Toragawa spoke first, his grammatically perfect English heavily accented. “May I be of service?”
“You already have. Everything is arranged and I wanted to thank you. I’m taking Shoshana home to Israel.” Pontowski paused, gazing out over the valley below him, recalling another hill in Israel, outside Haifa. “Her father wants to bury her next to her mother. It’s on a hill …” He took a deep breath. “May we talk about it?” They had come to the reason for Pontowski’s visit. Toragawa nodded. “Do you know who is responsible?”
“Not yet,” Toragawa answered. “I know the assassins were Yakuza. I don’t know who hired them to do this. Or why. Even if they were still alive, the four assassins would not know the answer.” Silence. “Your wife was very brave and saved Miho.”
Pontowski shook his head. “I think Shoshana was the target, not Miho.” He told Toragawa of the attempt to assassinate him at Guilin. “I’m a very visible target and Kang Xun may be getting at me through my family. But there’s another possibility.” He told Toragawa of Shoshana’s past as a Mossad agent. “The Islamic Jihad or the Mana family from Iraq may have taken out the contract.”
“I will discover the truth,” Toragawa promised. “May I offer you an airplane to fly your wife to Israel?” Pontowski was stunned by the offer. “It is a small thing,” Toragawa added. “It is the least I can do.”
Pontowski accepted the offer and thanked him again. Miho escorted him to a waiting car and hurried back to the old man. “Please, Grandfather, I beg you, don’t do this.” She was kneeling in front of him, her eyes full of tears, worried that he would commit suicide because of the blow to his honor. “I will do my best, Grandfather, but who will guide me? Who will chose my husband?”
Toragawa stifled a sigh. The new generation! he thought. He was in contemplation, his way of honoring Shoshana Pontowski. True, his honor had been deeply wounded because she was his guest. But he could live with that.
Suicide in this day and age? In modern Japan? It was unthinkable.
Besides, he believed in vengeance.
Friday, September 20
Cam Ranh Bay, Vietnam
Major Marissa LaGrange stood between the pilots on the flight deck as the AWACS entered the landing pattern. “One busy harbor,” the copilot said. “I had no idea it was so big.”
“Supposedly, this is the best natural harbor in Asia,” the pilot explained.
Below her, LaGrange counted two tankers and at least eight cargo ships. An oceangoing tug was towing a floating dry dock into the harbor. They turned final to land on the north runway and she could see a KC-10, four C-130s, two J-STARS E-8 aircraft, and a line of F-15 fighters parked on the ramp. We’re getting serious, she thought. At least it would be a change after Hong Kong. Riots and muggings in the crown colony had kept them confined to their base at Shek Kong Camp for the last few weeks and the morale of her crew was in the dirt. We need to get home, she decided.
A crew bus was waiting and drove them to their new operations building. The old U.S. base was alive with activity and hundreds of Vietnamese workers at work cleaning up and renovating buildings. “Hey, Major Mom!” a voice called from the back of the bus. “How long we going to be here?”
“The message said two weeks,” LaGrange answered. “Then we rotate back to the States.”
Everyone but Moose Penko took the announcement positively. He hunched his big shoulders and stared out the window, feeling mutinous. He made a mental promise to request a transfer off LaGrange’s crew when they got back to Tinker. Hell, he thought, make that a transfer out of the Air Force.
Their commander, Colonel Charles Tucker, was waiting for them in operations. He gave a short speech, more of a warning than a welcome, to the crew and pulled LaGrange inside an office. “What’s going on here?” LaGrange asked.
“I thought it was obvious,” he answered. “We’re getting involved.”
“History repeating itself,” LaGrange muttered.
“Think big,” Tucker said. “We’ve been kicked out of the Philippines and lost the naval base at Subic Bay. China is causing all sorts of problems and scaring its neighbors silly. We still need a presence in the Far East, this is the best harbor in the area, and it’s got an air base. Vietnam and China have never gotten along and the Vietnamese want us as an ally to discourage any aggressive moves by the Chinese in their direction. They’ve offered us a ten-year lease on Cam Ranh Bay and are putting it back in shape. Good deal for them, good deal for us.”
“This is all above my pay grade,” LaGrange said. “My crew is tired and needs to get home.”
“Two weeks, tops,” Tucker assured her, “and you’ll be out of here.”
“And the check’s in the mail,” she retorted.
The beach party was going well and LaGrange lay back on the sand to watch the volleyball game. Morale had definitely improved. Even Moose had gotten over his sulks and was playing lifeguard for the swimmers in the unbelievably blue and clear water. She needed the break after sorting out the communications protocols between the J-STARS and her AWACS to provide the New China Guard with state-of-the-art warning and control. It had been easy once U.S. liaison officers were on the ground in China. She let the sun soak into her body. Cam Ranh Bay could be a great resort, she decided, falling asleep.
Loud and angry voices woke her. She squinted in the direction of the commotion. A large group of young men were moving in on the volleyball game and eyeing the female members of her crew. The fighter pilots had arrived. She stood up and tugged her bikini top into place. Better get a handle on this before it gets out of hand. She had been through it before.
“Sorry, fellas,” she said, “private game. Maybe next time.”
“Hey, another player,” one of the newcomers said. He leered at her, appreciating how she looked in a swimsuit.
LaGrange sighed. Fighter pilots were like dogs, some were brighter than others. “You’re not listening,” she said.
“You the den mother?”
“In a manner of speaking, yes.”
It worked and the pilots started to wander away. Most were good-natured and only looking for fun. But one wouldn’t let it go. His ego demanded he have the last word. “AWACS?” he asked. She could smell his beery breath.
“Congratulations,” LaGrange replied, not giving an inch of ground. “You broke the code.”
“Unh,” he muttered. “A flying whorehouse.”
Before she could respond, Moose Penko was there. He clamped a hand on the pilot’s shoulder and spun him around. The pilot tried to resist, but he didn’t have a choice. “Moose!” LaGrange barked. “Bug out.” Penko stared at the pilot for a moment and walked away.
LaGrange turned on the pilot. “You are,” she snarled, “one oversexed, walking, talking, turbocharged hormone.” He started to protest. “Get off my turf and stay off unless you got your pecker in your pants and under control. “Or—” she leaned into him, her hands on her hips, “do you want heel marks all over your body? Am I speaking in a foreign language? Have I said anything you don’t understand?” The pilot retreated without saying a word.
She walked over to Penko. “Moose, I fight my own battles. Got it?”
“I got it.”
Thursday, October 3
Near Nanning, China
The new M998 Humvee pounded down the dirt road, its aerials whipping in the wind. Inside, Kamigami rode in the passenger’s seat, checking his chart. Occasionally, one of the radios would squawk and the radio/telephone operator in the back would acknowledge the call. “No change, General,” the R/T operator said in Cantonese. Kamigami half-translated the words and half-thought in Cantonese.
“Resolute Company is ahead,” the driver announced. Resolute Company was his newest company and had picked its own name, since the twelve animals of the Chinese calender had been claimed by other companies. Kamigami checked the personnel roster of the company, putting faces with most of the names. The Humvee slammed to a stop and he got out, not waiting for the t
wo other Humvees in his small convoy.
He was determined to visit each one of his companies before the attack started and was in a hurry. But he walked slowly, giving his full attention to the young captain in command of Resolute Company. The company was well-positioned and dug in, and morale seemed high. A group of officers and ranking NCOs surrounded him as he spread out his chart. “The latest intelligence reports no change,” he told them.
Two Warthogs screamed overhead, looking for targets. The men paused and watched as one popped and dove for the ground. They didn’t see a bomb come off but an explosion was followed by a big secondary. “It seems,” he said, “intelligence was wrong.” They all laughed.
It was time to leave, but he knew what they were waiting for. “Miss Li says the road is very dangerous. But the brave will know victory.”
He pulled the captain aside. “Expect a short artillery barrage around four o’clock this morning. An attack should start soon after that.” The captain stepped back and saluted, confidence in every gesture.
Kamigami lay in bed wide awake. The luminous glow of his watch told him it was one in the morning. Three hours to go, he thought. Relax, there’s nothing else you can do now. He hated the waiting, but that was war. He itched to check on activity in the J-STARS module that had arrived at his headquarters two days before with an American liaison officer. The ability of the E-8 J-STARS aircraft to paint the current ground situation on its radar and downlink it to the module gave him real-time intelligence. It was so good that Jin’s marketplace sources of information only confirmed what he already knew.
Trimler had done wonders in reorganizing the MAAG and they had received much needed TOW antitank missiles and Stinger surface-to-air missiles. At the same time, Trimler had told him the AVG was “flush with Mavericks.” Some nasty surprises were in store for the PLA.
One of those surprises is the AVG, he decided. Leonard knows how to use A-10s and is hurting the PLA. The interdiction box campaign had worked beyond their wildest expectations, although it puzzled him why the Chinese air force was staying on the ground. They probably know about those Stingers, he decided.
Somehow, more aircraft had shown up. Four C-130s were helping the two KC-10s they were using as airborne fuel trucks. The AWACS and J-STARS were flying regular missions in the Gulf of Tonkin and along the Sino-Vietnamese border and had the PLA wired for sound. No wonder their intelligence was so good.
But he wished Pontowski would return.
Kamigami propped himself up in bed. Had he done all he could? Was the First Regiment ready? Again, he ran through all his training and planning. It was as good as it was going to get. Now the ultimate test of battle would pass final judgment.
Jin Chu stirred beside him, her gentle breathing reassuring. He wanted to hold her and make love. Will this be the last time? he thought. She stirred and came to him, half-asleep. Suddenly, her urgency matched his and she whispered, “Now, now, now.”
She held him tight afterward, not wanting to let him go. Finally, he rolled out of bed and dressed. “It’s time,” was all he said. Jin Chu looked at him, waiting. “I want you to go to Bose.” Bose was the city 150 miles to the northwest where he had sent May May and the baby for safety. She did not answer. “I’ll have my helicopter fly you there this morning.”
“Do you remember the time on Cheung Chau Island?” she asked.
How long ago was that? he thought. An age. He nodded. “You are still my love and you are here, where my life is. I want to stay with you.”
“You must go,” he told her. He looked at his watch. Two more hours. “It will be very dangerous here when the fighting starts.”
“Please,” she replied, “let me stay.”
Against his better judgment, he gave in.
The first warning the attack was underway came from the J-STARS module. The operator interpreted the bright returns on the monitor’s display for Kamigami. “We’re here,” he explained, pointing to a spot north of the Pearl River. “It looks like two tank divisions are coming our way. The length and intensity of the columns indicate mechanized infantry and artillery regiments are with them.”
Kamigami turned to his intelligence officer. The man’s face had paled and he was shaking. He knew the numbers. “If both are at full strength—that’s a total of 582 tanks, forty one-hundred-millimeter field guns, and over twenty thousand men.” Kamigami focused on the monitor. The battle was developing north of the river and only his First Regiment and the New China Guard’s Tenth Division, which was on his left flank, to the north, stood between Kang’s army and Nanning.
“More movement,” the J-STARS operator announced. “South of the river.” The screen flickered as more activity was detected by the orbiting E-8 aircraft.
What do we have south of the Pearl? he thought. A quick glance at the situation map. Three regiments, much like his. They were supposed to be the core of the New China Guard’s Fifth Division. How good are they?
The communications monitor beeped. A message was coming through: The AWACS was detecting numerous aircraft launching out of two bases near Canton. Again, Kamigami’s intelligence officer provided the details. “The Twenty-sixth and Thirtieth Bomber divisions are stationed at those airfields. Each has thirty-six H-5 light bombers.” The H-5 was a Chinese copy of the Ilyushin Il-28 bomber NATO called the Beagle. More information scrolled up on the communications monitor. Fighter aircraft were launching and heading for Nanning. The numbers kept increasing, but at least forty-six bombers were headed for Nanning escorted by over one hundred fighters.
“Sir,” the J-STARS liaison officer said, “more information.” He enlarged the scale on his ground monitor, showing more detail. “The attack appears to be focused on this point.”
Kamigami’s eyes narrowed into tight slits. Resolute Company was going to take the brunt of the attack. The sound of distant thunder echoed over them. Artillery. Kamigami checked the time—exactly 0400 hours. At least his intelligence was good. But he knew what the numbers meant. Can we do this? he thought. Are we good enough? Am I good enough?
At the same time, all water and electricity into Hong Kong was shut off and widespread looting and rioting broke out in Kowloon.
The battle for southern China had begun.
Friday, October 4
Guilin, China
“Twenty plus bandits coming your way,” the high-frequency, long-range radio squawked. John “Tango” Leonard waited for the AWACS to complete its warning message. “Bearing one-three-five degrees at 120 nautical miles. Heading three-one-zero, speed 435 knots.”
Leonard didn’t hesitate. He picked up the microphone for the UHF radio and mashed the transmit button. “All aircraft scramble. Repeat scramble. No change.” He took a deep breath. Outside the bunker, he could hear the first engines spin up. With a little luck, he would have all his aircraft airborne in eight minutes. The Warthogs wouldn’t be caught like sitting ducks on the ground. He ran the mental arithmetic. At a speed of 435 knots the bandits were traveling a tad over seven miles a minute. Seven goes into 120 seventeen times. Subtract a little. The bandits should be overhead in sixteen minutes. He checked his watch. Time to hunker down.
“Sound red alert,” he ordered. The Klaxons scattered around the base blared with a nerve jangling warbling and everyone in the bunker reached for flak jackets and helmets. “Get the crew chiefs to cover ASAP,” he said. He knew it was a stupid order. They could hear the Klaxon. What now? He didn’t like the answer. Wait.
He listened to the radio traffic as the first jets taxied out. Thank God we were ready, he thought. The wing had received its first warning order twenty-four hours earlier, and he had methodically brought the base up to full alert. The A-10s had been armed and cocked for a scramble and the pilots had been sitting cockpit alert since two that morning. The first eight Warthogs to launch were carrying Sidewinder air-to-air missiles and would have gear in the well within five minutes. He held little hope for their intercepting the bandits in the dark, but he wasn�
�t going to roll over and play dead. Perhaps some of the Stingers we got for base defense will nail a few of ‘em, he thought. He didn’t have much faith in the antiquated antiaircraft artillery the New China Guard had scattered around the base.
Sara Waters rushed into the bunker, and he breathed easier. She had insisted on running the base defense team and had been out on a last-minute check, making sure everyone was taking cover. The last Warthog taking the active checked in on the UHF. “Uncas doing his thing,” Buns Clark radioed.
“Uncas?” Waters asked.
“The Last of the Mohicans,” Leonard told her. He managed a grin. “Buns would rather die than sound bad on the radio.” Now they had to wait. “Didn’t the Bossman have you working on base evacuation?” he asked.
She nodded. “He was always concerned about getting out of here. We went through the motions twice and are pretty good at it.”
Leonard thought for a moment. “Good. Get ready again.”
He checked the master clock on the wall. The attacking aircraft were seven minutes out.
Friday, October 4
Over the Gulf of Tonkin
LaGrange punched at the control panel of her intercom, making sure she was on net one. She fought down the perverse urge to cut the pilots off and let them stew in ignorance. But that would be petty and a reaction to the incident on the beach. Even the drivers in the pointy end deserved to know what was going down. She pressed the talk button on her extension cord. “It’s rock and roll time, folks,” she announced. “J-STARS is reporting massive ground movement and we’ve got beaucoup hostile tracks tagged up. Most are headed for Nanning with a minor sideshow inbound for Guilin. So far, they’re ignoring us.”
Moose Penko muttered, “Let’s keep it that way.”
“They know we’re here,” LaGrange said, “so heads up. I want to stay on top of this and get as close to the action as possible.”
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