The Peacemakers (5 page)

Allston made it. There were no second thoughts or doubts, and he knew it was right. He turned to the two women, forever changed. “I’ll do what I can. Let’s go.” He spun around and walked out of the camp, back to the waiting Hercules.

Marci hurried after him, not understanding what had happened to him. “There’s nothing you can do, Colonel.”

Allston kept walking, his eyes sweeping the village, taking it all in. He fixed her with a hard, challenging look. “I didn’t sign up to ignore this. Did you?”

BermaNur squatted in front of his mother’s hut and shoveled the last of the sorghum porridge into his mouth. He used a finger to wipe the pot and sucked it clean. The teenager froze when the two Americans walked past. The man was wearing an army style uniform and the woman the flightsuit he had seen so many times before. He came to his feet and ran into the hut for his communicator. He hit the transmit switch. “Jahel, the Americans are in the village now.” He had already warned the sheik that the C-130 had landed.

“How did this happen?” Jahel asked. BermaNur heard the clatter of trotting hooves in the background.

“There was no warning the Americans were coming this time.” He had to make Jahel understand. “There is always warning.”

“They must not take off,” Jahel replied.

“I will stop them,” the teenager said. He ran after the Americans, determined to keep his promise. He reached the road and scrambled up the same low hummock as before. The Hercules was parked on the road, two hundred meters in front of him. He sat down to wait. His eyes narrowed as children from the village swarmed around the Americans, begging for food. With nothing left to give, the tall American pilot picked up one of the children and carried him piggyback as he walked around the big plane, giving the flock of older boys an impromptu tour.

Allston sat the child down when the accident investigation team returned. The colonel leading the team climbed out of the lead pickup, weary and dirty. “How did it go?” Allston asked.

The colonel shook his head. “We didn’t have near enough time. We took photos and what measurements we could.” He paused, obviously upset. “We found the graves. Someone had buried them.” He reached into his pocket and handed Allston a handful of dog tags. “One of the relief workers had these.” Allston read the five names and handed them to Marci.

Her face was a mask. “They were my buddies.” She handed the dog tags back to the colonel.

“Any idea what caused the crash?” Allston asked.

“The site has been looted and even with a full-blown investigation, we’ll never know for certain now. But it wasn’t a surface-to-air missile.”

“That means pilot error,” Allston said, “or mechanical failure.”

“It wasn’t pilot error,” Marci said, conviction in her voice. “Anne was too damn good a pilot.”

“Lieutenant Colonel McKenzie?” Allston asked, a little surprised by the familiarity. Marci nodded. Allston thought for a moment. He nodded. “Okay, lets go.” He shook hands with the boys who still surrounded them and led the way onto the C-130. The loadmaster pulled up the stairs and locked the hatch.

Apprehension swept over BermaNur when a propeller started to turn. By the time all four engines were on line, he was on his feet and filled with worry. When the big aircraft reversed thrust and backed down the road for takeoff, he panicked. He keyed his communicator, “Jahel! They are leaving!”

“We’re almost there,” came the answer. “Stop them!”

The teenager didn’t know what to do but the aircraft had stopped at the far end of the road. The nose lowered as the engines spun up and the props bit into the air. The aircraft started to roll. In the distance, far behind the aircraft, he saw a cloud of dust that had to be Jahel and his band of Fursan. Now the Hercules was roaring down the dirt road, coming directly at him and away from the charging horsemen. BermaNur ran out into the road and held up his arms, willing the plane to stop.