Sudden Threat (15 page)

He walked over to the vehicle to meet his contact, his boots cracking the crusty shell of dried lava from the Mount Pinatubo eruption several years earlier. He had never seen anyone play it so close to the vest, thinking the guy would at least come and talk to him. Looking through the window from a distance, he saw a lone man wearing Army battle dress uniform. On the dashboard was his black beret with the silver oak leaf cluster indicating that he was a lieutenant colonel. Beret meant one thing to Zach; that the U.S. military in the Philippines was in administrative mode rather than combat focused.

Zachary walked around to the driver’s side to talk to the man, who had not yet looked at him. In fact, the colonel was motionless. The closer he came to the window he instinctively began to raise his M4. Something was definitely wrong. The colonel was leaning against the door, and as Zachary began to reach for the door handle to open it, a hand grabbed his arm and pulled him away.

“Sir, don’t touch that,” Washington said, urgently, pulling his captain away from the vehicle and turning his glistening black face from side to side. He saw for the first time the bullet hole in the center of the colonel’s forehead.

“See these wires, sir?” Washington said, pointing through the windshield at a taut silver wire connected to a small credit-card-like object that was clamped between the teeth of a metal clothespin. Zach got it immediately. Open the door, the wire pulls the card out, and the clothespin snaps shut, completing the electrical circuit, which would then trigger whatever explosives had been assembled. Someone had shot the man, then rigged the Blazer with explosives. “Jackson from First Platoon had a report of a local running fast along the other end of the runway. I got suspicious and came over here and saw this shit. Improvised explosive device—IED. Sir, this is some spooky shit,” Washington said.

Zach took control immediately. “Might be remote-controlled as well, so let’s move out. Top, find someone who can run a forklift. I’ll come back over here with our engineer after we’ve secured the perimeter. You can get the forklift moving the pallets to those buildings back that way.” He pointed in the direction of some white barracks huts about three kilometers across the runway. There were a few operational streetlights around them, and he figured that would be the safest place for the equipment in the interim.

As they jogged away from the vehicle, Zach continued. “Have the loadmaster roll the pallets off the planes now and tell the troops to make sure they have all their crap off the aircraft because I’m sending them away from here. Then we will cover the airfield until we can secure the buildings over there. Get the ammo issued out immediately and put out a net call for everyone to stay away from the Blazer.”

Zachary quickly pulled his night-vision goggles out of his rucksack, snapped them onto his helmet mount, and flicked the metal on switch. It was a deep black night with ample starlight to give the goggles adequate illumination. As Zachary scanned his surroundings, he came to the grim conclusion that his troops were in a valley. There was high ground to his north, east, and west. Obviously, the water must be to the south.

He heard the pallets slide off the back ramps. Zachary explained to the pilots that it was not safe for an airplane in that location. They agreed and said that they still had enough fuel to make it to Andersen Air Force Base on Guam. Zachary thanked the pilots for their concurrence, because he felt the aircraft would only make them a bigger target.

The equipment was unloaded, the forklift had safely cranked, and Slick, the commander’s radio operator, handed him the radio handset, saying, “Let’s get down to business, sir.”

With that, Zachary began controlling the movement of his platoons, leaving Kurtz’s platoon to cover to the north, while Taylor’s platoon provided flank security to the east. The XO led the headquarters platoon, while the first sergeant floated between platoons, keeping the men alert. Second Platoon led the way for the company as it followed the beacon of the streetlights. The Air Force crewmen did a good job of turning the aircraft.

As they were maneuvering the ancient beasts, images of the disaster in Iran at Desert One popped into Zachary’s mind. He had mixed emotions as he watched them quickly turn, bump along the runway noisily, then float into the silent night sky. In a sense, he wished that he and his men could be flying away with them. On the other hand, he had a mission to do, and the soldier in him thrived on situations like these. With the deafening roar of the two aircraft gone, the silence was enhanced. Ears rang, unable to hear the more subtle noises.

The three-kilometer walk was uneventful, which Zachary attributed to the unit’s good security during the move. They found four white Quonset huts unlocked and ready for their occupancy, with metal-frame beds, mattresses, and sheets laid out. A row of three streetlights illuminated the buildings. Zachary had the sapper inspect the buildings for bombs or other booby traps as he searched the area.

To Zachary, they seemed positioned in the middle of a desolate wasteland. By now, he could see Subic Bay to their south. It was not far away, maybe another three hundred meters. But other than a pier to the south, the barracks were not remotely close to anything that resembled a naval base. Walking with Slick to the pier, he saw what appeared to be a more complete facility across the water. Mists of salt water stung his eyes, and he returned to his company and decided to move them another two hundred meters to the west, away from the buildings.
They’re magnets, those buildings.
The base was a ghost town, complete with tumbleweed rolling through the spotlights of the streetlamps like lost children searching their way home.

At that moment, Zach reaffirmed every com-mander’s mantra.
All my men are coming home.

CHAPTER 23

Zachary had his company form the standard triangular patrol base. It was the most secure position for his troops. He did not trust the buildings, yet. The night was strangely silent except the low muffled sound of crates opening, 5.56mm ammunition speed loaders zipping the rounds into magazines, and the assorted metallic clicks and clanks of equipment distribution and inspection.

He probably could have reached the embassy from Subic Naval Base using standard frequency modu-lation communications, but he wanted to test the Single Channel Anti-jam Man Portable (SCAMP) radio and saw this as the perfect opportunity. Slick knelt on the hard-packed dirt and popped open a white metal suitcase about the size of a gym bag. It weighed thirty pounds altogether. One half of the suitcase lid separated from the other and served as the radar dish. It was square and pivoted on a metal frame with four legs that angled out from each corner of the chassis. The other half of the suitcase contained the voice and data sending units. The SCAMP operated on extremely high frequency (EHF), using the Military Strategic, Tactical, and Relay Satellite Communications System (MILSTAR). A satellite positioned somewhere over the Pacific Ocean would receive the message and relay it to the receiving station.

Zachary tucked his map into the cargo pocket of his pants while Slick performed the standard RTO habit of blowing into the mouthpiece after turning on the transmitter. He heard nothing come back to him in the earpiece, but delivered the handset to the captain anyway.

“JUSMAG, this is Bravo six,” Zach said.

They waited in the darkness as his men either slept or pulled security. He had one patrol, led by Second Lieutenant Mike Kurtz, the Second Platoon Leader operating under the call sign “White six,” clearing the perimeter two hundred meters to the west.

“JUSMAG, this is Bravo six, we have crossed phase-line October and are awaiting further instructions. Your liaison element was incapable of communicating with us, and we had enemy contact on the objective. Request immediate link up, over.” JUSMAG was an adjunct to the U.S. embassy in Manila. A small mili-tary team coordinated all Department of Defense activities within the country, and Zach had been instructed to contact the JUSMAG immediately upon arrival.

“Bravo six, this is JUSMAG, I’m the only one awake here at the moment. I will inform the colonel as soon as possible, over.”

“Listen, this situation is not normal and requires immediate notification of your leader, over.” Zachary was getting angry.
No one is awake? What kind of excuse is that?
I’ll bet that lieutenant colonel with a bullet in his head wasn’t awake either.

Zachary’s feeling about the mission did not improve when the voice came back, “Bravo six, this is JUSMAG. Your instructions are to continue with the mission, over.”

“Continue with what mission, over?”

“Wait one.” After a minute or two pause a different, harsher voice came on the line, “Bravo six, this is JUSMAG six, what seems to be the problem?”

Finally
, Zachary thought,
someone with authority
. The six suffix was the designator for the commander, so he knew the voice belonged to someone in charge.

“Your liaison was incapacitated prior to our arrival. We need link-up with a member of your team for further instructions.”

“Incapacitated in what way?”

“Your man was shot through the forehead before we got here,” Zachary said, violating what he consid-ered to be operational security. There was a long period of silence.

“What is your status?”

“We have secured our equipment and moved across phase-line October, awaiting further instruc-tions.”

“Roger, I’ll be at your location ASAP. Anything else?”

“Negative, over.”

Zachary and Slick looked at each other, wondering how long ASAP would be. A warm, moist wind pushed across their faces. Slick left the SCAMP operational as Zachary slipped on his night-vision goggles to get a glimpse of his unit’s security. From one knee, he could see all three platoons, tightly joined in a triangular formation. It was a bit close together for his liking, but considering the circum-stances, and the fact that he had three new platoon leaders, he was satisfied. The sun would rise shortly, giving him a clearer vision of what looked to him to be a wasteland of hardstand surrounded by high-rising hills on three sides and water on the fourth.

Too vulnerable.

As the morning sun crested the eastern moun-tains, scattering its rays through the jagged peaks, Zachary slept sitting on his rear end, leaning against his rucksack. He was tired and floated in and out of a dream state, vivid images of his parents’ farm in Stanardsville dancing through his mind.

CHAPTER 24

“Sir?” Slick said. “Sir, there’s a helicopter coming in.”

Zachary pulled out of his dream slowly. It had been a rough two days for him, ever since the alert notification back in Hawaii. The only sleep he had managed was a shaky three hours on the airplane. The rest of the time he had spent making plans, reassuring soldiers, and thinking about his family. His mind rose out of the dream like a fighter pilot pulling out of a dive, spinning rapidly across the Blue Ridge, the continental United States, Hawaii, and landing with a thud in the Philippines. He rubbed his eyes and, in the wafting heat of the morning, looked at Slick, who was pointing at a UH-60 Black Hawk helicopter flaring as it was about to land.

A portly man in solid green jungle fatigues stepped out of the aircraft, holding his flop hat in one hand. His pistol holster slapped his thigh as he ran from under the prop wash. Zachary looked at his watch. 0830.
So, ASAP meant three hours.

Lieutenant Colonel Fraley, miffed that some of Zachary’s soldiers had challenged him before he could enter the perimeter, stood before Zachary in anticipation of something. Like two men squared off on a short distance duel, it finally occurred to him that Fraley was awaiting a salute.

Sure, give this dude a sniper check.
Zachary smiled, then snapped a sharp salute. The overweight lieutenant colonel performed a sloppy half-salute. Zach smirked and considered it the lieutenant colonel’s good fortune that none of his men had shot him as he blew into their perimeter. He was doubtless a garrison officer. He had a thick, bushy mustache that hung over teeth stained from smoking, and his hair, while balding, was long by Army standards.

Earlier, Second Lieutenant Andy Taylor’s First Platoon, going by the call sign “Red six,” had moved back to the airstrip where the colonel had been shot to secure the body they had left behind. Taylor had radioed back that the vehicle and the body were nowhere to be found.

“Whaddya mean you don’t have the body?” Fraley lashed out at Zachary in the middle of his company perimeter, troops watching.

“Sir, the vehicle was rigged with explosives. My immediate concern was for the safety of my troops,” Zachary responded with authority.

“You ever think he might still be alive!?” Fraley barked, his mustache catching spittle as he talked. Zachary looked awkwardly at the man, then his own soldiers, who were hovering around the two men and staring at the ground. He had always followed the leadership maxim to “praise in public and punish in private.”

“And who the hell do you think you are sending those two airplanes away—they were supposed to backhaul some equipment.”

Zachary felt less bad about that, figuring he might have saved the government two airplanes. But the dead colonel was another matter. He was sure that man had a family somewhere and would at least want a proper burial for him.

However, he took consolation in the fact that he still had all of his troops, and remained poised despite Fraley’s ranting.

“I’m calling your division commander and tell-ing him not to send another hothead commander in charge of a ragtag unit to my islands,” Fraley said, launching rockets of spit at Zachary.

“Sir, any intel you think you can give us in light of what happened last night?” Zachary asked, ignoring the rebuke.

“Your clearance ain’t high enough, son. Now move your shit into those buildings, lock up your ammo, and don’t breathe unless I tell you to,” Fraley ordered. “The ammo’s over there, and the boat will be here tomorrow to pick it up. Not hard, Captain.”