigued, I locked my gaze with his. "That was something I was going to ask you anyway. Your language is almost flawless."
My compliment seemed to give him enormous pleasure - his smile broadened still more. "Even when the Taliban were in power and it was highly illegal, I always kept my old radio. BBC World was my only link left to the world I loved. Now I'm hoping I might see it again before I die. Allah might be willing to grant me that wish..." he sighed wistfully.
"You will, Mr. Salimi, I promise." Somehow this little speech had moved me deeply.
The car's short-wave radio interrupted our conversation. ["Rokneddin, this is Amal. Do you read me?"]
Shame. I motioned for Gunny to pull to a halt at the side of the road. He muffled his speech with the sleeve of his shirt and answered, trying to pitch his voice deeper.
"Come in, Amal? I can barely hear you. Just tell me quickly what's on your mind."
["I just wanted to let you know that all is set up down here. Our radar is still inactive. As soon as we get readings of the fighters nearing the river, we'll activate the SAM radar and then we'll have them down in no time. Piece of cake."]
"Got that, Amal. Keep going."
As soon as Gunny had switched off the radio, I couldn't help swearing loudly. All the previous lightheartedness about our escape had evaporated in an instant. They had radar-guided SAMs waiting for my best friend. And he had no clue.
"Gunny, speed up! I've got to get in touch with Commander Rabb ASAP! This isn't just a Stinger attack anymore that we've got to warn them of, and that would have been bad enough."
"I know, ma'am." The frown on Gunny's face matched my own.
1946 Local - 1516 ZULU
Near Kadesh
Afghanistan
We had been speeding over the bumpy dirt road for a little more than an hour, but to me it felt like eternity. Every mile brought me closer to the technical facilities I needed to contact Harm but the distance kept dragging and dragging, making me slowly go insane.
My head was throbbing tremendously, the burn in the pit of my elbow made me want to scream, and the kicks to my belly still made me nauseous. But I willed myself to suck it up. At least the blood on my cheekbone had clotted. Luckily Harm couldn't see me right now. I was convinced I had to be looking like hell.
All of a sudden, Gunny stepped on the brakes and with screeching tires, we skidded to a halt. Behind me, Salimi woke from his peaceful slumber.
Gunny was annoyed. "What the hell does this guy think he's doing?"
A man was standing in the middle of the road, forcing us to stop, waving desperately and motioning to his broken-down car at the side of the road.
"With your permission, ma'am, I'll just leave the road and pass."
Just as I was about to agree, something made me look twice and I immediately knew that, despite all that had happened and was still about to happen, this was really turning out to be my lucky day.
"No, Gunny, come with me. You'll see. It'll only take a minute."
"But ma'am..."
"That's an order, Gunny!"
"Yes, ma'am."
We climbed out of the car.
The man stopped his movements and stared at me, a grin spreading over his face.
"Suzie? Is that really you? Boy, am I glad that you guys showed up. I had a breakdown and in this godforsaken place no one ever stops to help!"
Gunny shot me a glance. He had understood and I could feel his anger well up just as my own rage had instantly returned upon seeing that man. Everything within me kept screaming 'Vendetta!'
Kalesky's face took up an even more astonished expression as we approached. "Great God, Suzie, what did your friends do to you?"
I stopped in front of him. "The same we'll do to you if you pull any stunts, Corporal."
Kalesky's jaw dropped. "What are you talking about?"
Gunny couldn't prevent himself from grinning grimly. "That should be 'What are you talking about, 'ma'am'?', Corporal."
"What the hell..."
Showtime.
I signaled to Gunny to apply his police grip to Kalesky's arms and locked my glance with the traitor. My voice was deadly calm. "I'm Lieutenant Colonel Sarah Mackenzie, United States Marine Corps, Chief of Staff to the United States Navy's Judge Advocate General. Lance Corporal Benjamin Kalesky, you're under arrest for desertion, espionage, weapons theft and weapons trading. You have the right to remain silent. Everything you say may be used against you in court-martial. Gunnery Sergeant Galindez, continue reading him his rights in the car. We have a mission to carry out."
Kalesky's face was now the color of a freshly bleached sheet, but he didn't try to escape because right now, Salimi had gotten out of the car with a gun that he must have found inside. He expertly pointed it at Kalesky's head. "You make a move and you're a dead man."
With that, Kalesky was pushed onto the backseat beside Salimi. Gunny sat behind the wheel and we drove off again. Five minutes later, we saw the lights of what had to be the Canadian forces' camp outside Kadesh.
2006 Local - 1536 ZULU
Canadian forces' camp
Outside Kadesh
Afghanistan
It had taken me a full ten minutes to get past the guards at the gate and be admitted to the base's CO. Gunny had done his best to help, but two people without any identification whatsoever, not wearing the uniforms that would confirm they really were who they claimed to be, arriving in a car with an Afghan number tag, with two dubious people in tow one of which they claimed was a prisoner - the lieutenant at the gate had needed a few very detailed facts and strong arguments to let us pass and send his colleague over to the car to guard the two men we left outside.
I could see that I had made some impression on the lieutenant and maybe he even believed me, but in times as these, caution was an absolute necessity. The lieutenant had radioed his CO's quarters and, after a little discussion, got the order to escort the two strangers to his office.
Gunny and I entered the building and we immediately came to attention in front of the full colonel who commanded the base.
"Lieutenant Colonel Sarah Mackenzie and Gunnery Sergeant Victor Galindez, United States Marine Corps, sir!" I presented us, only to immediately continue, "Sir, we have information about an ambush set up for a U.S. Navy fighter squadron en route to attack an al-Qaeda camp near Zaranj. We need to contact them ASAP and we need your help to do that."
The urgency in my voice apparently made Colonel William McTavish take a closer look at my face. His gut seemed to tell him he could trust me but reason made him inquire for further details. "How come you know about the plans, Colonel, and what happened to you?"
Of course I understood that McTavish had to ask, but my impatience and growing fear threatened to get the better of me. "Gunnery Sergeant Galindez and I were working undercover, sir, infiltrating the al-Qaeda cell," I hurriedly explained. "We need to get the information to the USS Seahawk right now. Our F-14s don't know the terrorists have radar-guided SAMs set up. Please, sir, this might be a matter of minutes!"
McTavish heaved a sigh, obviously wanting to believe me. "You don't have any ID, Colonel Mackenzie. How do you want them to believe you're not one of them?"
"Sir," I pleaded desperately, "If you can get me a connection to the Seahawk, I'll find a way to identify myself. Please, sir."
The Canadian colonel pinched the bridge of his nose, thinking. Then he again took a look at the battered woman in front of him. I could see he was pitying me.
Come on, sir, trust your intuition...
"Lieutenant, get me someone at CENTCOM, Qatar, now."
Thank you, Lord!
The lieutenant instantly made the call. McTavish exchanged a few words with the officer at the other end of the line and finally was passed through to the Seahawk.
"Captain Johnson? Good evening, this is Colonel McTavish, commander of Princess Patricia's Canadian Light Infantry battle group at coalition base Kadesh. I have a woman here who claims to be a Lieutenant Colonel Sarah Mackenzie and she tells me she needs to pass on urgent information to the leader of the squadron that's right now flying an attack against al Qaeda. I have no means to confirm her identity. What do you suggest we do?"
I noticed I was chewing my lower lip while the colonel was listening to Johnson's reply. Then he looked at me. "Colonel, the skipper seems to know you but he thinks you might be someone else who got to know the real Colonel Mackenzie at the camp. He's right now trying to contact the squadron leader. He says that the commander might know how to identify you... do you know him?"
"Yes, I do, he's a JAG lawyer like me. We work together."
McTavish stared at me. "The U.S. sends lawyers to do the real work? Now that's peculiar."
Before I needed to come up with an answer to that statement, Johnson obviously addressed the colonel because he listened intently, an expression of utmost astonishment spreading over his features. "Uh... all right, Captain, I'll ask her..."
Bewildered beyond belief, McTavish turned to me. "Colonel, the skipper says that this Commander Rabb wants to know how much time is still left on your deal. If you can answer correctly, I am to believe you. Do you know what he's talking about?"
Despite the situation, I had to fight a smile. Trust Harm to come up with something like this. "Yes, sir, I know, and the answer is 426 days."
Eyebrows up high, McTavish passed on my answer, never taking his eyes off me. A moment later, the colonel's face lit up with a genuine smile and he handed me the receiver. "Colonel Mackenzie, there's someone on the phone for you."
Chapter Twelve
2013 Local - 1543 Zulu
Approaching the Helmand River Valley
Afghanistan
"She says it's 426 days, sir."
Relief, swift and overwhelming, washed over me with incredible force. There was no mistaking that response. She was alive, and relatively safe, and the nightmarish scenario that had been haunting me for hours could be laid to rest at last. If I hadn't been strapped securely into the front seat of a fighter aircraft, I might very well have collapsed under the sudden release of that weight.
Steeling my voice in order to sound presentable over the open comm line, I directed, "Put her through."
After a moment, the voice that had rung in my ears for so long finally filtered through my headset. "Harm, is that you?"
It took everything I had not to confess every last thing I'd ever felt for her right then and there. Instead, rational thought automatically took over, and I exclaimed, "Mac! Where are you?"
"At the 3PPCLI camp at Kadesh. We're safe."
She started to say something beyond that, but I couldn't even process it. Without a second thought, I blurted out, "God, Colonel, is it good to hear your voice."
"Same here, Commander." She sounded exhausted, edgy, and reassured all at once. "Listen, Harm, you need to get down below radar tracking altitude, ASAP. They have a SAM battery waiting for you near the Helmand River, and they're keeping the radar off to avoid detection until the last possible second."
"Understood," I responded, a new kind of adrenaline rising in my throat. This shouldn't have been a surprise. I'd told the others as much only minutes ago. Still, it wasn't expected, and it wasn't comforting news. "Have you got specific coordinates?"
"I wish I did. Can you handle it?"
I sure hope so. I attempted to smile through my mask, hoping she'd be able to hear it in my voice. "Sure. This is going to make a pretty bad impression, though. This will be the second time this week that an attack of mine was altered with the squadron already airborne."
I imagined that I could hear her wry grin in reply. "Yeah, I know. Now get down there and watch out for Stingers, okay?"
"Will do." There was more I wanted to say - much more - but it simply wasn't possible. "Mac - thank you. You always find a way."
"Believe me, I'm glad I could. Take care."
"Always. Out." My mind was spinning rapidly as I switched over to the main group frequency. "Echo Flight, this Lead. Hit the deck. Now."
Instantly and without hesitation, four aircraft plunged toward the earth.
*************************************
["Always. Out."]
Knowing the connection might be needed again, I didn't hang up but only placed the receiver on the table in front of me. Then I suddenly felt my knees buckle and grabbed for the backrest of a nearby chair. Gunny instantly sprinted to my side and helped me sit down.
"You all right, ma'am?"
I cast him a feeble smile. "I don't really feel like doing my physical fitness test right now, but thanks. I've been worse."
"Lieutenant Bowler, fetch some water and a washcloth for the colonel, please," McTavish directed. "Bring them directly to the observation room."
"Yes, sir."
McTavish politely offered me his arm. "Colonel Mackenzie? I'm sure you'd like to follow the proceedings from our observation room, right?"
Thankful for his good intuition, I accepted the offered help and let him guide me to the adjacent building, where I was bid to sit down on a chair next to a radar screen. McTavish handed me a headset and a microphone. "In case Commander Rabb wants another word with you," he said with a slight smile.
"Thank you so much, sir, I do appreciate that. Umm... sir..." I felt a little uncomfortable about asking anything else, as he had already done so much for me, but I had to. "Sir, might I ask you to help me with something else, please?"
McTavish actually smiled. "Go ahead, Colonel. Let's see if I can oblige you."
"Thank you, sir. I have a prisoner and an old friend waiting outside in the car, sir. Right now, your guards are taking care of them but I think it might be easier, especially for the old man, if they were brought in here, too. The Gunny will keep a strict eye on our prisoner."
"What did he do?"
"The man's going to be court-martialed for desertion, espionage, weapons trading and weapons theft, sir."
"That's a whole load," McTavish only remarked, one eyebrow up high. He considered my request for a few brief moments, then called the gate and had Kalesky and Salimi brought over. Conveniently, the guards even supplied Gunny with a pair of handcuffs for the Corporal.
"Anything else I can do to help, Colonel?" McTavish pulled up a chair and sat down next to me, casting a curious glance at the delicate string of onyx pearls around my wrist that I was working my nervousness off on, incessantly twirling and twisting it with my right hand.
I met his eyes, finding my worry reflected in his gentle demeanor. "Pray, sir," I only said in a low voice.
***************************************
Leveling off at four hundred feet, I scanned the blurry landscape below with apprehension. The river was approaching fast enough to make me pretty damn uncomfortable. "Cash, find us an acceptable course deviation - preferably two of them. Let's see if we can come at them from a slightly different direction than they're expecting."
"Right with you, sir." Already prepared, Cash toggled his mike. "Lead and Two, prepare to break right, heading zero-six-five. Three and Four, left to one-one-zero. Copy?"
"Copy," came three voices.
"Map of the earth, boys and girls - follow the foothills. Three ... two ... one ... mark."
We split up smoothly, the two pairs taking slightly different paths, banking on the chance that the terrorists had set up their ambush directly under our predicted flight path.
"So are we going SAM hunting, or not?" Bounce wanted to know.
"Not unless or until they light up," I informed the group. "The SAMs aren't our objective. Having said that, I wouldn't be too depressed if we managed to hit them anyway. I just don't want to walk in the front door. Watcher, you still got our six?"
"Roger, Lead," came the Hawkeye's commo from their loitering position, back out over the water. "Still quiet, but we've got all eyes and ears on the ground."
"Good to hear. Hope your reflexes are good, because as soon as they flip on the power, we're gonna need to know about it."
"Copy that."
A flash of memory surfaced, and I found myself recalling a conversation with Tom Boone from long ago.
"You have to be ready the moment those bastards go active, if not a moment before. They'll probably get off a shot or two, but you've got a technological advantage over them. Your missiles can acquire them faster than theirs can acquire you. But it's only a difference of a few seconds, so if you're asleep at the stick in any way, shape or form, you're in for a very unpleasant day. I almost learned that the hard way once. Fortunately, your dad was a quick son of a bitch."
Somehow that connection to my father, however tenuous, strengthened my confidence. Thanks to Mac, we were prepared for the threat, and I happened to have a guardian angel with SAM-killing experience. Convenient.
"Arm your -88s, Echoes," I ordered: I've never been able to make myself call the AGM-88 High-Speed Anti-Radiation Missile by its more conventional name, the HARM. "But don't fire indiscriminately. We're going to need some of that ordnance for the primary target."
In a motion that undoubtedly mirrored that of my three companions, I held my finger over the pickle button and simply waited.
****************************************
Monitoring their conversation, it was obvious that Harm was in his element now. For a brief moment I felt that well-known sting again, this 'Will flying ever be second in his heart?' line of thinking that I kept trying to block out whenever he was up there. But it always snuck its way back into my mind.
As I followed the tiny dots on the radar, one always seeming to blink a little brighter than all the others, I couldn't help replaying our previous conversation in my mind.
God, Colonel, is it good to hear your voice.
He had masked his emotions well, but not well enough for me. I had heard this particular tone in his voice before - when he had found me alive in the woods after the poacher's assault, when he had come to get me out of Coster's little sanctuary, when he had learned that I had safely returned from my and Webb's trip to the Afghan mainland during the war. Had he been here, Harm would have all but swept me up in his arms.
But I could fully second his statement. His first, urgent "Mac!" must have been the most beautiful sound I'd ever heard in my life. It had, all of a sudden, reopened all the roads that, mere hours ago, had already seemed closed forever. It had taken me a superhuman effort to keep up the Marine mask at that moment, exhausted and shaken as I'd already been.
I wiped my sweaty hands on my pants, trying to keep my breathing steady. They'd have to make contact any time now. Is there anything that's worse than waiting for something dreadful to happen? Suddenly I recalled something Harm had said to me not too long ago.
Do I give you nightmares?
'The hell you do, Commander,' I silently answered his question, 'You can always wake from a nightmare. What you keep doing to me is infinitely worse.'
"The commander is a close friend, isn't he?" McTavish asked, keeping his voice down.
I even managed a wry smile. "The best, sir."
I was sure the colonel understood what was lying beneath the surface but he didn't comment. He only placed his hand on my forearm, squeezing it for a moment, without saying anything.
Just then, the steady flow of conversation that had been going on among the fighters was interrupted by an urgent call from the Hawkeye. ["Got a flash... active, active, active!"]
This was it. My fingers cramped around my headset, I bit my lip until I tasted blood and my stomach started doing wild flips as my eyes rested glued on the green screen. I was going crazy, sitting by, unable to assist in any way.
'Yeah, flyboy, no nightmares. Genuine hell.'
******************************************
"Got a flash," the Hawkeye reported suddenly. Then, half a second later, "Active, active, active! Tracking at two miles out, bearing - "
"Got it!" Cash yelled. "Take the shot!"
"Fox one!" I released a missile, and a moment later, I saw another one come off the rails of Red's jet. From the low altitude, it was only about fifteen seconds before the Hawkeye called, "Impact!" and a flash of fire was visible on the ground below.
But there was more to that flash than just our attack. "Missiles inbound," Cash said tersely. "Three and Four, they're coming your way."
So they'd gotten off a couple of shots. Just what we needed. Red and Bounce immediately deployed their chaff and climbed rapidly to evade the missiles, and for once, the tactic worked exactly the way we'd all learned it back in Pensacola. The radar-reflecting chaff diverted the missiles easily, and as they exploded harmlessly over the hills, we all breathed a sigh of relief. One possible disaster averted.
"Watcher, can you confirm that the site is off-line?"
"That's affirmative, Lead - they're not transmitting so much as a squeak."
"Good to hear. Everybody correct back to original flight path and proceed to primary target." I blinked a bead of sweat out of my eye. "Are we still on with Kadesh?"
"I'm still here, Commander," Mac broke in, having realized the intent of my question. "Nice shooting."
"Group effort." I changed frequencies so that the rest of the flight didn't have to listen in. The Seahawk and the Canadians were probably going to be rather confused by the upcoming conversation, though. With a few moments to regroup before coming within range of the target, I couldn't help but smile a little. "So, 426 days, huh, Marine?"
"Of course. It'd take a lot more than a few pissed-off terrorists to mess up my sense of timing." Her voice held a hint of amusement. "I like the way you think, flyboy, but you probably should have asked a question that you actually knew the exact answer to."
"Shows what you know. I thought the answer was 425 days, that's all."
There was a moment of surprised silence, and when her voice returned, there was a note of pleased disbelief in it. "You've been keeping track?"
"It's not too difficult, considering the fact that those government-issued calendars in our office track the number of days in the year. I can add and subtract, you know."
"Apparently not, since you came up with 425."
"Can I blame it on the time difference? Pretty soon it'll be tomorrow here, and it'll still be today back home."
That sentence didn't make a whole lot of sense, but Mac didn't seem bothered. "Next year's a leap year, you know."
"Really? Damn. I'm never going to get this straight."
Her laugh, static-filled though it was, warmed my soul. "Get back to work, Echo Lead."
"Copy that."
In my mirror, I could see Cash shaking his head. "Do I want to know what happens in 425 or 426 days?"
"No, you don't," I informed him calmly. "Anything out of the ordinary yet?"
"Nope, we're clean so far. Target approach in fifteen."
"All right, time to go. Echo Flight, prepare to start the attack run."
I squared up on my assigned target and noticed some activity on the ground. From our altitude, it was difficult to make out anything specific, but there were definitely vehicles moving. I descended to investigate.
"They're bugging out," Cash commented.
"Yeah, they must know that the ambush failed. Better go put a stop to that. Commence attack ... weapons away."
Other voices chimed in milliseconds later. "Weapons away."
Our GPS-guided weapons had their targets already programmed in: now that they were away, I could concentrate on the 'soft' targets presented by the vehicles.
"Buck, come with me. Textbook strafing run, 250 feet AGL. And don't get in the way of any of the hard targets."
"Got it." Together, we dove to an altitude of two hundred fifty feet above ground level and switched over to guns. We reached the area at approximately the same time as the missiles we'd previously fired, and the explosions reflected off the canopy to my port side. I couldn't afford to turn my head and see what was left of the targeted buildings, though. I had a line of covered trucks in my sights, and it was clear that they weren't transporting food and medicine.
Buck went in first, cannon blazing, and we poured a hailstorm of bullets into the truck convoy. Smaller blooms of fire rose into the evening sky, eliciting that strange mixture of satisfaction and sadness that so often accompanied such a mission. Killing an enemy was still killing, and it was hard to take gratification from it, even when the alternative was unacceptable.
"Incoming!"
I reacted without a thought, rolling away from the camp and climbing as rapidly as possible. Something streaked by - a Stinger? The first one was a clean miss, but another exploded just under our wing, causing the jet to lurch sickeningly.
My head slammed back against the seat, hard enough that my vision swam for a brief second. As soon as it passed, I fought to regain control as warning lights began to flash in front of me. Damn it, we'd been so close ...
"Seahawk, Echo Lead - we've got a little problem here."
The voice that responded wasn't that of the comm officer: Captain Johnson had apparently stepped in. "How little is your 'little' problem, Lead?"
"Best guess is not very, sir. Kadesh, are you still on line?"
"We read you, Echo Lead. What do you need?"
"Well, if you've got one, I could really use an open runway."
*********************************
Dear God Almighty...
I couldn't respond. A sudden flash of cold fear was choking me. Gesticulating wildly, I made the lieutenant step in for me - I didn't have any information on existent or non-existent open runways anyway.
As everything around me started to fuse into one giant roaring blur, only two things registered in my mind, crystal-clear and merciless:
If Harm asked for a runway, he was having the mother of all problems up there.
I had to get out of here, out to where he would land. If he made it back in time.
Jumping to my feet, I started for the door. I had thrown my headset to the table but I hadn't seen the hook that it was supposed to be hung on. My left wrist brushed past it, though, the string of pearls getting caught. Wanting nothing but to run off, I didn't think about what might be hindering me. I forcefully yanked my arm free - and suddenly a myriad of tiny pearls kept bouncing off the ground, all rolling in roughly the same direction: that of the ventilation shaft covered only by a grille, a few feet away from where I had sat.
Horror made me freeze for a moment. My lucky charm, my savior, my anchor - gone. I watched the pearls vanish one by one, each taking a little bit of my previous luck and hope with it.
'Suck it up, Mackenzie, dammit!'
My vision blurry, I stormed out, only one thought dominating the chaos that was inside me.
Harm. To be continued...
