Call to Duty (48 page)

Radio silence no longer mattered and the radio crackled to life. “Hello, this is Dypeg leader.” It was their squadron leader, Black Smith, calling using the call sign they had been assigned for the mission. “Descend now.
K for King
take spacing and follow us in.” Zack acknowledged the call and slowed to 270 as his wingman joined on his right. He started a weave as they descended to gain the separation they would need for the attack.

A cool voice came over the radio. “Dypeg, this is Garlic.” The Typhoons that were tasked to fly cover for them while they were over the target and most vulnerable to attack by enemy fighters checked in. “We are approaching the target from the west.”

“They are never where you want them,” Ruffy complained. But relief was evident in his voice.

Zack had the spacing he wanted from the three lead aircraft; he stopped his weave and pushed the throttles up as they leveled off at fifty feet above the ground. Now they turned to the south and arced toward the northeastern side of Amiens. Far in the distance, they could barely see the distinctive spires of the thirteenth-century Gothic cathedral in the center of town—proof they had found their target. “Coming up on the Albert-Amiens road,” Ruffy said over the intercom. His voice was a rapid staccato. Both men strained to find the road that led directly to the prison. “That row of poplars, that’s it.”

“Got it,” Zack told him. He angled toward the trees that lined the road to avoid making a hard turn. He led the turn and rolled out on a westerly heading as they flashed over the road. His wingman crossed over the top and fell into place on his left wing for the run-in. A lone figure on a bicycle had stopped in the middle of the road and waved furiously at
them. Bath aircraft kicked up a rooster tail of snow as they raced over the open fields. They still could not see the prison.

“It’s on the nose,” Ruffy reassured him.

A dark form took shape in front of them and Zack keyed his radio. “Tallyho the prison! Let’s slow it down.” He retarded the throttles and a Typhoon flashed by in front of them and pulled up, wagging its wings. “That’s reassuring. Bomb doors open.”

Ruffy hit the switch. “Bomb doors open,” he said as bright bursts of light punctuated the landscape in front of them. The first three Mosquitoes had hit the prison.

Now Pickard’s distinctive voice came over the radio as he called the Australians who would attack after Zack and his wingman had dropped their bombs. “Cannon, I do not have you in sight. The first element of Dypeg is off the target, second element of Dypeg is inbound. Say your position.”

“Cannon is four minutes out,” came the crisp reply. “On course.”

Pickard was unbelievably cool as he coordinated the attack. “
K for King
, continue your run.” Ruffy buried his head in the bomb sight. The prison walls were ahead of them. “Come left,” he ordered. “Easy, easy, hold it.” The cross hairs were aligned on the walls. Zack’s breathing was labored as he concentrated on flying directly at the eastern wall of the prison. A strong wind was blowing out of the east, knocking down the smoke from the earlier bombs. Zack killed the drift with a combination of rudder and aileron. “Indicies are moving,” Ruffy told him. At exactly seventy yards short of the walls, the indicies crossed and two bombs separated cleanly from the Mosquito. Shed of a thousand pounds, the agile aircraft ballooned as Zack firewalled the throttles and climbed to clear the prison. He could see dark figures running across the yard—soldiers.

“The walls!” Zack shouted. “I didn’t see any holes!” He couldn’t tell if the first element’s bombs had done their job.

“Oh shit!” Ruffy yelled. One of their bombs had bounced over the walls and was skipping over the courtyard below them. “Pull up!” Zack saw the bomb and hauled back on the yoke, climbing to six hundred feet as the bomb slammed into the west wall and exploded. Then they dropped back to the deck and flew over the town.

“Dypeg is off the target,” Zack radioed. “Results unknown. We will reattack.” He turned to the right, circling back onto the prison.

“Roger, Dypeg,” Pickard answered. “Cannon, do you have the target in sight?”

“Roger,” Wing Commander Bob Iredale answered. The cool Australian was leading 464 Squadron and attacking from the north.

“Continue,” Pickard ordered. “
K for King
,” he told Zack, “have another go at the walls after Cannon clears the target.”

“Roger,” Zack answered.

Another voice came over the radio. “
K for King
, sorry we’re late. Had some trouble on engine start. Mind if we follow you in?” It was the Film Production Unit pilot. Zack grunted an answer. He never remembered what he told them.

Ruffy twisted in his seat to check their deep right. “Tallyho the death and glory boys,” he said. He could clearly see the cameraman in the perspex nose of the Film Production Unit Mosquito as it closed on them. “They must want to record all this for posterity.”

Zack turned back toward the prison and sandwiched between the two elements that made up the second wave and were attacking from the north at a right angle to their first run-in. The Mosquitoes in front of him slowed, lifted over the walls, and dropped back down. They were going after the guards’ barracks. Ruffy had his head back over the bomb sight. It was harder for Zack to kill their drift since they were now in a crosswind. Billows of smoke erupted from the prison and obscured the target. He hadn’t expected that and skidded
K for King
to the left to clear the smoke. “Aim for the right side of the wall,” he told Ruffy.

“Got it,” Ruffy shouted. “Steady, steady, bombs gone.” Free of its bomb load, the Mosquito streaked over the walls.

The radio cracked. “
K for King
, would you mind going around again? That last footage looked very good.” It was the Film Unit pilot who was still in tight formation with
K for King
.

“Can do,” Zack answered.

“Have you gone around the twist?” Ruffy complained. “What ever happened to the daytime rules?”

But the request was exactly what Zack wanted to hear. He wrenched the Mosquito back around to fall in behind the last element of inbound Australians. He could see both Pickard’s Mosquito orbiting to the east and the Mosquitoes that were bearing down on the prison. The Film Unit Mosquito was still with him. Two Focke-Wulfs dropped down out of the overcast and cut across the town, apparently not seeing the attacking Mosquitoes.

Zack hit the radio transmit button. “Two bandits over the town. Focke-Wulfs.”

“Heads up, gentlemen,” Pickard answered as the last element of 464 Squadron worked the prison over. Flames and smoke belched from the main building.

“
K for King
,” the pilot of the filming crew radioed, “are you continuing the run?”

“Roger,” Zack answered. “Stay with us” He desperately wanted to see if prisoners were escaping and perhaps identify on film if any were women.

“Bonkers, you’ve gone bloody bonkers,” Ruffy said. Zack dropped back onto the deck and flew a tight arc to the north as he turned back toward the prison. The film Mossie fell behind, not able to match
K for King’s
speed. Both Zack and Ruffy saw Pickard’s
F for Freddie
as it flew by the prison, surveying the damage. Pickard’s jubilant voice came over the radio. “Mission accomplished. Repeat, mission accomplished. Let’s go home.” Pickard had seen numerous prisoners running from the building and would not send the third squadron in.

The radios squawked as pilots reported being engaged by Focke-Wulfs. One voice reported being hit by ground fire and going in. “My God!” Ruffy shouted. “That’s McRitchie. Time to break it off,” the navigator pleaded. “What’s Pick doing?” He had caught a glimpse of
F for Freddie
circling to the east.

“Might as well have a last look at the prison since we’re almost there,” Zack told him. He rooted the airspeed on 300. Running across the field in front of the wall was a line of German soldiers. “Right-fucking-on!” Zack gritted, his words giving sound to his intent. There was a viciousness in his voice Ruffy had never heard before. The Englishman had
lived with Zack for almost three years and had come to know the power in the man’s voice, how he could charm and cheer, cajole and convince. But this was new and its meaning was clear—Zack wanted to kill.

Ruffy cast a sideways glance at his pilot and fear shot through the Englishman. He did not sit side by side with Zack but slightly aft and could see Zack’s face in full profile. He had never seen a true killing rage in a man before and what he saw was terrifying. Zack’s head was thrust slightly forward and the oxygen mask he wore appeared for all the world as a raptor’s beak, ready to shred its prey. His skin was taut and drawn round the edges of his mask. He was totally focused and it came to Ruffy that Zack would kill deliberately and with malice. This was not his friend beside him but a different being, the spawn of war, all that he hated in the enemy. And he was part of it.

Zack wanted to kill. He tapped the rudder pedals and skidded the Mosquito until he had the line of soldiers in his gunsight. He mashed the firing button for the machine guns. Bursts of snow kicked up as he walked the shells through the soldiers. Every dark figure fell to the ground. Ruffy caught a glimpse of prisoners darting out of the hole they had inadvertently blasted in the west wall. Some were running across the road and he saw figures motioning them to safety. Zack lifted
K for King
over the wall and zoomed over the prison as he peeled off to the east, turning in the direction to where they had last seen Pickard.

Ahead of them, two Focke-Wulfs were rolling in on a Mosquito. “Pick!” Zack shouted over the radio. “Break right! Bandits at your six o’clock!” But the warning was too late. The lead Focke-Wulf was in the saddle, its guns firing, chewing the tail, then the right wing of the Mosquito away from the fuselage.
F for Freddie
pitched into the ground going over 300 mph.

“Come…to…Jesus,” Zack growled, biting off each word, as he hit the switch that injected nitrous oxide into the carburetors, overboosting the Merlins. The Mosquito shrieked in vengeance as it closed on the trailing Focke-Wulf.

“Damn!” Ruffy shouted as the two Focke-Wulfs pitched back toward
K for King
. Zack’s inner warning alarm that had
never failed him was quiet and he pressed the attack, not knowing that he was facing one of the most accomplished and dangerous fighter pilots in the world—Generalmajor Adolf Galland.

The Golden Triangle, Burma

“Time to go,” Kamigami said.

Woodward paused, taking one last look around the command room deep in Chiang’s bunker. “He’s got to be here,” he grumbled.

“He is,” Kamigami answered. “But we don’t have time to root the bastard out.” He couldn’t hide the disappointment in his voice. He wanted to find Chiang and make the mission a total success. They did not curse their bad luck for neither believed in it. For them, a victory was earned by hard training, planning for as many contingencies as possible, and then violent execution. But luck had become a factor because they were still wet from wading through the pool to get into the grotto. “Do you feel that?” Kamigami asked. A slight, almost imperceptible movement of cool air brushed against them. They would have never noticed it if they had been dry.

“An open vent,” Woodward answered. He moved back into the command room. Low against the wall, they saw the grill of an air vent. Woodward held his hand out. Nothing. They quickly worked around the room, testing the vents until Woodward found the source of the air. Woodward pulled the grill aside and probed the darkness with his flashlight. “Here’s his bolt hole,” he said. “In we go.” He crawled into the air shaft. Ahead and around a bend, they could hear scrambling. “Tallyho,” the captain said as he scooted down the duct. Kamigami contemplated the opening and shook his head. There was no way he could fit into the opening. He moved to the door to discourage any unwelcome guests. The only sound he heard was a series of dull thuds coming from the air shaft followed by a dragging sound. Kamigami unsnapped his canteen and took a long pull, needing the drink.
“Do you mind lending a hand?” Woodward called from the opening as he backed out. Kamigami hurried over and helped him drag an unconscious Chiang out of the shaft. “The bloody bastard didn’t want to come,” Woodward explained. “So I had to give him the needle.” He felt the side of his face that had the making of a bad bruise.

“That looks about boot-sized,” Kamigami observed.

“It is. His.”

“Where did you inject him?”

“The foot. Where else?”

Kamigami picked Chiang up in a fireman’s carry. “You lead,” was all he said. They retraced their steps out of the bunker.

Fastback’s teams were aboard Gillespie’s helicopter, Rascal One, and strapped in. The security team holding the LZ had pulled in and were ready to board. The two sergeants responsible for making sure no one was left behind told Mackay that “three are unaccounted for” as he made his way forward. On the flight deck, Gillespie was sitting in the right seat with his night vision goggles in his lap. He didn’t need them in the growing light. He turned in his seat while Mackay slipped on a headset. “Colonel, we’ve got to launch, there’s some unfriendly Gomers out there. Saw ’em when we came in. But leaving three men behind sucks….”

“Launch,” Mackay said. The clock had run out.

Gillespie nodded and told the gunners to board the security team. A crisp “All on board and ready to go,” came seconds later from the rear. Gillespie reached for the throttles and they lifted into the air.

“Colonel,” Gillespie said as they gained speed, “this fuckin’ A sucks. I think we should hit E-Squared for a refueling, find a safe place to orbit, and try to establish radio contact with the men still on the ground. What the hell, we can call Spectre in if we need some industrial strength firepower and stay in the area until the backup Pave Low gets on station. Colonel, if they can make it to an open area, we can get them out.”

“Let me talk to Hammer,” Mackay said. The copilot turned Mackay’s wafer switch so he could transmit on the Have
Quick radio and talk to the two colonels on board E-Squared’s MC-130.

“Be advised,” Mallard radioed after hearing Mackay’s proposal, “that Bigboot has two WIA and Rascal Two must return to base at this time. Situation critical.”

Mackay acknowledged the transmission. At least one of the WIA, wounded in action, was very serious. “They aren’t going to go for it,” he told Gillespie. He was wrong. Mallard came back on the radio and told them to rendezvous with the MC-130 for a refueling. Fourteen minutes later, Gillespie moved into the receive position behind E-Squared’s dark Combat Talon MC-130. He hummed “Try a Little Tenderness” as they plugged into the trailing refueling drogue for a drink of much needed fuel.

Andy Baulck was waiting for Kamigami and Woodward as they came up the ladder into the grotto. “Trucks are in the compound,” he warned. He led them out of the grotto and through the garden. “I think the best way out is through the cell block,” he said. Woodward jerked his head in agreement and the three men worked their way around the compound and through the shadows until they reached the low building containing the cells where DC and Ricky had been held. They were almost to the last heavy steel door between them and the hole that Baulck had blown in the outer wall when they heard noises behind them.

“Coming our way,” Kamigami said. “They need a little discouragement.”

The British captain nodded, pushed the door open, and dove through it. “Clear,” he whispered. Baulck waited until Kamigami had pushed through with his burden before he followed. Woodward half-closed the door as a shield and screwed on the silencer to his submachine gun. He pointed to a grenade on Baulck’s LBE and gave him the ready sign. The sounds of running feet on the other side of the door were much louder. Woodward thrust the muzzle of his MP5 around the edge of the door and mashed the trigger. Only the muffled, distinctive clatter of the submachine gun carried down the hall. “Don’t need the grenade,” he said.

“Shame to waste it,” Baulck said. He quickly tied one end of a length of copper wire around the grenade’s detonator,
holding it in place, while he rigged the other end to the door. Within seconds, the booby trap was set and he followed the other two men through the breach in the wall.

“Hammer, how copy?” Kamigami transmitted over his hand-held radio. The three were in the truck Fastback had left for them and Baulck was driving, going at full throttle down the road.

A scratchy voice came over the radio. “This is Hammer. Say call sign.” It was Trimler.

Relief showed on Kamigami’s normally impassive face but he had a problem—he didn’t have a call sign. “This is the ground element of Fastback. Over.” He waited.

“Roger, Fastback Ground,” came the reply. They now had a call sign. “Say status,” Trimler said.

Kamigami allowed a smile. “Clear of objective and moving,” he answered. He was afraid to say too much in case they were being monitored but he had to tell Fastback that they had Chiang. “Mission accomplished and no casualties. Our next objective is Blue Four.” Blue Four was one of the backup landing zones that had been identified during the planning stages of Jericho.

“Copy all, Fastback Ground,” Trimler replied. “Remain this frequency.”

“They got the message,” Kamigami told the other two.

“Company is on the way,” Woodward said, motioning back down the road. “Many guests coming our way and I do believe they have a complaint.” He seemed unconcerned as he studied his map. “Interesting choice, Blue Four. We should abandon the truck about here.” He pointed to a spot on the map and punched coordinates into his GPS monitor. The digital readout gave him a direction and distance to the place where he wanted to ditch the truck. “About eight more kilometers,” he calculated. The GPS gave him straight line distance and the road was anything but straight as it twisted and turned through the jungle highlands. “Then I make it three kilometers through the jungle to the bottom of the karst. It will be a hard scramble to the top but it should be an easy pickup.” The landing zone Kamigami had picked was located on top of one of the high limestone ridges called karsts that rose out of the jungle. This particular karst formation had
steep sides and a relative flat top that was over five hundred feet above the surrounding jungle. It looked much like a badlands mesa in the middle of a jungle.

The White House, Washington, D.C.

The green light above the door of the Situation Room had been on for three minutes, signifying that the President was on his way. Mazie stood when the doors opened and Pontowski entered. He was followed by Cox and Burke. She was struck by how haggard he looked and, for the first time, fully realized that he was an old man. Yet age had not diminished his intellectual abilities and only his body had worn out. Mazie waited until he sat down before she dropped her plump figure back into her chair. She waited for him to speak.

“What’s the news, Mazie?” Pontowski had no trouble reading her face.

“Mostly good, sir,” she answered. “All of the hostages have been rescued and are on their way out of Burma. The helicopters should be in Thailand’s airspace now. One of the team was killed, two wounded, one of whom is very serious, and three unaccounted for. We didn’t get Chiang.”

Pontowski stared at the wall.

“Mr. President,” his chief of staff, Leo Cox, said. “That’s an acceptable trade-off for a mission of this type.”

Burke said, “Now’s the time to cut and run, Mr. President.”

The President still said nothing. Mazie watched as he drew on some deep inner resource and put the concern for his wife on hold. “Who are missing?” he asked.

Mazie’s face paled and she forced an iron will over her voice. She did not want to crack now. “Command Sergeant Major Kamigami and Captain Woodward, the British exchange officer, and an ISA operator, Andrew Baulck.”

“What was Woodward doing there?” Burke snapped.

“Unknown at this time,” Mazie answered. Her voice was stiff and controlled. “But we’ll find out.”

The President’s eyes were locked on her. “Please tell me the details,” he said. Mazie shuffled the papers in front of her, marshaling her thoughts. When she started talking, her voice
was matter-of-fact and normal but her face was still drained of all color. Within moments, she had recapped the situation.

“That’s all we have for now,” Mazie said. The lieutenant colonel running the Situation Room handed her a new message. She scanned it and blood raced to her cheeks. She was glowing when she looked up at the President. “The mission commander has reported that Captain Woodward, Sergeant Kamigami, and Baulck have escaped from the compound with Chiang in custody. They are moving toward a pickup point. The command ship is staying in the area with one helicopter and Spectre to try for an extraction.”

“Was this planned for?” Cox asked. Mazie shook her head. “Sir, we’re up against many unknowns,” he reasoned. “We need at least one backup helicopter, preferably two, before we go into an unknown situation like this for an extraction. Otherwise, we compound the danger of losing the one helicopter, not to mention the people on the ground. I think we should hold off until we can get our forces lined up.”

“Take the time to position our forces and do it right?” Pontowski asked.

“Yes, sir,” Cox answered.

“I agree,” Burke chimed in.

“Do we have the time?” Pontowski asked, remembering when the clock had run out for Operation Jericho years before.

“That’s an unknown,” Cox answered. “We’re only talking about a few hours’ delay.”

Do we have the few hours? Pontowski thought. What was the best course of action now? He didn’t know. He looked at Mazie, studying her face before he spoke.

The Golden Triangle, Burma

Time had become lost in motion as Baulck tried to match Woodward’s relentless pace through the jungle. It amazed him that Kamigami was still carrying Chiang over his shoulders and keeping up, sandwiched in the middle. The sergeant called a halt and dumped Chiang on the ground. “He’s coming around,” Kamigami told them. Chiang was regaining consciousness from the knockout injection Woodward had given him and was blinking, trying to focus his eyes. He shook his
head and finally saw Kamigami. It wasn’t a pleasant or reassuring sight to wake up to. “Stand,” Kamigami commanded.

Chiang struggled to his feet and looked confused. “Water,” he rasped. His throat was raw and dry. Woodward handed him a canteen and let him take a long drink.

“Captain,” Kamigami said, “you lead. Baulck, you follow with Chiang. I’ll bring up the rear.” He swung his MP5 to the ready and waited until they had disappeared into the underbrush before he followed.

“Move it,” Baulck said, pushing Chiang after Woodward. But the general stumbled and fell. Baulck bent over him. “You don’t seem to understand the rules, fuckhead,” he growled. “I’m not a nice guy like the CSM who didn’t mind carrying your yellow ass around.” He pulled his knife and drew the razor-sharp blade across Chiang’s neck. “I do mind and won’t do it. But I won’t cut your throat like the nice sergeant. I’ll gut you and stake you out belly down on an anthill, like that one over there.” He grabbed Chiang’s shirt and rolled him over onto his back and cut his belt and the waistband of his pants.

“I’ll keep up,” Chiang whispered. Baulck let him get to his feet.

“Would you quite futzing around,” Kamigami said from the underbrush.

“Just explaining things to the general,” Baulck replied.

The foliage started to thin as the ground rose in front of them. Chiang was panting for breath when a sharp stitch jabbed at his side, causing him to flinch in pain. He paused, shot a look at Baulck, who had again drawn his knife, and rushed ahead, falling farther behind Woodward as the slope grew more steep. The faint sound of pursuers crashing through the underbrush behind and below them was growing louder. Then his left calf muscle cramped and he fell to the ground as slivers of pain shot up his leg. Baulck closed on him, ready to make good his promise. But Kamigami was right behind and pushed the ISA operator out of the way. He scooped Chiang up in a fireman’s carry and followed Woodward. Slowly, the sounds of their pursuers faded as the three men set a killing pace, now moving more parallel along the slope than up it.

“Thank you, Sergeant,” Chiang said, believing that only
Kamigami was protecting him from Baulck. “I think I can walk on my own now,” Kamigami dropped him onto his feet and he took a few hesitant steps before moving faster.