Before she could start the shower, the telephone rang. It was the squadron duty officer. “Sorry to disturb you, Major,” she said. “But Tucker the Fucker is back on base and he wants to see you ASAP. He’s in his office at wing headquarters.” LaGrange gave an inward sigh and donned fresh lingerie, T-shirt, and flight suit. Be honest, she told herself, you’re not enjoying this anymore.
Colonel Charles A. Tucker was clearly irritated by the thirty-five-minute delay before LaGrange reported to his office. He was a very impatient man. “Take a seat, Major,” he growled as he returned her salute. “I’ve got to do something extremely stupid and ask for volunteers for a special mission. I need a detachment commander to run the show. You want it?”
“If I’ve got a choice, I would like to hear more details first,” LaGrange answered. It wasn’t the answer he wanted and the two exchanged glares. The colonel and the major had the same attitudes and approach to business but deep down, they also shared an intense dislike of each other.
Tucker slammed back in his chair and stood up. “Dammit, Major, whatever happened to standing tall, saluting, and saying ‘yessir’?”
“The Air Force has changed. Besides, I’m a woman.”
“Bullshit,” he snapped. “If you’re not a mission crew commander, you ain’t shit around here.”
“I never could figure out what that phrase means,” LaGrange replied.
The colonel humphed and told her about the mission to Hong Kong to provide an airborne warning and control capability as well as monitor movement deep inside China. “You’ll fall under the operational control of the British,” he explained.
LaGrange’s right eyebrow shot up. “The Air Force relinquishing operational control of an AWACS? That’s unusual.”
“Tell me,” Tucker growled. “That’s why I want a detachment commander with balls to run the show.” And not do anything stupid, he mentally added.
“I can give you smarts, Colonel. But if it’s balls you want, you had better get one of the weak dicks drinking beer over in the Officers’ Club.”
Again, Tucker humphed an answer. “Can you get enough volunteers to man two crews?”
“I can do that,” she assured him.
“Anyone you specifically want?”
She thought for a moment. “Moose Penko.”
“Penko?” Tucker replied. “You know he asked to be transferred off your crew.”
“He doesn’t like working for a female MCC,” LaGrange told him. “He’ll get over it.”
“You got him,” Tucker said. “I want two crews and one jet in place in thirty-six hours.”
“I can do that,” LaGrange repeated. She stood, threw him a salute and left. Tucker watched her go, his face an impassive mask. Now he had to sell his boss, the brigadier general who commanded the 28th Air Division, on his decision to give LaGrange the command of the deployment. Normally, a lieutenant colonel or even a colonel would have been designated the detachment commander. But there was no doubt in his mind that he had the right person for the assignment.
Tuesday, April 2
Whiteman AFB, Missouri
It was the first time Sara Waters had used the STU-III, the plug-in-anywhere secure telephone receiver that allowed top secret conversations over regular telephone lines. It was deceptively easy. Just dial or answer the phone normally, turn a key, and press a button. Matt Pontowski’s voice came through with a tinny ring from the encryption but was easily recognizable. Her face paled as he talked and she jotted down notes. “I’ll relay the message, sir, and have Major Hester call you as soon as he lands.” Her hands shook as she replaced the receiver and deactivated the encryption circuit. Now she wished she had not called Bill Carroll.
She called for her assistant. “Lori, find Captain Leonard. It’s important.” Lori Williams heard the worry in her voice and misinterpreted it as panic. She rushed out of the office and returned with Leonard in tow. “The Bossman just called on the STU-III,” Waters told the pilot. “He’s asking for volunteers for a special mission.” She read from her notes, filling in the details. “It’s not firm, just a possibility,” she hastened to add.
“Holy shit!” Leonard shouted. “He’s got one volunteer. Me.”
“Why?” she asked.
“A special mission means this could be a chance to drop real bombs on real targets. This is what Warthogs are all about. I’ll get the word out.” He almost ran out of the office.
Waters shook her head. “They’re teenagers who grew old and never grew up.” Lori agreed with her.
Waters was briskly efficient as she went about her duties during the next three days. The mother in Waters did not like the thought of combat and privately she was glad that most of the pilots had not responded with the same enthusiasm as Leonard. Only four, among them Skeeter Ashton, had signed up and the rest had held back, not willing to commit until it was more definite. Frank Hester had given a positive slant to the request because he was the operations officer, but even he had not volunteered. On the other hand, she had to agree with Leonard that it was an opportunity for the 303rd to shine.
Only in Maintenance had the response been overwhelming, and the wrench benders were standing in line to sign up. Lori said the crew chiefs were claiming, “If I don’t go, I’ll fuckin’ A quit.”
Waters was surprised when Pontowski appeared Saturday morning, escorting a little woman of Oriental descent. “Sara,” Pontowski said, “I’d like you to meet Mazie Kamigami.” The two women exchanged greetings. “I hear only four pilots have signed on.” Waters handed him the short list. He read it and passed it to Mazie. “Not good. I was hoping for a better response. I want the pilots to hear what Mazie has to say.”
“Well, sir, this is a UTA weekend and all but two are in the squadron. I can fit a commander’s call in at nine-thirty.” Pontowski told her to do it.
“UTA?” Mazie asked.
“Unit training assembly,” Waters explained. “We have one every month.” Mazie nodded and asked a few questions about the reserves. Waters found herself drawn to the younger woman and instinctively trusted her. “We’ve got a few minutes before commander’s call, would you like to see the squadron?”
“Is it true you’ve got wall-to-wall Tom Cruise types?” Mazie asked.
“Not hardly,” Waters answered, taking her on a short tour. Mazie was struck by how ordinary the pilots appeared. “Most of them are airline pilots,” Waters explained.
“They’re not what I expected,” Mazie confided. “Colonel Pontowski gave them quite a buildup. What happened to the straight teeth and crooked grins?”
“Right now they seem like normal and rational human beings,” Waters said. “But something happens when they get within fifty feet of a Warthog. I can’t explain it, but they change.” Mazie filed that away and looked at the pilots from a new perspective. She followed Waters into the main briefing room, thinking of what she should say.
When Pontowski introduced her, she walked to the podium and stood beside it so the men could see her. She noticed the one woman pilot, Skeeter Ashton, sitting in the back row with three other pilots. They were the only volunteers. Mazie pointed to the Pearl River on the large map of China that was projected on the screen behind her.
“You’ve all heard what’s going on in China,” she began, “and that Colonel Pontowski is seeking volunteers for a possible rerun of the Flying Tigers. I suppose I could give you all the propaganda about the good guys versus the bad guys, but I don’t think it would mean much. Basically it’s a nasty little war along the Pearl River. You could call it a civil war, which it is. Common wisdom holds that it is very foolish for third parties to take sides in a civil war, and generally speaking, that’s a true statement.
“Rather than tell you what’s happening, I’m going to show you slides that were taken before, during, and after a recent battle that took place here.” She pointed to the town of Wuzhou on the Pearl River, 125 miles to the west of Canton, just inside Guangxi Province. “We estimate the PLA
outnumbered the rebels ten to one, yet the fighting lasted a week.”
A slide of smiling young men and women holding small arms flashed on the screen. “The rebels are mostly farmers armed only with light weapons,” Mazie explained. “A French photographer was with them at Wuzhou and took most of these pictures.” Mazie hit the remote advance button and a series of slides marched across the screen, documenting a hard-fought battle. She said nothing. Too often, the scenes depicted a young man or woman charging a tank or machine gun nest with a flaming Molotov cocktail.
“The last pictures are courtesy of the PLA,” she said. “They speak for themselves.” The quality of the slides changed: These were grainy and poorly processed. They chronicled the victory of the government forces in the final stages of the battle. Slide after slide showed PLA soldiers burning, looting, and rounding up civilians. The last set of slides showed hundreds of captured rebels digging a huge ditch and then being lined up on the edge and machine-gunned. The ditch was full of bodies.
The last slide showed an obviously pregnant woman lying on the ground, on her back. A soldier was standing over her as he drove a bayonet into her stomach. The woman’s face was contorted in pain as her legs curled up. Her hands clutched at the bayonet in a vain attempt to protect her unborn child as the soldier leaned on the butt of his rifle. The screen went blank.
“I only have one question,” Mazie said. “What was missing from all these pictures?”
Skeeter Ashton didn’t hesitate. Her words were low and carried to every corner of the hushed room. “Air power,” she said.
Frank Hester stood up and walked out of the room. “What’s the matter, Frank?” a voice called.
Hester stopped, his back a rigid spike. “The next time you see a dog and pony show like this one, there’s gonna be a Warthog in it. Mine.” He walked out of the room. Slowly, the room emptied as most of the pilots followed him. A few pulled off into a little knot and talked among themselves in the hall. They would not volunteer.
“You did good,” Pontowski told Mazie.
“I think I understand them a little better now,” Mazie said.
“Really?” Waters replied.
“They’d rather die than admit it,” Mazie said, “but they’re idealists. Besides, no fighter pilot worth his salt really wants to be an airline pilot.”
Sunday, April 7
Wuzhou, China
“A major battle was fought here,” Kamigami said. He was looking out a window of a clapped-out bus as it rattled into the outskirts of Wuzhou. Jin Chu was perched on the edge of the seat next to him, leaning forward to see around his bulk. She was wearing a padded jacket, and with her hair piled up under a cap, looked like a boy. It was a disguise Kamigami encouraged. The road outside was littered with burned-out hulks of tanks, armored personnel carriers, and trucks bulldozed to clear a single lane. Every building was gutted or destroyed and dead animals lay bloated and stinking in the gutter.
The bus driver pumped the brakes, dragging the bus to a stop at a roadblock. “PLA,” Kamigami said.
A dirty soldier climbed on board and worked his way down the aisle, checking IDs and travel papers. Kamigami took a professional interest in the soldiers milling around the roadblock as he evaluated their uniforms and the condition of their weapons. Only their large number impressed him. The soldier checking identifications glanced at Jin Chu, scanned Kamigami’s identification, and dismissed them with a contemptuous look.
The soldier strutted back to the front of the bus, a sour odor following him. He turned and faced the passengers. “The People’s Liberation Army,” the soldier said, as if reciting from memory, “has won a glorious victory freeing the people of Wuzhou from those who would oppress them and deny them the fruits of the people’s revolution. Many of your comrades willingly gave their lives so the revolution may continue and justice of the people may rule our land. Do not be distressed by the destruction you see. It is a monument to the courage and dedication of the People’s Liberation Army. Long may the People’s Liberation Army serve!” He hurried off the bus.
Another soldier Kamigami judged to be a sergeant climbed on board. His face was frozen into a permanent scowl as he studied the passengers. “As your army has sacrificed,” he said, “so must you also sacrifice. You will help your brave comrades in restoring order to everyday life.” He ordered the passengers to get off the bus.
“A work detail,” Jin Chu said. “It shouldn’t last more than two or three days.” Kamigami collected their bags from the overhead rack and followed her. About twenty of the soldiers standing at the roadblock were detailed to herd the bus passengers into town. Out of sight of the roadblock, they halted, and the soldiers descended on the passengers, searching their bags and taking anything of value.
Kamigami stood passively when a young soldier frisked him, taking what money they had. The soldier pulled Kamigami’s wristwatch off and fitted it on his own arm. But the watch band was too big and it flopped down on his hand. “This one,” the soldier snarled, “is a lumbering ox and will be good for heavy labor.” He jabbed the muzzle of his rifle into Kamigami’s stomach, bending him over in pain.
Jin Chu bent over him. “Say nothing,” she whispered. “Do nothing.” She helped him to his feet and the procession made its way to the far side of town. “That one is a stupid farmer from the north,” she told him. “He is not of the Pearl.”
“How do you know he’s a northerner?” Kamigami asked.
“His features are different and he called you an ox. If he was from the south, he would have called you a water buffalo.”
The soldiers led them into a destroyed part of the town that was still smoldering from fires that had been allowed to burn out. A sergeant split the group in half. Jin Chu was ordered to help collect bodies from the embers while Kamigami and most of the men were set to digging a communal grave.
It was dark before Kamigami saw Jin Chu again. She and an old woman were struggling to carry a badly burned body to the grave in a blanket. Kamigami rushed to help them. “She wasn’t on the bus,” he told Jin.
“Don’t say anything,” Jin Chu cautioned. “She lives here. She says there was no fighting in this part of town and the soldiers came after the battle was over. The soldiers looted and raped before setting fires. They threw women and children into the flames and shot them if they tried to escape. She only wants to find her family and bury them. If the soldiers discover her, they will shoot her too.” Kamigami took the gruesome bundle and carried it to the grave. The old woman watched with tears in her eyes as he laid it tenderly down, adding to the endless line of bodies that filled the ditch.
The soldiers lit torches and the grisly work continued into the night without a break for rest, food, or water. Once Jin Chu managed to slip him a bottle of water. Kamigami took a sip and passed it to the next man, who guzzled it down. The night was cold and a bitter wind cut at them, but the work continued while most of the soldiers found shelter and slept.
Jin Chu carried a small bundle down into the ditch. Her face was etched in despair and streaked with tears. “It’s the old woman’s granddaughter,” Jin Chu said. “She tried to wash her for burial, but a soldier clubbed her and then urinated on the child’s body.” She motioned to a shadowy figure standing above them at the edge of the ditch. “Him,” was all she said.
Kamigami took the body from her and gently laid it down. “Why do you waste time, Ox.” It was the same soldier who had stolen his watch. “You,” he pointed his rifle at Jin Chu. “Take off your hat.”
Jin Chu gave Kamigami a frightened look. “I saw the soldiers rape a woman,” she said. “Then they cut her throat.” She took her cap off and her hair cascaded down.
“I thought so,” the soldier hissed, pleased with his discovery.
The rage that had been building in Kamigami exploded. He had seen too much, endured too much, and now an intense anger broke the dam that had contained it. For a moment, he could neither move nor speak as he struggled to control the fire th
at seared his soul and threatened to consume him. But his years of training and experience held, and slowly he regained control. He turned and focused his rage and anger on the soldier standing above them.
“No,” Jin Chu whispered. Nothing in her experience had prepared her for what she saw on Kamigami’s face in the half-light of the flickering torches. “You are not like them,” she pleaded.
“Girl!” the soldier barked. “Come here.” His finger twitched at the trigger of his rifle.
Kamigami nodded, not taking his eyes off the man as Jin Chu scrambled up the path leading out of the ditch. The soldier moved along the edge, toward the spot where the path ended. He never saw the large shadow that rose out of the ditch behind him. The soldier was almost to Jin Chu when Kamigami reached him. Kamigami’s hands were a blur as one reached over the man’s shoulder and grabbed his chin while the other clamped down on the crown of his head. Kamigami jerked once and the soldier’s neck snapped. Kamigami twisted again, ripping neck muscles and ligaments apart. Then he twisted again.
Kamigami threw the body into the ditch and jumped over the edge, following it. The man who had guzzled the water was running away, fearing what the soldiers would do when they found their dead comrade. Kamigami caught him before he had taken five steps. “Bury him under the others,” he ordered. “When the soldiers ask where he is, tell them that he took the girl and me into town. That’s all you know.” The man was too frightened to protest and did as he was told.
Kamigami stripped the rifle and equipment from the body before he climbed out of the ditch. “Hurry,” he told Jin Chu. They disappeared into the night.
Above Wuzhou, the Pearl River had cut a shallow river valley less than a mile wide through the hills. The verdant hillsides had been transformed into multilayered man-made terraces and the moist subtropical climate gave the land a soft, lush appearance as the gentle Pearl flowed eastward toward Canton and the sea. In the distance, the first of the limestone buttes called karsts rose out of the green valley floor. The small, isolated mountains with their steep sides reminded Kamigami of dragon’s teeth growing out of the ground.
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