Legacy of Dragons- Emergence

by T D Raufson

  “More so I expect, if he flies here.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Melissa, I’m not the only one armed this morning. Didn’t you hear what I said about hunt teams? They’re out there, near here, scouring the woods for lizard men. This is the wrong time to be flying around exposing yourself. Do you want to draw attention to yourself right now and turn them into dragon hunters? Do you want to draw them here?”

  How dare he try to tell us how we should act! Her inner voice growled, and she had to struggle to keep it in.

  “It is wise to be cautious,” she answered both Charles and herself.

  Humans had not seen a dragon in… She struggled with a sharp pain to find the answer and finally gave up. Humans had not seen a dragon in a long time, and they would react to what they saw and believed. They would be fearful and react accordingly. Charles’ fear was tempered some by what he had experienced with Helena. No other humans had his experience to lean on, so, what seemed like a normal thing, flying to meet her, was probably not safe or smart. That was what Charles had been telling her while she had focused on her ham. Instinctively Melissa reached out to her mother.

  “You must not fly here. You must remain in human form and be discreet. You must make him understand.”

  Agitation returned to her in a wave; and although the presence was comforting, the emotion was not.

  “I’ve warned them. When they arrive, please show them to the back patio. My father will need to stretch his wings.” Charles nodded, placed the new pieces of ham on her plate, and left the room.

  Her mother’s presence, agitated or not, had been far too short, and Melissa found herself longing to reach out to her. It was not for several minutes, while she enjoyed the savory flavor and aroma of the meat, that Melissa realized she had given an order to her parents. She would pay for that.

  Chapter 3 - Chaos of Birth

  June 21 – 1000 CDT – Outside of Dallas, Texas

  The black Bell 204 Jet Ranger with “FBI” painted on each sliding door descended into a military staging area. If the colors had been slightly different, Silas would have thought he was flying into an LZ in Vietnam instead of a field in Texas. He closed up the packet he had been scanning since he left Washington and took in the scene.

  Two National Guard Humvees were anchoring a containment ring at the entrance to the lone office building of the sports equipment manufacturing plant. There was nothing else around for several miles. Beyond the plant, Silas could see the other side of the containment anchored by two more Humvees. From this distance, it was hard to tell but he thought he could make out the .50 Caliber machine guns, affectionately known as “Ma Deuce” by their gunners, traversing the scrub in the no-man’s-land between them. He borrowed a pair of Steiner 10x50’s to verify the armaments.

  Silas scanned the positions drawing the lines of interlocking fire as the pilot threaded through a pair of news choppers angling for the money shot. From a quick review there appeared to be no avenue of escape for the lizard men who had taken over this remote manufacturing plant.

  Silas didn’t need to read the packet again to recall the details. Though quickly thrown together, the report, now hours old, said the five “men” had entered the break room of the manufacturing plant, ripping open the secured doors and threatening anyone who tried to leave. “The Angry One” struck a man who tried to confront them. No one was aware of his condition. A few young women had escaped through the kitchen entrance and now provided the only perspective of the scene. Silas hoped this little war was not being staged because of that report.

  The pilot pointed to a taped off square on the ground behind a cluster of vehicles including one Humvee, an old model Suburban, and a nondescript sedan with government tags. A small easy-up covered a quickly prepared command center. Silas gave the pilot a thumbs-up and with minor control motions, he executed a landing apropos to the scene into which they were descending.

  Everybody lived for the action. They all wanted to perform their duty. They all wanted to get it right like they did in the exercises, but sometimes that desire got in the way of the control needed to keep something from getting crazy. There was so much commitment to the performance that it was almost too easy to start a war. Someone needed to back off the button a little before this powder keg became a petard. Silas was not interested in foisting himself on one today.

  The skids touched down lightly on the dry soil, and a cloud of dust billowed around the helicopter. The sound of the engine changed as the pilot cut the power and the craft settled to the ground. Silas scanned his gear to make sure he still looked like the FBI agent he was supposed to be. He flipped the ID pocket of his new FBI vest out where his equally new ID could reflect the early morning sun into the eyes of the already too excited agents and soldiers. There was no way to avoid the immediate jurisdiction competition that was coming, and he had no authority to take over from the local incident commander. If he was facing the National Guard, then Silas had nothing in his packet big enough to help him. He would need to talk to Tara about that, but today he would have to use charm. Silas smiled at the familiar situation. One last adjustment of his go-bag and he was ready.

  The pilot gave him a thumbs-up, and he was out the door, walking toward the taped off edge of the LZ. At the opening, a young corporal was waiting for him.

  “Sir,” his eyes darted to the ID and then back up to Silas’ face, “If you will come with me, the colonel is about to start his briefing.”

  Keep the new guy moving to avoid the inevitable conflict; good tactic. Silas nodded and motioned for the corporal to lead the way with a smile. No need to take it out on the enlisted, he was just doing his job.

  As they crossed the interestingly deserted highway, Silas got his first solid impression that something was not right about the staging. He reviewed what he had seen from the air again and suddenly felt much better. He nodded as they slipped into the 10x10 square of people looking at a situation board.

  As soon as he saw the map, he knew what his gut had told him as he crossed the road was true. The cordon around the building was intentionally hard but it had one weakness. The incident commander wanted to push the subjects to run, but he did not trust their mental stability to do it. He was using subconscious clues in the staging of the cordon to lead the fight-or-flight response to flight. He was going to funnel them out of the fight. It was a risky move. Silas hoped it would work.

  The incident commander, a colonel with “Holloway” embroidered on the tape above his left pocket, returned his nod as he entered the circle. A single shift of his eye told Silas that he had been wrong about his first impression of this man’s operation. There was nothing haphazard or reactive in the way he set up this scene. It just looked that way. He had read the brief Silas had thrown together on the plane. Silas pulled his tablet from his go-bag and connected to the field network. Everything clicked into place like it had been planned for years; Tara had this organized for a long time and was pulling it all together like the puppet master that she was. Silas scanned the badges around him and realized that they all had that just printed look. None of these people were what they appeared to be, except the colonel. There was no way that Holloway was anything but what he said he was. The armored cavalry badge on his ACU told him he was dealing with the real deal there. Nothing worked this well out of the box; Holloway was following Silas’ brief without even meeting him. Silas felt Tara’s hand there too, but it was more comfortable than a forced détente.

  Silas let the man lead his briefing and bring everyone up to speed on the plan. While the others listened, Silas measured the collected group. The major standing behind the colonel was not a problem. He was as authentic Army as the man he followed. They were hand and glove. To their right was the FBI HRT team scrambled from the local office. They would be the hammer of this scenario, highly visible and backed up by the heavy National Guard firepower. They would have no problem with their role; and if they were trained right, they would und
erstand the benefit of the bluff as well as the hard hit. The real worry was the authentic regional director of the FBI standing with them. His badge and his body language presented all the signs of someone who had not been read-in and was not happy about it. Silas shifted toward him.

  The locals were standing to the left of the briefing map. This was not the first time they had been part of something this big. The sheriff looked backwoods, but he carried an air and knowledge under the wide brimmed hat that could only come from experience. He was sitting back listening to the plan, happy that someone else would be on the hook if it went bad, but he was not showing any sign that he was worried it would fail.

  Silas looked back toward the airspace around them. The helicopters that had been circling when they arrived were gone. Someone had sealed the airspace behind him. This event would have no play on the local news at all. A special agent back in town was probably writing the cover story even as they all planned this mission. That was the last piece of the puzzle; the news could not report that the FBI and National Guard had let hostage takers escape. The story on the news tonight would be a completely different story of peaceful surrender after tense negotiations.

  With the briefing complete, each team started to break and move to their staging areas. Silas was standing next to the FBI regional director as they started to break up.

  “You think this will work?” he asked conspiratorially.

  The guy rolled his eyes. “I think we had better be careful that no one gets killed on our team when this idea falls apart. That’s why my team will be ready to take the real shot.” He even winked at Silas.

  Silas grinned and nodded back to him. Convinced he was among friends, the director angled his head back toward the western horizon. Silas followed his glance looking for any tell-tale signs from the sniper team the director was hinting he had out there. Silas couldn’t see them, but he knew where he would be.

  There was nothing Silas could do now. The agent was in place, and it would create a disturbance in the otherwise clean plan if he tried. He would just hope none of the lizard men were interested in fighting instead of running, but that had always been his opinion. They were confused and agitated, but not violent unless trapped. Either way, they would know soon enough.

  After the director was well on his way back to the FBI staging area to organize the HRT, Silas joined the colonel at the map. Holloway and Major Carson were carefully scanning over the terrain, looking for any holes or weaknesses in the plan. The eraser on Carson’s yellow pencil was pointing toward a small rise to the west of the containment ring. Carson had worked with snipers before. When he realized Silas was walking up, the pencil nervously adjusted down to a completely unimportant location on the map.

  “So, I told them they had better get those MRE’s down here if they didn’t want some hot-and-bothered soldiers in their barracks in the morning asking what happened.”

  “Relax Mike, this man’s no more FBI than my boots. Ain’t that right, Silas?”

  Silas grinned at the older man. “How long have you known her?”

  “Before you met her in College, I’ll assure you. Can’t say I’m sorry she wised up about you.”

  Silas nodded smiling at the protective jab from the older man. They both knew they were on the same team here. “If this works, that little nest will be no issue.”

  “I was just saying that same thing to Mike.”

  Mike nodded to Silas, accepting the relationship between the two men completely, but continued his argument. He was a good soldier, looking for all possible problems.

  “Right, but all it takes is one move by one of the X-rays and that sniper’s going to take a shot.”

  “And he will be correct to take it,” Silas answered. Honesty in conflicts was the right option. “Look at the reports we have. We don’t know exactly what we’re dealing with here. Every scrap of intel we have comes from the foggy memories of a few scared witnesses. We have to assume they are more powerful than we think.” Not for the first time that morning, Silas realized how absurd all of this was. If he stopped to think about it, he would not be able to do his job, so he ignored the feeling and went on.

  Holloway listened and nodded. Carson paused a moment taking in what Silas had said.

  “Right,” Holloway said. “We leave him in place. We really don’t know what they can do, and our lives are on the line here. The FBI has full control of the breach.”

  “Can we get ears on the FBI?” Carson asked a question he should have had the answer to.

  “Nope,” Holloway answered flatly, “didn’t have time to get everything here.”

  With a simple slash of the pencil through the air, Carson marked the missing radio unit off his list and returned to the plan. Now neutral and waiting, his pencil bounced in the air between him and the map as he stared at nothing and focused on the problem.

  “I might be able to help with that,” Silas said.

  “They trust you?” Carson asked, using his pencil to punctuate his question. With a little spin he slipped it behind his ear.

  “They do now.”

  “Do it,” Holloway decided and Silas moved to make his connection to the FBI’s radio net.

  After a few minutes of convincing and a little pulling rank, Silas had his radio set to the FBI’s tactical net and a call sign assigned. The final pieces were falling into place. He could hear the National Guard talking to the FBI on the shared frequency in one ear and the FBI’s private conversations as they set up their actions and covers in another. They were not taking chances. The order was shoot-to-kill at the first sign of trouble. Everyone was in place, command and control of the breach was in the FBI’s hands. Silas scanned the tactical board to familiarize himself with the call signs in use. They had two moving teams, Bravo and Hotel. Bravo was the breaching team, and Hotel was the Humvees covering the entrances. Romeo and Tango were the primary command units. Romeo was the FBI team leading the assault. Tango was the National Guard Command Center. It looked like a standard setup. The doors were coded by the facing side of the building and numbered. There was only one floor so everything would be on the Alpha level. The lizard men were accounted for as five X-Rays. All the players were present except for one, and his call would not be on the board.

  The radio crackled to life. “Bravo-One, Romeo-One advise when you are in position.”

  In a textbook demonstration of how to give your enemy too much time to react and time to think, the HRT, Bravo, was breaching as far away from the X-rays as they could without too much risk.

  “Romeo-One, Bravo-One, in position at Green-One.”

  “Bravo-One. Clear to breach.”

  Silas grabbed a pair of binoculars from the table and stepped away from the tactical board to lean across the nearby FBI sedan’s hood. From his position he could see the breach area and the exit point on the back of the building, Black-Four.

  He heard the breaching charges go, and the quiet controlled voices of the agents carried none of the adrenaline charge that must be filling the air of the commissary kitchen. They were all pros. Motion at Black-Four drew Silas’ eye. Four lizard men poured out of it into the parking area. Bravo-Five and Six, the HRT team covering the lot, herded them into the chute. Hotel-Five, a Humvee on the perimeter, raced toward the lot with the “Ma Duce” traversing onto target. One of the X-rays pointed at it and they all ran for the “weakness” in the perimeter to the west.

  “Romeo-One, this is Overwatch. I have four on the move. Missing one.” The FBI tactical net came to life as Overwatch, the only unaccounted call sign, reported in. The sniper team had eyes on the exit.

  “Overwatch, stand by.”

  “Bravo-three, what’s your situation?” the same voice requested on the operation net.

  “Romeo-One, Bravo-Three, all hostages clearing through Green-One. One X-ray holding Black-Four. Clear to Fire?”

  “Bravo-Three, negative. Hold fire. What is X-ray’s stance?”

  “He has a metal door held out l
ike a shield. He’s blocking Black-Four.”

  Defensive, Silas grinned. They were running, so far.

  Silas keyed his mic. “Romeo-One, Tango-One, have Bravo-Three apply grazing fire.”

  “Bravo-Three, grazing fire now.”

  “Romeo-One, Bravo-Three wilco.”

  The staccato bursts of submachine gun fire echoed from the doorway as if it was on a movie playing in the building.

  “Romeo-One, Bravo-Three, he’s falling back.”

  “Bravo-Three, maintain pressure.”

  The fifth lizard man rushed from the door and raced after his companions. He was shaking his hand and seemed rattled. Silas zoomed in on his face and adjusted the focus dial. He was angry, not scared. Too much.

  “Romeo-One, Tango-One, cease fire press with heavier cover fire.”

  “Hotel-Five, Romeo-One, close on X-ray-Five and press.”

  “Hotel-Five, Roger, oscar mike.”

  A cloud of dust appeared behind the Humvee that had pressed the others to run. Silas watched as the soldier racked the arming lever on the M2 and aimed near but not at the last X-ray.

  The loud report from the heavy machine gun smacked at Silas as the gunner fired five rounds at the ground near the last lizard man. Silas zoomed in again and noted that the face showed the fear it needed to, but instead of pushing him to move faster, the lizard man stopped running to turn toward the advancing Humvee.

  “Hotel-Two, Romeo-One, close in and support.”

  Tires near Silas ripped at the dirt and grass before another Humvee raced forward toward the runners. The smell of soil, gas, and oil settled around them as the soldiers raced to force the last runner into the funnel. Silas heard the arming lever slam home and the thump-thump of the “Ma Duce” opening up close by distracted him for just a moment. He refocused on the last X-ray. The new threat drove him further into a panic, and he looked at his departing companions. They were making their way, unmolested by the racing Humvee. Freedom was there if he would just turn and run.