Assault on Alpha Base (7 page)

Harding walked toward the men. They formed a ragged semicircle in front of him.

One man, the man who appeared to be in charge, stepped forward. He took a deep drag on a cigarette and threw it to the ground. “I’m Macklin Renault, in charge of this unit. General Ashtah said that you’ll brief us about Alpha Base.”

Harding looked puzzled as he shook Renault’s hand. “Mr. Renault, I thought the Do’brainese militia would assist us.”

Renault smiled wearily. His blond hair contrasted with a deep tan, his eyes steady, unwavering, as they seemed to take in every detail. “Perhaps I should have introduced myself as
Colonel
Renault, Doctor. My men are commissioned in Do’brai’s army.”

“But you’re obviously not Do’brainese …”

Renault spoke softly. “Does it matter, Dr. Harding? The French have fought their wars for years like this. I hesitate to call us mercenaries—it’s such a strong word—but it’s fairly descriptive.”

Harding raised his brows. “I don’t think it matters where you’re from, Colonel. As long as I have your allegiance.”

“No problem with that. That’s what we’re getting paid for. My men swear their allegiance to me; they come from all nations and are bound to none.
My
orders are to obey your instructions. Now, I think you had better fill us in on Alpha Base.” He steered him away from the other men, toward the military transport.

“Just a minute.” Harding went back to the Cessna and grabbed a satchel. He lugged the brown bag to Renault. Clearing a place in the dirt underneath one of the military transport’s wings, Harding pulled out a handful of U.S. Park Service maps. Kneeling, they pored over them.

Renault pointed at one of the maps. “The crucial item is a staging area for the C-130, away from the public eye but close enough for a helicopter to fly in from Alpha Base.”

Harding turned red, remembering the fuss that Vikki had made. “We’re taking care of that. But what about your men? Who are the key players?”

Renault stood and nodded to his legion of mercenaries. “I’ve known these men for years. Some of them are like my own sons.” He searched the men’s faces for a moment, then pointed. “There, Frank Koch, the sandy-haired man sitting by the runway … and over there, Pablo Lesueur, the Jamaican by the mock-up bunker. Those are two of my best.”

Harding stood, wiping his hands on his pants. He squinted at the man called Koch; the man sat alone and chewed on a fingernail, silently looking out over the runway.

Renault said, “Koch was born too late for the second Iraq war. He joined the Army when he was seventeen and tried to get into Airborne. They refused him a chance for his third jump after he decked the Airborne chaplain, so he put in for helicopter training.

“The Army felt that it had to give people a second chance. So instead of a court-martial, he went to Fort Rucker, flying choppers. But at Rucker he decked his flight instructor after a shouting match on the tarmac, something about Koch sleeping with the instructor’s wife. That time they booted him out of the Army. Now he flies for me.”

Renault nodded next to the Jamaican. Tall and lanky, Pablo Lesueur kicked a small ball around with some men. Renault said, “Pablo joined me five years ago. I needed a guard to direct an arms shipment in at night. Pablo held ten flares in a row, keeping them until the flame burned down to his fingers, the last smoldering his flesh so he couldn’t open his hand. But the shipment got through, all because of him.”

Renault turned at Harding. “He’ll do anything, and won’t quit while he’s at it. The same goes for Koch.”

Harding stood and stretched his legs. He said, “Okay, sounds good. But what about the two hundred guards on Alpha Base? Can your men really take out the barracks?”

Renault narrowed his eyes. “We’ve got it down to a science, Dr. Harding. Watch.” He turned and snapped an order in Spanish. One of his men jumped up and dragged a mortar in front of Harding.

Renault pointed to a shack, hundreds of yards away.

Kneeling, the man took a sighting and adjusted the weapon. He looked up. At Renault’s nod, he dropped a round into the mortar. A blast erupted from the device. Seconds later the shack exploded in a ball of flames.

Harding’s eyes widened. “Impressive.”

Looking back at the map Renault said, “Dr. Harding, we’ve got a well thought out plan. My men will go over several variations until we’re comfortable, and they can execute it in their sleep. The key is to attack Alpha Base when they’re least expecting it. In the meantime, if you can iron out things on your end, I think one more meeting should do it.”

“Good.” Harding vigorously shook his hand. “We’ll have the landing strip and moving van ready this week.”

“My men can move out with a few hours notice.” Renault held out his hand. “But can you obtain the call signs and map? If we’re going to do this right under their noses, we have to have the proper clearance to land at Wendover.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem. Vikki—the woman working with me—is obtaining a detailed map of Alpha Base as well as the correct call signs and protocols.” Harding shook Renault’s hand. “I’ll fly down later in the week and accompany you to the staging area. Vikki will be in position to give us a go when everything is ready.”

“Good. That leaves one final item. Can you get hold of an IFF?” At Harding’s puzzled look, Renault said, “Don’t worry about what it means. If Vikki can get one, it will make our job a hell of a lot easier. Otherwise, we’ll have to drive right up to Alpha Base.”

Harding nodded. “We’ll work on it.”

“Great. Good luck.”

As Harding left, Renault commandeered his men into a semicircle around him. Renault pointed to various points around the four fences and mock-up of Alpha Base.

The Cessna rocked slightly when Harding climbed inside. He slammed the door and shimmied into the right seat, next to the pilot. The plane’s engine sputtered as it caught, revving up to maximum power.

The plane bounced a few times as it sped down the dirt runway. The sensation was almost gut-wrenching as the small craft finally hopped into the air. They climbed in altitude as they banked away from the peninsula.

The plane suddenly dove low, reaching for the valleys in between the northern Mexican terrain as it attempted to elude American border patrols. Pressed into service for drug interdiction, the Navy’s E-2 radar planes could spot them if they flew too high. The craft bounced in the thermals. Harding’s stomach flipped with every bump. But it was nothing compared to what was to come.

Salt Lake City, Utah

The man grinned at Vikki, but it looked more like a leer. He spread his elbows out over the counter and picked at his teeth. “Now, let me get this straight. You want this moving van for two weeks?”

“That’s right.”

“And you’re going to deliver it back here?”

“What’s so unusual about that?” Vikki grew impatient.

The man straightened. The lot behind him overflowed with various-size trucks, everything from pickups to thirty-two-foot-long vans. Dirt piled up in a corner of the office. A board holding the vehicle keys was full. He pushed a set of papers across the counter.

“Look, lady. Most people are either moving in or out of Salt Lake. No one rents a moving van for two weeks and doesn’t leave town.”

Vikki scribbled her name on the sheet and looked up heatedly. “It’s none of your damned business, but if you have to know, my girlfriend and I are taking our time moving to a new apartment.” She pushed back her hair. It was hard enough dealing with this clown, especially after Harding had come back, making more demands on her time with IFF’s and other nonsense.

The man’s grin widened. “You know, if you need any help—”

“We don’t.” Vikki pushed the papers back to the man. She pulled out a wad of bills and shoved them toward him. “That should cover it.”

The man shrugged. Turning, he picked off one of the keys from the board and handed it to her. “You’ve got the first twenty-four-footer on the lot. It’s the one with the cabin over the driver’s seat. It’s due back the week after Wednesday, three o’clock sharp. And bring it back with a full tank of gas.”

Vikki swept up the key and turned to leave. The man called after her, “Don’t forget to double-clutch in low gear.” Vikki ignored him and headed for the moving van.

Chapter 9

Monday, 13 June, 1400 local

Wendover AFB, Nevada

With six hours of sleep under his belt, McGriffin felt better than he had in months. Well, weeks at least. His command post schedule was reminiscent of flying Air Mobility Command hops across the pond.

For some unknown reason, AMC aircraft couldn’t take off at a decent hour. It had to be one in the morning, or some such nonsense. That first year he flew 17’s, he didn’t know the sun shined at most of the bases he flew into.

McGriffin was feeling reckless, so he decided to pass up the usual trip to the AAFES grill and splurge on some real food downtown. Earlier, a quick jaunt in a Cessna at the aero club qualified him for flying the club’s airplanes. If the wind gusts hadn’t been so bad, he’d have stayed up longer.

For the second time since he’d arrived at Wendover, he decided to use what little free time he had and run into town. The first had been a disappointing jaunt to check out the local churches—aside from the usual “grip-and-grin” snake-oil salesmen masquerading as Christians, he hadn’t been able to find a true Bible-teaching congregation. It was going to be a long tour.

Before leaving the Bachelor Officer Quarters, he rinsed out his hair and allowed his locks to fly. After Colonel DeVries’s pointed comments, he was careful to keep his hair looking short by plastering it to his head. But he didn’t have to keep it slicked down if he wasn’t in uniform. Looking like a civilian, he finally felt human again.

Wendover, Nevada

The view off Interstate 80 was breathtaking. Situated just outside the small town, several observation towers stood by the highway, allowing tourists to take in the scenery. Standing in one of the towers, white sand stretched as far as he could see. In the distance the heat rose as a shimmering wave, making the ground appear as if it were submerged.

The warmth felt good. Even though he had fallen in love with Tacoma, the wet rain chilled him and he had never seemed able to shake it. But now the warmth permeated his bones. Along with the dry air, he felt as if he could never leave the desert. Realizing he’d been holding his breath, he let out a lungful of air.

“It takes your breath away, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah.” McGriffin turned. The woman was stunning. Long blond hair hung straight down. She didn’t wear any makeup; rounded breasts pleasantly filled her blouse. McGriffin turned back to the railing. He hadn’t heard her approach.

The woman joined him, propping her elbows up on the metal railing. They were shielded from the sun, but the sun’s reflection still made them squint. The woman flipped her hair back over a shoulder.

“It’s so white. The sand seems unreal,” she said.

McGriffin pointed to where the sand ran up against the mountains. “It makes the mountains look purple.”

She squinted to where he pointed. “You’re right.” The woman turned and leaned back against the railing. She studied him and folded her arms. “You a local?”

“I’ve been here for about a week. Just moved into town.”

“So did I.”

Her voice had a slight bite to it—almost as if she were hardened against something. But she seemed pleasant enough.

She turned and leaned on the railing. A breeze made her hair fly. “It sure is beautiful here.”

“If you think this is pretty, you ought to see it from the air.”

“You a pilot?”

“Yeah. I fly a little.” Not nearly as much as I’d like, he thought. He didn’t expound. He didn’t know how people reacted to the military presence around here yet. Some people were funny about finding out he was in the Air Force—his longish hair usually hid the fact. He changed the subject by motioning with his head to an old woman running a snack stand. “Thirsty?” The woman furrowed her brows as if in deep thought. McGriffin waited a moment, then said, “You’re not going anywhere, are you? Come on, how about a pop?”

She suddenly brightened. “Sure, why not? I’ve got time.”

McGriffin dug out a bill and paid for both drinks over her protests.

She drained half the soft drink before putting it down. McGriffin sipped his as she wiped at her mouth. She said, “I didn’t realize I was that thirsty.”

“The humidity is so low, your perspiration evaporates nearly as fast as it’s formed. It’s easy to overheat and not know it.” McGriffin caught himself. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to lecture. I—”

“No, it’s all right. Really.” She sipped at her drink. “I’ve been here about a week, and I haven’t taken time to learn anything about Wendover. You know, do the tourist thing.”

“I lived in Washington State for almost two years before getting out and seeing the area.” And that was only because of the divorce, thought McGriffin.

The woman thought for a moment. “You know, I did about the same thing. Lived in the Bay Area for years and never really saw that much.”

They were silent for some minutes while they finished their drinks. McGriffin stole a few glances at her before tossing his container in the trash. He glanced at his watch.
Command post in two hours.
“Well, I’d probably better be going. It was nice meeting you.” He stopped, stymied over what to say next.

She stuck out her hand. “I’m Vikki Osborrn. Glad to meet you.”

“Bill McGriffin. Uh, maybe I can buy you another drink sometime?”

She brushed back her hair. “Sure. I’d like that.”

McGriffin patted his pockets and pulled out a pen. “I could give you a call.”

She hesitated; then, “Sure.” She scribbled a number and gave the paper back to him. “I’m free most days before five.”

“Great.” McGriffin backed up as he was leaving. “Great, I’ll call. Great.” He almost stumbled over a trash can on his way out.

Tuesday, 14 June, 1920 local

Wendover, Nevada

“Who was it?”

“Nobody important.” Vikki put down the phone and smiled at Britnell. He unsteadily drained his fifth beer and bleared at her.

“Then who are you meeting at noon tomorrow? I heard you make an appointment.”

Vikki slid up to the young airman and gave him a peck on the cheek. He wasn’t as drunk as she had thought. “Some guy at the airport. I’m looking into taking flying lessons.” Britnell grunted and pushed her backward on the bed.

Vikki ran her hands across his shoulders. “I’m really going to miss you when you go out to the Pit. I wish I could see you.”

Britnell seemed jolted, as if his week-long stay coming up at Alpha Base were a revelation to him. “There’s a way to get around it. Ever hear of an Identification Friend or Foe, an IFF?” His words were slurred.

Vikki grew alert. “Hmmm?”

“I’ve got one in my Bronco. I might be able to get away for a while—the IFF will mask us. You don’t have to wait a week for me to get off duty.”

“Sounds fascinating.” She didn’t want to seem too eager; besides, she’d be able to pull more out of him when he was coherent. “George.”

“Uh?”

“That construction contract, the one my company is bidding for?”

“Yeah—what about it?”

“Is there any way you could get me an area map of the Pit? That’s the last bit of information we need. If we knew where the service lines were located, we could bid a bigger building for the new barracks.”

“New barracks?” He thought for a moment, blinking. “Sure, that’s no problem. The place is a rat hole now.”

“Don’t say anything about this—they might think you’re giving us an unfair advantage in the competition.”

“There’s no competing with you, babe.”

Vikki closed her eyes. She tried not to grimace as Britnell moved on top of her, roughly.

The motions seemed to come mechanically. She bit her lip and stole a quick glance at her watch.
Five minutes.
The erotic rapture had fled, leaving only garlic from dinner and beer-laced sweat from coupling. Another few minutes and he’d be through— either hopelessly spent, or too drunk to continue the sex.

It was coupling, executed in dull, automated fashion.

Vikki turned her head and looked at the smartphone.