The Pacific Rim Collection

by Don Brown

  “By all means, Prime Minister.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Geodesic dome

  British base camp

  Camp Churchill

  Antarctica

  You have one minute to surrender or we will open fire.”

  “Somehow, I don’t think this chap is fooling around,” Dunn said.

  “Neither do I, Captain,” Rivers said. “Neither do I.”

  “If we commence firing, we can pick a few off and even out the numbers.”

  “That’s tempting. Bring the odds down from ten-to-one to five-to-one.”

  “I’m game if you are, sir,” Dunn said.

  “Leftenant, I can handle a gun,” one of the engineers said.

  “Leftenant, please,” another chimed in. “My wife and two daughters. They’re in Southampton. Please. I . . .”

  “I have a wife and children. My son needs me,” an engineer said.

  Another said, “There’s no point in being rash about this. Perhaps we could negotiate a temporary solution.”

  “All right! Let me think!” Rivers snapped.

  “Inside the dome! You have thirty seconds!”

  “Captain Dunn, while I’d like to pick off every one of those savages, we cannot sacrifice civilians.” He glanced at Dunn. “So here’s our plan. One by one, whoever wants to leave, you will put your hands on your head and walk outside. Walk straight to the enemy and make sure you keep your hands up.

  “Jones.” He looked at the engineer who had mentioned his wife and two daughters in Southampton. “You will go first. After I call out to these savages, I want you to get up, hands over your head, and walk out.”

  “Yes, Leftenant.”

  “Gaylord. You mentioned your wife and children. You’ll be second.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Be ready, Jones.”

  “I’m ready.”

  “To the commander of the Bolivarian special forces unit!” Rivers yelled out the shattered window. “This is the military commander of the British Scientific Research Unit here at Camp Churchill. Hold your fire. We will exit the facility one by one.”

  Silence.

  “To the military commander of the British Scientific Research Unit. You are now in the custody of the Army of the Bolivarian Republic of Venezuela. Send the prisoners out one by one. Your hands are to remain high above your heads.”

  “Okay, men. Put on your winter gear. Jones, you’re first. Stand up, hands over your head, and walk out. Gaylord. You’re next.”

  “Yes, Leftenant,” Jones said.

  “Hold your fire! We’re coming out,” Rivers yelled as Jones hurriedly donned his winter gear. “Okay, Jones. Remember. I’ve got you covered. Keep your hands high, walk slowly. Nothing provocative.”

  Jones walked out slowly. Rivers aimed his rifle out the broken window, his mind on his son. He wondered if he would ever see Little Aussie again.

  CHAPTER 12

  British base camp

  Camp Churchill

  Antarctica

  Some were on the ground, lying in the snow, their rifles aimed at the dome.

  Some were perched behind two storage tanks and several large rocks.

  Lieutenant Javier Ortiz, second in command of the Venezuelan-Bolivarian Special Forces commandos, had taken cover behind a sandbag berm straight out in front of the dome.

  He trained his rifle on the front door, resting his finger on the trigger.

  These Brits may have promised to surrender, but Ortiz had never met a Brit he could trust. Plus, the preliminary intelligence intercepted from Belgrano Base indicated that some Special Forces commandos, most likely SBS, were already in position and were awaiting reinforcements. This explained why they had lost four of their best men. He had been against storming the dome.

  Major Placido Diaz’s stupid and suicidal order had proven disastrous. “Our first wave will burst in and surprise them before they have had a chance to react,” Diaz had argued. “We will capture them using the element of surprise without firing a shot.”

  The plan had not set well with Ortiz, knowing that SBS officers might be on the premises. Ortiz had favored surrounding the dome and then demanding the surrender of the British.

  But Major Diaz would hear none of it. “If we delay, they will dig in and wait for reinforcements. Time and surprise are of the essence.”

  At one level, Diaz’s argument made sense. But surprising an SBS officer could prove risky. Like stepping on a rattlesnake.

  And the four men at the tip of the spear had run into a buzz saw.

  Ortiz adjusted his rifle and took a deep breath. Tensions were hair-trigger high.

  Movement inside the dome.

  A figure stepped out into the snow. A Brit, his hands high over his head, walked forward slowly. Two steps. Three. Four. “Don’t shoot!” the man cried out, shuffling forward through the snow.

  Ortiz drew a hard bead right on the center of the Brit’s chest. One false move . . .

  “Okay, get him!” Major Diaz shouted.

  Two soldiers walked to the prisoner. The sergeant kept his rifle trained on the prisoner while the corporal handcuffed him and led him behind the perimeter where one of the men held him at gunpoint.

  Several seconds passed.

  A second Brit emerged from the dome. This one too stepped out with his hands up. He walked with a nervous gait, sort of twitching as he walked. Something seemed odd.

  Shots rang out!

  A smoke burst rose from Major Diaz’s rifle.

  The Brit stumbled, then fell to the ground, blood oozing into the snow.

  Another shot cracked the air!

  “Aaaah!” Major Diaz dropped his rifle. He held his hand over his heart, turned his face up to the skies and screamed, then dropped into the snow.

  “Hold your fire!” Ortiz barked in both English and Spanish. “Hold your fire! Check the major!”

  Two soldiers rushed over and bent over their fallen commander. Ortiz watched as they checked the neck for a pulse.

  “Lieutenant, the major is dead! A bullet through the heart!”

  Ortiz made a quick sign of the cross.

  “This is the commander of the Venezuelan forces surrounding your dome. Cease fire! Cease fire!”

  Silence.

  Then a voice, in British-accented English. “You’re the ones who opened fire on an innocent civilian, you bloody liar! You fire on us again and someone else out there will wind up with a bullet in his heart. You might take me out, but I guarantee this. I’ll take out ten of your guys first. So if you want a bloody shootout, bring it on.”

  Ortiz trained his rifle back on the dome, knowing that he faced a highly skilled sniper as an opponent.

  Geodesic dome

  British base camp

  Camp Churchill

  Antarctica

  Impressive shooting, Leftenant,” Captain Timothy Dunn said.

  “That’s what he gets for shooting Gaylord. They’re lucky I didn’t take out more than one, which I could have done. I knew we couldn’t trust ’em.”

  “Why did they fire?” one of the engineers asked.

  “Who knows,” Rivers said. “They got trigger-happy.”

  “Give us those rifles, Leftenant,” another engineer said.

  “Leftenant, Gaylord is moving!” Dunn said. “He’s alive.”

  Rivers peeked out the corner of the window. Gaylord was still down. Blood oozed from his chest, forming a reddish circle in the snow. But his hands were moving and so were his feet. Barely.

  “You’re right,” Rivers said. “We must get him back inside. Dunn, you cover me. I’m going out for him.”

  “Leftenant. Please.”

  Rivers looked at Dunn. “You want to leave him out there, Captain Dunn?”

  “No, sir. That’s not what I’m saying. I agree we need to get him, sir. But you should let me get him. It’s far too dangerous to risk sending you out, sir.”

  “Dangerous?” Rivers snarled. “Dunn, I’m a bloody SB
S officer! You think I’m concerned about danger?”

  “That’s not what I meant, sir. You have a son. I’m single. Your son needs his father.”

  Rivers did not respond.

  “Also, sir, I hate to admit it, but you are a much better shot than I am. I couldn’t have put that bullet through that guy’s heart without a lucky shot. The Royal Marines Rifle Academy is good, but it’s not that good. It makes more sense to have you cover me. If something goes wrong, you’re going to take out more of them than I could. You in here provides maximum protection for the rest of us and gives us the best chance to survive this, which is in keeping with our mission of protecting civilians.”

  Captain Dunn waited. They all knew that Rivers’ marksmanship gave them their best defensive asset.

  “Very well, Dunn. But before you go out, I’m going to warn those Venezuelans, tell them what we’re going to do.”

  “Fair enough, sir.”

  CHAPTER 13

  British base camp

  Camp Churchill

  Antarctica

  What are your orders, Lieutenant?” Staff Sergeant Jiménez, the senior enlisted man in the unit, looked at Ortiz. Jiménez had been in the Army since Ortiz was a baby. “Do we commence fire?”

  Lieutenant Javier Ortiz felt the sudden and unexpected pressure of command. The stares of his men drilled him from every direction. The men needed an order. He hoped whatever he ordered would not be as stupid as the course chosen by his predecessor, who then got trigger-happy. Ortiz had always looked forward to becoming a field commander, but he never envisioned that his first taste of command would come like this.

  He could order an all-out assault on the dome. This might be the best approach, militarily. His attack force had overwhelming numbers. But . . . if that British SBS sniper picked off enough of his commandos, one by one, that numerical advantage would be neutralized. The Brits’ incentive to surrender would be gone.

  “Lieutenant?” Jiménez again. “Your orders, sir?”

  “Now hear this!” The voice from inside the geodesic dome. “This is the commander of the British military contingent here at Camp Churchill. You promised us a safe and orderly surrender. We kept our end of the bargain. But you shot an unarmed civilian in cold blood. Why should we trust you again?”

  Ortiz’s thoughts swirled in a blur. He could simply lay siege to the dome and starve the enemy out over time. But British reinforcements were on the way. He knew that. He couldn’t wait. Too risky. “This is the commander of the Venezuelan ground forces. The shooting of the British civilian was accidental. A medic on our team can transport your civilian to a local base camp for medical treatment. But time is running out. You must evacuate the dome. If you do not, we will attack. Your excellent marksmanship will not save you. You will be killed.”

  Geodesic dome

  British base camp

  Camp Churchill

  Antarctica

  He has a point, Leftenant,” Captain Dunn said. “Even if we drag Gaylord back in here, we have no way of providing medical treatment until our reinforcements arrive and get these bloody chaps off our backs.”

  Rivers peeked out the window again at Gaylord. His hands and feet were still moving a little, thank God. But without blood transfusions, Gaylord would never make it.

  Rivers thought of Gaylord’s wife, Jenna. He spoke glowingly of her. And his two kids—Rivers could not remember their names—but kids need their fathers.

  That triggered thoughts of Little Aussie. If only they had had a chance to Skype one last time before the attack. Then his mind raced to Meg.

  He dismissed that thought.

  A warrior cannot be tied down by a woman. Too many distractions. Too much moodiness. Too much relationship talk.

  He should fire on the spineless Venezuelan lapdogs, one on fifty if he had to. And he would if it weren’t for the fact that he was responsible for British civilians.

  “You! Commander of the Venezuelans! Why should I trust you?”

  A second passed.

  “I am Lieutenant Javier Ortiz. You have my word as an officer!”

  Rivers exchanged glances with Dunn.

  “A lieutenant?” Rivers shouted. “In charge of a commando unit for a mission of this importance?”

  “You shot and killed the major, our commanding officer. Now I am in command.”

  Rivers gripped his rifle. “I still do not trust you.”

  British base camp

  Camp Churchill

  Antarctica

  Of course you do not trust me,” Ortiz muttered under his breath. “If I were you, I would not trust me either.”

  What now? The priest said that God would give wisdom to all who asked. “God, tell me what to do.” He muttered the prayer out of earshot of all except the Almighty. His men might consider it a sign of weakness if they heard him praying, even such a short prayer in a time of crisis.

  “To the British military commander. I am Lieutenant Javier Ortiz, acting commander of the Venezuelan unit that has you surrounded. I repeat, you must evacuate the dome and surrender immediately.

  “As a gesture of good faith, I will step forward, out in the open, without my weapon, and with my hands over my head. I will send two of my men to pull your injured man back behind our lines to safety.

  “Then you are to resume the surrender process, one by one. I will remain out front, unarmed, in your view, the entire time. We will take your men as prisoners. They will be treated humanely.

  “If we renege on our promises, you can shoot me. But if you shoot me, for any reason, my next in command will launch an all-out assault and we will kill you all.” Ortiz felt his heart pounding. “What is your response?”

  Geodesic dome

  British base camp

  Camp Churchill

  Antarctica

  What do you think, Captain Dunn?”

  “I don’t know what to think of it, Leftenant.”

  “Under the circumstances, it sounds reasonable enough,” Rivers said.

  “But how do we know he’s not bluffing, sir? Suppose it’s a ploy to get us to surrender, and then they gun us down once we’ve been corralled together?”

  “Captain Dunn, we don’t know. It could be a bluff or a measure of good faith. But here’s what we do know. Poor Gaylord will die if we don’t get him some help. And fast.”

  Dunn nodded.

  Austin called out the window, “You! Lieutenant Ortiz! This is the commander of the British military contingent. I accept your proposal for surrender. You will slowly walk out with your hands up to a position halfway between your lines and the dome. You will keep your hands up.

  “Then you will have two of your men evacuate the British citizen you gunned down.

  “Once I am satisfied that our wounded comrade has been taken to safety, then we shall resume the surrender process. If, however, I sniff even the slightest scent of betrayal on your word as an officer, any strange movement, anything the slightest bit provocative, if any of my men are fired upon or not treated in accordance with the Geneva Accords, I will put a NATO .223 round right through the middle of your nose. And if someone takes a potshot at me and is lucky enough to get me, there are men in this dome with rifles ready to gun you all down.”

  Several seconds passed.

  “To the British commander! Your men will be treated humanely and in accordance with the Geneva protocol on the treatment of prisoners of war. I am coming out with my hands up.”

  Rivers took a deep breath and looked through the scope of his rifle. Venezuelan commandos had taken cover in the snow, their helmets visible and their rifles aimed at the dome.

  He saw movement behind one of the sandbag berms. Then a pair of white gloves came up over the sandbag followed by a white battle helmet as the man stood up. He wore full white camouflage battle gear.

  “I am Lieutenant Ortiz!” the man said. “I am coming forward.”

  Ortiz took one step forward. Then another. Rivers kept the crosshairs right between
the man’s eyes.

  Ushuaia Naval Air Station

  Ushuaia

  Tierra del Fuego Province

  southern tip of Argentina

  At the southern tip of South America, Captain José Montes peered through his binoculars at the two large jets approaching from the north.

  More than thirty years had passed since the Malvinas War. Gomez, now the Argentine naval officer commanding the Ushuaia Naval Air Station—Comando de Aviación Naval Argentina (COAN)—had lost two uncles in that war. He hated all things British. “The only good Brit is a dead Brit,” he frequently reminded himself.

  He always thought that the Malvinas might provide his opportunity for revenge. He never considered that the opportunity to strike would come in Antarctica.

  This time the military landscape had changed. Britain was stronger back in 1982, he thought, under that crazy witch of a female warmonger Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher. But this time when the two nations returned to war, Argentina would not be alone against Britain. If it took ganging up on Britain to defeat Britain, so be it.

  Revenge would come soon.

  The first plane, a gray four-engine C-130 military cargo plane, swooped low over the runway before beginning its final approach for landing.

  The flag painted on the plane’s fuselage had three horizontal stripes of color—a yellow stripe on the top, a dark blue stripe in the middle, and a dark red stripe stretched across the bottom. Painted in black on the plane were the words Aviación Militar Bolivariana Venezolana.

  Montes looked up at the map of South America and studied it.

  “El eje sudamericano”

  THE SOUTH AMERICAN AXIS

  Venezuela in the far north, with Caracas sitting on the Caribbean Sea, is a continent away from Argentina, dominating most of the southern V of South America. Only a narrow string-bean parcel of land west of the Andes belonged to Chile.

  Montes drew an imaginary line straight south from Caracas connecting Venezuela in the north with Argentina in the south. High-level commanders within Argentina’s military, he knew, were already referring to the new Argentina-Venezuela military alliance as the “South American Axis.”