by C J Klinger
Her thoughts were interrupted by the soft thump of the C5A’s wheels hitting the runway. Their destination was the Hatzerim Air Base just outside Be’er Sheva in, southern Israel. Cathy had been told the mission would take about five hours. She had the choice of staying on the C5A during that time or staying in the officer’s lounge on the base, but in either case she was not to engage any of the locals in conversation. She decided she had had enough of the C5A for a while and elected to spend the time in the officers’ lounge. When the big plane rocked on its wheels as it braked to a stop, she knew it was time for her wards to go to war.
Inside one of the crates, Randy was thinking about his recent experience of connecting to the other Mecrats. “I can endure this,” he thought as he remembered his first mental exchanges between him and the other Rats. “We are a family.” The sense of belonging, of shared experiences reminded him of his old unit in Afghanistan. The bond he had developed with other members of his unit was hard to explain to a civilian. When one of the team was killed in action, a little bit of each member died with him. He knew that some of his old team members still grieved for him and he wondered if someday he would be able to tell them that he was okay.
The movement of the crate told him he was being transferred to the waiting C130. He found he was anxious to get into action. A part of him wanted to get back at the people who had planted the IED that had forever changed his life. He wasn’t exactly revenge he was looking for; it was the satisfaction of seeing fear on the faces of the Islamic fighters he encountered. “A little payback for the smug look on the bastard who had detonated the IED,” he thought.
After a bit he could hear the C130’s rear ramp being raised followed by the escalating sound of the Allison turboprops spooling up. As soon as he felt the plane move, the crate was opened and he sat up. The load master wanted them all out of their crates while the plane was still on the ground. By the time the C30 had taxied to the end of the runway, all five Mecrats were sitting on their crates. A quick look through one of the small side ports revealed several F15 Israeli fighter jets sitting off the end of the runway waiting to join them through Eastern Syrian and western Iraqi air space. Halfway to the site, the fighters would pull up and execute a 180 degree turn while the C130 dove for the deck and continued toward the target at an altitude of five hundred feet. The hope was such a maneuver would convince anyone sweeping the area by radar into thinking it was just another Israeli effort to flex their muscles. It was a common enough occurrence to not be considered out of the ordinary.
The C130 took off with the morning light streaming through the small windows. The decision to conduct the mission in full daylight had been the general’s. Without any experience to go by, he decided his Mecrats would have a better chance of success in daytime, especially in a surprise raid when the enemy was not expecting them.
Forty minutes into the flight, the plane dove steeply. In two minutes it leveled off and Randy could see the inhospitable landscape rushing by. “Hey gang, it looks just like Area 51.”
The other four members thumped their chest plate in approval and held their twelve inch wide fist out with the thumbs pointed up. They too were anxious to get into action.
“Five minutes,” the loadmaster said.
The time was now.
Chapter 10
Cathy walked with several of the crew member toward the officers’ lounge. “This is the hard part,” she thought, “The waiting.” In the officers’ lounge they congregated around the coffee pot and the breakfast table their hosts had laid out for them. She saw several Israeli air force personnel in full flight gear sitting together. It didn’t surprise her. She knew that Israel lived in a perpetual state of preparedness. With whole countries and several organizations dedicated to eliminating its existence, military service and alertness were second nature. Hearing it on the news and seeing it in person were two different things. It reminded her how insulated she was from the real world in her world as an academic.
“Doctor Williamson? Is that you?”
Cathy froze in her tracks. She recognized that voice. How was it possible that professor Ben Azima was in Israel? Her mind raced furiously on what to do. She could lie that he had mistaken her for someone else, but lying had never been her forte. Besides he knew her too well. They had worked together on several projects at John Hopkins. Finally she settled on a wild version of the truth. She turned and greeted the old man with a smile, “Professor Azima, what a pleasant surprise. What are you doing in Israel?”
He gave her a fatherly hug and stepped back to appraise her. His questioning eyes took in the desert colored air force uniform. “I should ask you, what are you doing here? My God, Cathy, are you in the American military?”
Cathy waved her hand dismissively. “Oh no, Professor Azima, nothing like that. My boyfriend is testing a product for Lockheed and he came along on this flight to see how it was working.” She pointed through the lounge windows at the giant aircraft on the apron. “On a lark I decided to come with him.” She hoped he would not realize she had not explained why she was dressed in fatigues.
Relief flooded the old man’s face. “Thank God, you are such a talent. I can’t imagine you would give up your career to join the military. What are you working on now, if I may ask?”
Cathy could see Colonel Westover frowning at her over the good professor’s shoulder. He had been adamant about not talking to anyone while they were in Israel, but she had no choice, the professor had recognized her.
“I’m still working on my neural interface project, Professor, trying to solve the problem of spinal injuries.” She was desperate to change the subject. “What are you doing here, Professor Azima?”
The old man’s face glowed with pride. “My son, Maurice. He is an air force instructor and is in Israel for three months to train the Israeli air force on the upgraded F15 fighter. I came over on my vacation and stopped by here to say goodbye before I flew home.” He smiled and added with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “If you didn’t have a boyfriend, I would introduce you to him. You two would make a good match.”
Cathy laughed and put her hand on the old man’s arm. “Sorry, Professor Azima, but Randy’s the one for me.” It wasn’t until she had said Sergeant Rucker’s name that she realized his was the first name that had popped into her head when she had made up the lie about having a boyfriend.
Professor Azima padded her hand and smiled. “Well, it was a thought. Wait, here’s Maurice now. Let me introduce him. I promise not to embarrass you.”
Left with little choice, Cathy turned to meet a very handsome pilot walking toward them. He was the epitome of tall, dark and handsome. He took in her desert camo outfit with a questioning look and turned to his father for an explanation. As soon as the professor had introduced his son to Cathy, Colonel Westover walked over to the trio. The Captain came to attention and saluted the senior office. It wasn’t required indoors, but apparently the captain felt it was appropriate in a foreign country, especially since the senior officer had approached him.
Colonel Westover was polite, but direct. “Excuse me, but I must speak to Captain Azima on an important matter.” Without introducing himself or offering an explanation he motioned for the junior officer to follow him. Cathy was not surprised at Westover’s action, but it was obvious the professor was surprised by the unusual move by the American Colonel.
“I hope everything is Okay.” The older man fidgeted with his hands in an obvious sign of distress.
“I wouldn’t worry about it professor. I rode on the plane with the Colonel. He’s a nice man. It’s probably some minor military issue.” Cathy saw an opportunity to break away from the professor while he was distracted. “I have to return to our plane. Randy wants to show me what he working on. It was nice to see you again, Professor Azima.” He was so intent on watching the conversation between his son and the other American office that he didn’t pay much attention to Cathy’s leaving. She walked over to the breakfast table, grabbed a
couple of bagels sandwiches and headed out to the plane with two of the crew members who were headed that way.
No one in the room paid much attention to the man in the suit who had been debriefing two Israeli pilots. Razi Cohen was a twenty year veteran of Mossad. Not much missed his inspection. Something about the exchange didn’t ring true. He couldn’t imagine the American Air Force allowing a civilian woman to dress herself in a military uniform and travel seventy-five hundred miles with her boyfriend on a plane that was obviously involved in some kind of secret mission. She was more than she appeared to be. What had the professor said about her work? Neurological interface? He wrote down her name and what he could remember of the conversation. He made a note to himself to check up on her when he got back to the office.
Cathy sat down in the uncomfortable seat in the empty C5A and settled in to wait for the C130 to return. She nibbled at her bagel and wondered if she should have stayed in Nevada, but on second thought she knew the Mecrats had benefited greatly from their first mind-to-mind sessions with each other. Five minutes later Colonel Westover entered through the personnel door and sat down next to her. She wasn’t military, so she wasn’t concerned about him being angry at her for her speaking to the professor. She had been left with little choice.
“I believe I was able to control the situation, Dr. Williamson. I wouldn’t worry any more about it.”
She relaxed at his casual remark, but her curiosity was peaked. “What did you say to the Captain?”
For the first time since she had met the Colonel, he smiled. “I told him you were on a secret mission and it was vital that his father forget that he saw you in Israel.”
Cathy grimaced. “Good luck with that. Professor Azima hit on me every day for the five months we worked together. Now he was trying to fix me up with his son when you walked over.”
Colonel Westover’s grin widened to a smile. “I can understand why.” His expression turned serious. “I’ve never taken the time to commend you on your work, Doctor. None of this would have been possible without your expertise. It also pleases me that you’re concerned about our soldiers’ wellbeing.”
Cathy was surprised into speechlessness. Early on she had categorized the military men who came from the pentagon to check on the Mecrat program as mission oriented individuals who had very little concern for the casualties that might occur while achieving their goals. Now it seemed she had misjudged them, at least this one.
“If you don’t mind, call me Cathy. I get tired of the formality all the time.”
His smile returned. “I’ll do that, when it’s appropriate. You can call me George.” He paused for a second, “When it’s appropriate.”
They laughed at the implied meanings behind his words. Both of them were in structure oriented careers where years were invested to achieve a certain rank. It was good, and at the same time stifling on a personal level. Cathy felt she had found an advocate for her concerns about how the Mecrats would be used in the future.
She expressed her feelings for them in one simple sentence. “Please take care of my Rats, Colonel.”
“I will, Cathy. You can count on it.” George looked at his watch and said, “They should be getting there very soon. I have to go upstairs to our communication center, Want to come?” Upstairs meant the pilot’s deck where the mission communication center had been set up.
Cathy hesitated for a second then decided against listening in on a battle were people, even the hated Islamic fighters were being killed. “I think I’ll wait here, but if you would, let me know when they’re on their way back.”
“Will do,” He said with a smile and a small salute and started climbing the ladder to the top deck.
Chapter 11
The C130’s abrupt climb signaling their arrival at the jump off point. The rear ramp began to descend and the noise level rose dramatically. Randy could see the details of the desert landscape receding as the plane rose to five thousand feet. The ready light changed from yellow to green and the loadmaster pointed out the rear ramp which was parallel to the plane’s cargo floor. He didn’t hesitate. He ran straight out knowing that the two Rats behind him would jump to either side. The last two members of the squad would wait a second and then jump left and right. When all their wings were deployed, they would be in a loose V formation about a hundred yards wide.
Randy felt his wings deploy followed quickly by the sound of the two small jet engines winding up to full speed. He turned to the right and headed for the desert floor which had come perceptively closer during the brief moments of freefall. He heard the other four members of the squad check in with a click of their como buttons and knew they had all deployed without any problems. The joy stick in front of him had a small screen with a GPS controlled map display. A red arrow made it obvious where to go. They were right on track. His altimeter told him they were fifty feet off the ground. At ten miles he could make out the taller structures in Al Bukamal on the horizon, probably mosque minarets. At five miles the green fields bordering the Euphrates River began to tint the horizon. At two miles he could see the compound. At one mile they passed the outer most farm buildings. At one quarter mile he pulled up sharply and pressed the button to cut the engines and retract the wings.
In the silence that followed, his forward momentum took him up another hundred feet before his parasail deployed at an altitude of seven hundred feet. Randy used the few seconds of silent flight to scan the compound for threats. None were evident. Apparently any perimeter guards were inside escaping the midday heat. He maneuvered the chute rings to land on the roof just behind the entrance. He looked to both sides and saw Mary McKinsey and Diego Gonzales lined up to land on the roof on the opposites sides of the building. At five feet above the roof, Randy cut lose from its harness and fell the remaining few feet. His armor plated feet hit the light concrete roof structure with a thunderous crash. His nine hundred pounds passed through it like it wasn’t there.
Shrieks of terror followed his descent into the room below. Randy shifted to infrared to see through the dust his crash had created. Three people were in the room. One of them had recovered his wits enough to swing his AK47 around. He never completed his turn before Randy’s precisely placed shots from his modified AR16 cut him down. The second man had fainted at the sight of the huge apparition suddenly appearing among them. The third man was fumbling with his weapon when he fell to the same fate as the first. Randy walked over to the man who had fainted and recovered his weapon. He took the Russian made gun and bent it over his knee. Next he dragged him over to a pipe coming out of the floor, stuck his limp arm between it and the wall and tied his wrist with a restrainer.
Outside he could hear shots being fired. Judging from the sounds, they were American AR16s. Inside he could hear sounds of walls being destroyed and shrieks of terror. One of the guards ran into the room and right into Randy, who picked him up by his shirt and shouted in Farsi, “Where are the women?”
The guard’s eyes bulged. He babbled, trying to get words out and finally pointed to his right. Randy clipped his weapon to a chest clip, disarmed the terrified guard and took another plastic restrainer from his utility belt to secure the babbling man to the same pipe as the man who had fainted. Satisfied the two were not going anywhere, he kicked in the door in the guard had pointed toward. Ahead was another door to a room that Randy guessed was the room the women were being held based on the padlock attached to the outside. He ripped it off and gently pushed the door open, hoping not to scare the women inside too badly.
“Sister Marie?”
A tentative voice called out. “Yes?”
“Your taxi is waiting.”
It was the right thing to say because the two women came out of the room without hesitation. Both of them looked up in surprise at the giant creature stooped over to fit in the hallway. The other woman, Alice Beacon apparently read Arabic because she read the script on Randy’s chest plate and said, “The Angel of Death. Judging from the gunfire and screams I’
m guessing it must be true.”
“Unfortunately, Ma’am, a few of them did not give us a choice.”
Sister Marie nodded her head in understanding. “They didn’t seem like the negotiating type.”
“We have to hurry Ma’am, companies coming.” He led them down the hall past the two prisoners and out the door into the courtyard. Randy had to squeeze through the door. The other Mecrats had gathered the dead ISIS soldiers and laid them out in the compound side by side. Sister Marie stopped at the sight and made the sign of the cross. Randy found the gesture enigmatic, a Christian nun blessing dead Muslim warriors who moments before had been planning to participate in her beheading. Randy was certain all the Gods involved were confused.
The other Mecrats gathered around. The women took in the sight without saying anything. Explanations would come later. Randy assigned Mary McKinsey and Marty Welkins to carry the two women while he, Escobedo and Boyer would provide cover. At the last moment, Randy decided to pick up the discarded parasails. They had originally planned to leave them behind, but he decided to take all evidence of how they got here to deprive the ISIS of anyone to blame. Besides, the Angels of Death did not come to earth on a parasail. He drew out his three foot long broad sword and headed for the entry door.
Sister Marie Esmond looked at him sternly. “You’re not going to kill them, are you?”
“No sister, but I’m going to scare the shit out of them. Will it be my fault if they die of a heart attack?”