being driven by A-Bomb. By the time they pulled onto the runway, everyone at Fort Apache not manning a lookout post had gathered to see what the hell was going on.
“Captain Hawkins, sorry we’re a little late for tea time,” said Sergeant Coors, jumping from the truck with a grin.
“What is this, Coors?”
“You like milk with your tea, don’t you?” asked A-Bomb, unfolding himself from the FAV’s driver’s cage.
Hawkins listened as his sergeant explained what had happened. He was shaking his head vehemently before Coors got halfway through.
“What the hell were you thinking?” he demanded. “You should have come back here.”
“I figured if there was someone in the truck, he would see the airplane when it took off or came back,” said the sergeant. “I thought I’d have to do something quick.”
“ Which was what? Get lucky and nail him?”
“Hey, luck had nothing to do with it,” said A-Bomb.
“You’re starting to bother me, Captain,” snapped Hawkins. “Somebody go get a tarp to cover the back of this truck. Coors! You get a shovel and you start digging. I want this thing in the dirt. Did you cover your tracks off the road?”
“Jesus, I’m not stupid, sir,” said Coors.
“Well you sure as hell acted like it,” said Hawkins.
The sergeant nailed his eyes to the ground in contrition.
Not A-Bomb. “Milk’s on the house,” he said, opening the spigot control on the back of the truck. He frowned. “Ought to just pour out of this thing here.”
Captain Wong put his hand on his shoulder to stop him from taking a drink.
“In all likelihood, the tank was not properly decontaminated before it was filled,” said Wong. “I believe you’ll discover a proportion of distillate in the liquid, as well as a great deal of water.”
“Ah, don’t cry over spilt milk.” A-Bomb put his mouth beneath the spigot as he started the flow. He gagged and jumped back. “Wow. That’s worse than Dogman’s socks. Why didn’t they clean the tank out right?”
“Because the truck’s cargo isn’t milk,” said Captain Wong.
Hawkins watched him walk around the tanker, searching for something. Wong waved his hands over the shiny metal surface of the tanker, as if he were a faith healer. Finally he stopped.
“Sergeant Rosen, would you happen to have an acetylene torch handy?” he asked.
The Air Force technical sergeant shook her head. “Sorry, no.”
“The difficulties of operating in contingent circumstances,” sighed Wong. “We’ll have to drain the tank.”
Hawkins had met Wong on a clandestine mission in North Korea two years before; while eccentric, the intel officer was probably among the smartest and bravest guys in the service— certainly in the Air Force, a branch rapidly sinking, in Hawkins’ estimation. But it was often hard to tell what the hell Wong was up to.
“What’s the story?” Hawkins asked him.
“You wouldn’t want to drink this,” Wong told Hawkins as he opened the spigot at the rear and began draining the liquid. “Believe me.”
“No shit.”
Wong nodded.
“You going to explain what’s going on, Bristol?” Hawkins demanded. “Because I’ll be damned if I can make sense of what the hell you’re doing.”
“There will be a compartment at the bottom of the tank, with bladders inside. We can get into through the manhole once the liquid is removed is out. There isn’t much.”
“What are we looking for?”
Wong glanced over at the men, then back at Hawkins. He frowned as the liquid continued to flow, but said nothing.
Hawkins finally guessed what Wong suspected.
“Coors, go get ABC gear on,” he told his sergeant. “You’re going to personally get to the bottom of this.”
“It would be best for everyone to be prepared,” Wong said to him. “And if Sergeant Coors is going inside the tank, a suit over his normal suit would be optimum.”
CHAPTER 11
H OG HEAVEN
26 JANUARY 1991
1440
It wasn’t until he became a squadron
“Captain Hawkins, sorry we’re a little late for tea time,” said Sergeant Coors, jumping from the truck with a grin.
“What is this, Coors?”
“You like milk with your tea, don’t you?” asked A-Bomb, unfolding himself from the FAV’s driver’s cage.
Hawkins listened as his sergeant explained what had happened. He was shaking his head vehemently before Coors got halfway through.
“What the hell were you thinking?” he demanded. “You should have come back here.”
“I figured if there was someone in the truck, he would see the airplane when it took off or came back,” said the sergeant. “I thought I’d have to do something quick.”
“ Which was what? Get lucky and nail him?”
“Hey, luck had nothing to do with it,” said A-Bomb.
“You’re starting to bother me, Captain,” snapped Hawkins. “Somebody go get a tarp to cover the back of this truck. Coors! You get a shovel and you start digging. I want this thing in the dirt. Did you cover your tracks off the road?”
“Jesus, I’m not stupid, sir,” said Coors.
“Well you sure as hell acted like it,” said Hawkins.
The sergeant nailed his eyes to the ground in contrition.
Not A-Bomb. “Milk’s on the house,” he said, opening the spigot control on the back of the truck. He frowned. “Ought to just pour out of this thing here.”
Captain Wong put his hand on his shoulder to stop him from taking a drink.
“In all likelihood, the tank was not properly decontaminated before it was filled,” said Wong. “I believe you’ll discover a proportion of distillate in the liquid, as well as a great deal of water.”
“Ah, don’t cry over spilt milk.” A-Bomb put his mouth beneath the spigot as he started the flow. He gagged and jumped back. “Wow. That’s worse than Dogman’s socks. Why didn’t they clean the tank out right?”
“Because the truck’s cargo isn’t milk,” said Captain Wong.
Hawkins watched him walk around the tanker, searching for something. Wong waved his hands over the shiny metal surface of the tanker, as if he were a faith healer. Finally he stopped.
“Sergeant Rosen, would you happen to have an acetylene torch handy?” he asked.
The Air Force technical sergeant shook her head. “Sorry, no.”
“The difficulties of operating in contingent circumstances,” sighed Wong. “We’ll have to drain the tank.”
Hawkins had met Wong on a clandestine mission in North Korea two years before; while eccentric, the intel officer was probably among the smartest and bravest guys in the service— certainly in the Air Force, a branch rapidly sinking, in Hawkins’ estimation. But it was often hard to tell what the hell Wong was up to.
“What’s the story?” Hawkins asked him.
“You wouldn’t want to drink this,” Wong told Hawkins as he opened the spigot at the rear and began draining the liquid. “Believe me.”
“No shit.”
Wong nodded.
“You going to explain what’s going on, Bristol?” Hawkins demanded. “Because I’ll be damned if I can make sense of what the hell you’re doing.”
“There will be a compartment at the bottom of the tank, with bladders inside. We can get into through the manhole once the liquid is removed is out. There isn’t much.”
“What are we looking for?”
Wong glanced over at the men, then back at Hawkins. He frowned as the liquid continued to flow, but said nothing.
Hawkins finally guessed what Wong suspected.
“Coors, go get ABC gear on,” he told his sergeant. “You’re going to personally get to the bottom of this.”
“It would be best for everyone to be prepared,” Wong said to him. “And if Sergeant Coors is going inside the tank, a suit over his normal suit would be optimum.”
CHAPTER 11
H OG HEAVEN
26 JANUARY 1991
1440
It wasn’t until he became a squadron
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