Hellfire

by Richard Turner

  “Jesus, Owen, when were you planning on telling us?” rebuked Jackson.

  “I’m sorry, with everything happening all at once it just hit me what my uncle meant.”

  Mitchell picked up a rifle from the ground, checked that it had a round in the chamber, and looked over at his friends. “Folks, we haven’t a second to spare. We’ve got to stop Houston from leaving with the anthrax. Everything else is secondary.”

  His friends didn’t need to be told that he was asking them to risk everything, including their lives, to prevent a global catastrophe.

  Jackson clenched his assault rifle in his hands. With a grin on his face, he said, “Come on, Captain, we’ve got a convoy to stop.”

  Mitchell turned his head to look at Jen and Owen. “Stay close behind Yuri. When the shooting starts, I want you both to find a way out and get as far away from here as you can. You have to contact General O’Reilly and let him know what’s going on.”

  Jen opened her mouth to say something, but the resolute look in Mitchell’s eyes made her stop. She nodded her head, knowing that there was nothing she could say that would make him change his mind.

  With a determined look on his face, Mitchell said, “Okay, let’s do this.”

  42

  The Situation Room

  Looking like a pair of medieval dragons, the Predator UAVs flew between a pair of snow-covered peaks. Flying side by side, they dipped down until they were barely meters above the trees covering a long valley as they raced towards their objective. Flying at three hundred kilometers an hour, the UAVs were identically armed with two thermobaric bombs and two laser-guided bombs. Although only one Predator was required, the second was a backup in case the other had to turn back or failed to eradicate the base and every living thing inside of it.

  President Kempt, flanked by his National Security Council, sat anxiously in the Situation Room and watched the live feed from the UAVs. Although his administration had continued the previous president’s use of UAVs to strike at terrorists around the globe, this was the first time that he had personally authorized the death of another human being. He was numb inside. He kept telling himself that he had a job to do.

  “Time to target?” asked Kempt.

  “Just under eighteen minutes, sir,” replied Anne Hook.

  “What’s your plan of attack?”

  “Sir, we’ll go in with one Predator while the other stays back out of sight. If the first one fails to penetrate the blast doors, we’ll bring in the second one,” explained Hook.

  Patterson said, “There’s no way in hell the blast doors will be able to survive a strike by four Paveway bombs. The instant the doors are gone, we’ll guide in the thermobaric bombs.”

  Kempt turned his head and looked up at the live feed coming from the unarmed UAV still circling the base. The blast doors had closed a couple of minutes ago. Only several small side doors remained open. He could see people moving about outside, oblivious to their impending doom; their bodies looked like bright white ghosts through the UAV’s thermal camera.

  Leonard put down a phone on the desk and looked over at Kempt. “Sir, that was the Albanian Ambassador on the line. He asked me to pass on that President Sava is very upset that he was not briefed earlier about the pending strike on Albanian territory. However, he is very appreciative for the three hundred million dollars you provided his nation in foreign aid.”

  “I thought he’d be grateful,” replied Kempt.

  “The ambassador also passed on that Albanian military units in the region have been placed on high alert. They will establish a massive army presence around the airfield and await the arrival of our Special Forces chemical warfare team.”

  Patterson said, “Sir, the team is already on its way to Albania from Germany and should be there within the hour.”

  “Very good,” acknowledged Kempt as he looked over at the clock on the wall. Time seemed to be passing so slowly. All he wanted was for the strike to be over, so he could put this all behind him and get on with the business of running the country. His gut, however, told him it was going to be a long time before things ever got back to normal.

  43

  The Bunker

  Mitchell gently pushed open the stairway door and peered out onto the main hangar floor. He clenched his jaw when he spotted McMasters giving orders to a group of armed guards standing near the armored-vehicle convoy. A quick glance at his watch told him they had about fifteen minutes to stop Houston from leaving with the anthrax.

  “What’s going on?” asked Jackson.

  “I can see McMasters and a bunch of his goons standing around the vehicles,” whispered Mitchell over his shoulder.

  “Houston?”

  Mitchell shook his head and closed the door. Looking down at his ragtag group crouched on the stairwell, he knew that they didn’t stand a chance against the dozens of armed guards in the hangar.

  They needed a diversion.

  With a smile on his face, Mitchell said, “Nate, can you drive a forklift?”

  “Sure, why not? It can’t be that difficult.”

  A minute later, Jackson opened the door. He slung his rifle over his shoulder and then, acting as if he belonged there, he walked over to the far side of the hangar where several rows of stacked boxes stood. Parked alongside the boxes was a forklift. He took a quick look around to make sure no one was watching him and climbed onto the forklift. He switched it on and shifted it into reverse. Carefully applying power, Jackson backed up the machine and changed gears. He was about to head in the direction of several forty-five-gallon drums filled with fuel when a man with a clipboard in his hands shouted at him to stop. With an angry look on his face, the man ran over to the forklift. “Hey, who the hell told you to move my forklift?”

  “McMasters did,” replied Jackson, hoping that the man would fall for the lie.

  “How come I wasn’t told?”

  Jackson shrugged his shoulders. “I dunno. Wanna get out of my way so I can get to work?”

  The man took a step back, stopped and looked suspiciously over at Jackson for a couple of seconds. “I don’t know you. Just who the hell are you?”

  A couple of nearby guards heard the man getting angry. They turned their heads and looked over at the forklift.

  Jackson knew that his cover was blown. He swiftly turned the machine in McMasters’ direction, jammed his rifle onto the accelerator, and jumped.

  “Stop him!” yelled the man, pointing at Jackson.

  “Christ, Nate’s in trouble!” said Mitchell. In a flash, he threw open the door to the stairs and sprinted for a nearby parked BMW. Like a baseball player stealing home base, he slid to a halt behind the car. He pulled his rifle from his back, laid his weapons’ sights on a couple of guards running towards Jackson, and cut them down.

  Behind him, Grace and Midori dashed out of the stairwell and dropped down behind a long metal crate. They brought their FN F2000 assault rifles to their shoulders, took aim at the nearest group of guards, and opened fire.

  Gunfire erupted through the hangar.

  “Damn it all to hell,” said Cardinal, wishing that he had a weapon with him. He edged to the open door and peered outside just as Grace opened fire on a man trying to sneak his way around a parked black Mercedes SUV.

  Sam moved up behind him. “Gord, we need to get our hands on some weapons and fast if we’re going to get into this fight.”

  “Easier said than done,” replied Cardinal as he quickly pulled his head back inside. A split second later, bullets tore into the concrete wall, showering everyone still on the stairs with plaster and dust.

  Yuri turned around, looked sorrowfully at Jen, and shook his head.

  The meaning was clear; the way out was blocked.

  “We can’t get out that way,” said Jen to Owen as she listened to the sound of automatic gunfire reverberating down the stairwell. Jen turned around, grabbed him by the hand, and pulled him with her down the stairs. As soon as they reached the next floor, Jen open
ed the door and poked her head out. Thankfully, no one was there.

  “Come on,” she said.

  “Where are we going?” asked Owen fearfully.

  “We’ve got to find another way out of here.”

  With that, she started to run down the long hallway, praying that it came out somewhere where they could get out of the installation before time ran out and they died along with everyone else.

  With a yell on Jackson’s lips, he smashed headlong into the man who had blown his cover, sending him flying to the ground. “Sorry,” said Jackson as he gave the man a swift kick in the ribs for good measure.

  Suddenly, the world around him exploded with gunfire as his compatriots traded shots with McMasters’ men. Just in front of him, a couple of guards dropped to the floor in a bloody heap. Without stopping, Jackson ran past the dead men, scooping up one of the men’s rifles. He dove behind a parked truck just as a blast of automatic fire tore into the side of the military-style, ten-ton truck.

  Jackson rolled over on his side behind one of the truck’s massive tires and checked that the assault rifle in his hands was loaded before poking his head out from behind the tire. He could see men scurrying to and fro around the convoy of armored vehicles. He cursed when he couldn’t see McMasters anywhere. Jackson was about to take aim at a couple of guards firing at Mitchell when he saw his forklift collide into the row of boxes they had been using for cover, sending them scurrying out of the way. With a satisfied grin on his face, he fired at one of the men, sending him dropping to the ground, clutching his shoulder in pain.

  Mitchell knew that his weapon’s magazine only held thirty rounds. After firing off a couple of shots at a guard using an oil drum for cover, he wasn’t sure how many bullets he had left. He ducked down and ejected the magazine. Mitchell swore when he saw that he had less than half of his rounds remaining. It was nowhere near enough against the ever-growing number of guards rushing from all over the base to join in the fight. He glanced over his shoulder at Grace and Midori. His heart jumped when he saw Midori stagger back and fall to the ground with a bloody hole shot into her chest.

  “Sam, we need you,” called out Mitchell.

  A second later, both Sam and Cardinal ran out of the door straight to Grace’s side. Cardinal picked up Midori’s weapon and joined the fight while Sam quickly checked out her wound. She bit her lip when she saw that one of the bullets had gone straight through Midori’s left lung, collapsing it, while the other had probably grazed her heart.

  With a crimson-red froth of blood on her lips, Midori struggled to breathe. Sam knew there was nothing she could do for her. She slid her hand behind Midori’s head and gently laid her down on the cold concrete floor. With a shudder that ran down her body, Midori died.

  Grace turned her head for a moment and saw the lifeless eyes of her friend staring up at her. With a scream on her lips, she turned her anger and rage on the men who had killed Midori. Moving from man to man, she fired her rifle, trying to exact bloody revenge.

  Mitchell felt for Grace; however, he knew that they would soon be overrun if they didn’t do something fast. He looked over at Jackson and whistled loudly to get his friend’s attention.

  Jackson heard the whistle and turned to see Mitchell waving at him.

  “What?” mouthed Jackson, knowing he would never be heard over the din of battle.

  “Get us a ride,” replied Mitchell.

  Jackson didn’t catch what Mitchell was trying to say to him and shrugged his shoulders in response. A second later, Mitchell mimed driving a car’s steering wheel. Jackson nodded his understanding, turned around and looked for a suitable ride.

  “Yeah, that’ll do,” Jackson said to himself when he spotted an up-armored Hummer sitting no more than fifty meters away. Suddenly, bullets struck the ground near Jackson’s head, forcing him to duck back behind cover. With his heart racing in his chest, he realized that it was going to be near impossible to run fifty meters to the Hummer without being shot.

  44

  The Bunker

  Houston stood, staring intently, as the deadly struggle for survival played out on the screen on his wall. How Mitchell had escaped was unimportant; that he and all his accomplices were killed was. A voice came through his Motorola. Houston turned around, picked it up, and answered it.

  It was McMasters. “Sir, we need to leave.”

  “What about Mitchell and his people?”

  “Screw them. The guards have them pinned where they are. They’ll all die when the UAV strike hits.”

  Houston hesitated for a moment. “All right then, load up your men and head to the south exit. I’ll take a cart and meet you there in three minutes.”

  “Very good, sir,” replied McMasters, ending the call.

  Houston picked up his Stetson from his desk and set it on his head. With a grin, he looked up at the screen. He could clearly see Mitchell trading fire with some of his men. “See you in hell, Mitchell,” said Houston as he switched off the screen and walked out of his office, never to return.

  “Slow down,” said Owen to Jen in between breaths. Perspiration covered his face. He may have been a slender man, but he wasn’t half as fit as Jen was.

  “We’ve got minutes to live,” said Jen, sternly. “Keep up. You can rest when we’re out of here.”

  Suddenly, a door in front of them opened and a broad-shouldered man stepped out. Jen saw that he was a guard with his weapon slung over his shoulder. Before he could react, Jen launched herself straight at him.

  After nearly being kidnapped off the street in broad daylight, Jen had taken Israeli Krav Maga lessons to learn how to protect herself. She launched a closed fist at the man’s face. Instinctively, he brought a hand up to block her attack, leaving his mid-section and groin open. In a flash, she brought her right leg up and with all the strength she could muster, she shot it into the guard’s groin. With a gasp of pain, the guard dropped to his knees. His hands covered his injured groin. Jen stepped back slightly and with a loud yell, she brought her leg around and smashed it into the injured man’s head, knocking him unconscious.

  From beginning to end, the fight had taken less than ten seconds. Jen’s heart was beating wildly in her chest. She had never fought another person in her life.

  “My God, where did you learn to do that? Were you in the army?” asked Owen.

  “No, I wasn’t,” said Jen, taking a couple of deep breaths to calm herself. “I learned to do that at my local YWCA. Now quit standing there and take his weapon while I look for a cell phone.”

  Owen cringed as he picked up the strange-looking rifle.

  “Bingo,” said Jen triumphantly as she held up a phone.

  “Now what?” asked Owen.

  “We keep moving. There has to be a way out of here.”

  With that, Jen opened the door the guard had come through and nearly leapt for joy. At the end of the tunnel was a metal ladder bolted into the rock. The ladder went up into the ceiling and vanished from sight.

  “Come on,” said Jen as she glanced down at her watch. They had three minutes left to escape. With Owen running behind her, Jen ran as fast as she could for the ladder. The only thought on her mind was survival. Nothing else mattered right now. She wanted to live.

  45

  The Bunker

  The smell of cordite hung heavy in the air.

  Mitchell adjusted his position and fired off another shot, wounding a man. He knew that he only had two or three bullets left. After that, they would have to surrender or go down fighting. He looked over at Grace and Cardinal and saw that they had slowed their rate of fire as well.

  The sound of the semi-trailer truck’s engine starting up roared like a lion across the cavernous hangar floor.

  Mitchell swore when he saw the lead Hummer begin to slowly drive away. McMasters was leaving. In frustration, Mitchell took a shot at the lead vehicle. The bullet bounced harmlessly off the bulletproof glass.

  Yuri burst from the safety of the stairwell, slid do
wn beside Mitchell and pointed to his watch. “Ryan, unless you do something we’re all going to die.”

  “I’m open to suggestions.”

  “The fuel, it’s aviation fuel, shoot the fuel drums and start a fire,” said Yuri, pointing over at a row of forty-five-gallon drums.

  With his remaining three rounds, Mitchell fired one round per drum. In seconds, the fuel, like a river, began to surge across the floor.

  Yuri rolled on his back and reached into his pockets until he found his lighter. He turned around and saw a wrench lying on the floor. Inching over, he grabbed it and quickly wrapped a piece of his shirt around the wrench. Yuri carefully lit the fabric, got up on one knee, and with a yell, he hurled the flaming wrench towards the fuel drums.

  It fell short.

  Both Mitchell and Yuri swore.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Mitchell saw Cardinal throw his rifle to the ground in anger. Only Grace had any ammunition left, and she was nearly out.

  A couple of autos over, Jackson popped his head out and watched as the last of the up-armored vehicles turned down a side tunnel and disappeared from sight. He gritted his teeth in anger. McMasters was getting away, and they were all pinned down with no hope of stopping him.

  Jackson’s hoped-for miracle came in the form of a river of highly flammable fuel. Yuri’s attempt to set the fuel on fire had fallen short, but the gas soon washed over the burning wrench, instantly bursting into flames. The flames raced back towards the row of fuel drums, triggering a massive explosion. Like so many rockets, the fuel drums exploded and flew up into the air, raining burning fuel down onto the ground. Those guards unlucky enough to be near the fuel were drenched in flames. With the fire spreading, the guards panicked and stampeded to get away from the hellish inferno.