Strike Eagle Read Free Page A

We’ve tried shipping more military aid to the Philippine forces—the PC, or Philippine Constabulary, they call it—in an attempt to free the logjam. Fifty million dollars over the last year.”
    Another voice spoke up, that of General Newman, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs. “That’s an increase of twenty million, if you remember, Mr. President—the House upped the ante.”
    Secretary Acht swung his attention to the general. “Was that for new weapons, Dave?”
    General Newman shook his head. “No, Sir. Mostly supplies—ammunition, rifles, that sort of thing. The only new item we sent them was an HPM weapon—high-power microwave.”
    Adleman’s eyebrows rose. “Why did we give them an HPM device?”
    “We’ve had them in the field for years now. Besides, HPMs are only good against a certain class of targets—electronics, mines. And they’re relatively short-ranged; the type we sent them isn’t effective past five hundred yards. The Philippine Constabulary will only be able to use them to detonate land mines, but it still impresses the hell out of the Filipinos. It’s a psychological coup: They are convinced we’re giving them our state-of-the-art equipment, and in return they’ve given us leeway on extending the leases of our bases.”
    Acht nodded. “Good move, if it works.”
    President Longmire paused. “Cyndi, you said the negotiations should proceed at the Cabinet level.…” He moved his head and squinted at Adleman. “Bob, what do you think?”
    Adleman straightened; his mind clicked into high gear, assimilating events from the past few days. “She’s right, Mr. President. Decisive negotiations—and I’d go even higher: I’m probably the one that should sign the deal. We should push this now, take the bull by the horns and demonstrate to the Philippine government that this is one of our top priorities. Regardless of what we’ve said in public, the bases are too important to lose. Sending anyone below me to open the talks would be a slap in their face.”
    The Secretary of State placed his elbows on the table and extended his hands. “No high-level emissary has negotiated with the Philippines since Madame Aquino’s visit decades ago. Even our negotiation of reopening Clark and Subic was at the assistant secretary level. Properly briefed, Mr. Adleman could use his position to tilt the scales in our favor, wrap up a new treaty, and ensure our foothold in the Far East until the end of the century.”
    Longmire coughed again. He motioned with his hand to Adleman. “Bob, have Francis’ people get you up to speed on the lease arrangements. Let’s get you out there within three weeks.”
    He turned to General Newman, weakly. “How does that fit with the aid the Philippine Constabulary is getting, Dave?”
    “They’ve got more than enough to last them, Sir.” He cracked a grin. “Bullets, rifles, blankets—you name it. And like I said, there’s nothing for them to use the HPM weapon against, anyway.”
    Camp John Hay
Bagio, Philippine Islands
    The Philippine Constabulary officer tapped a pencil on his desk. The damned Huks, he thought. How do they keep doing this? But he knew the answer—information was the most abundant commodity on the black market. They had stolen one truck—ten percent of the total convoy. And from only one convoy out of ten. Which meant the Huks now had one percent of the total military aid given by the U.S. government.
    The amount was miniscule, and a greater percentage of the aid would be missing during the next year from pilfering. The only missing item that disturbed the officer was the high-power microwave weapon. It was one out of five that the U.S. had sent.
    The officer knew the percentages. And he also knew what had happened to the last officer who had commanded a unit that the Huks had raided.
    He didn’t want to be a scapegoat.
    He stopped tapping his pencil. The PC Commandant would never learn of the missing truck. Men were constantly being killed