just as they crested the hill, jumped over the top, and raced into the woods inside Kazakhstan.
“I’ve got you now,” Yibo said quietly.
Streaking low from the north, the two fighters lined up for their firing run. The lead pilot was seconds from squeezing his trigger and tearing Taft and Choi to shreds when his cockpit was lit up with the blinding light of a phosphorescent rocket. Twisting his control stick, the lead fighter pilot broke off his approach. As trained, the second fighter followed his partner. Both fighters executed a ninety-degree turn to the east.
Seconds after Taft entered the forest that signaled the Kazakhstan border, he was tackled by a man dressed entirely in black. Taft reared his arm back to punch.
“Stop, we’re the good guys,” the man shouted with a Georgia drawl.
Taft quickly lowered his arm.
Choi was plucked from where he had been dropped by a second man, just as the helicopter carrying Yibo crossed the border, searchlight sweeping like a death ray.
The next few seconds seemed to last forever. Dust and leaves swirled about as a loud whining noise filled the forest. Crouching and placing his hands over his ears, Taft buried his eyes in his shirt.
Like the phoenix rising from the dead, a United States Marine Harrier jump jet hidden behind the hill rose directly into the path of the advancing helicopter. Massive spotlights on the Harrier’s wingtips lit night into day, while a second set of white-hot phosphorescent flares belched from the forward pods. A voice from both the plane’s radio and an external loudspeaker overrode the noise of the whining engines. The amplified voice said in Chinese, “Turn now or you will be destroyed.”
Eyes blinded by the spotlights and the flares, Yibo’s pilot jammed his cyclic to the side. The helicopter turned back from the border and hovered. The troops racing up the hill paused, unsure if they should advance.
The loudspeaker continued. “This is Captain Don Chin, United States Marine Corps. We are on joint exercises with the Republic of Kazakhstan. Any violation of the Republic’s sovereign border will be met with force. Retreat immediately and maintain a minimum distance of one mile from the border.”
At that instant Taft was grabbed by the shoulder.
“Now,” the man dressed in black shouted.
Crashing through the forest, the four men reached an armored Humvee a short distance away. Taft and Choi were pushed in the backseat. The soldiers dressed in black climbed in front. The driver turned the key and without a moment’s hesitation the Humvee raced away, heading west from the border. In less than twenty seconds, the Humvee was doing sixty miles an hour on the narrow dirt road.
The man in the passenger seat turned and spoke to Taft. “It’ll take us several minutes to reach the plane. Do you need some water or something?”
“I’ve got some coffee in a thermos,” the driver added.
Taft rubbed his palms across his face. “Force Recon?” he asked.
“How did you guess?” the man in the passenger seat asked.
“No one else would be crazy enough to attempt a stunt like that. You’re the only guys in the military that want to die for your country.”
“Semper fi,” the driver laughed.
“I’ll take that coffee,” Taft said wearily, “plus a cigarette if you have one.”
As the Humvee slid around a curve, narrowly missing a grove of trees, the marine in the passenger seat handed back the thermos, a pack of Camels, and a Zippo lighter.
“Kind of hard to believe,” Taft said.
“What’s that?’
“I quit smoking seven years ago,” he said as he lit the Camel and took a drag.
“The shit is really hitting the fan, sir,” the radio operator aboard the C-130 said as he continued monitoring the radio transmissions. “The ground commander, an officer named Jimn, is calling to Beijing to receive permission to cross the border,” he said, rapidly translating the radio messages.
“Order the Harrier to back away
“I’ve got you now,” Yibo said quietly.
Streaking low from the north, the two fighters lined up for their firing run. The lead pilot was seconds from squeezing his trigger and tearing Taft and Choi to shreds when his cockpit was lit up with the blinding light of a phosphorescent rocket. Twisting his control stick, the lead fighter pilot broke off his approach. As trained, the second fighter followed his partner. Both fighters executed a ninety-degree turn to the east.
Seconds after Taft entered the forest that signaled the Kazakhstan border, he was tackled by a man dressed entirely in black. Taft reared his arm back to punch.
“Stop, we’re the good guys,” the man shouted with a Georgia drawl.
Taft quickly lowered his arm.
Choi was plucked from where he had been dropped by a second man, just as the helicopter carrying Yibo crossed the border, searchlight sweeping like a death ray.
The next few seconds seemed to last forever. Dust and leaves swirled about as a loud whining noise filled the forest. Crouching and placing his hands over his ears, Taft buried his eyes in his shirt.
Like the phoenix rising from the dead, a United States Marine Harrier jump jet hidden behind the hill rose directly into the path of the advancing helicopter. Massive spotlights on the Harrier’s wingtips lit night into day, while a second set of white-hot phosphorescent flares belched from the forward pods. A voice from both the plane’s radio and an external loudspeaker overrode the noise of the whining engines. The amplified voice said in Chinese, “Turn now or you will be destroyed.”
Eyes blinded by the spotlights and the flares, Yibo’s pilot jammed his cyclic to the side. The helicopter turned back from the border and hovered. The troops racing up the hill paused, unsure if they should advance.
The loudspeaker continued. “This is Captain Don Chin, United States Marine Corps. We are on joint exercises with the Republic of Kazakhstan. Any violation of the Republic’s sovereign border will be met with force. Retreat immediately and maintain a minimum distance of one mile from the border.”
At that instant Taft was grabbed by the shoulder.
“Now,” the man dressed in black shouted.
Crashing through the forest, the four men reached an armored Humvee a short distance away. Taft and Choi were pushed in the backseat. The soldiers dressed in black climbed in front. The driver turned the key and without a moment’s hesitation the Humvee raced away, heading west from the border. In less than twenty seconds, the Humvee was doing sixty miles an hour on the narrow dirt road.
The man in the passenger seat turned and spoke to Taft. “It’ll take us several minutes to reach the plane. Do you need some water or something?”
“I’ve got some coffee in a thermos,” the driver added.
Taft rubbed his palms across his face. “Force Recon?” he asked.
“How did you guess?” the man in the passenger seat asked.
“No one else would be crazy enough to attempt a stunt like that. You’re the only guys in the military that want to die for your country.”
“Semper fi,” the driver laughed.
“I’ll take that coffee,” Taft said wearily, “plus a cigarette if you have one.”
As the Humvee slid around a curve, narrowly missing a grove of trees, the marine in the passenger seat handed back the thermos, a pack of Camels, and a Zippo lighter.
“Kind of hard to believe,” Taft said.
“What’s that?’
“I quit smoking seven years ago,” he said as he lit the Camel and took a drag.
“The shit is really hitting the fan, sir,” the radio operator aboard the C-130 said as he continued monitoring the radio transmissions. “The ground commander, an officer named Jimn, is calling to Beijing to receive permission to cross the border,” he said, rapidly translating the radio messages.
“Order the Harrier to back away
Similar Books
