Assault on Alpha Base (6 page)

Chapter 8

Thursday, 9 June, 1223 local

Wendover, Nevada

“You’ll have to check out the staging area by yourself. I’ve got to go to Baja.”

“Why?” Vikki Osborrn pushed back her hair. “I’m getting close to finding all we want to know about Alpha Base, including the call signs and map. We can’t afford to blow it now. Can’t you wait to go?”

Anthony Harding stood silent for a moment. He sounded weary. “I have to finalize the plans with this mercenary group that NUFA dug up.”

Vikki eyed Harding as he walked across her apartment. An old television sat in one corner, facing a threadbare couch and a coffee table. A card table and three folding chairs made up the rest of the room. Ashtrays held just as much residue from marijuana as from tobacco, and the double bed in the bedroom was unmade, with clothes were strewn over boxes.

She raised an eyebrow at Harding. Here she was, prostituting her body, giving herself to Britnell, all for a higher cause. The zeal that she and Harding had once felt was gone now, and even their lovemaking was replaced with a mechanical, almost predictable, rhythmic grinding.

Britnell’s caresses brought back the fervor—but it was tempered with the knowledge that she was no better than some slut on the main strip. It almost made her vomit to go through with it.

But it was that elusive higher law—
the end justifies the means
—that kept her smiling while courting Britnell. Through all his groping, she kept that one goal in mind: she’d put up with anything to get rid of the nukes, or at least be able to prove to the rest of the nation how easy it was to steal one.

And now Harding wanted to go cavorting off and leave
her
to finish his work.

Harding placed his hands on the back of the couch. “While I’m away you’ve got to find a landing strip in the mountains, one big enough for a C-130, so it will have to be at least a mile long. Plan to get up there, spend a few days to find what we need. I’ve got to hammer out the assault plans.”

“No. If we’re going to pull this plan off,
I’ve
got to keep seeing Britnell. His ego is too fragile. If I leave now, he’ll go to pieces. Even for a few days. Can’t you do it when you get back?”

Silence. Harding held up his hands. “Britnell can wait.”

Vikki bit her lip. She couldn’t believe that he was dismissing the whole reason for what she was doing. She spoke with an edge to her voice. “If we steal those nukes, the U.S. will take so much heat they’ll be forced to upgrade security, hopefully even get rid of most of their arsenal. If NUFA wants to bring the country to its knees, this is the way to do it. And that means working through Britnell.”

“Look, these mercenaries are running the assault,” Harding snapped. “They can’t fly in here unless we find a staging area.
They’re
the key—not Britnell. And they’re pretty dammed serious about it, too.”

“Screw the mercenaries. If they’re threatening you, then they don’t really care about the nukes. Remember why we got involved with NUFA in the first place:
to get rid of the nukes.
That’s the only thing that counts. Let’s do what we came to do.”

Harding slammed a hand against the wall. They remained silent for some time, staring at each other.

Jumbled thoughts roared through Vikki’s mind. The nukes, she thought. There’s nothing more important than getting rid of the nukes. If that wasn’t true, then she wouldn’t be leading Britnell on—having sex with the airhead every moment they were together.

Or Harding, as it was turning out. The sacrifices were piling up, but the end in sight seemed ever smaller, constricting.

Harding spoke with his back to her. He picked up his bags. “Do what you have to. But remember, no staging area, no raid. It’s as simple as that. I’m going to Baja.”

Wendover AFB, Utah

“So this is a Jolly Green Giant.”

The flight-suited man whirled and shot a glance at McGriffin’s name tag. “That’s right, sir. Actually it’s a highly modified Super Jolly Green. I’m Captain Manny Yarnez. I’ll be taking you up today.”

“How do you do, Manny. Bill’s the name.”

Manny returned McGriffin’s handshake with a firm grip. Red-haired and lithe, Manny’s infectious grin sparkled. The airman who had escorted McGriffin out to the flight line backed away to the staff car.

A flight-suited master sergeant who looked at least five years older than McGriffin walked around the craft, completing a preflight checklist. He nodded to McGriffin as he passed.

Manny squinted at McGriffin’s pilot wings. “Fixed wing?”

“C-17’s for thirteen years.”

Manny whistled. “Must be nice. We get our share of Globemasters through here.”

McGriffin looked wistful. “I’ve noticed.” He started to warm up to the chopper pilot.

Manny motioned for McGriffin to follow him around the craft. He walked behind the master sergeant, quickly looking over the blades and ensuring all panels were closed. Manny reached inside the cockpit and hauled out a flight log. He scanned the names and dates, then nodded to himself. “Looks like we’re in luck. She’s good for another ten hours.”

McGriffin looked along the helicopter’s side. The skin looked strange in the sunlight. It was dull black, devoid of any shine. The rotor assembly was encased in the same material. Examining the skin closer, he couldn’t even see where the sun reflected. He rubbed a finger against the fuselage; the skin was ice cold. “What have you guys painted this with?”

Ducking back around to the opposite side, Manny swung up into the craft. McGriffin hesitated, then followed. Manny said absently, “It’s a radar absorber. It cuts our cross section down to almost zero. That, the exterior design and the electronic countermeasure gear add about five hundred pounds to our weight. The drawback is that the paint also absorbs heat like crazy but doesn’t radiate it, so it heats up fast inside. That keeps us from being a sitting duck for infrared sensors, but we lose five pounds from sweating every time we fly.” He motioned for McGriffin to climb into the jump seat behind the pilot’s seat. Strapping himself in, he turned and grinned back at McGriffin.

“They’re adding all kinds of bells-and-whistles to our birds. I guess they’ve forgotten we’re supposed to be rescue. They tried to redesignate us as SH-53’s, but we nearly revolted. If they wanted stealth capability, they should have bought some more B-2’s and left us alone. But that’s politics for you.” He scanned flight line. “As soon as Lieutenant Nederman gets out here, we’ll be ready to blast off.”

McGriffin leaned forward in his seat. “Sorry about the short notice. I’m trying to hit most of the units on base while I still have some free time.”

“S’all right. Have you been up yet?”

“Not here. I have a private pilot’s license, but haven’t gotten a chance to check out a plane. In fact, that sounds like a good idea. I’d appreciate you showing me around the whole base.”

“Good. We’ll give you the VIP tour then. Just sit back and enjoy.”

A young lieutenant climbed on board, interrupting Manny. Manny shot a glance over his shoulder. “You ready, Bill?” Manny didn’t wait for McGriffin’s answer. Flicking on his mike, he gave a thumbs-up to the master sergeant in the rear of the craft. The flight engineer flipped on the helicopter’s auxiliary power unit; a whine split the air. Manny turned; he had a twinkle in his eye. “Let me know if you get airsick.”

McGriffin snorted.
Me? Airsick in a helicopter?
He was going to like this guy.

Friday, 10 June, 0925 local

Baja, Mexico

The ocean was two miles away, but Harding could hear the deep sound of waves crashing against the craggy coastline. Humidity permeated the air. The dirt landing strip ran past the Cessna, stretching out until it ended in a jumble of boulders. The sky was cloudless, and the blueness was so deep it reminded Harding of the flight down here when he looked out the window and saw the Sea of Cortez stretching out below. Miles above any pollution, when he looked up he had felt as if he could see the stars.

It was a wild jumble of sunshine, desert rocks, shimmering heat, and ocean. Baja was an untamed paradise.

Harding stood by the single-engine airplane that had flown him from Orange County’s John Wayne Airport. A helicopter and two small planes were secured at the opposite end of the runway. A large four-engine plane, painted solid black, sat fifty yards away. It was a military transport, but it bore no identifying markings. Harding couldn’t place the model, but it looked like a C-130.

To his left stood a mock-up of an Alpha Base storage bunker. Tin siding substituted for concrete walls, but the effect was the same: it presented a monolithic fortress to conquer.

A set of four fences ran on the other side of the bunker. The facility was not to scale, but it gave the terrorists something to practice with.

They were alone, the nearest people tens of miles away. Do’brainese guards ensured their privacy, driving back approaching fishermen and enterprising four-wheelers coming down from the north.

Standing in front of Harding, General Ashtah looked resplendent in his Do’brainese uniform: gold piping, flashy ribbons, jaunty cap. Harding snorted; the general also looked like a tin soldier. Old and wheezing, the officer acted as if he were in the midst of his last hurrah.

A group of fifty men lounged behind the general, eating assorted fruits and laughing quietly among themselves. They sprawled over rusting jeeps. A few managed to find some shade under the aircraft’s wing. For the most part they seemed content to rest instead of work. A few pointed comments drifted from the group.

One man stood apart from the others. Erect and impeccably dressed in a creased khaki uniform, the man appeared to be the real leader of the group; he carried himself differently from the Do’brainese general who now had Harding’s attention.

Harding recalled the Do’brai connection that had brought him here: in a daring attempt to kidnap the President of the U.S. and force America’s hand for supporting Third World demands, Do’brai had lost face when the kidnapping had failed. And failed spectacularly. An American rescue mission had not only brought back the President, but had also brought back the Do’brainese general responsible for planning the coup.

No wonder these guys want revenge, Harding thought. And they couldn’t have picked anyone better than me to pull this together.

Harding smiled and said, “General Ashtah, my associate, Vikki Osborrn, has been instrumental in our effort to gain entry into Alpha Base. She has gained the confidence of one of the guards, and he has brought her into his circle of friends.”

General Ashtah removed his cap and wiped at his brow with a handkerchief. He smiled crookedly and spoke excellent English. “Yes, Vikki is playing a very important role.”

“This is not a game, General.”

“No, it is not. But nevertheless, I wanted your personal assurance that this operation will not fail.”

“It won’t. There is too much at stake.”

“Ah, yes,” said General Ashtah slowly. He swiped at his brow. “And if something goes wrong—”

“I said it
won’t,”
interrupted Harding.

“It always does,” said Ashtah gently. He put his cap back on and motioned with his hand. “Here, let us walk and enjoy the view.”

Harding and Ashtah walked abreast of each other. The general strolled with his hands in his pockets. They walked away from the crude runway toward a field of boulders.

Once out of range of the men, General Ashtah toed a rock. “Have you ever been to the Baja peninsula, Dr. Harding?”

“No.”

The general bent over and picked up the rock. He turned it over in his hand. “It is a beautiful place. Sunny, desolate—it is almost like my home of Do’brai, except for this humidity.” He pulled out his handkerchief and wiped at his brow. “The Mexican government has given us permission to use this little spot with no strings attached.”

Harding looked impatient. “What’s your point?”

The general eyed a boulder and tossed his rock at it. The stone missed, then careened off another boulder. He wiped his hands and turned back to Harding. “My homeland was invaded by an American force not long ago. The event was not publicized, but we lost a great deal of face that day—as well as one of our generals.”

Ashtah waved his arm at the collection of men. “When I turn over Colonel Renault and his men to you, we are making a commitment to bring the U.S. to its knees for what it did to us. We could not do this without your help—and you cannot proceed without ours. It places us in a very vulnerable situation, Dr. Harding. If we are discovered, we may be invaded again, and this time, the Americans may not leave … ” His voice trailed off.

Harding brushed away tiny beads of perspiration forming on his brow. “My country is committing a crime against humanity, stockpiling these nuclear weapons. Anything I can do to prevent the United States from having them is well worth my life.”

“Your life may depend on it, Dr. Harding.”

“I realize that.”

“And so may the life of this Vikki Osborrn.”

Harding hesitated. “Vikki is not aware of Do’brai’s involvement in this operation. The only reason she is participating in the raid is to increase security at Alpha Base, to show how easy it is to steal a nuke, and perhaps to have the U.S. reduce its number of nuclear weapons. She believes this is purely a NUFA-backed operation. She is very
idealistic
 …”

General Ashtah raised an eyebrow. “I do not want idealism to get in the way of practicality.”

Harding set his mouth. “She may be idealistic, but she is critical to the plan. On the other hand,
no one
is expendable. So if she gets in the way …” He shrugged.

A warm gust blew past, sending the general’s hat sailing. He grabbed at it and juggled it until he had a good grasp. “Very well, Dr. Harding. I am glad we had this meeting. I appreciate your sincerity.”

“And I appreciate yours, General.”

General Ashtah turned smartly and strode briskly to the military transport. Harding followed at his heels.

The group of men sprang to attention when Ashtah approached. He spoke sharply to them in an incomprehensible language. When he stopped, the men cheered. Ashtah turned and nodded to Harding before commandeering a jeep and driving away.