The Secret Cardinal
Page 27
“Too solid to be a flock of birds.” Gong switched on the radio. “Dragon One Five to Base.”
“Base. Over Dragon One Five.”
“Report probable contact. Zero three three point five north by zero eight zero point two east. Moving to intercept.”
“Roger, Dragon One Five.”
“I THINK I HEAR A CHOPPER,” Han said. “And it’s hauling ass toward us.”
“Bogey at three o’clock,” Gates reported from BAT-2.
“That scrubs the landing,” Kilkenny called out. “Get into the fog and run like hell for the border.”
Han put BAT-1 into a sharp dive toward the white cloud of mist. The other BATs followed his lead as the Harbin rapidly closed the distance.
“Nuts!” Gates cursed, then he opened the Velcro seal on the pouch beneath his seat and fished out a pistol.
“What do you think you’re going to do with that?” Shen asked, his hands wrapped tightly on the flight stick.
“Hey, I might get off a lucky shot.”
“BASE, WE CONFIRM positive ID of target aircraft. Preparing to engage.”
“Roger, Dragon One Five. Good hunting.”
Once in range, Gong activated the weapons system and tried to acquire a target.
“There’s nothing to lock onto,” Gong reported. “I’ll have to do it manually.”
“We’ll take the one in the middle of the flight, scatter them like birds.”
Woo dropped down, the underside of the Harbin skimming across the fog. Gong selected the Harbin’s fixed twenty-three-millimeter cannons and opened fire. Tracer rounds drew bright lines through the air, allowing Woo to adjust his angle of attack.
BAT-2 shuddered when the first rounds punched through its wings. With the pistol gripped tightly in both hands, Gates lined up his shot and squeezed the trigger. His nine-millimeter response ricocheted harmlessly off the Harbin. The dogfight was a lopsided mismatch.
The Harbin slowed to nearly a hover and Gong fired again. One round pierced the nacelle, shattering the lightweight turbine engine. Tiny shards of the ceramic blades exploded in all directions, and the crew compartment was engulfed in a halo of shrapnel.
“Son of a bitch!” Chun swore as razor-sharp debris sliced through a few unprotected areas of his uniform.
Fragments pierced arms and legs, other pieces lodged in the warriors’ helmets and body armor. Seated up front, Shen and Gates caught the worst of the damage, their bodies peppered with dozens of tiny wounds. Deprived of power, BAT-2 fell from the sky. Shen fought his pain, struggling to guide the battered aircraft safely to the ground.
“Look sharp, people!” Gates shouted. “As soon as we touch down, haul ass for some cover.”
BAT-2 struck the ground hard just as the first rays of dawn lit the mountain peaks. They landed on a rocky slope, and the four warriors released their harnesses and raced toward the fog. The Harbin swooped down to block their way, and Gong switched to the twelve-point-seven-millimeter gun pods and opened fire.
Xaio swung BAT-3 around, approaching the helicopter from behind. All three men with him took aim on the Harbin’s tail rotor, but turbulence from the helicopter buffeted their craft and their shots flew wide.
“This fucker is picking off our guys down there!” Jing shouted.
“And we’re next,” Xaio added bitterly. “We’re dead one way or another. But if we can take down this bastard right now, Yin gets out alive.”
“Do it!” Jing urged.
Agreed to a man, Xaio guided BAT-3 into a steep climb above the Harbin.
“You guys know what sound shit makes when it hits the fan?” Xaio asked.
Proud members of the Corps and familiar with the old joke, Sung and Tsui answered in a yell, “Mareeeeeene!”
BAT-3 swooped straight down like an eagle after a river salmon. Xaio aimed for the center of the Harbin’s main rotor and called for as much power as the nacelle could deliver. The warriors aboard BAT-3 survived just long enough to know they had saved the lives of some of their company, then their aircraft disintegrated in the blur of the helicopter’s rotating blades.
The collision snapped the Harbin’s main shaft just below the hub, tilting the rotor assembly forward. One after another, the four long blades pounded into the side of the helicopter. Gong lost his arms and legs as the first blade sliced into the cabin. Slowed as they cut into the fuselage, the composite blades broke into large and lethal projectiles. Gong and Woo died instantly, their bodies torn apart.
Deprived of lift, the two fatally entangled aircraft obeyed gravity and plummeted to the ground. The knot of metal struck the bare, rocky slope and tumbled over. The twin engines, still racing furiously, tore free of their mounts, severing the fuel lines. Fumes and liquid ignited, detonating the half-empty fuel tanks. An expanding fireball tore through the fog, rising into the air like a beacon.
57
“Report!” Liu demanded.
“We’ve lost contact,” the communications officer replied. “Everything is operational on this end. Dragon One Five is not responding.”
“Gou shi! Peng, where are they?”
Peng stood at a large wall map of the region, estimating the intersection of the Harbin’s reported sighting.
“The last reported position was in western Tibet,” Peng replied, “near Bangong Co. The nearest village is Rutog.”
“Captain, do you have any other aircraft in that area?”
The officer checked the current status of all aircraft assigned to this mission. “The closest are near the end of their range. They don’t have enough fuel to make it to Rutog and back. We do have one being refueled now that can be there in little more than an hour.”
“Peng and I will be on it.”
HAN PILOTED BAT-1 in a wide arc around the wreckage, careful to remain upwind of the plume of oily, black smoke. Kilkenny and Tao surveyed the ground below while Yin prayed for the lives just lost. Two-thirds of their company lay either dead or wounded around the burning hulk of the Chinese helicopter.
“We should have put down earlier,” Kilkenny grumbled.
“It’s not your fault,” Tao said reassuringly. “We’re in danger every minute we stay in China.”
“If we were on the ground they wouldn’t have spotted us.”
“Perhaps, but if they had we would all be dead.”
“I found a place to land,” Han said, happy to change the subject.
“Do it,” Kilkenny ordered.
Kilkenny had his harness and helmet off as soon as the BAT landed, and he ran down the slope toward the crumpled airframe. The bodies of four men littered the field, the ground around them raked by heavy fire. Shen and Chun were clearly dead, their bodies perforated with bullet holes.
He found Chow by a large boulder and pressed his fingers to the man’s neck but failed to find a pulse. He rolled the body over and saw the blood pooled on the ground beneath it. A sliver from the engine’s ceramic blades had pierced the young SEAL’s neck, and the exertion as he ran for cover proved fatal.
“We found Max,” Tao called out. “He’s alive.”
Kilkenny raced to where Tao and Yin knelt beside his former chief. They had removed his helmet, and Gates was both conscious and in pain.
“I know this is a dumb question,” Kilkenny said, “but where does it hurt?”
“Be easier to say where it doesn’t. Any of my guys make it?”
Kilkenny shook his head. “And if it weren’t for BAT-3, we’d be having this conversation in the next life.”
“I saw. Brave s-o-b’s took that fucker out just as he was drawing a bead on me.”
Gates rubbed the Kevlar panel covering his badly bruised chest and dislodged a flattened slug. Several more dotted his body armor.
“Remind me to send a real nice letter to DuPont when we get home.”
“Make sure you enclose one of the slugs.”
“Here’s the med kit,” Han said. “I’ll go check the RITEG on BAT-2, make sure it shut down.”
“How’s it look?” Gates asked as Kilkenny and Tao dressed his wounds.
“Some of these cuts will need stitches, but most are superficial. You might have a few cracked ribs as well, but nothing a tough old SEAL like you won’t recover from,” Kilkenny replied. “Of course, you’ve at least doubled your collection of dings.”
“Just what I needed,” Gates said grimly.
“I don’t know,” Tao mused as she set a dressing. “I think a few scars give a man character.”
As Kilkenny treated Gates, Yin tended to the remains of the three fallen warriors. He carefully ordered their bodies on the ground and removed their helmets, treating each man with great dignity. Yin said a prayer for the repose of their souls, that each would find eternal rest. Although he could not reach them, Yin offered the same prayers for the men whose bodies were being consumed by the fire.
After Gates’s wounds were tended, Kilkenny joined Yin by the burning wreckage and offered his own prayer for the men who had sacrificed themselves for the team.
“They were brave men,” Kilkenny said. “They saw what had to be done and took action.”
“But what of the other men?” Yin asked.
“They got what they deserved.”
“Did they? But not for an accident of birth, could they not have been your men? Did they not share many of the same hopes as your men? I find no joy in any of these deaths, and I forgive those who sought to harm us.”
“Of all the lessons my catechists tried to drill into my head, I still have the toughest time with that one.”
“Truth is like water,” Yin explained. “Both are necessary for life, but both may come in forms that are difficult to grasp. Forgiveness can be hard to give, and is often harder to accept. But the true paradox is that the forgiveness we need most must come from ourselves. It is a lesson I struggle with as well.”
“Why do you need forgiveness?” Kilkenny asked. “If anything, you’re owed a very large apology.”
“We all need forgiveness. You and your companions have risked your lives to win my freedom, and some have been killed in the effort.” Yin touched the cross hidden beneath his suit. “I fear that members of my flock who have helped you have also paid a terrible price. All because of me.”
“None of that is your fault,” Kilkenny said dismissively.
“Had I chosen a different vocation, many people would still be alive, and we would not be having this conversation,” Yin countered calmly. “And for better or worse, choices you have made have brought you here at this moment.”
“If it’s any consolation, I forgive you for being a man worth saving.”
“All of us are worth saving.” Yin paused. “You were to be a father today, yes?”
“I was.”
“What happened to your wife and child?”
The directness of Yin’s questions angered Kilkenny, but he felt an overwhelming urge to answer.
“Kelsey and I wanted to start our family once we were married, and she became pregnant last February. In the spring, we learned she had cancer. The disease was treatable, but it required a horrible sacrifice.”
“The life of your child.”
Kilkenny nodded. “Because she was pregnant, my wife’s cancer was very aggressive and required equally aggressive treatment. The doctors gave us three choices: end the pregnancy and attack the cancer; attack the cancer while she was still pregnant with the knowledge that it would either kill or seriously injure our child; or postpone treatment until after our child could be safely born and hope the cancer hadn’t spread too far.”
“A difficult choice,” Yin agreed. “What did you two decide?”
“We both wanted Toby, and we wouldn’t do anything to endanger his life. Kelsey and I chose to postpone treatment to give our baby the time he needed to be born. We knew this choice was the most dangerous one for her, but Kelsey was already thinking like a mother, and she was willing to risk death for our child. It was a race against time, and we lost. Kelsey was dying when the doctors delivered our son. He was so small,” Kilkenny’s voice cracked as he recalled the scene, “he fit in the palm of my hand. Toby died just a few hours after his mother.”
“And now you carry the grief of a devastating loss, and the anger. They are your constant companions, lurking on the fringes of your consciousness. You can hide from them in your work, or numb yourself with alcohol or opium, but the grief and anger will continue to gnaw at you like rats until you confront their source. You loved your wife, yes?”
“Of course.”
“Yet you chose not to treat her illness, knowing that it could cause her death. Why?”
“Because we believed that it was morally wrong to do anything that would have killed our child.”
“But still your child died, along with your wife. Knowing that, would you have decided differently?”
“Kelsey and I talked about that, and we couldn’t trade his life for hers. With the choice we made, we still had hope.”
“So you did what you believed was right. You acted in accordance with your faith?”
“Yes.”
“Do you pray?” Yin asked.
“Occasionally.”
“Near the end, did you offer your life to save your wife and son?”
“Yes,” Kilkenny admitted.
“And still they were taken from you. Who took them?”
“Nobody,” Kilkenny shot back. “They died because my wife had cancer.”
“But when you offered your life for theirs, who did you think would accept the exchange?” Yin demanded. “And when He didn’t, and your family died, who did you blame?”
“God,” Kilkenny replied.
“But the decision that led to their deaths was not God’s. It was yours.” As Yin spoke, the tone of his voice remained calm without a hint of accusation. “I do not believe God causes earthquakes or floods, nor do I believe He afflicts people with disease or allows some to commit acts of evil. All of this is part of His creation, including the gift of free will.
“You and your wife made a decision based on faith and hope, yet still suffered a great tragedy. I believe God is aware of this tragedy, and in His own way seeks to restore harmony. This is akin to the Chinese belief that crisis and opportunity are two sides of the same coin. But in keeping with our free will, God does not force harmony upon us. Instead, He presents opportunities, but it is up to us to recognize them. To overcome your grief and anger and to survive your loss, you must forgive yourself.”
“We got company!” Han shouted.
Drawn by the tall column of black smoke, five men were striding down the slope toward them. They moved as easily over the uneven terrain as the yaks that thrived in this region. All wore long chubas, felt boots, and richly embroidered hats. Except for the two youngest—who looked to be in their late teens or early twenties—Kilkenny found it difficult to estimate the men’s ages. Their faces glowed with a rich bronze patina acquired from a lifetime of harsh weather and brilliant sunlight.
Kilkenny and Yin joined the others by BAT-1. The men stopped about twenty feet away, carefully assessing the group.
“Think they’re here to pick over the bodies?” Gates asked.
“More likely curious,” Tao replied.
The men spoke quietly among themselves, keeping a careful eye on the five strangers in their land.
“The younger ones seem curious about you,” Kilkenny said to Tao. “I’m sure you’re dressed more provocatively than they’re used to.”
“It is our clothing that intrigues them,” Yin offered. “They wonder how we stay warm in something so thin.”
“You understand what they’re saying?”
Yin nodded. “I may be a little out of practice.”
Kilkenny walked up to the men, smiling and keeping his hands where they could see them. He held out his arm and rubbed the fabric, indicating they cou
ld touch it if they liked.
At first only one accepted Kilkenny’s offer, then the others joined in. A rapid discussion ensued that ended with the apparent spokesman asking a question about the suit.
“Bishop Yin?” Kilkenny asked, looking for help.
“Our suits do not appear to be felt or silk. They wonder if they keep us warm and what kind of animal produced the fabric.”
Kilkenny smiled. “Tell them we are very comfortable, and the fabric was made by a very small insect called a nanotech.”
Yin relayed Kilkenny’s answer and the five men nodded, pleased with a new piece of knowledge.
“Na-no-tek,” one of the men said to Kilkenny, enunciating the syllables carefully.
Kilkenny nodded. The leader asked Yin another question, his tone more serious.
“Three of us are Chinese and two are not,” Yin translated. “He wonders where we are from.”
Kilkenny pondered the question. Although all but Yin were from the United States, their presence in China was not officially sanctioned and something Washington would deny. In telling the Tibetans the truth, Kilkenny feared exposing them to reprisal from the Chinese government.
“I’m having a little trouble with that truth thing again,” Kilkenny said to Yin. “If Beijing thinks these people knew where we were from and suspects they helped us in any way, it could be bad for them.”
“I think I may have an answer,” Yin replied.
Yin walked up beside Kilkenny and offered a response. The Tibetans all nodded and talked excitedly.
“What did you tell them?” Kilkenny asked.
“I said that I was a priest and that you and your associates came to China to accompany me to the West.”
The spokesman offered another question, and Kilkenny noted that he said one word with a particular reverence: Kundun. Yin clasped his hands together and bowed before answering—the word clearly had special significance.
“They ask if I am a lama, a holy man, and if I am going to the West for my own protection, like the beloved Kundun.”
“Kundun?”