James Clavell - Whirlwind

by Whirlwind(Lit)

  "you got medics here?" he said urgently.

  "yes." ayre turned and cupped his hands around his mouth. "benson, get doc and the medic on the double," then to the sergeant, hurrying back with him, "what the hell's going on?"

  "they're from bandar delam--there was a counterrevolution there, goddamn fedayeen..."

  ayre saw the pilot's door open and starke get out, and he didn't hear the rest of what wazari said and hurried forward. "hello, duke, old chap." deliberately he kept his face set and his voice flat, though so happy and excited inside that he felt he would burst. "where've you been?"

  starke grinned, used to the english understatement. "fishing, old chap," he said. all at once manuela came charging through the crowd and was in his arms, hugging him. he lifted her easily and whirled her. "why, honey," he drawled. "ah guess ya like me after all!"

  she was half crying and half laughing and she hung on. "oh, conroe, when i saw you i liked to die..."

  "we damn near did, honey," starke said involuntarily, but she had not heard him and he hugged her once for luck and put her down. "just set there for a billy while i get things organized. come on, freddy."

  he led the way through the crush. the wounded mullah was on the ground, leaning against a skid, semiconscious. the man on the stretcher was already dead. "put the mullah on his stretcher," starke ordered in farsi. the green bands he had brought in the 212 obeyed at once. wazari, the only one in uniform here, and the others from the base were astonished none of them aware of zataki, the sunni revolutionary leader who had taken command of bandar delam, who now leaned against the helicopter, watching carefully, camouflaged by the s-g flight jacket he wore.

  "let me have a look, duke," the doctor said, out of breath from hurrying, a stethoscope around his neck, "so happy to have you back." dr. nutt was in his fifties, too heavy, with sparse hair and a drinker's nose. he knelt beside the mullah and began examining his chest that was wet with blood. "we'd better get him to the infirmary, quick as pass. and the rest."

  starke told two of those nearby to pick up the stretcher and follow the doctor. again he was obeyed without question by men he had brought with him the other green bands stared at him. now there were nine of them, including wazari and the four who had stayed.

  "you're under arrest," wazari said.

  starke looked at him. "what for?"

  wazari hesitated. "orders from the brass, captain, i just work here."

  "so do i. i'll be here if they want to talk to me, sergeant." starke smiled reassuringly at manuela who had gone white. "you go back to the house, honey. nothing to worry about." he turned away and went closer to the side door to look inside.

  "sorry, captain, but you're under arrest. get in the car. you're to go to the base pronto."

  when starke turned he was looking into the nozzle of the gun. two green bands jumped him from behind, grabbed his arms, pinioning him. ayre lunged forward but one of the green bands shoved a gun in his stomach, stopping him. the two men started dragging starke toward the car. others came to help as he struggled, cursing them. manuela watched panic-stricken.

  then there was a bellow of rage and zataki burst through the cordon, dragged the carbine from sergeant wazari, and swung it at his head, butt first. only wazari's great reflexes, boxing trained, moved his head away just in time and backed him out of reach. before he could say anything zataki shouted, "what's this dog doing with a gun? haven't you fools heard that the imam ordered all servicemen disarmed?"

  wazari began hotly, "listen, i'm authorized't " he stopped in panic. now there was a pistol at his throat.

  "you're not even authorized to shit till the local komiteh clears you," zataki said. he was neater than before, clean-shaven now, his features well-made. "have you been cleared by the komiteh?"

  "no... no bu "

  "then by god and the prophet you're suspect!" zataki kept the gun hard against wazari's throat, then waved his other hand. "let the pilot go and put your arms down, or by god and the prophet i'll kill you all!" the moment he had grabbed wazari's gun, his men had circled the others and now had them covered from behind. nervously, the two men pinioning starke let him go.

  "why should we obey you?" one of them said sullenly. "eh? who are you to give us orders?"

  "i'm colonel zataki, member of the revolutionary komiteh of bandar delam, thanks be to god. the american helped save us from a fedayeen counterattack and brought the mullah and others who need medical help here." suddenly his rage broke. he shoved wazari and the sergeant sprawled helplessly on the ground. "leave the pilot alone! didn't you hear?" he aimed and pulled the trigger and the bullet tore through the neck of the sheepskin vest of one of the men beside starke. manuela almost fainted and they all scattered. "next time i'll put it between your eyes! you," he snarled at wazari, "you're under arrest. i think you're a traitor so we'll find out. the rest of you go with god, tell your komiteh i would be pleased to see them here."

  he waved them away. the men started muttering among themselves, and in the lull ayre slipped over to manuela and put his arm around her. "hang in there," he whispered. "it's all right now." he saw starke motion them away. he nodded. "come on, duke says to leave."

  "no... please, freddy, i'm... i'm okay, promise." she forced a smile and continued praying that the man with the pistol would dominate the others and all this would end. please god, let it end.

  they all watched in silence while zataki waited, the pistol loose in his hand, the sergeant on the ground near his feet, those opposing him glaring at him, starke standing in the middle of them, not at all sure that zataki would win. zataki checked the magazine. "go with god, all of you," he said again, harder this time, getting angrier. "are you all still deaffff?"

  reluctantly they left. the sergeant got up, pasty-faced, and straightened his uniform. ayre watched wazari bravely trying to hide his terror.

  "you stand there and stay there till i say to move." zataki glanced at starke who was watching manuela. "pilot, we should finish the unloading. then my men must eat."

  "yes. and thank you."

  "nothing. these people did not know they are not to be blamed." again he looked at manuela, dark eyes piercing. "your woman, pilot?" he asked.

  "my wife," starke replied.

  "my wife is dead, killed in the abadan fire with my two sons. it was the will of god."

  "sometimes the will of god is unendurable."

  "the will of god is the will of god. we should finish the unloading."

  "yes." starke climbed into the cabin, the danger only over for the moment as zataki was as volatile as nitroglycerin. two more wounded were still strapped in their seats as were two stretcher cases. he knelt beside one of them. "how you doing, old buddy?" he said softly in english.

  jon tyrer opened his eyes and winced, a bloody bandage around his head. "okay... yeah, okay. what... what happened?"

  "can you see?"

  tyrer seemed surprised. he peered up at starke, then rubbed his eyes and forehead. to starke's relief, he said, "sure, it's... you're a bit soft focus and my head aches like hell but i can see you okay. course i can see you, duke. what the hell happened?"

  "during the fedayeen counterattack at dawn this morning you were caught in some crossfire, a bullet creased the side of your head, and when you got up you started running around in circles like a headless chicken, crying out, 'i can't see... i can't see." then you collapsed and you've been out ever since."

  "ever since? goddamn!" the american peered out of the cabin door. "where the hell are we?"

  "kowiss i thought i'd better get you and the rest here fast."

  tyrer was still astonished. "i remember nothing. nothing. fedayeens? for crissake, duke, i don't even remember being brought aboard."

  "hang in there, old buddy. i'll explain later." he turned and called out, "freddy, get someone to carry jon tyrer to the doe," adding, in farsi, to zataki who watched from the doorway, "excellency zataki, please ask men to carry your men to the infirmary." he paused a moment.
"my second-in-command, captain ayre, will make arrangements for feeding everyone. would you like to eat with me in my house?"

  zataki smiled strangely and shook his head. "thank you, pilot," he said in english. "i will eat with my men. this evening we should talk, you and 1."

  "whenever you wish." starke jumped out of the cabin. men began carrying away all the wounded. he pointed at his bungalow. "that is my house, you are welcome there, excellency."

  zataki thanked him and went away, shoving sergeant wazari in front of him.

  ayre and manuela joined starke. she took his hand. "when he pulled the trigger, i thought..." she smiled weakly, switched to farsi. "ah, beloved, how good the day has become now that you are safe and beside me."

  "and thee beside me." starke smiled at her.

  "what happened? at bandar delam?" she asked in english.

  "there was a goddamn battle between zataki and his men and about fifty leftists at the base yesterday zataki took over our base in the name of khomeini and the revolution i had a bit of a run-in with him when i first got there but now he's linda okay, though he's psycho, dangerous as a rattler. anyway at dawn the leftist fedayeen rushed the airport in trucks and on foot. zataki was asleep with the rest of his men, no sentries out, nothing you heard the generals capitulated and khomeini's now warlord?"

  "yes, we've just heard actually."

  "the first i knew of the attack was all hell let loose, bullets everywhere, coming through the walls of the trailers. me, you know me, i ducked for cover and scrambled out of the trailer... you cold, honey?"

  "no, no darling'. let's go home i could use a drink too... oh, my god..."

  "what is it?"

  but she was already running for the house. "the chili i left the chili on the stove!"

  "jesus christ!" ayre muttered, "i thought we were about to be shot or something."

  starke was beaming. "we got chili?"

  "yes. bandar delam?"

  "not much to tell, freddy." they started walking for the house. "i evacuated the trailer i think the attackers figured zataki and his men would be sleeping in them but zataki had everyone bedded down in hangars guarding the choppers freddy, they're goddamn paranoid about choppers, that we're gonna fly away in them, or use them to fly out savak, generals, or enemies of the revolution. anyway, old rudi and me, we had our heads down in back of a spare mud tank, then some of these new bastards you couldn't tell one from another except zataki's guys were shouting 'allah-u akbar' as they died some of the fedayeen opened up with a sten gun on the hangars just as jon tyrer was evacuating his trailer. i saw him go down and i got as mad as a sonofabitch now don't you tell manuela and got a gun away from one of them and started my own little war to go get jon. rudi..." starke started smiling. "that one's a sonofabitch! rudi got himself a gun too and we were like butch cassidy and the sundance kid..."

  "god almighty, you must've been crazy!"

  starke nodded. "we were, but we got jon out of the line of fire and then zataki and three of his guys broke out of a hangar and charged the main group,

  firing like the wild bunch. but hell, they ran out of ammo. poor bastards just stood there and you've never seen anyone nakeder." he shrugged. "rudi and i thought what the hell, shooting a sitting duck's not fair and zataki'd been okay once the mullah hussain had left, and we'd, er, come to an agreement. so we let off a burst over the attackers' heads and that gave zataki and the others time to get to cover." again he shrugged. "that's about it," he said. they were near the bungalow now. he sniffed the air. "we really got chili, freddy?"

  "yes unless it's burned. that's all that happened?"

  "sure, except when the shooting stopped i thought we'd best head for kowiss and doc nutt. the mullah looked rough and i was scared for jon. zataki said, 'sure, why not, i need to go to isfahan' so here we are. the radio went out enroute i could hear you but couldn't transmit. no sweat."

  ayre watched him sniff the air again, knowing that a psychopath like zataki would never give starke the authority he had given him or protect him for so little assistance.

  the texan opened the bungalow door. at once the grand, spicy smell surrounded him, transporting him home to texas, god's country, and a thousand meals. manuela had a drink poured for him, the way he liked it. but he did not drink it, just went into the kitchen area and picked up the big wooden spoon and tasted the brew. manuela watched, hardly breathing. a second taste.

  "how 'bout that?" he said happily. the chili was the best he had ever had.

  at the dez dam: 4:31 p.m. lochart's 212 was parked just outside the shed that doubled as a hangar near a well-kept landing pad that was beside the cobbled forecourt of the house. he was standing on the copter's upper works, checking the rotor column with its multitude of couplings, lockpins and danger points but he found nothing untoward. carefully he clambered down and wiped his hands clean of grease.

  "okay?" all abbasi asked, stretched out in the sun. he was the young and very good-looking iranian helicopter pilot who had helped release lochart from detention at isfahan air base just before dawn, and had sat up front in the cockpit with him all the way here. "everything okay?"

  "sure," lochart said. "she's clean and all set to go." it was a nice day, cloudless and warm. when the sun went down in an hour or so the temperature would drop twenty or more degrees but that wouldn't matter. he knew that he would be warm because generals always looked after themselves and those necessary to them for their survival. at the moment i'm necessary to valik and to general seladi, but only for the moment, he thought.

  muted laughter came from the house and more from those sunning or swim

  ming in the clear blue waters of the lake below. the house seemed incongruous in such desolation a modern, single-story, spacious, four- bedroom bungalow with separate servants' quarters. it was set on a slight rise overlooking the lake and the dam, the only habitation in this whole area. surrounding the lake and the dam was a barren wilderness small, rock hills jutting from a high plateau devoid of any vegetation. the only ways here were to backpack in or to come by air, by helicopter or light airplane into the very short, narrow, dirt airstrip that had been hacked out of the uneven terrain.

  doubt if even a light twin could get in here, lochart had thought when he first saw it. have to be a single engine. and no way to go around again once you commit you're committed. but it's a great hideaway, no doubt about that just great.

  ali got up and stretched.

  they had arrived here this morning, their flight uneventful. on orders and directions from general seladi, quietly varied by captain ali, lochart had hugged the ground, weaving through the passes, avoiding all towns and villages. their radio had been open all the time. the only report they had heard was a venomous broadcast from isfahan, repeated several times, about a 212 full of traitors that was escaping southward and should be intercepted and shot down. "they didn't give our names or our registration," ali had said excitedly. "they must've forgotten to write it down."

  "what the hell difference does that make?" lochart had said. "we must be the only 212 in the sky."

  "never mind. stay at max a hundred feet and now turn west."

  lochart had been astonished, expecting to head for bandar delam that lay almost due south. "where we heading?"

  "forget compass bearings, i'll guide you from here on in."

  "where're we heading?"

  "baghdad." ali had laughed.

  no one had told him their destination until they were ready to land, and by that time, a little over two hundred miles from isfahan, flying very low all the way with adverse winds, at maximum consumption and far beyond their expected maximum duration on empty too long ali was openly praying.

  "if we put down in this godforsaken wilderness we'll never walk out, what about fuel?"

  "there's plenty there when we arrive... god be praised!" ali had said excitedly as they came over the rise to see the lake and the dam. "god be praised!"

  lochart had echoed his thanks and had landed quic
kly. beside the helipad was a subterranean s,000-gallon tank, and the shed hangar. in the shed hangar

  were some tools and cylinders of air for tires, and racks of water skis and boating equipment.

  "let's put her away," ali said. together they wheeled the 212 into the shed where she fitted snugly, putting chocks on her wheels. as lochart adjusted the rotor tie-down he noticed three hang gliders in a rack overhead. they were dust-covered and in tatters now.

  "whose are those?"

  "this used to be the private weekend place of general of the imperial air force, hassayn aryani. they were his."