Tomorrow War (15 page)

Y was not attending this bash. He was lying in his bunk, slurping a huge glass of brandy, with his eyes transfixed on the small door that led into his quarter’s tiny head.

The light was on inside this small bathroom, and every few seconds Y could see a graceful shadow move about on the other side. With each of these movements, he felt his heart leap a bit.

He sipped his drink in an effort to get his heart beating normally again.

What was happening to him?

He didn’t know. He’d been on dangerous missions before—he was, after all, a seasoned OSS agent. But nothing had affected his mind like this little sortie to Asia. Was he going just a bit mad? Was this constant state of déjà vu the result of a slowly creeping dementia?

No, it didn’t seem to be. And it didn’t seem that simple. Going insane was easy … or easier than this.

He felt like he was living someone else’s life, with bits and pieces of his own life thrown in, too. What strange feeling was this? Since leaving Edwards, just about everything he did from the moment he woke up to the moment he passed out every night seemed
so
familiar to him.

And then there was his drinking. He’d been drunk—falling-down, blacked-out drunk—exactly twice before in his lifetime. One upon graduating high school, and again when graduating college.

But ever since this mission began, he’d craved alcohol like never before. More than food. Or sleep. Or oxygen. So he had this odd thing factored in: He was walking through this mission partially bombed. Could this be causing the strange been-here/done-this feeling? Or was the reverse true? Was he drinking so much because this ultra déjà vu was just too much to handle sober?

He slurped his glass of brandy and tried to shake all of these weird thoughts from his mind. The answer will come soon enough, he told himself.

Or as a song once put it: “Just wait, maybe the answer’s looking for you.”

He leaned down to refill his brandy glass, and when he looked up again, he saw the door to the bathroom slowly opening.

Ah, yes. There was a third factor in all this …

And she was about to come out of the door.

Emma. She was beautiful. She was sexy. She was young. Her body was almost childlike—both to Y’s shame and delight. She was so sweet, he had a hard time convincing himself that she was part of the world’s oldest profession. She had such an aura about her—the perfect virgin image—that anytime he kissed her, or touched her, or did anything to her, it really seemed like it was the first time she’d ever experienced it.

Or at least that’s how it seemed to him. But what would he know? He was drunk all the time and possibly losing his mind.

The door finally opened, and there she stood in the faint light of the bare bulb behind her. Hair in pigtails, just a very short T-shirt covering her, she actually put her finger to her mouth and smiled nervously.

Y gulped his drink and poured another, and then reached for her hand and guided her to the bunk.

This would be their fifth night together, yet it always seemed like the first. How strange was that? Here he was, feeling like he was doing all this before, yet when he was with Emma it always seemed like the first time.

If this is going nuts, then book me first class,
he thought as she snuggled up to him.

She removed the t-shirt, and Y’s heart nearly came up through his throat when he saw her erotically small breasts. More brandy, and then he kissed her. She sipped his drink and then moved her hands south of his belt.

“Do you ever dream?” he heard a voice ask.

He startled himself—he had asked the question.

“What do you mean?” Emma asked back sweetly—freezing her hands in position.

Y wasn’t sure. He didn’t even know why he asked the question at a time when no questions needed to be asked—never mind one so … philosophical?

“I guess I mean, what do you dream about … when you dream?”

Emma propped her head up on her hand and actually snuggled a bit closer to him. She stared off into the distance.

“Well, I dream a lot about when I was growing up,” she said. “We lived all over Asia. Kong Hong, mostly. It was such fun growing up the way I did.”

“You talk like it was a million years ago,” Y said. “Not just two or three.”

“It seems like a million,” she said. “Especially after being captured by those pirates.”

She was suddenly hugging him tightly.

“What would have happened if you didn’t rescue me?” she asked, tears choking her words for the moment.

Y hugged her back. There was an extremely warm feeling welling up inside him.

God, he thought.

Was he … falling … in love?

“But I also have very strange dreams,” she said, breaking his line of concentration.

“Strange in what way?”

She thought another moment.

“Well, I have one that keeps coming back to me every few months,” she said. “What do you call that? Reinventing?”

“Reoccurring,” he corrected her.

“Yes, that’s it!” she said excitedly. “It keeps ‘reoccurring.’ Sometimes a couple times a week. It’s very strange.”

Y was suddenly interested in something more than a drink or getting his oil changed.

“What is it, this dream?” he asked her. “Tell me about it.”

She smiled and shook her head. “No, it’s too silly. Too weird.”

Y sat up and took her in his arms. “Tell me,” he said.

She looked up at him with her huge blue eyes and just shrugged.

“It’s going to sound very strange,” she began. “But I’m always sitting in a very small room. There is a man with a gun hiding behind the door. I’m wearing a negligee but it is very cold outside, and the window to this room is wide open. I can see out the window, and there are mountains that go up so high, it looks like the stars are below their peaks.

“And I’m very frightened, because the man with the gun is telling me that he’ll kill me if I make a sound. But on the other hand, I’m not so frightened because someone is on the other side of the door and I’m sure he is going to save me.

“And sure enough, the door swings open and he walks in. He looks at me and I look at him, and it’s as if we know each other. As if we had sailed on a ship—a ship like this one—sometime before. But he really doesn’t remember. Then he spots the guy with the gun. And the guy grabs me and carries me out the window!

“Well, this hero guy chases after the bad guy—so the bad guy leaps from the window to the roof of the next building. I don’t know how he didn’t drop me. We just sail through the air like we were made to fly. And this is really weird—I think this has a sexual connection … is that the right word?”

“Connotation …,” Y told her.

“Yes, that’s it,” she said. “I see this huge bird flying over us as we are going from one building to the other. It’s like a dinosaur bird. Real long beak, long weird sharp wings.”

Y poured out another glass of brandy for them to share, but wound up draining it himself.

“A pterodactyl?” he said, his speech slurring badly.

“Yes, maybe,” she said. “Anyway, the hero guy starts shooting everything and everybody, and he’s able to get me away from the bad guys. But then these airplane bombers come and they start dropping bombs right on top of us. And the building we are on starts to collapse. But the hero guy holds onto me—and we somehow land on the street without getting hurt. And here are these huge things blowing up all around us, and there are firemen and they are pouring milk onto the fires! Isn’t
that
strange?

“Well, after that, we just go to where ever the heck I’m living in this weird town, and we are going to … you know … well, do it … and then some guys the hero knows come and get him. I think they are Russians. And they take him to go fly someplace. And, well, and that’s it …”

She paused for a second.

“But you know the weirdest thing about all this?” she asked. “This hero guy. I find out what his name is. In the dream. I knew him. And his name was Hawk … which is really odd now because that’s the name of this friend of yours that you’re trying to find out here. Right?”

But Y never heard her.

The brandy had gotten to him.

He’d passed out long ago.

T
HE NEXT DAY DAWNED
bright and clear.

The Gulf of Tonkin was shimmering in the rising sun, the calm water reflecting the first rays like millions of diamonds stretched across the horizon.

The deck of the carrier was very busy. The HellJet bomber that had been converted to a cargo carrier was packed to the rivets with provisions, weapons, communications equipment, and ammo.

The crew had been shorn down from thirteen to four. All the onboard weapons-delivery systems had been replaced with extra fuel tanks. The ratio for the four double-reaction engines had been ratcheted down to make for better air cruising as it was not expected that this particular aircraft would be doing any high-speed, high-altitude dive-bombing anytime soon.

There was a small gathering of principals near the nose of the huge bomber. The Jones boys were there, as were Crabb, Zoltan, Bro Baulis, and the commander of the Irish tugboats.

These men had met through the night, planning the mission that lay ahead. While the preset airplane flight was going to lead to places unknown, all agreed that it was paramount that they stay in touch with the carrier. So it was determined that the carrier/tugboat/seaplane melange would pull up anchor and head south into the Gulf of Thailand. From there, unless otherwise informed, the triad would head west, around Singapore, through the Straits of Malacca, and into the Indian Ocean, if need be.

The odd task force would find protection in the remaining AirCats on board. At various times it was agreed that the Bro-Bird would unhitch from its towing duties and take to the air as a kind of long-range recon platform. With its sophisticated radio and TV gear, it was hoped that the aerial diversion by the huge seaplane would provide those on the Z-16 with a receiver from which they could send and get secure messages.

This way the progress of the Z-16 could be monitored, no matter where it might lead. Or at least that was the plan ….

It was now 0630 hours. Those taking the ride back to Long Bat were ready to go—all except one person.

No one had seen Y since earlier the previous evening. Now several crew members had gone below looking for him. Five minutes passed while those on the deck cooled their heels and waited impatiently for the wayward OSS officer. He finally appeared on deck at 0645. The mission was already fifteen minutes late in taking off.

Y had to be helped onto the deck by one crewman holding him under one arm, and Emma, looking sporty in a pair of very small, very tight combat fatigues, holding him under the other. Y was drunk, but trying his best to look sober. The Jones boys had no reaction; Zoltan and Crabb cringed at the sight of their friend. With little ceremony he was helped aboard the HellJet, his briefcase communication Boomer box stowed away with him. That’s when Emma began climbing aboard—and that’s when the Jones boys spoke up.

“Sorry, ma’am,” Seth Jones said as politely as possible. “But under the circumstances, I don’t think that—”

“She’s coming,” Y interrupted him.

Everyone turned back to Y slouched in his seat, already strapped in, eyes barely open.

“Do you really think that is wise?” Dave Jones asked him.

Y’s eyes suddenly came to life.

“I don’t give a fuck whether it’s wise or not,” he roared. “I’m top dog here and I say she’s coming.”

The Jones boys froze in place. What was going to happen here? The mission could go on without them, but it would become infinitely more dangerous without their support.

Dave Jones stepped up. “For what reason should she come?” he plainly asked Y.

Y leaned back and looked at the ceiling of the airplane. “Let’s just say she’ll function as a good-luck charm,” he said slowly.

The Jones boys contemplated this, then Seth said: “Oh, really? Do you mind if we get an expert opinion on that?”

This comment caused Y to open his eyes a bit farther.

“Expert opinion?” he asked, slurring his words. “From who?”

They all turned to Zoltan, whose face sank a mile.

“Well, swami?” Dave Jones asked. “Is she going to be an asset or a liability if she comes along? What’s your crystal ball say about that one?”

Zoltan looked a good long time at Y, then at Emma, and then at the Jones boys. It seemed like everything just stopped. The wind. The sound of the sea. Even the HellJet’s whisper engines seemed to go down a notch in volume.

Zoltan closed his eyes, tranced for a few seconds, then opened them again.

He had a surprise announcement.

“Not only should Emma accompany us,” he declared, “but I suggest we take along four of her companions, as well!”

There were still a few mercs left at Long Bat when the converted HellJet cargo plane landed.

These stragglers were part of the sick-bay crew left behind to heal one more day and pull double duty by guarding what was left of their former position and the cavern nearby. Sunning themselves now beside the newly tranquil runway, the handful of mercs—French Nationals all—watched as the huge dive-bomber bounced in, roared by them, and came to a halt at the end of the runway, where the large cavern now lay open, the Z-16 having been pushed back inside.

The HellJet dislodged an odd assortment of passengers—to the mercs’ eyes anyway. First they saw two men in pilot’s garb leap off, both were carrying full packs and several infantry weapons. Next came two men in jungle fatigues, both seemed a bit too old and too out of shape to be in any kind of military organization. They were followed by five prostituées—beautiful painted ladies—which had the mercs salivating like a squad of Pavlov’s hounds.

The last to embark was a man in an air officer’s uniform. He was so obviously drunk, two of the women were seen helping him just to stay vertical.

The strange group retreated into the darkness of the cavern as the HellJet cargo plane turned 180 degrees and took off with a blast of raw power. No sooner was it airborne when it was met by four of the fierce-looking AirCat fighters. Together the five airplanes began orbiting the now peaceful moonlike valley.