But now, on a mission, Bean was silent, the calm of battle already on him. Suriyawong and Bean boarded their choppers last, making sure all their men were aboard; one last salute to each other, and then they ducked inside and the door closed and the choppers rose into the air. They jetted along near the surface of the Indian Ocean, the chopper blades folded and enclosed until they got near Cheduba Island, today's staging area. Then the choppers dispersed, rose into the air, cut the jets, and opened their blades for vertical landing.
Now they would leave behind their reserves--the men and choppers that could bring out anyone stranded by a mechanical problem or unforeseen complication. Bean and Suriyawong never rode together--one chopper failure should not behead the mission. And each of them had redundant equipment, so that either could complete the whole mission. More than once, the redundancy had saved lives and missions--Phet Noi made sure they were always equipped because, as he said, "You give the materiel to the commanders who know how to use it."
Bean and Suriyawong were too busy to chat in the staging area, but they did come together for a few moments, as they watched the reserve team camouflage their choppers and scrim their solar collectors. "You know what I wish?" said Bean.
"You mean besides wanting to be an astronaut when you grow up?" said Suriyawong.
"That we could scrub this mission and take off for Hyderabad."
"And get ourselves killed without ever seeing a sign of Petra, who has probably already been moved to someplace in the Himalayas."
"That's the genius of my plan," said Bean. "I take a herd of cattle hostage and threaten to shoot a cow a day till they bring her back."
"Too risky. The cows always make a break for it." But Suriyawong knew that to Bean, the inability to do anything for Petra was a constant ache. "We'll do it. Peter's looking for someone who'll give him current information about Hyderabad."
"Like he's working on publishing Achilles' plans." The favorite diatribe. Only because they were on mission, Bean remained calm, ironic rather than furious.
"All done," said Suriyawong.
"See you in the mountains."
It was a dangerous mission. The enemy couldn't watch every kilometer of highway, but they had learned to converge quickly when the Thai choppers were spotted, and their strike force was having to finish their missions with less and less time to spare. And this spot was likely to be defended. That was why Bean's contingent--four of the five companies--would be deployed to clear away any defenders and protect Suriyawong's group while they laid the charges and blew up the road and the bridge.
All was going according to plan--indeed, better than expected, because the enemy seemed not to know they were there--when one of the men pointed out, "There's a woman on the bridge."
"A civilian?"
"You need to see," said the soldier.
Suriyawong left the spot where the explosives were being placed and climbed back up to the bridge. Sure enough, a young Indian woman was standing there, her arms stretched out toward either side of the ravine.
"Has anyone mentioned to her that the bridge is going to explode, and we don't actually care if anyone's on it?"
"Sir," said the soldier, "she's asking for Bean."
"By name?"
He nodded.
Suriyawong looked at the woman again. A very young woman. Her clothing was filthy, tattered. Had it once been a military uniform? It certainly wasn't the way local women dressed.
She looked at him. "Suriyawong," she called.
Behind him, he could hear several soldiers exhale or gasp in surprise or wonder. How did this Indian woman know? It worried Suriyawong a little. The soldiers were reliable in almost everything, but if they once got godstuff into their heads, it could complicate everything.
"I'm Suriyawong," he said.
"You were in Dragon Army," she said. "And you work with Bean."
"What do you want?" he demanded.
"I want to talk with you privately, here on the bridge."
"Sir, don't go," said the soldier. "Nobody's shooting, but we've spotted a half-dozen Indian soldiers. You're dead if you go out there."
What would Bean do?
Suriyawong stepped out onto the bridge, boldly but not in any hurry. He waited for the gunshot, wondering if he would feel the pain of impact before he heard the sound. Would the nerves of his ears report to his brain faster than the nerves of whatever body part the bullet tore into? Or would the sniper hit him in the head, mooting the point?