tower steps. “Lieutenant!” a shaky voice screamed in That. “Lieutenant!
It’s an attack!”
The soldier stumbled through the door and into the tower chamber. He
saw the bodies on the floor and gaped. Lin’s burst of fire caught him
an instant later, slamming him backward into a wall in a splatter of
blood.
More explosions thumped in the night, these from the direction of the
barracks. Already, the volume of fire was dwindling. The attack had
been so sudden, so unexpected, that only the handful of soldiers
actually on guard had been able to respond, and those few had been
quickly overwhelmed.
The alert phone continued to buzz.
“Victory!” a new voice called from the door. “Victory!”
“Arrow!” Lin replied, giving his code name as countersign. He stood up
as a trio of soldiers cautiously entered the control tower room. The
leader wore the green uniform and collar device of a Burmese army
lieutenant. The two soldiers were more raggedly clad in a mix of
uniforms. Drug army conscripts, Lin decided. One held an AK-47, the
other an American M-16.
The officer smiled. “Major Lin?”
“I am Lin.” He lowered his Uzi. “Welcome!”
The lieutenant turned away. “Do it.”
Both soldiers opened fire at the same time, the bullets punching through
Lin’s body, sending him sprawling back across the tower radar console.
Lieutenant Bhan Sun had carried out his orders. There’d been a grave
risk that the Thais might learn just how thoroughly their military was
penetrated by Hsiao’s people.
That could not be allowed to happen. He made certain that Lin was dead
before leaving the tower. Outside, the last of the That soldiers and
airmen were being rounded up and shot.
There would be no enemy witnesses to what had happened at U Feng.
CHAPTER 12
0705 hours, 18 January
The Nam Mae Taeng Valley
The night had been miserable. A heavy rain during the hours before dawn
had soaked Batman to the skin. Swarms of mosquitos had descended on him
from the nearby river, bringing with them glowing memories of countless
films and lectures on the dangers of malaria in the tropics. He’d
swallowed a couple of Dapsone pills as preventative and smeared insect
repellent from his survival kit on his face and hands … not that the
stuff seemed to have much effect.
Between the rain and the insects, he’d gotten little sleep during the
night.
Throughout those hours, Batman’s SAR radio had remained silent, though
he checked it periodically and broadcast his Mayday message as
frequently as he dared. He was still afraid of being tracked down by
whoever had launched on him, but the need to contact the That Air Force
or his own people far outweighed the need for radio silence. That
faceless enemy out there in the jungle might home on his transmission
and run him down, sure, if they had the equipment, if they had the
trained personnel, and if they had the desire; on the other hand,
friendly forces would never find him if he remained silent.
So he kept calling … but he was more certain than ever that the valley
walls were blocking his signals. He would have to climb higher to have
an unrestricted line of sight. The problem with that idea was that he
would be leaving Malibu. He was sure his RIO must be in the same valley
somewhere.
They’d ejected at almost the same instant. The fact that Batman had not
seen his partner’s chute meant little. He’d had other things on his
mind at the time.
Batman didn’t let himself think about the possibility that Malibu’s
chute had failed to open at all.
He’d spent most of the previous afternoon and evening quartering as much
of the valley as he could reach, which, he was forced to admit, hadn’t
been much. Visibility in the jungle was less than thirty feet, It was
possible he’d passed within ten yards of his RIO and never known he was
there.
He’d felt more hopeful as he searched along the riverbank and found
tracks … dozens of them, like bulldozer tread marks in the mud, but
narrower. It looked as though someone had been driving construction
vehicles back and forth along the river. They seemed relatively fresh,