Silent Enemy by Young Tom

Author:Young, Tom [Young, Tom]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Group
Published: 2011-08-04T06:00:00+00:00

STILL AT MAHSOUD’S SIDE IN THE CARGO COMPARTMENT, Gold listened to Parson’s radio calls. She wasn’t sure she’d heard right, but it seemed that from over the middle of the Atlantic he’d reached a radio facility in the Pacific, which transferred him to a telephone in Illinois. Some Army troops considered the Air Force a technogeek’s alternative to military service, but zoomies could communicate; you had to give them that.

Through her headset, she followed the conversation until Parson signed off. “They talked to a bomb technician,” she told Mahsoud. “He believes you are right about your switch of liquid metal.”

Mahsoud nodded, and said in English, “I am very happy that I could help.” He spoke methodically. Gold noted that he never used broken English. He either said it right or switched to Pashto.

“So am I, my friend,” Gold said.

She did not know how much relief she should feel, certainly not how much to convey to Mahsoud and the others. Parson sounded encouraged, but he clearly had no guarantee this would work. Like a platoon commander in the middle of a firefight, he had to make decisions without complete information. And he’d have to live with the results of those decisions for the rest of his life, whether that was forty seconds or forty years.

At least they still had some chance, however small. To Gold, their lives were like guttering flames of candles not yet extinguished.

She kept her headset on, expecting instructions from Parson. He’d likely carry out his plan right away; she knew he tended toward action, perhaps to a fault. So it surprised her when he announced he’d hold off for a few hours.

“Why’s that?” Colman asked.

“Because that thing might go off,” Parson said. “If it does, it’ll probably just take us down. But what if you still have some control? I’d like to be closer to Johnston Island if that happens.”

“I see,” Colman said. He seemed nervous, and Gold understood why. Parson was describing a scenario unfolding after his own death. With Colman a brand-new lieutenant, left in command of a crippled jet. So Parson intended to move the bomb himself, and he didn’t necessarily expect to survive it.

In the meantime, other matters needed attention. Gold had promised Fawad she’d help him walk around, and he looked restless. She checked with the MCD, who gave her blessing. The aeromeds thought it would do him good. The air was smooth now, so it seemed fairly safe for patients to get up. Gold offered her hand to Fawad, and he pulled himself to a sitting position.

“How is your eye?” she asked in Pashto.

“Still painful,” he said.

“It is fortunate you were not inside the building.”

He swung his legs over the litter and placed his feet on the floor. Instead of his usual combat boots, he wore white socks with sandals. Fawad took a few shuffling steps, leaning on Gold. The eye wound was his only injury; Gold supposed his legs had fallen asleep. They walked aft down the cargo compartment.

“This airplane is so big one can go for a stroll,” Gold said.

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