Dark Wing

by Richard Herman

  “Can the A-10s fly close air support at night?” the colonel asked.

  “Not in this weather,” Kamigami answered.

  “Without A-10s,” the colonel answered, “I may not be able to stop them.” Close air support had broken the momentum of the human wave Kang had thrown at them, but even then, it had been a narrow victory.

  Kamigami raised his binoculars and swept the battlefield. “They have taken heavy casualties. How many men do they have to waste?” He dropped his binoculars and studied his map. “The next attack will probably be a heavy probing action to discover how weak we are. Resist and make them pay for every forward step they take. I’m almost certain the main attack will not be here.”

  “But where?” the colonel asked.

  That is the question I can’t answer, Kamigami thought. At least not yet. But I know the objective. In his mind’s eye he saw the bridge of the angry dragons near Bose, the bridge that was the gateway to the west.

  Wednesday, October 16

  Bose Airfield

  A persistent and very annoying drip of water kept banging on the table in front of Pontowski. He looked at the beams over his head and decided the Gopher Hole was amazingly dry. Rather than contend with the drip, he moved one space to his right, used his helmet as a catch basin, and ignored it.

  He stood and stretched. It was almost midnight and he needed to get some rest. What am I missing? he thought. The numbers on the big status board were good. His twenty-nine Warthogs had flown 106 missions and stopped Kang’s attack cold. Four Hogs had taken battle damage, two badly, and one would never fly again. He had gone out to check on it and wondered how Skid Malone ever got it on the ground. But he hadn’t lost a single pilot, and that was the real story.

  The weatherman posted the next day’s forecast on the board. More rain. He walked over to the weatherman’s desk for more details. “It’s Typhoon Kewa,” the young captain explained. “It’s turning into the most destructive hurricane of the century. She leveled the Philippines.” He traced the typhoon’s path. “And it is headed straight for the Gulf of Tonkin. The weather we’re getting is the leading edge. It’s going to get worse, much worse. Thank God a hurricane dies quickly once it comes ashore. Just be glad we’re not on the coast of Vietnam. Hanoi is going to get flooded.”

  “What about Cam Ranh Bay?” Pontowski asked.

  “They’re four hundred miles south of Kewa’s track. They’ll get a good drenching, like us. They should be okay.”

  “I hope they don’t have to evacuate,” Pontowski said, more to himself than the weatherman. He heard his name called and turned to see Mazie standing behind him.

  “This,” she said in a low voice, handing him a message, “just came in from Mr. Carroll.”

  Pontowski felt his face go hard as he read the message. He handed it to Waters. All he said was, “Call a staff meeting. Now.”

  The men and women who filed into the bunker were wet and tired. They sensed from the way Pontowski leaned against the edge of a table and stared at the message in his hands that something big was up. The Junkyard Dogs were the last to squeeze in. He came right to the point. “We’ve been put on alert to pull out of China. We’ll have to move fast when the evacuation order comes down.”

  A voice came from the back of the bunker. “You mean we’ve got to run away with our tails tucked between our legs?” It was one of the Maintenance officers.

  “What about the Chinese?” Charlie Marchioni shouted. “We all know what Kang will do to them. How the hell do they expect us to live with that?” Silence. No one knew how to answer his question.

  Ray Byers chimed in. “Colonel, I got to tell you, pulling out sucks.” The various comments from around the tent indicated most of his staff agreed with him.

  “I don’t like it either, Ray,” Pontowski admitted. “But we don’t have any choice,” he added.

  “Fuckin’ A, Colonel,” Byers shouted. “We volunteered to come here so we can fuckin’ A decide when to unvolunteer.”

  Pontowski didn’t answer for a few moments as he studied their faces. They had all volunteered to fight in a war far from their own country. But for what? Their country wasn’t in danger. He knew what Maggot would say: “Hell, it’s the only war we got.” That wasn’t the reason, not even for Maggot. So what motivated them to stay the course? Most had come to like the Chinese and some, like Marchioni, had found a home. Without exception, they all knew Kang would butcher the Chinese by the thousands if he won. Was that the motivation?

  The truth was much more complicated. Like Pontowski, they had volunteered for a variety of reasons. Some were simply bored with their present life, others were looking for any well-paying job, and many needed the challenge. But underneath, Pontowski sensed an understanding. These people knew what was ultimately at stake: They were giving a few Chinese a chance at freedom and maybe, just maybe, they could stop a madman named Kang from setting Asia on fire. It would be a fire that would ultimately burn them all.

  “I’m not about to disobey an order,” he finally said. “But a commander never loses the right to protect his people.” He looked around the room again. “With a little luck, we just might have to fight our way out of here.” He hoped he had found the right words. “We’ve bugged out before, so you know how it’s done. Start getting ready.”

  Mazie and Hazelton waited as the bunker emptied. “I talked to Mr. Carroll on the secure telephone,” she said. “We need to talk.” Pontowski found a corner and motioned for Waters to join them. “Congress is doing one of its preelection flip-flops,” Mazie explained. “The leaders understand what’s at stake here and what we’re trying to do. But a congresswoman, Ann Nevers—”

  “We all know who Nevers is,” Pontowski grumbled, interrupting her.

  “Anyway,” Mazie continued, “Nevers is turning our commitment to the Chinese into a club to beat the administration with. The president is losing political support on this and Mr. Carroll is trying to salvage what he can.”

  “Do they know,” Pontowski said, “how critical the situation is? We may only need a few more days.”

  “Mr. Carroll knows Kang has got to win now or Beijing will cut a deal with Zou. That will change the entire geopolitical map in the Far East. The problem is Nevers. She’s turned Von Drexler into a martyr and has made his death a political issue.”

  Waters’ sharp gasp for air stopped her. “They don’t know … I mean Von Drexler was a …” she stammered. Then, “You need to see what I found in his quarters.” She marched out of the bunker, leaving a very confused Pontowski behind.

  “Another thing,” Mazie said. “Went and I have been ordered back to Washington. Mr. Carroll is getting his ducks all lined up.” Her face was pained. “It’s all coming apart.”

  Pontowski shook his head. “We tried,” he said. “Dark operations have never been our long suit.”

  Waters was back, carrying a video camera and three videocassettes. She slipped one into the camera and hit the play button. “Here,” was all she said, handing the camera to Pontowski. “I don’t need to see it again.”

  He looked in the eyepiece. His lips moved but no words came out. At one point he flinched. “No wonder,” he muttered. He stopped the camera and paused before handing it to Mazie. “It’s VD,” he said. “Not pretty.”

  Mazie held the camera up and hit the play button. The image on the small LED screen inside the camera was sharp enough for her to make out a naked Von Drexler and two equally naked women. “He was a disturbed man,” she said, turning the camera off, feeling very sick. “Mr. Carroll can use this to muzzle Nevers.” She thought for a few moments. “Sara, since you were with Von Drexler when he committed suicide and found the tapes, you need to come with us.”

  “I’ve kept a war diary for the unit that might be useful,” Waters said.

  “You’re going with them,” Pontowski ordered. He scanned the status boards. A C-130 was inbound on a cargo run and the ceiling and visibility was still good enough for the Hercules
to land. But it would be tight. “I want you all on that Hercules,” he told them. Damn, he thought, it will take them at least twenty-four hours to get to Washington—if they were lucky. Maybe Mazie had enough ammunition to delay a withdrawal. Would those tapes and Sara’s war diary do the trick?

  “Sara,” he said, capturing her attention by not using her nickname. “Don’t plan on coming back. Get packed.” He wasn’t sure if the look on her face was relief or sadness. She hurried out of the bunker to say good-bye to Leonard.

  Thursday, October 17

  The bridge, near Bose, China

  The four Humvees moved down the muddy road, their big V-8 engines pulling them through the mud. Their windshield wipers were on high speed, beating back and forth, barely keeping ahead of the pounding rain. The lead vehicle reached the paved road and turned westward, racing for the bridge, six miles away.

  Kamigami sat in the passenger seat, his body a rigid spike. In the rear, the radios chattered, reporting a series of heavy probing actions along the southern flank. It was exactly 0200 hours and the sector in front of the First Battalion, the area he had reinforced, was quiet. Where will it be? he kept asking himself.

  The driver slowed and worked his way through the bridge’s defenses, allowing the other three vehicles to catch up. They were almost to the bridge. Ahead, he saw one of the dark Mercedeses Zou preferred as a staff car. He had reached his destination.

  The rear door of the Mercedes swung open and Jin Chu climbed out. She stood in the rain, waiting for him. For a moment, Kamigami sat in the Humvee, a deep ache freezing him there. Then he got out and moved toward her. The rain beat on her bare head, plastering her dark hair to her back. And he knew he loved her, irrationally, uncaring, and without conditions. They were inches apart but did not touch.

  “I got your message,” he said. “This is a bad time. I’m needed there.” He jerked his head to the east.

  She lowered her eyes. “There is a woman you must hear,” she said. She led him to the open door of the Mercedes. Inside, an old woman leaned forward and started talking. He had a hard time understanding her dialect but her meaning was clear. The main attack would thrust up the valley blocked by the First Battalion. This time, it would be led by tanks.

  “Where did they come from?” he demanded, not believing her.

  “They were moved one at a time and hidden in caves,” the old woman explained. “My son says there are sixty-two tanks hidden behind our village.” The look on Kamigami’s face frightened the woman and she couldn’t speak. Her throat contracted in spasms as she looked into the face of a demon.

  “Please,” Jin Chu said, “tell the rest. He won’t hurt you.”

  She gulped hard. “The men who came in the tanks, they have taken our daughters. They say they will release them at dawn today because they will no longer need them.”

  “Is she telling the truth?” Kamigami asked. Jin Chu nodded, and he believed her. “Sixty-two tanks,” he growled. “We can’t stop them.”

  “But the Silent Guns have always stopped them before,” Jin Chu said.

  “They can’t fly in this weather,” he said.

  “Is there nothing you can do?”

  He nodded. “I must go. There isn’t much time.” He wanted to hold her, but she was no longer his. “Where will you be?”

  “I am going to Kunming.” She didn’t say what they both knew—that she was going to Zou. “May May is with the Americans.” She got into the car and Kamigami held the door open for a moment, searching for the right words. In the dark, reaching through the rain, her hand touched his face. “You are my love,” she whispered.

  He closed the car door and stood back. He would never see her again.

  Kamigami listened on the radio as his Fourth Battalion reported bugle calls. “The beginning of a human wave attack,” his operations officer said. More reports came in, confirming an attack was underway on the extreme southern flank.

  Is Kang trying an end run? Kamigami thought. Or was the old woman right? It was still dark and he was standing beside his Humvee under a hastily rigged canvas canopy. The rain gushed off the low side of the tarp, reminding him of a curtain. What’s behind the curtain? he thought. Should he reinforce the Fourth Battalion before it was too late? A gut instinct told him to wait. “Ask the Fourth,” he told his operations officer, “if they need reinforcement.”

  The answer “Not at this time” was the clue he needed. The attack on the Fourth was a feint. He ordered every TOW missile team in his regiment to the First Battalion. They were going to take on tanks without A-10s.

  He jumped into his Humvee and the driver gunned the engine, shooting through the curtain of water and skidding onto the muddy track that led to the First Battalion. The other three Humvees were right behind. His driver had memorized the road and hurtled the Humvee at forty-five miles an hour through the night. He was a microtactician and Kamigami trusted him to do his job. Within minutes, he was at the First Battalion and explaining the situation to the CO when four TOW missile teams from the Second Battalion arrived. He sent them back up the road, toward the bridge, and told them to dig in.

  The first glow of approaching dawn lightened the heavy clouds in front of him as the low rumble of diesel engines drifted up the valley. “Are they moving?” his operations officer asked. “I don’t hear the clank of tank tracks.”

  “The mud muffles the sound,” Kamigami said. Two more TOW missile teams reported in. He sent them to the bridge. He gathered his small battle staff around him. His Cantonese was still heavily accented and he suffered from a limited vocabulary, but they understood him perfectly as he laid out how they would withdraw in force and fall back on the bridge. More TOW teams arrived and he sent them forward to reinforce the First Battalion.

  He hurried to the observation post and arrived in time to see the lead tanks slogging up the valley toward them. He frowned—the rain and dark had allowed the tanks to close to within a thousand meters. A tank stopped and fired a round. Immediately, the smoke trail of a TOW missile streaked across the land and the tank disappeared in a flash of flame and smoke. The tank’s round whistled harmlessly overhead. “They stop to fire,” he told the men. “That’s when we can kill them.” The men cheered but he said nothing. There were too many tanks supported with infantry. And all were too close.

  He needed a miracle and wasn’t sure if the rain would give it to him.

  CHAPTER 22

  Friday, October 18

  Bose Airfield, China

  “This place is a fuckin’ swamp,” Leonard groused to Pontowski as they waded across the low area between the mess tent and the command bunker. A light rain was still falling, the last of the deluge that had poured down on the base during the last twenty-four hours. “What’s it like in the Gopher Hole?”

  “Not too bad,” Pontowski answered. “The Dogs got a pump working, Marchioni’s villagers laid duckboards down and built a dike around the place. We’re fairly dry.”

  “We need to build a dike around the runway,” Leonard said.

  “Mother Nature does swing a big bat,” Pontowski said. “The weatherman says Kewa may have set a record.”

  “I can believe that,” Leonard grumbled. The rain was the last of Typhoon Kewa, which had hit the coast of China two hundred miles southeast of Bose. Kewa had spent its fury on southern China, sending heavy rains and high winds far inland, making it impossible to fly. The wing had not turned a wheel in over twenty-four hours. But the same rain had also bogged the fighting down. “Is the evacuation still on hold?”

  “Yep,” Pontowski answered. “No official word yet. The C-130 was the last plane to take off and we got a few out on it.”

  “I’m glad Sara was one of them,” Leonard mumbled. A sad undertone told Pontowski Leonard had mixed feelings about Waters’ leaving. “Maybe it is time for us to cut and run.”

  “Not yet,” Pontowski growled. “Not yet.” Leonard’s head jerked at the hard anger in Pontowski’s reply. They waded through the wate
r in silence and stepped over the sandbag dike surrounding the Gopher Hole. A pump chugged in the background, pumping water out of the bunker. Trimler was standing by the entrance, waiting for them. “G’morning, General,” Pontowski called as they snapped a salute.

  “Good morning, my ass,” Trimler said, returning the salute. “Bad news all around. I’ve received orders to shut the MAAG down and get the hell out of China today. And some genius at Fort Fumble decided to place the AVG back under my command. That means you go with the MAAG.”

  “I wondered how they were going to solve the problem of command and control during the evacuation,” Pontowski said. “Now I know.” Trimler had a few choice words to say about the orders coming out of the National Military Command Center in the Pentagon. The Army general was articulate, competent, and hard-nosed. But more important, he responded quickly to changing situations and learned from his, and others’, mistakes. Pontowski listened carefully, for Trimler was all that a general should be. And he was learning.

  “It’s official then?” Pontowski asked.

  “Official as all hell,” Trimler barked. He turned and looked over the airfield. “Our timing absolutely sucks. We’re so damn close and we’re blowing it at the last minute. Beijing has put out feelers to Zou and wants to talk accommodation.”

  “That doesn’t make sense,” Leonard protested. “Kang is Beijing’s man and he’s winning the war.”

  “Barely,” Trimler replied. “Hell, Chinese politics change quicker than the weather. If Zou can hold on a little longer … who knows.”

  The three men walked down into the bunker. Pontowski was surprised to see Trimler’s staff from the MAAG crowded around the walls. He raised an eyebrow. “You are serious about getting out,” he said.

  “The shooting’s less than fifteen miles from here,” Trimler observed. He stepped up to the situation map on the wall. “The rain and mud saved the New China Guard’s ass. But Kang is still pushing hard. He knows he’s running out of time and has forced the New China Guard up against the bridge. At last report, only Kamigami’s First Regiment is on the eastern side. Once they’re across, Kamigami will blow the bridge. That will force Kang to make an end run to the south. With the break in the weather, you can start flying again. That would slow him down. Maybe long enough for Zou to cut a deal with Beijing.”