12

"His potential is that of a fully drawn crossbow:

his timing, the release of a trigger."

Sun Tzu: The Art of War

Target, Operational Area Dustey, China Thursday, 8 June, 1805 Zulu Friday, 9 June, 2:05 a.m. Local

Mitchell counted down for Riley and Comsky; Chong counted down for Trapp. "Five, four, three, two, one."

The three SVD shots sounded as one in the clear night air.

At pump station 5, the watchman stared at his screens in confusion as all three cameras at compound 8 went black. He cursed. It had to be another system malfunction.

"Go," Mitchell hissed.

Hoffman and Smith leapt from the tree line and sprinted. Eighteen seconds later they were at the eastern fence. Hoffman hooked the line charge onto the fence while Smith unreeled the firing wire. Eight seconds later Smith fired the charge and a six-foot gap opened up in the fence, beckoning them in.

Nothing registered at pump station 5. The T sensor on the eastern side of compound 8 had been broken for a week now. As required by the rules, a work order had been submitted for its repair.

2:06 a.m. Local

Twenty seconds after the hole appeared, Hoffman and Smith were at the berm. They began strapping the charges on the wires. It took them forty-five seconds to put on all six. Hoffman then connected the fuses while Smith placed the platter charge beneath the pipe and laid out the two thermite grenade rafts. The two engineers ran their respective detonating cord back to each other and hooked the wires together.

They turned and ran back toward the hole in the fence, unreeling the det cord. At the fence Hoffman placed the end of the cord into the fuse ignitor. He muttered "boom" as he pulled the ignitor.

2:07 a.m. Local

At pump station 5 an alarm bell rang stridently. Something was wrong— pressure was dropping rapidly. Pumping was automatically stopped and word relayed along the line: Complete pipe failure somewhere between pump stations 5 and 6.

2:09 a.m. Local

The team walked quickly through the woods, Chong in the lead wearing goggles.

Hooker had wanted to know if the pipe would drop, Riley remembered. He couldn't wait to tell his battalion commander. Dropped was too simple a word to describe the destruction they had just wrought. Even now the glow from burning oil lit up the sky behind them.

The explosion had worked perfectly. The six wires snapped like rubber bands. The pipe held still for a few seconds, then collapsed into the Sungari River with a roar. While the suspended pipe was going down, the platter charge had exploded, burning a hole cleanly through the bottom of the still-standing section of pipe in the compound. As oil poured out, it was ignited immediately by the thermite grenades.

Perfect, Riley thought. Less than three minutes from start to finish. Perfect.

PZ Drable, Operational Area Dustey, China Thursday, 8 June, 1900 Zulu Friday, 9 June, 3:00 a.m. Local

Olinski had heard the explosion at 2:07 a.m. Thirty minutes ago, as planned, he'd gotten a radio call from Captain Mitchell over the PRC68.

"We're on the way. Everything went according to plan. Complete destruction. Send the PONDER. Out."

Olinski had carefully encrypted the message and now it was ready to go. He burst it out at exactly 1900Z.

Putting the PSC3 radio back in his rucksack, Olinski left Reese watching O'Shaugnesy while he went out to place infrared chem lights into each small depression of the inverted Y.

FOB, Osan Air Force Base, Korea Thursday, 8 June, 1905 Zulu Friday, 9 June, 4:05 a.m. Local

Hossey anxiously decrypted the message:

ZEROFI VEPOND ERXXXP ONDERX XAAADA

GGERBB BCOMPL ETECCC DDDEEE TELLYO

UKNOWW HOITDR OPPEDX XDOUBL EXXXXX

Using the message format book, he interpreted the codes:

Type: (Target destruction report) PONDER.

AAA: (Target name) DAGGER.

BBB: (Extent of destruction) COMPLETE.

CCC: (Wounded) none.

DDD: (Killed) none.

EEE: (remarks) TELL YOU KNOW WHO IT DROPPED.

DOUBLE.

Hossey felt some of the tension in his body ease, and he allowed himself a small smile. "Sergeant Major," he said, handing the message to Hooker.

Hooker protested the remarks with a grin on his face. "I never doubted that it would drop, sir. I just wanted to see if they had done their homework. Now all we need is a successful exfiltration and we'll be home free. They done good so far."

Fort Meade, Maryland Thursday, 8 June, 1930 Zulu Thursday, 8 June, 2:30 p.m. Local

Finally Meng allowed himself a sigh of relief. The team had interdicted the pipe and, based on his other data, the exfiltration looked good. Both helicopters had left the Rathburne on time. A blow had been struck to an artery of the Dragon. The Old Men would have to notice.

PZ Drable, Operational Area Dustey, China Thursday, 8 June, 1915 Zulu Friday, 9 June, 3:15 a.m. Local

Team 3 was whole again. All twelve members were in the same place for the first time since they had separated at the pipeline three days ago. That made Dave Riley feel a whole lot better. But looking at O'Shaugnesy dampened his spirits.

The man was in bad shape. Comsky had told them, when he'd come up to the rally point, that O'Shaugnesy's condition was deteriorating. Keeping him out of shock was a full-time job for Reese, who was lying with the wounded man in a bivy sack to give him his body warmth. O'Shaugnesy's wounds were starting to smell, which meant that infection had gotten a foothold.

At least the birds were en route, thought Riley. We'll get him out and to a hospital tonight. The man would be scarred for life, but at least he'd be alive.

Riley checked his watch. Forty-five minutes until the birds showed up. They still had heard no activity in reaction to the explosion. More than an hour and nothing. Riley was surprised. But he figured that the Chinese still didn't know what was happening. Riley hoped that by the time they figured it out, Team 3 would be long gone.

Pump Station 5, China Thursday, 8 June, 1930 Zulu Friday, 9 June, 3:30 a.m. Local

The foreman of the pump station had alerted the reaction platoon within a minute of the first indication of trouble. It had taken the platoon more than thirty minutes to get everyone awake and prepared to depart the pump station. The foreman was still waiting for a radio call back from the platoon leader.

He had just received a call from the duty officer of the 118th Division, whose area of responsibility included this section of pipeline. The duty officer reported that the 3d Aviation Regiment, in response to the division's request, had dispatched a helicopter to investigate.

Airspace, China

C.J. didn't really trust the Doppler. As he liked to put it — the Doppler might tell you what street you were on, but when you've got to knock on somebody's door, you need to do better. In preparation for this mission, C.J. had memorized the satellite imagery and the location of PZ Drable.

Because of his distrust of the navigational device, C.J. made his plan for getting to the PZ as simple as possible. Fly on azimuth until he hit the Songhua River, then follow it northwest. When he reached the fork where the Songhua split from the Sungari, he knew he'd be about seven minutes out from where the Daqing-Fushun pipeline crossed the Sungari. Prior to that crossing he'd slide north about a kilometer from the river and parallel it west. Two kilometers after crossing the pipeline, he should see the infrared chem lights and strobe on the pickup zone.

They'd hit the Songhua River twelve minutes ago and were still heading northwest. There was danger in following the river, but C.J. figured at 125 knots the helicopter would be past anybody on the ground before it could be identified.

The route heading back was also as simple as he could make it. They'd reverse the route in, flying back down the Sungari and taking the right fork along the Songhua. Then C.J. planned on deviating slightly from the inbound route. He didn't want to cross Soviet airspace, so he would go a little farther south. At the end of the Songhua they would fly over the Sungari Reservoir, which was almost 150 kilometers long. C.J. liked the idea of using the reservoir because he could open up the throttle and go faster over the water. They'd skim the surface of the reservoir to its southern end, then follow an unnamed stream up into the Changbai Mountains. They'd crest the mountains just short of the North Korean border and then it would be a straight shot, due east to the coast and the Rathburne.

C.J. decided to let Hawkins land first when they reached the PZ. When Hawkins took off, he would land and, while the rest of the team was loading, he could hop out and quickly inspect the helicopter to see if he could figure out what damage they'd done during the collision with the ship.

PZ Drable, Operational Area Dustey, China Thursday, 8 June, 1945 Zulu Friday, 9 June, 3:45 a.m. Local

Fifteen minutes. They collected their rucksacks into a large pile and Riley lay three primed thermite grenades on top. They'd been briefed to reduce the weight as much as possible. Everyone would keep their weapon and vest, but the rucks would be torched. If found, there would be a mass of melted equipment — which had been sterile to start with. Riley would ignite the grenades as he went forward to get on the second bird.

Team 3 was clustered on the edge of the pickup zone in two groups of six. The members of the first lift had O'Shaugnesy wrapped in a bivy sack; they would carry him using a poncho. Everyone's ears were straining, listening for the sound of rotor blades.

At 3:47 a.m. they heard blades off to the east. Too soon, thought Riley. But maybe they're ahead of schedule. Olinski stood next to him with the earplug for the PRC68 FM radio pressed against his ear, listening in case the pilots called them.

The blades were getting closer. Still off to the south. Was the idiot following the pipeline this close? Riley wondered. Then he realized what the sound probably was — a reaction force to check out the pipe. As long as the Chinese aircraft stayed down there, it would be okay. Only ten more minutes.

Airspace, China
Thursday, 8 June, 1953 Zulu
Friday, 9 June, 3:53 a.m. Local

The fork of the two rivers appeared right on schedule. CJ. slid the Blackhawk to the north of the Sungari River. Seven minutes out.

The kilometers flashed by beneath them. Five minutes. C.J. could see a glow off to the southwest. Those sons of bitches must have blown up something big, he thought.

Two minutes. The pipeline flashed by beneath them. C.J. slowed down. He started scanning to the right as Yost scanned to the left, looking for the IR chem lights and strobe.

PZ Drable, Operational Area Dustey, China Thursday, 8 June, 1958 Zulu Friday, 9 June, 3:58 a.m. Local

Trapp stood at the junction of the Y and turned on his IR strobe. He could hear helicopters coming from the east. The one that had come by earlier, to the south, had quieted down.

A minute and a half later the helicopters were very close.

4:00 a.m. Local

C.J. could see the strobe and the inverted Y. Perfect. Seven hundred and fifty kilometers from the Rathburne and a flawless linkup. He slid over the pickup zone to let Hawkins land first.

Hawkins flared his Blackhawk and started to settle in. C.J. could see the figure with the strobe extinguish it. Damn, this is a tight pickup zone, CJ. thought, as he watched Hawkins maneuver. We wouldn't have been able to fit in both birds anyway.

Hawkins brought the helicopter to a halt on the ground. Five men carrying a sixth came running forward. They slid in the bivy sack, then clambered on board.

The first Blackhawk started to lift.

Target Dagger, Operational Area Dustey, China Thursday, 8 June, 2000 Zulu Friday, 9 June, 4:00 a.m. Local

Captain Lu was senior officer on board the MI-4 helicopter that had flown up to investigate the drop in pressure. It hadn't been hard to find the cause, even in the dark. A fire was still burning in the northern compound of the Sungari River crossing, and the pipe across the river was gone. He ordered the pilot to land near the service road.

Soldiers from the pump station platoon were gathered around their trucks at the service road, watching the fire. They weren't getting any closer than they had to. The men scattered as the helicopter settled down and the officer got out.

Lu cursed to himself. He didn't know what could have caused such a tremendous accident. Probably another engineering screwup. It would be their job to find the cause and fix it. Then Lu scanned the area with his binoculars and saw the hole in the fence. And, as his own aircraft shut down, he heard the sound of helicopters off to the north.

PZ Drable, Operational Area Dustey, China Thursday, 8 June, 2001 Zulu Friday, 9 June, 4:01 a.m. Local

Riley watched the first helicopter lift. He pulled the fuse running into the thermite grenades. After ensuring that the fuse was burning properly, he ran forward as the second bird landed.

Riley jumped on board, then stared in disbelief as the pilot hopped out and started running around the aircraft. What the hell was he doing?

Target Dagger

Lu screamed at the pilot of the helicopter to get it back into the air. Slowly the blades started turning. Lu was elated and scared at the same time. Elated at the thought of actually capturing the saboteurs; scared of what would happen to him if he didn't.

PZ Drable, Operational Area Dustey, China Thursday, 8 June, 2002 Zulu Friday, 9 June, 4:02 a.m. Local

C.J. leapt back in as Yost lifted the bird. With the blades still turning, it had been impossible for C.J. to see if they were notched or damaged. The outside external fuel tank on the right side pylon had some scratches on it, but that was all he could see in the dark. What C.J. hadn't noticed was the slight split in the seam of the outside right tank. Drop by drop, JP4 fuel was leaking out, dripping to the ground.

C.J. took the controls from Yost and did a quick scan of the area as he turned east. "We got company," he said, as the navigational lights of the MI-4 rose from the vicinity of the fire, two kilometers away.

C.J. knew that the Chinese helicopter couldn't have seen him yet. The Blackhawk was blacked out and Chinese pilots didn't have goggles. He wasn't about to give the aircraft a chance to find him. C.J. knew that the MI-4 Hound had a maximum speed of 155 miles an hour. C.J. chuckled — that was in the bright sunshine with the wind at its back.

"Come on, asshole. Let's race." Yost glanced over at the man talking to himself and shook his head.

C.J. opened up the throttle and pushed the cyclic forward. The Blackhawk shot forward past the startled Hawkins, who immediately followed.

Thursday, 8 June, 2007 Zulu Friday, 9 June, 4:07 a.m. Local

Lu could see a fire in the tree line at the edge of the small open field, but no sign of helicopters. Flying at night by searchlight was a risky proposition at best. The pilot was afraid to move too far away from the navigational security of the pipeline or the river.

Lu cursed. If only he had been quicker in reacting to the lost pressure on the pipeline. He'd never thought it could actually be a terrorist action. Now he knew that it was too late to catch whoever had done it. And too late for him. He picked up the radio microphone and called headquarters.

Airspace, China
Thursday, 8 June, 2045 Zulu
Friday, 9 June, 4:45 a.m. Local

Riley was still a little surprised. He'd mentally prepared himself for the exfiltration to be screwed up. But things had worked out. They were actually on board a helicopter and heading for home. The target hit had been a success. Team 3 had two injured, but both would recover. He knew it was premature, but Riley began to allow himself to feel good.

In the front of the helicopter, C.J. had opposite feelings. He started sensing a slightly abnormal vibration in the controls. Yost felt it, too. They exchanged worried looks.

Don't do this to me, C.J. thought savagely. We finally won one. Come on baby, hang in there. If there was a way to will a helicopter to stay in the air, C.J. was going to do it.

The seam on number 4 external tank also reacted to the strange vibration. Instead of just a drip, a trickle of highly flammable fuel was now leaking out.

118th Division Headquarters, Harbin, China Thursday, 8 June, 2053 Zulu Friday, 9 June, 4:53 a.m. Local

Once the division commander, General Haotian, was awakened, the Chinese reaction speeded up dramatically. It had been almost three hours since the explosion. In that time only one MI-4 helicopter and the pump station platoon had been dispatched to investigate.

With Lu's report of apparent sabotage, General Haotian contacted the 3d Aviation Regiment in Shenyang and asked for help. In response to the request, six Z-9 gunship helicopters lifted out of Shenyang and headed north. Haotian realized, based on Lu's report and the distances involved, that they were probably too late, but he wanted nothing left to chance. When he had to explain to his superior, he wanted to be able to say he had done everything possible.

If only that idiot Lu had moved quicker, Haotian thought. By now, the terrorists were probably out of the area he controlled with his division. Haotian reluctantly called his higher headquarters — Shenyang Military

Region headquarters located in the city of Shenyang to the southwest. They'd find out what was happening anyway when the 3d Aviation Regiment reported its search mission.

Airspace, China
Thursday, 8 June, 2100 Zulu
Friday, 9 June, 5:00 a.m. Local

The vibration hadn't gotten any worse. It was so slight that C.J. could almost fool himself into believing it wasn't there. But he knew it was. Hang in there, C.J. prayed. Another hour and a half to the coast.

In the trailing helicopter, Devito had whole blood flowing into O'Shaugnesy. The sense of security inside the aircraft was comforting. The high of the target hit and exfiltration was wearing off, and everyone slumped wearily against the back and doors of the cargo compartments.

In the lead aircraft, Riley sat with his back against the pilot's seat, surveying the five other members of his team. Comsky, as expected, appeared to be sleeping, although Riley suspected it might be an act. Mitchell was sitting with his back against the copilot's seat with his eyes closed. Probably thinking about the FOB debrief. Olinski, Chong, and Hoffman were peering out the windows at the terrain flashing by.

They ought to market this as a ride at an amusement park, Riley thought as he glanced out the side window. They were flying barely twenty feet above the surface of a large lake. Riley had flown in numerous helicopters and he felt a grudging admiration for the man flying this one. The pilot was good, whoever he was. Occasionally, as they turned to follow the bend of the lake, Riley could catch glimpses of the second aircraft following a hundred meters behind.

Riley felt good. All in all, a successful mission. What had happened with O'Shaugnesy was unfortunate, but you couldn't plan for everything on a mission.

Riley wasn't sure what they had accomplished by blowing up the pipe. Sent a message to the Chinese government that the U.S. meant business, Riley supposed, but the whole thing still didn't make sense. Sometimes the way countries interacted seemed like such a game. Like two kids in the alley, shoving each other back and forth, trying to see who was the toughest. Riley closed his eyes. Now wasn't the time to ask those questions. Now was the time to be happy to be alive. To be going home.

Thursday, 8 June, 2130 Zulu Friday, 9 June, 5:30 a.m. Local

The six Z-9s flew over the destroyed pipe, then broke into two sets of three. The first set spread and flew due east. The second set fanned out and flew to the south. They could fly those azimuths for only another twenty minutes before they would have to return to Shenyang to refuel. The spiderweb had been spun too late. The fly was gone.

Thursday, 8 June, 2155 Zulu Friday, 9 June, 5:55 a.m. Local

C.J. carefully climbed the helicopter farther up the streambed into the Changbai Mountains. He could see the ridgeline just ahead. In a few minutes they'd be across it and heading down. Just another fifty minutes and they'd be over the ocean. The Blackhawk was still holding together. Just another hour and thirty-five minutes and they'd be at the Rathburne.

C.J. was startled by a blazing flash of light to his right.

5:56 a.m. Local

C.J.'s helicopter exploded right in front of Hawkins. Before his goggles shut down, Hawkins thought he saw the entire aircraft disintegrate. In the two seconds it took his goggles to recover, he was past the explosion. There was no sign of the other aircraft.

In the cargo compartment, Trapp leapt to the door and peered out the window into the darkness below. A ball of fire settled into the trees as they flew by. It looked like part of a helicopter.

"Goddamn, Goddamn," Trapp muttered in shock. "We were almost there. We almost had it made." He didn't know what had caused the helicopter to explode, but the effect had obviously been catastrophic. He looked at the others' shocked faces.

As his goggles cleared and he could see again, Hawkins swung around and headed back to where C.J.'s bird had disappeared. Cruising just above the trees, he couldn't see the other helicopter. There was a fire burning in the trees below but nothing else. Considering the amount of fuel the aircraft had been carrying, Hawkins knew that was understandable. There was also no place nearby to land.

Looking at his fuel gauge, Hawkins turned and started heading east again. He climbed and crossed the crest of the Changbai Mountains. Those on board the lone helicopter could see the first gray light of dawn tingeing the ocean off in the distance.

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