Armageddon

THE CAPITAL OF THE TINY REGION WAS A SMALL VILLAGE FIVE miles from the base. The road through the jungle was paved and easy to travel. Once they reached the village, however, they found that the main street was no wider than a sidewalk back home; they had to leave the Humvee near a pack of small houses and walk in on foot. Dog and the two soldiers got about ten feet before they were surrounded by a mob of children. The Army men had come prepared—they pulled pieces of candy from their pockets, making sure the kids got a good look at them before tossing them to the side. But there were so many children that the way remained clogged.

Dog tried to push them aside as gently as possible. One kid held onto his leg, and the only way to dislodge him was to pick him up. This actually helped clear the way for some reason, the other kids stepping back to get a better glimpse of their friends in the stranger’s arms.

“Here we go, Colonel,” said one of the sergeants, pointing to a white-washed three-story building made of masonry block. It had no sign but it was clearly the most substantial building on the block.

Dog made it to the threshold, still holding the child. He turned around awkwardly, then settled the tyke on the ground.

“Sheesh,” he said.

“Yeah,” said Sergeant Lang. “Almost enough to make you get a vasectomy.”

Dog roared with laughter.

The meeting lasted only a few minutes. Dog thanked the Malaysian region’s lieutenant governor with some stock phrases a State Department official had suggested. The Malaysian, who spoke impeccable English, assured him that his country was a “steadfast ally” and would provide any hospitality possible.

“A truckload of water would be greatly appreciated,” said Dog, adding that the Malaysian base commander had said the arrangements were already in place.

The lieutenant governor knew about this and said it would be arranged. And then he suggested that they have something to eat. This could not be refused without giving offense, and Dog and the soldiers went inside to an office that had been hastily made over into an impromptu banquet hall.

The soldiers were familiar with the local cuisine. Even better, they were extremely hungry, and while his rank demanded that Dog take the first bite, he had no trouble letting his companions consume most of the food. They raved about the satay; Dog nodded and picked strategically at his plate, making sure to sample and praise everything while ingesting as little as possible.

After forty-five minutes of lunch, he used another State Department supplied formula to excuse himself. The Malaysian protested; he apologized and excused himself again; they protested once more, though less profusely, and Dog repeated the formula. The procedure took ten whole minutes to complete. Finally outside, he and his two escorts made it about halfway up the block before the children appeared again. Once more Dog found his way blocked by a two-year-old. He hoisted the kid to his chest, then scooped up another and made it to the Humvee.

“You could run for mayor, Colonel,” said Lang as they eased the Hummer back onto the highway.

“Yeah.”

“You got kids?” asked the other soldier, who was driving.

Dog laughed. “Yeah. One. She’s a captain in the Air Force. Matter of fact, she should be on the ground back at our little base by now”

The sergeant did a double take. Dog decided that he would recommend the man for a decoration for his diplomatic tact.

“I got a two-year-old,” said the sergeant. “Smartest little kid you ever saw.”

“I’ll bet,” said Dog.

“Then he sure can’t be related to you, huh?” said Lang.

“Always busting my chops,” said the soldier.

As he spoke, the Humvee ran over a mine that had been planted in the road. It exploded under the left front wheel, killing the driver and throwing Dog and the other sergeant out of the vehicle into the brush beyond the shoulder of the highway.

Off the coast of Brunei

1200

Da

The hangars were owned by His Royal Highness Pehin bin Awg; he used them to house his impeccable collection of Cold War aircraft, including the MiG-19 that Brunei Air Commodore McKe

“That section of the airport is completely isolated,” McKe

Da

“Drop me off, I take the MiG,” said McKe

“Risky operation to retrieve one aircraft,” Da

“Well, I’d take more if I could.” She laughed and hooked her thumbs into her belt loops, looking a bit like a Canadian cowboy. “You find me some more pilots. I’ve flown that MiG-19, though, and I know I can operate it off my strip. As long as the parachute at the rear works.”

“What else is in there?”

“A very nice but temperamental F-86, a large Tu-16 Badger C—Mack Smith’s claim to fame—and a Hawker Hunter. I don’t know what model Hunter it is, but it dates from the fifties. Everything else he has doesn’t fly, at least not reliably.”

“I’d rather blow them up than steal them.”

“Seems like a waste of good hardware,” she told him. “None of the planes are going anywhere without good pilots. And trust me, there aren’t too many of them on the island. But go ahead—blow them up right after I take the MiG”

“How are you going to maintain the MiG if you take it?”

“Two of bin Awg’s men are back at my base. Think of it this way, Captain: You say you can’t spare either of your helicopters to transport me back to my airbase at least until tomorrow night. This way, not only do I get back to my base, but you take out a potential threat. You trash the hangars and they’ll be out of business.”

“I can order an air strike by the Megafortress,” said Da

“Where’s the fun in that?”

Da

“Yeah, no shit,” she said. “Look, taking that plane out of there helps everybody and it’s easier than hell. I see by your blimp video thing no one’s around. The approach is isolated from the rest of the airport—it’ll be bodaciously easier than what it took for you to launch that bag of air down south.”

“I don’t know.”

“If you don’t help me do it, I’ll swim ashore and find my own way to the hangar.”

“Hey, Cap,” said Bison, monitoring the LADS images. “We got movement going into the airport. One vehicle. No—two, a car and a fuel truck”

“They heading toward the Megafortress or the civilian plane?”

Bison waited a second, watching. “Looks like the Megafortress.”

North of Meruta

1209

As Dog started to get up from the dirt he smacked his head against the side of a tree or a rock and rebounded to the side, rolling into a thick clump of brush. He pulled his head back, got his arms under him, and looked up, disoriented and not completely sure what the hell was going on. Something fell against him, a green blur—it was one of the Special Forces soldiers, scrambling back toward the road. Dog pushed after him, then threw himself down as an automatic weapon began popping somewhere to the right. The SF soldier did the same; Dog crawled up next to him and saw that the soldier had recovered his rifle, a small, lightweight version of the M16 favored by special operations troops and known as the M4.