James Clavell - Whirlwind

by Whirlwind(Lit)

  to give them an extra few minutes. "i'll make those dogs wish they'd waited," he muttered, his head aching.

  he kicked the door of the office open and stormed over to the radio transmitter and sat down near it. "numir, get those men on the loudspeaker!"

  "but jahan, our radio operator isn't here yet and i do "

  "do it!"

  the terrified man switched on the vhf, his mouth bleeding and hardly able to talk. "base calling captain lutz!" he waited, then repeated the order, adding, "urgent!"

  in the airplanes: they were barely ten feet above the marshland and a few hundred yards away when they heard zataki's angry voice cut in: "all helicopters are recalled to base, recalled to base! report in!" rudi made a slight adjustment to the engine power and to the trim. in the chopper nearest to him he saw marc dubois point at his headset and make an obscene gesture. he smiled and did likewise, then noticed the sweat running down his face. "all helicopters report in! all..."

  at the airfield: "... helicopters report in." zataki was shrieking into the mike. "all helicopters report in!"

  nothing but static answered him. suddenly zataki slammed the mike onto the table. "get abadan tower! hurry up!" he shouted and the terrified numir, blood trickling into his beard, switched channels, and after the sixth call, this time in farsi, got the tower. "here is abadan tower, agha, please go ahead."

  zataki tore the mike out of his hand. "this is colonel zataki, abadan revolutionary komiteh," he said in farsi, "calling from bandar delam airfield."

  "peace be upon you, colonel," the voice was very deferential. "what can we do for you?"

  "four of our helicopters took off without approval, going to iran-toda. recall them, please."

  "just a moment, please." muffled voices. zataki waited, his face mottled. waiting and waiting, then, "are you sure, agha? we do not see them on the radar screen."

  "of course i'm sure. recall them!"

  more muffled voices and more waiting, zataki ready to explode, then a voice in farsi said, "the four helicopters that left bandar delam are ordered

  to return to their base. please acknowledge you are doing this." it was transmitted ineptly and repeated. then the voice added, "perhaps their radios are not functioning, agha, the blessings of god upon you."

  "keep calling them! they're low and heading toward iran-toda."

  more muffled voices, then more farsi as before, then a sudden voice cut in in american english, "okay, i'll take it! this is abadan control. choppers on a heading of 090 degrees, do you read?"

  in dubois's cockpit: his compass heading was 091 degrees. again the crisp voice in his earphones: "this is abadan control, choppers on a heading of 090 degrees one mile from the coast, do you read?" a pause. "abadan control, choppers on a heading of 090 switch to channel 121.9... do you read?" this was the emergency channel that all aircraft were supposed to listen in on automatically. "choppers on a heading of 090 degrees one mile from the coast return to base. do you read?"

  through the haze dubois saw that the coast was approaching fast, less than half a mile away, but flying this low he doubted if they could possibly be on radar. he looked left. rudi pointed at his earphones and then a finger to his lips meaning silence. he gave him the thumbs-up and passed the message to sandor who was on his right, turned to see fowler joines climbing in from the cabin to sit beside him. he motioned to the spare headset hanging above the seat. the voice was more brittle now: "all choppers outward bound from bandar delam to iran- toda return to base. do you read?"

  fowler, connected now through the headset, said into their intercom, "hope the offer drops dead!"

  then again the voice and their smiles faded: "abadan control to colonel zataki. do you read?"

  "yes, go ahead."

  "we picked up a momentary radar trace, probably nothing, but it could have been a chopper or choppers tightly bunched, heading 090 degrees" the transmission was weakening slightly "this would take them direct..."

  at the airfield: "... iran-toda. not requesting engine start and not being in radio contact is a serious violation. please give us their call signs and names of the captains. iran-toda's vhf is still inoperative otherwise we would contact them. suggest you send someone down there to arrest the pilots and bring them before the atc abadan komiteh at once for contravening air regulations. do you copy?"

  "yes... yes, i understand. thank you. just a moment." zataki shoved the

  mike into numir's hands. "i'm going to iran-toda! if they come back before i get them, they're under arrest! give traffic control what they want to know!" he stormed out, leaving three men on base with machine guns.

  numirbegan, "abadan control, bandar delam: hvv, hgu, hkl, hxc, all 212s. captains rudi lutz, marc dubois..."

  in pop kelly's cockpit: "... sandor petrofi, and ignatius kelly, all seconded from iranoil by colonel zataki's order to iran-toda."

  "thank you, bandar delam, keep us advised."

  kelly looked right and gave an enthusiastic thumbs-up to rudi who acknowledged...

  in rudi's cockpit:... and did the same to dubois who also acknowledged. then he peered into the haze once more.

  the closely bunched choppers were almost over the coastline. iran- toda was to their left, about half a mile away, but rudi could see none of it through the haze or mist. he accelerated slightly to get ahead, then turned from his heading of due south to due east. this gave them a deliberate direct course over the plant and he increased altitude only enough to clear the buildings. the complex rushed past but he knew that those on the ground would be well aware of their flight because of the howling suddenness of its appearance. once past, he went down low again and held this same course, now heading inland for a little more than ten miles. here the land was desolate, no villages nearby. again, according to their plan, he turned due south for the sea.

  at once visibility began to deteriorate. down here at twenty feet, visibility was barely a quarter of a mile with a partial whiteout where there was no demarcation between sky and sea. ahead, almost directly in their path, sixtyodd miles away, was kharg island with its immensely powerful radar and, beyond that, another two hundred and twenty miles, their landfall bahrain. at least two hours of flying. with this wind more, the thirty-five southeasterly becoming a relative twenty-knot headwind.

  down here in the soup it was dangerous. but they thought they should be able to slip under radar if the screens were manned and should be able to avoid fighter intercept, if any.

  rudi moved the stick from side to side waggling his chopper, then touched his hf transmit button momentarily. "delta four, delta four," he said clearly, their code to al shargaz that all four bandar delam choppers were safe and leaving the coast. he saw dubois point upward asking him to go higher. he shook his head, pointed ahead and down, ordering them to stay low and keep

  to the plan. obediently they spread out and together they left the land and went into the deepening haze.

  at al shargaz hq: gavallan was on the phone to the hospital: "quickly. give me captain starke, please... hello, duke, it's andy, i just wanted to tell you we received 'delta four' from rudi a minute ago, isn't that marvelous?" "wonderful, great! fantastic! four out and five to go!"

  "yes, but it's six, don't forget erikki..."

  |81~!1~1',"

  lengeh: 8:04 a.m. scragger was still waiting in the outer office of the police station. he sat disconsolately on a wooden bench in front of the gendarme corporal who looked down on him from a tall desk behind a chest-high partition.

  once again scragger checked his watch. he had arrived at 7:20 in case the office opened early but the corporal had not arrived until 7:45 and waved him politely to the bench and invited him to wait. it was the longest wait he had ever had.

  rudi and the kowiss lads must be airborne by now, he thought miserably, just like we'd've been if it wasn't for the bloody passports. another minute then that's it. daren't wait any longer daren't; it'll still take us an hour or more to get away and sure to god there'll be a slip
up somewhere between the three bases, bound to be some nosy parker who'll start asking questions and set the airwaves afire apart from that burk, siamaki. last night scragger had been on the hf and had monitored siamaki's petulant calls to gavallan at al shargaz, also to mciver at kowiss telling him that he would meet him today at tehran airport.

  bloody burk! but i still think i was right not to call andy and abort. hell, we've got the easiest shot of all and if i'd put whirlwind off until tomorrow there'd be something else, either with us or with one of the others, and there'd be no way old mac could avoid flying back to tehran today with bloody kia. can't risk that, just can't. easy to hear mac was as nervous as an old woman out to sea in a bucket.

  the door opened and he looked up. two young gendarmes came in, dragging a bruised young man between them, his clothes ripped and filthy. "who's he?" the corporal asked.

  "a thief. we caught him stealing, corporal, the poor fool was stealing rice from the bazaar) ishmael. we caught him during our patrol, just before dawn."

  "as god wants. put him in the second cell." then the corporal shouted at the youth, startling scragger who did not understand the farsi, "son of a dog! how can you be so stupid to be caught? don't you know it's no longer a simple beating now! how many times do you all have to be told? it's islamic law now! islamic law!"

  "i... i was hungry... my..."

  the terrified youth moaned as one of the gendarmes shook him roughly. "hunger's no excuse, by god. i'm hungry, our families're hungry, we're all hungry, of course we're hungry!" they frog-marched the youth out of the room.

  * * *

  the corporal cursed him again, sorry for him, then glanced at scragger, nodded briefly, and went back to his work. how stupid for the foreigner to be here on a holy day but if the old one wants to wait all day and all night until the sergeant comes tomorrow he can wait all day and all night.

  his pen scratched loudly, setting scragger's teeth on edge: 8:11. grimly he got up, pretended to thank the corporal who politely pressed him to stay. then he went for the door and almost bumped into qeshemi. "oh, sorry, mate! salaam, agha qeshemi, salaarn."

  "salaam, agha." qeshemi saw scragger's relief and impatience. sardonically he motioned him to wait as he went over to the desk, his shrewd eyes reading the corporal clearly. "greetings, achmed, god's peace on you."

  "and on you, excellency sergeant qeshemi."

  "what trouble do we have today i know what the foreigner wants."

  "there was another islamic-marxist meeting near midnight down by the docks. one mujhadin was killed and we've another seven in the cells it was easy, the ambush went easily, thanks be to god, and green bands helped us. what'll we do with them?"

  "obey the new rules," qeshemi said patiently. "bring the prisoners up before the revolutionary komiteh when they get here tomorrow morning. next?" the corporal told him about the youth. "same with him son of a dog to be caught!"

  qeshemi went through the partition gate to the safe, pulled out the key, and began to open it.

  "thanks be to god, i thought the key was lost," the corporal said.

  "it was but lafti found it. i went to his house this morning. he had it in his pocket." the passports were on the boxes of ammunition. he brought them over to the desk, carefully checked them, signed the permit in the name of khomeini, checked them again. "here, agha pilot," he said, and handed them to scragger.

  "mamnoon am, agha, khoda haefez." thank you, excellency, good-bye.

  "khoda haefez, agha." sergeant qeshemi shook the proffered hand, thoughtfully watched him leave. through the window he saw scragger drive off quickly. too quickly. "achmed, do we have gasoline in the car?"

  "there was yesterday, excellency."

  at bandar delam airport: 8:18 a.m. now numir was running frantically from one mechanic's trailer to the next, but they were all empty. he rushed back to his office. jahan, the radio op. looked at him startled.

  "they've gone! everyone's gone, pilots, mechanics... and most of their

  things are gone too!" numir stuttered, his face still livid from the blow zataki had given him. "those sons of dogs!"

  "but... but they've only gone to iran-toda, excell "

  "i tell you they've fled, and they fled with our helicopters!"

  "but our two 206s are there in the hangar, i saw them, and a fan's even drying the paint. excellency rudi wouldn't leave a fan on like the "

  "by god, i tell you they've gone!"

  jahan, a middle-aged man wearing glasses, switched on the hf. "captain rudi, this's base, do you read?"

  in rudi's cockpit: both rudi and his mechanic faganwitch heard the call clearly. "base to captain rudi, do you read?" rudi moved the trim a fraction then relaxed again, looking right and left. he saw kelly motion at his headset, raise two fingers, and gesture. he acknowledged. then his glee faded: "tehran, this's bandar delam, do you read?" all pilots tensed. no answer. "kowiss, this's bandar delam, do you read?" no answer. "lengeh, this's bandar delam, do you read?"

  "bander delam, this's lengeh, you're two by five, go ahead."

  at once there was a spate of farsi from jahan that rudi did not understand, then the two operators talked back and forth. after a pause, jahan said in english: "tehran, this is bandar delam, do you read?" static. the call repeated. static. then, "kowiss, do you read?" then silence again.

  "for the moment," rudi muttered.

  "what was all that about, captain?" faganwitch asked.

  "we're pegged. it's barely fifty minutes since we took off and we're pegged!" there were fighter bases all around them and ahead was the big, very efficient one at kharg. he had no doubt whatsoever that if they were intercepted they would be shot down like hbc. correctly, he thought, sickened. and though they were safe enough at the moment down here just above the waves, visibility now less than a quarter of a mile, before long the haze would thin out and then they would be helpless. again jahan's voice, "tehran, this is bandar delam, do you read?" static. "kowiss, this is bandar delam, do you read?" no reply.

  rudi cursed to himself. jahan was a good radio op. persistent, and would keep calling until kowiss or tehran reported in. and then? that's their problem, not mine. mine's to get my four out safely, that's all i have to worry about. i've got to lead my four out safely.

  ten to fifteen feet below were the waves, not yet white-topped but grey and nasty and the wind had not lessened. he looked across at kelly and waved his hand from left to right, the signal to spread out more and not to try to keep visual contact if visibility got any worse. kelly acknowledged.

  he did the same to dubois who passed the message on to sandor, on his extreme right, then settled down to squeeze maximum range with minimum fuel, straining his eyes to pierce the whiteout ahead. soon they would be deep in the real sea lanes.

  lengeh, at the airfield: 8:31 a.m. "jesus, scrag, we thought you'd been arrested," vossi burst out, willi with him, intercepting his car, both of them weak with relief, their three mechanics also crowding around. "what happened?"

  "i've got the passports, so let's get on with it."

  "we gotta problem." vossi was white.

  scragger grimaced, still sweating from the waiting and the ride back. "now wet?"

  "all pash's here. he's on the hf. he came in as usual, we tried to send him off but he wouldn't go an "

  impatiently, willi butted in: "and for the last five minutes, scrag, for the last five or ten minutes he's been by god harry peculiar an "

  "like he's got a vibrator up his ass, scrag, never seen him like th " vossi stopped. ali pash came out onto the veranda of the office radio room and beckoned scragger urgently.

  "be right there, ali," scragger called out. to benson, their chief mechanic, scragger whispered, "you and your lads all set?"

  "yessing" benson was small, wiry, and nervous. "i got your stuff into the wagon just before ali pash came along. we scarper?"

  "wait till i get to the office. ev "

  "we got delta four, scrag," willi said, "nothing from t
he others."

  "bonzer. everyone wait till i give the signal." scragger took a deep breath and walked off, greeting the green bands he passed. "salaam, ali pash, g'day," he said, seeing the nervousness and anxiety. "i thought i gave you the day off."

  "agha, there someth "

  "just a see, me son!" scragger turned and with pretended irascibility called out, "benson, i told you if you and drew want to go and picnic to go, but you'd better be back by two o'clock or else! and wet the hell're you two waiting for? are you ground-checking or aren't you?"

  "yeah, scrag, sorry, scrag!"

  he almost laughed seeing them fall over one another, benson and the american mechanic, drew, jumping into the old van and driving off, vossi and willi heading for their cockpits. once inside the office he breathed easier, put his briefcase with the passports on his desk. "now, wot's the problem?"