Rogue Forces

“Playing the gender and sympathy cards, Whack—they’re the only ones we have left,” Charlie said cross-cockpit. On the radio, she went on, “Yukari flight, we are an American cargo aircraft on a peaceful and authorized flight to Iraq. We are not a warplane, we are not armed, and we have no hostile intent against our allies, the people of Turkey. There are nineteen souls on board this flight, including six women. Let us continue our flight in peace.”

“You will comply immediately. This is our final order.”

“We are not going to turn around,” Charlie said. “We are almost at the Iraqi border, and our transmissions on the international emergency GUARD channel are certainly being monitored by listening posts from Syria to Persia. We are an unarmed American cargo plane on an authorized overflight of Turkey. There are nineteen souls on board. If you shoot us down now, the bodies and the wreckage will land in Iraq, and the world will know what you’ve done. You may think you have valid orders or a good reason to open fire, but you will be held responsible for your own judgment. If you believe your leaders and wish to follow their orders to kill all of us, fine, but you must pull the trigger. Our lives are in your hands now.”

A moment later they saw, then felt a tongue of white-hot flame zip by their left cockpit windows—the single afterburner plume from an F-16 fighter. “He’s going around, maneuvering behind us,” the copilot said. “Shit; oh shit…!” They could sense the presence of the jets behind them, practically taste the adrenaline and sweat emanating from the Turkish pilots’ bodies as they swung around for the kill. Seconds passed…

…then more seconds, then a minute. No one breathed for what seemed like an eternity. Then they heard: “Scion Seven-Seven, this is Mosul Approach Control on GUARD frequency, we show you at your scheduled border crossing point. If you hear Mosul Approach, squawk modes three and C normal and contact me on two-four-three-point-seven. Acknowledge immediately.”

The copilot shakily responded, and everyone else let out a collective sigh of relief. “Man, I thought we were goners,” Macomber said. He reached up and patted Charlie on the shoulder. “You did it, darlin’. You sweet-talked our way out of it. Good job.”

Charlie turned to Macomber, smiled, nodded her thanks…and promptly vomited on the cockpit floor in front of him.

ALLIED AIR BASE NAHLA, IRAQ

A SHORT TIME LATER

“Are you eggheads insane?” Colonel Jack Wilhelm exploded as Wayne Macomber and Charlie Turlock led the other passengers and crew off the Boeing 767 freighter once it was parked at the base. “Don’t you realize what’s going on out there?”

“You must be Colonel Wilhelm,” Macomber said as he reached the bottom of the air stairs. “Thanks for the warm welcome to Iraq.”

“Who are you?”

“Wayne Macomber, chief of security for Scion Aviation International,” Wayne replied. He did not offer his hand to Wilhelm, a fact that made the regimental commander even angrier. The two men were about equal in height and weight, and they immediately started sizing each other up. “This is Charlie Turlock, my assistant.” Charlie rolled her eyes but said nothing. “I’m going to drain the dragon—and probably change my undies after that flight—and then I need to speak with the general and the head egghead, Jon Masters.”

“First of all, you’re not going anywhere until we inspect your papers and your cargo,” Wilhelm said. “You’re not even supposed to get off the damn plane before customs does an inspection.”

“Customs? This is an American flight sitting on an American base. We don’t do customs.”

“You’re a private aircraft sitting on an Iraqi base, so you need to be processed by customs.”

Macomber looked around Wilhelm. “I don’t see any Iraqis here, Colonel, just private security…and you.” He took a folder out of the pilot’s hands. “Here’s our paperwork, and here’s the pilot. He’ll do all the customs shit with you and whatever Iraqis want to tag along. We don’t have time for customs. Let us do our thing. You stay out of our way, and we’ll stay out of yours.”

“My orders are to inspect this plane, Macomber, and that’s what we’ll do,” Wilhelm said. “The crew stays on board until the inspection is completed. Thompson here and his men will do the inspection, and you’d better cooperate with them or I’ll put all of you in the brig. Clear?”

Macomber looked as if he was going to argue, but he gave Wilhelm a slight nod and smile and gave the paperwork packet back to the pilot. “Ben, go with Gus.” Wilhelm was going to argue, but Macomber said, “The pilot was hurt in the flight in. He needs help. Make it quick, boys,” and motioned for the others to follow him back up the air stairs. They were followed by two of Thompson’s security officers and a German shepherd on a leather leash. A group of Thompson’s security men began opening cargo doors and baggage compartment hatches to begin their inspections.