Chapter 18
Bill spotted a regular sized door to one side of the hanger, near the larger bay-like doors. Hurrying over, he gently opened it and peeked out. Soldiers ran in every direction, some frantically, some with purpose. A truck carrying a squad of heavily armed men whizzed by, spitting gunfire at something outside Bill’s range of sight. He hesitated, trying to see a clear path to safety. If he could get far enough away, the explosion should afford him an opportunity to escape unnoticed. But how to get through this mess…alive?
He couldn’t chance this direction. It was too open and too much was happening. Turning around, he looked for another way out. He searched his memory, trying to determine the layout of the compound. The hanger was attached on the eastern side to a group of smaller buildings, probably offices or barracks for the soldiers. The fence there came no more than a dozen feet from the edge of those buildings. Taking a deep breath, he set out.
The attack on the compound had to involve taking down the electric fence. If he could get there, he could find his way through—hopefully.
Spotting another door along the eastern edge of the hanger, Bill ran over, passing the wounded soldier on his way. The man had regained consciousness and was trying to drag himself towards the same door as Gardner. “Hey buddy,” he said in a friendly tone as he passed, “I recommend getting out of here, pronto.” The man probably didn’t understand a word of it.
Bill reached the door and opened it carefully. This was the way he had been brought. Seeing no one, he hastened through and made his way along the hall. Two thirds of the way along, a metal door burst open and three Chinese soldiers spilled inside amidst a hail of bullets. Two of the soldiers took hits and sprawled limply onto the hallway floor. The third managed to avoid anything more than a flesh wound to his upper arm. He twisted around, putting himself to one side of the door, his pale face a testimony to the fierce fire fight that raged outside. Whoever was attacking the compound had a lot of help.
He marched up to the third soldier who never so much as even glanced his way. “Sorry, buddy,” he said just as he reached him. The man spun around, only to find Bill’s gun descending in a brutal arc. The man fell to the floor, unconscious.
The outside door remained opened and the other two bodies littered the floor, making a run by the door problematic—considering an unknown number of automatics were trained on the doorway. He’d have to jump it. He backed off some and realized that his head still hurt some, affecting his balance. Swearing to himself, he shook off the pain and sprinted hard towards the open door way. He jumped, clearing the bodies, but landing badly on the other side. He went down, skidding uncontrollably down the hallway as a wave of bullets splattered against the doorway and hallway wall. Someone had noticed his passing.
He finally rolled to a stop, cursing. “Will everyone just stop shooting at me!” he yelled; irritation, fear, and exhaustion all vying for dominance. It had been a long time since he had been in a firefight of this scope. The snapping bullets, the men yelling, the men dying, all wore away at his nerves and emotions. He knew that outwardly he looked calm. Inwardly, he knew this to be the reason he had left a promising career in the military.
Innocents always seemed to die in fights like this. Children always seemed to die. Every snap of a bullet brought back memories, memories of children lying bloody in the streets. Children’s empty, vacant eyes staring accusingly at the American soldier standing over them.
He shook the thoughts away and regained his feet. “Blast it all to Hades anyway,” he muttered. “Fools and power-mongers ever mix.”
Sporting new bruises and scrapes, Bill continued on his way. He needed to find an exit and quickly. The garrison here had been surprised, no doubt, at the level of ferocity and organization of the attackers, but once reinforcements arrived, the tide would turn. He needed to be out before that happened.
He finally located an isolated office with a single small window that looked out at the eastern side of the compound fence. The razor wire would be a problem, but not as much a problem as the fence itself would be—if it was still electrified. Hunting around, he discovered no latch to open the window. Cursing again, he took his pistol and used it to bust the glass out. The continued sounds of the battle drowned out any noise he made.
He crawled through, adding to his scrapes. Once outside, he paused to look around. In the distance, he could see people running and the flashes of rifles marked the location of at least some of the combatants. He turned to regard the fence. He couldn’t tell if it was still electrified or not, but he did realize something immediately. He couldn’t get through here. He didn’t have the right tools to cut through both the wire and the fence.
Cursing again, he put both hands to his head, trying to drown out the noises of the combat and to think. Then he remembered the truck in the hanger. Maybe…if he could only….Turning back to the window, he squeezed back through and made his way back towards the hanger. His leap back across the open doorway attracted no attention as the fight had moved elsewhere. He needed to hurry though. He had few illusions how this would end. Whoever was attacking the compound had not been able to make enough headway to actually get close to the hanger—assuming the hanger and the plane within were the targets.
He returned to the hanger to see that the wounded soldier almost to the door. He passed by with a weak salute. “Better move faster than that, buddy!” Bill ran over to the truck and peered in. The keys were in the ignition—thank God! He then went to look at the tank gage on the back and discovered the tank to be empty—thank God! He didn’t want to run a gauntlet of bullets driving a tank full of highly combustible jet fuel.
Now to get the hanger doors opened. He didn’t have time to figure it out. The thin aluminum doors would just have to give way to the more compact and sturdier truck. Jumping into the driver’s seat, he turned the ignition. The diesel engine started up quickly and began rumbling eagerly.
Bill smiled. This, at least, would be fun.
Putting the truck in reverse, Bill lined it up with the hanger doors and punched the gas pedal, popping the clutch. The big diesel truck lurched backwards like an angry bear and bore down on the doors with all the finesse of a runaway freight train.
The truck hit the door in spectacular fashion. The fuel tank buckled under the impact, but the hardier steel frame of the truck punched through the doors, collapsing metal panels and creating a huge dent in the doors that the truck slipped into. Metal panels rained down around him, one striking the front windshield, spraying glass in all directions, adding yet more cuts to his already lacerated body.
Gardner spun the wheel, setting the truck into a skidding turn that brought it about to face the main entrance. In the time it took for him to ram the gear shifter into first gear and start an inexorable charge at the gate, Bill noticed several things.
First, the gate had already been partially destroyed. Secondly, a group of men had taken up position there and were firing at another group of soldiers who had taken refuge behind some steel girders piled off to one side. Thirdly, both groups took notice of the truck and began to open fire on him.
“Stop shooting at me!” he yelled again, jamming down on the gas pedal. “Just stop shooting at me!”
The truck lumbered forward, picking up speed as bullets pinged all around him. He ducked down as low as he could and tried to keep the truck in line with the gate. A bullet struck one of the wheels and the truck suddenly lurched a bit to the left, creating a drag. Another bullet struck the engine and steam started to pour out in billowing clouds. Cursing, Bill realized he wasn’t going to make it.
He had only once chance.
He wrapped his arms through the seatbelt, flung his body onto the seat and depressed the detonator for all the explosives still in the hanger not forty yards behind him.
For a second—one that seemed to stretch forever—nothing happened. He wondered if he had wired things wrong or if the detonator had been damaged somewhere along the way, but
then something picked the truck up like a ragged doll and flung it at the gate with terrific force.
Bill screamed as he and the truck hurtled forward. He screamed as the truck hit the concrete road sideways to skid like some sort of medieval battle ram towards the gate. Only the seatbelt kept his body from being flung out the cab, but even then his body seemed to slam into the seat like a racquetball. He screamed as a wall of fire washed over the sliding truck, singing his hair and burning his lungs. He screamed when the truck smashed into the gate, metal groaning and twisting, poles and wire jabbing through the empty windshield to poke at him with deadly intent.
Then he screamed again, but this time in joy. He was still alive!
He just lay there, his body slumped up against the driver’s side door that lay against the ground. Suddenly a hand reached in and grabbed him by his shirt and began hauling him out. He yelped, struggling to free himself, but his strength was gone. He couldn’t resist the insistent pull. When his head cleared the wreckage, a tough looking Chinese man dressed in black fatigues and sporting a wicked looking P90 automatic rifle, started jabbering over his shoulder. Another Chinese man came running up. This one was dressed more casually and his features seemed more subdued.
“Are you Mr. Gardner?” he asked in excellent English.
Bill nodded. “Yeah, that’s me.”
The man raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Was that your work?” He nodded towards the destroyed hanger. The lawyer peeked around the overturned truck. The entire hanger and much of the buildings next to it had been leveled. Fire and debris were spread in a huge arc around where the plane had been. He blinked, shocked. He hadn’t thought the explosion would have been that large. “Yeah, I guess I did.”
“The plane,” the man said, his eyes turning insistent. “Did you destroy the aircraft?”
“It’s in a million pieces,” Bill affirmed.
The man turned and whistled. Instantly about a score of heavily armed men began to extricate themselves from cover and dashed back down the streets. The man turned to Bill. “Mr. Gardner, my name is John Cho.”
“John?” Gardner asked incredulously.
“Yep, born in Arizona. My parents wanted me to have an American name. Come, we must go now. My men have reported reinforcements on their way.”
“That’s a good idea,” Bill agreed. “Only I don’t think I have much strength to run on my own.”
John said something to the other man and together they draped Bill’s arms over their shoulders and began trotting from the scene of battle.
Sometime later, John gently lowered Bill onto a cot within a small apartment about two miles from the warehouse. John flopped into a wooden chair and wiped his brow with the back of his hand. “Well, Mr. Gardner, you’re supposed to be dead,” he said without preamble. He folded his arms, kicked his feet out in a relaxed manner, and gave a half smile. No one else had come into the room, so it was just the two of them.
“What do you mean, supposed to be dead?” Bill asked.
“Well, when we found you had been taken captive, we all just naturally assumed you had been killed by that pig Lee.”
“Who is we?”
John held up a hand. “Let me get to that. We thought you were dead, which I must tell you was part of the plan. I say that so you don’t confuse our actions as a rescue attempt. We were after the plane, just as you were. Our mission was to blow the plane up.” He cocked his head slightly and frowned. “You were supposed to be the diversion, something to keep Chinese intelligence from noticing my team. Once we destroyed the plane, you and that rat Frank Vellore would be pinned as the saboteurs. And it worked, except we couldn’t get near the plane. Our attack failed. We were pinned down and on the verge of being trapped by reinforcements…until you blew up the plane.” He leaned forward. “Do you understand what I am saying?”
Bill nodded. “Yes. I was sent on a suicide mission, one meant to give your team the freedom to do the actual dirty work. I was to take the blame as was Wastend.” Bill felt his heart sink. “You work for General Hynes.”
“Yes. I am actually Colonel John Cho, Special Forces. So we have two problems now. One is that you are still alive, making it difficult to pin this on you. A problem that we can easily resolve by throwing you back to the Chinese. However, and here is the second problem, you saved our lives and completed the mission where we could not.”
“That’s a problem?”
“In a way. We owe you, Mr. Gardner. My entire team does. This is not something we take lightly. To kill you or to hand you back to the Chinese is a lousy way to repay such a debt. But at the same time, if we don’t blame someone, we run the risk of an international incident that could jeopardize the lives of millions of people.”
“I’m going to kill him!” Bill hissed.
“The general?”
“Yes.”
Cho smiled. “I would feel the same way in your shoes. But I would put that aside for right now. He was put in an untenable situation. He had to make a choice between a single evil and an even greater wicked one.”
Bill frowned as he watched the other man pull some chewing tobacco out of a vest pocket and put a small piece into his mouth. The man regarded his fingers while waiting for Bill to reply.
“He either had to pin it on me and Wastend, or face international backlash.”
Cho nodded, his jaw working furiously at his tobacco. “They said you were smart, Captain. We couldn’t use just anyone. The person we used—”
“Sacrificed,” Bill inserted, bitterly.
Cho shrugged. “Sacrificed, then. The person we sacrificed needed to have military experience as well as a connection to Wastend. All roads had to lead back there. You were the only one with both the experience, expertise, and connections to pull it off.”
“Thanks.”
“It’s nothing personal, Captain. Trust me, it wasn’t an easy decision to make either. General Hynes argued against the plan, but he was overruled by the Joint Chiefs.” Cho leaned over and spat into a bucket next to his chair. The wet, rust looking blob of spit missed, striking the edge and half ran the outside edge. Cho grunted. “So that brings us back to my problem.”
“The fact that I saved your team and destroyed the plane anyway?” Bill shifted around on the cot, uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was going.
“Exactly. We still need to have a scapegoat, Captain. We need someone to take the blame…or at least shift the blame from the US Government. I’m to go to ground now. The Chinese will never know that I am even here and my dual citizenship helps to mask the fact.”
“Can you contact General Hynes?”
“No. My unit is dark, Captain. We are to make no contact for the next month. All of my soldiers are either Chinese natives or American Chinese. They have dispersed into the city life, either resuming jobs, rejoining family, or just disappearing.” He leaned forward, his jaw working like a piston on his chewing tobacco. “That doesn’t negate my responsibility. You were to either die or be captured. We would raise a stink about an American being held, they would show proof that you committed an act of sabotage, we would demur, they would insist, we would give in, you would either die or go to prison, and the whole thing dropped. Now what do I do?”
Bill sighed. He couldn’t quite bring himself to feel any sympathy for John or General Hynes—not when the scapegoat happened to be him! Nevertheless, he could see what Cho was building up to. “You still want me to be that guy, don’t you?”
Cho shook his head. “No. You saved our collective fannies, Bill. We owe you. I’m just trying to figure a way out of this.”
“Why not let me try to make my way back myself? If I get caught, your plans go forward as normal. If I get away, well, I get away. Everything still points back to me or Wastend, and this way I at least get a chance to make it out alive.”
Cho spat into the bucket and sat back again. “It’s a good suggestion. The only concern is about what you may say once you are free and back
home. You’re a lawyer, Mr. Gardner—though I don’t understand how any soldier would ever make that a career choice.”
“I still like a good fight, Colonel.”
The man laughed. “Anyway, what is to prevent you from suing the US? That would create quite the pickle for all of us.”
“One thing.” Bill held up a finger. “Retribution. Do you think the Chinese will forgive this slight to their country? Not only was a secret military aircraft destroyed, but men died. If I start making waves about this incident, what do you think they will do?”
Cho’s eyes glittered. “They would send their best assassins.”
“Exactly. It would be in my best interest to keep my big mouth shut.”
John stood up. “Well then, Captain. It seems we have a deal. I’ll cut you loose in the morning and you can make your way back as best you can.”
“What about the man I came with, Hu?”
“Don’t know who you are talking about. We did catch someone lurking around the perimeter on our way in. If this was your guy, I’m sorry, we had to take him out. We didn’t know who he was and we couldn’t take a chance.”
Bill sighed, profoundly troubled. Hu may have very well been trying to find a way to help while Gardner had been a captive of the Chinese. The man had died at the hands of the people he was trying to help. Life wasn’t fair. Not one bit.
John saw the look. “I’m sorry,” he said again. “We were under orders.”
“Colonel, how many good men have died for so little reason?”
“Undoubtedly more than either of us would care to contemplate. Ask yourself this, Captain, how many more would have died if we had not followed those orders?”
“The end justifies the means?”
“Or the greater good.”
Bill sighed. “The age old ‘soldier’s dilemma.’ I hate it.”
“Me too. Get some sleep. I will help you get out of the city, but after that, you are on your own. I’ll spread a rumor that an American was killed during the attack. That should give you enough of a chance to slip out of the country unnoticed.”
“I appreciate the chance, Colonel.”
Cho grinned. “Make it back Captain. I would like to see those staff Generals eat their smug smiles.”
“That,” Bill said, echoing the man’s grin, “would be my pleasure.”