Legend egt-2

by David L. Golemon

  "Now you stay down, dammit, Nathan!" Jack hissed as he kicked the steel door twice with his foot. "That's a steel door and it's locked; what's the matter with you?"

  More fire entered through the front door and struck the expensive equipment lining the walls.

  "Will, get on your cell phone and see if you can get ahold of the county sheriff, we can't stay in here," Jack said as he fired his Beretta five times into the steel lock of the door. He was satisfied when the chrome disintegrated under the nine-millimeter onslaught.

  With a shaking hand, Nathan reached up and wiped some of the gore from his cheek and jaw. "I…I… wasn't thinking, Major, I just…"

  Jack ignored Nathan's shocked rambling as he kicked at the door again; this time it swung open, letting in fresh air. Whoever their assailants were, they must have heard the door open, because Jack heard running footsteps heading out and away from the inside of the museum. Jack first waved Sarah out the door and then quickly stood and picked up Professor Nathan and shoved him through. He looked at Mendenhall, who tossed his cell phone aside after a stray round had ricocheted off a table and smashed it, almost taking off his hand. He then fired his last five shots through the steel door. On the way out, he ejected the spent clip and inserted his only backup.

  The fresh air revived Jack as they ran away from the visitor's center toward the parking area. If it weren't for Sarah they would have run right into several men running straight at them from the gravel parking lot: Jack pushed Nathan to the grass when he saw Sarah fall flat into a defensive position. Laser sights reached out for them in the dusk as Jack fired from his own immediately prone position. One round caught the first man in line and Mendenhall shot the second, using two rounds. Sarah turned onto her back toward the visitor's center and fired three quick shots at five men running from there. To Jack's amazement, two men fell, one grabbing his leg and the other falling to the gravel surrounding the building and then not moving at all.

  "Did you reach anyone before your phone died, Will?" Jack asked.

  "No signal; I'm afraid we're in deep shit here, Major," Mendenhall shouted over the din.

  Jack fired five more times in the direction of their pursuers. He dropped one and, from what he could see in the gathering gloom, there were still five more, minus the one he had just shot, that came out of the visitor's center, and at least three remaining from the parking area group. Jack fired twice more and Mendenhall once, as the evening grew darker. At Jack's command they turned as one and sprinted away, Jack taking the aged professor by the arm and helping as best he could. Out of the dusk, more automatic fire started up, and they could feel as well as see the tracer rounds thumping into the grass around them. Then they heard the helicopter as it swung in from somewhere beyond a far hill. It made a run at Jack, and he saw tracer rounds striking the dirt and gravel around him. The black helicopter swooped by and disappeared over a small rise.

  "Sarah, head for the slope and that iron fence. Hurry, we have to get to some kind of cover," Jack called out as he turned quickly and fired at the shadowy shapes chasing them. This time he didn't see anyone fall, but Mendenhall, who had fired at the same time as Jack, brought down another of the pursuing men.

  Sarah was out of breath by the time she made the outer fence that encircled Last Stand Hill. As she opened the unlocked gate, she turned around and saw Jack coming with the professor in tow. She could make out Mendenhall bringing up the rear. Sarah crouched by the open gate and fired six times into the darkness, making the pursuers hesitate momentarily. The gunmen stooped over, lowering their silhouette. Mendenhall took advantage of Sarah's cover and sprinted the last thirty yards to the open cemetery. He followed Jack and Nathan, and ducked behind the first marker he came to. Then he popped up and fired five times into the gloom and heard a satisfying yelp as one of his nine-millimeter slugs found the mark.

  "Out!" he shouted as he ejected the spent clip.

  Sarah tossed him one of the spare Beretta clips and Mendenhall slammed it home. Jack ejected his own empty clip and inserted his last one. They were each down to their final rounds of ammunition. The helicopter came over the rise and Jack finally identified it as a Bell ARH, the newest attack chopper on the market. Whoever these guys were, they were well funded. The ARH was equipped, Jack knew, with a FLIR, a forward-looking infrared targeting system. That meant that no matter how dark it was, they could be hunted down and killed. The black bird again swooped in and fired, narrowly missing Sarah and the professor as rounds chipped away the stone monuments around them. He could feel the wind as the pilot arrogantly flew low enough to stir the dried grass into a storm cloud.

  "Take cover and pick your targets; maybe all this noise will bring the rest of the park rangers running," he said as he quickly fired two rounds.

  Collins was answered by a steady stream of automatic fire that tore into the headstone he was hiding behind. When it had settled, he turned to see where Sarah was and wasn't surprised at all when he saw she had moved and taken up station right behind him. The stone marker that covered her and also marked a bodiless grave read boston custer, then below that, civilian and finally on the bottom, fell here, june 25, 1876. As he watched, three rounds struck it and took off the top of the stone. Sarah popped right up and fired. Behind them was the tall monument placed there in honor of all the men that fell; the green grass around it suddenly erupted as a long stream of bullets tore it up. Jack cursed and stood upright, and fired five times into the dark. He hit two men as they fell screaming. He ducked back just in time as the marker he was behind disintegrated and he rolled away to another, feeling his back and chest pelted by stone. The roar of the Bell ARH's turbine announced its presence as it passed low overhead.

  "Goddammit!" he shouted in futility.

  Mendenhall yelped as a round ricocheted off a marker and slivers of stone struck him across the forehead. "Damn!" he echoed.

  Jack peered around for Nathan, who was crawling quickly to hide behind the largest of the monuments, where bullets had struck the grass just a moment before. Then he turned his attention to the assault that was coming from the front. He saw five men, darting in a zigzag, move toward the cemetery. He rested his back against the marker and closed his eyes. He was trying to think how to give Sarah and Nathan time to get out, when suddenly there were shouts and whoops as heavy fire erupted from behind them, from the far side of the cemetery. Then several blasts that sounded like shotguns boomed to the right of the attackers. Two men fell in agony as buckshot tore into them. Jack managed to stand and fire his own weapon into the running men; he brought down one and thought he wounded another. As he watched in confusion, the ARH attack chopper came in and then suddenly turned away, flying quickly to the south.

  "Who in the hell's out there?" Mendenhall hollered.

  Other, much louder whoops rent the night, as now there was shotgun fire opening up on the left. Whoever had come to their rescue had the attackers in crossfire hell. Several pops from handguns sounded and then they heard the sound of a bullhorn.

  "This is the U.S. Parks Service, lay your weapons down!"

  The attackers didn't listen; they opened fire in the direction of the amplified voice. Jack took the opportunity to sight in on the muzzle flashes and downed one more of the men. And then that was it, he was out of ammunition. Suddenly, screams again made Jack's blood run cold as more shotguns opened up on the remaining men. Then, as abruptly as their rescue had begun, it was over. There was an eerie silence one hears after a firefight that goes against all reason. Suddenly the field was alight as floodlamps were turned on in the cemetery. Several trucks came barreling up and then the bullhorn sounded again.

  "In the cemetery, lay your weapons down and place your hands in the air."

  Jack tossed his Beretta to the ground and stood. "Don't shoot! Major Jack Collins, United States Army, on government business to the battlefield!"

  "Yeah, well, we'll see about that," a voice said without the aid of the bullhorn.

  Jack, Mendenhall,
and Sarah stood. Nathan wasn't about to stand up just yet; he found the large stone monument and its surrounding fence comforting. As they watched, they saw a large man in a tan shirt and green pants step into the light. He was followed by two more park rangers and, to Jack's surprise, about fifteen Native Americans.

  "I'll be damned," was all Jack could say.

  The Indians were all carrying shotguns and they followed the rangers inside the cemetery. Additional men were checking on the attackers, who were all down in the grass, either dead or very near so.

  The three watched as they were slowly surrounded by the men who had saved their collective asses. Jack had to smile at the deputized protesters, he couldn't help it.

  "May I ask what's so funny?" the large ranger asked Jack as he frisked him.

  Jack looked at the nodding Native Americans, who were miles ahead of the clueless park ranger, as they alone understood the humor Jack found in the situation; it was one of them who finally pointed it out. Holding a shotgun crooked in the elbow of one arm, the man stepped forward. A black cowboy hat obscured the Cheyenne policeman's two long braids.

  "He's smiling at the irony, Ranger Thompson, 'cause the last time we had an American army officer surrounded on this spot, we weren't in the mood to bail his ass out of the fire."

  "I'm glad you were on my side this time," Jack said as he held his hand out to the AIM protester.

  The man took Jack's hand and shook. "Maybe you're just lucky you didn't identify yourself before the shooting stopped," the man said, smiling.

  That simple gesture and comment ended the second battle of the Little Bighorn.

  * * *

  Two hours later, Jack, Mendenhall, Sarah, and Professor Nathan were handcuffed and sitting in a large room facing the county sheriff and an agent from the FBI's Montana field office in Billings.

  The four had said little other than to thank the Native Americans who had bailed them out of a tight jam. The FBI agent paced in front of them, stopping now and then to peer at one or the other of them. They smiled and returned the look, frustrating the man to no end. He was in the process of looking at Nathan because the older man had averted his eyes when stared down, possibly a chink in their armor. The fed was about to pull the professor out of the room and question Nathan alone when the phone rang and the bored-looking county sheriff picked it up.

  "Interrogation," he said. "It's for you." He held the phone out to the FBI agent.

  "Special Agent Phillips," he said into the mouthpiece. "Yes, that's right, we have two National Parks rangers dead and I… well, yes, but you listen here, Mr. Compton, I don't know who you think you… yes? My director?" he said as he swallowed. "Yes, sir; no, sir…I understand… yes, sir, national security, but… but… yes, sir, immediately," he said as he handed the phone back to the sheriff without looking at anything other than his highly polished shoes. Then he adjusted his tie, which hadn't needed straightening, and turned to the sheriff. "Cut 'em loose," he said.

  "What…on whose authority?" the sheriff sputtered in protest.

  "On the authority of the director of the FBI, and above him, the president of the United States. Do you need any more names?" the agent responded angrily. "Now take those cuffs off."

  Jack looked at Sarah and Mendenhall and raised his brows.

  "May I borrow your phone, Sheriff?" he asked.

  The bemused county sheriff slid the phone over to Jack. "Probably long distance," he mumbled.

  Jack hurriedly punched in numbers and then waited as he was connected to the Group's secured phone line. After a series of beeps and static it was answered.

  "Compton," the voice said.

  "It's Collins. This line isn't secure."

  "Confirmed, phone line is not secure. Now, are you all right? Sarah, Will, Nathan?"

  "Yes, we're fine. Niles, we have the item in our possession," he said as he turned away from the sheriff.

  "Thank God!"

  "Listen, the people that hit us, the sheriff's office and the FBI have identified them as Colombian nationals. Did you tell anyone else we would be here in Montana?"

  "Commander Everett, remember? He was in on our conference from his location in New Orleans," Niles stated flatly, suddenly knowing where Jack was heading.

  "Did Everett use a land line?"

  "Yes, his cell had no signal. His end of the conversation was in the clear."

  "They must have had a tap, what we call a SATAG on the phone. That means they may have tracked him to New Orleans and, through our conference call, tracked us to Montana. Where's Carl now?"

  "Making ready the expedition's transportation in New Orleans," Niles answered.

  "Call him and tell him to use only his secure cell and to watch for visitors. I'll send him more security; he may have more company headed his way when the powers that be find out they failed out here."

  "You got it, Jack. Get home."

  EVENT GROUP COMPLEX NELLIS AFB, NEVADA

  Niles made the necessary calls and the compartmentalized Event Group went into action to prepare hurriedly to get a rescue team down to the Amazon. Departments went through an amazing array of logistics to supply the team with everything they would need for the exploration of Padilla's lost valley and to search for any survivors of Helen Zachary's expedition. The equipment that Everett had ordered could only be partially filled with Event Group stores; the rest had to come from such companies as Raytheon, General Electric, Hanford Laboratories, the Brookings Institution, and Cold Spring Harbor on Long Island. The expedition was officially sanctioned as a rescue operation, but scientific investigation would still be performed.

  An Event Group tech team comprised of sixty men and women were already en route by air force transport to Louisiana to assist Master Chief Jenks on finalizing the installation of the equipment and outfitting Teacher for river duty. There would be no time for a shakedown cruise.

  The Group's Intelligence Department made arrangements to be a privately funded surveying mission to map the Amazon River depths from the Peruvian government, which was a nice cover to get into Brazil, which had steadfastly denied permission for American military personnel to cross into their territory.

  Niles and Alice were busy in his office with a team of assistants, coordinating the paper end of things, and that wasn't going well at all.

  "The president," Alice said, holding out the red phone.

  "Mr. President, thank you for securing the cooperation of the navy, it's much appreciated." Niles watched Alice leave the room.

  "I have the FBI report on those photos your people sent over from San Pedro," the president said tersely. "It seems the man named Kennedy, which is his real name by the way, is a U.S. Navy SEAL, and another was identified as an air force captain named Reynolds. The others have yet to be identified."

  "Has the navy and air force explained the reasoning behind infiltrating a university-sponsored expedition with a bunch of young people?"

  "So far they haven't said anything. They said they have an intense inner investigation going on to find out. And to me right now, that isn't goddamned good enough!"

  "You mean to say they don't know what their special operations people are doing?"

  "So far they came up with records that show Kennedy and Reynolds were on detached duty out west. I put my bulldog on it. My national security advisor, Ambrose, will get some results."

  "Someone is out of control here and there are lives at stake—"

  "Dammit, Niles, I know whose lives are at stake!"

  "Yes, sir, I apologize. Those kids may be lost or fighting for their lives down there, and I have a team getting ready to go in. I need to know who we can trust!"

  "All right Niles, you and I need to keep a perspective here. Even though my own daughter is in danger, I'm afraid my hands are still tied up to a point. I can't risk a shooting war just because my daughter stepped out. Here's something for you to think on: no matter what reason Kennedy and those other men have for being attached to that expedition, doesn't it
ease your mind a little that they have at least one SEAL with them?"

  Niles was slow to answer, as he didn't feel comfortable with the military involvement, no matter if there were special operations people giving Helen and her kids a better chance at survival or not. So he decided to answer truthfully.

  "It would make me feel better if in fact they hadn't been off the air for over a week now."

  "I'll keep pushing Ambrose on my end; a hard task, since he knows nothing of the Group's existence."

  "I understand."

  "Now, your Lieutenant Ryan has been cleared for Fort Bragg. The Proteus team will be waiting on him, along with his Delta squad. Remember, Niles, even though my daughter's life may be at stake, I have only okayed the Proteus backup mission. Again, I stress the fact that I can't allow a military ground incursion, even if we know it to be a rescue mission, into a friendly nation by American troops; it just won't fly. I'm sorry, it's Proteus or nothing."

  "Mr. President, I—"

  "No," the president cut him off, "we can't have American ground troops on friendly soil without invitation. Too many things can go wrong. If your backup plan works properly, Proteus should give Major Collins a nice edge if it's needed."

  "Sir, that damned weapons platform hasn't worked right since testing began; we're running an awful risk with Operation Spoiled Sport as our only backup. What if there is close-in fighting down there? Proteus can't possibly help out in that situation."

  "I'm sorry, Niles, it has to do, we have too many black eyes given to us by bad press lately. It's not that I'm sacrificing any of those kids or my own daughter for political reasons, but I can't let American boys die in a rescue attempt that would surely be challenged by Brazilian troops. Tell Major Collins to find our people and get his butt back in one piece, and Niles, please bring my daughter home. I'm sorry Proteus is the only backup at this time, but it can be disguised as civilian whereas fighter aircraft can't."