From some two hundred fifty feet, using Russian D6 drogue stabilized chutes, Torbin and twelve team members would hit the silk and land a few hundred yards from the causeway entrance that led to the main gate of the base. The main gate was about halfway down the almost two hundred meter long causeway that bisected the channel near the entrance of the Former Key West Naval Base. Hopefully, although some twenty-five miles away, there would be some effects from the nuke that would draw the attention of everyone in the area. Since the attack and air drop were scheduled at dawn, there would be a substantial flash and as well as wind, though dissipated by the distance involved. Metrological research pointed to the fact that the prevailing winds would be away from Key West in the impact area, so radiation exposure from any fallout would be reduced.
Torbin scanned his troops one more time. If the job could be done, they were the ones who could do it. He knew there would be casualties, probably death. That came with the territory.
Aleks was pregnant. He knew she was worried sick. Russian officer or not, she was still a mother to be. Torbin wanted to be there when she finally gave birth. But first, duty and humankind called. They had married two weeks ago, a simple ceremony with the base chaplin to give his first child a legitimate name. No bastards for him. If he did not return, he knew Aleksandra would raise their child, with help from his military mates at Malmstrom. He shook his head. No more woolgathering. It was time to be focused. Just then, he heard the pilot’s radio crackle. It was time.
As the B-25 and delta both approached their destinations, Ichiro cursed and swore in every language he knew. The delta’s injector scramjets were losing power, and when he tried the pulse engine… nothing. He had gained substantial momentum while gliding down from a couple of thousand feet as well as the distance where the scramjets had worked at full power. So, he would get near the launch point. Past that, all bets were off. Ichiro had decided that, if the already armed hypervelocity missile failed to launch, and he could not reach the Tschaaa complex, he would nosedive into the Key West Base. He knew there would be huge civilian casualties, but he had to at least kill the Director. The assault team would die with him.That was unavoidable.
Somehow, Ichiro nursed the delta along. He knew that the Key West Base personnel would not attempt to contact the delta, as Squid pilots did not carry translators. Ichiro was hoping no robocop tried an informational interface, as that would prove be disastrous. Such an attempt would quickly reveal something was wrong, and a Falcon would intercept him. What Ichiro could not know was that two former USAF Colonels had done something on Platform One that had everyone out of position for any intercept.
The scramjets sputtered once more. Whether he liked it or not, it was time. Ichiro said a short prayer and then launched the missile. At the same time, he tapped out quick a morse code broadcast of the letter “S” twice. A quick three dot reply from the B-25 acknowledged the reception. The missile launched straight and true, accelerating to some thirty-six hundred miles an hour in seconds, turning and headed toward Marquesas Keys.
Yelling, “Banzai!”, Ichiro fired the plasma energy weapon in the nose of the delta, taking out the Phalanx System. He skid and jinked the delta and tried to snap off some reduced power shots at the other two Phalanx sites. He did not see a satisfying explosion as he had from the first shot. However, he was pretty sure he had at least fried some of their electronics, limiting their ability to shoot at the missile as it zipped by Key West.
Just then, the scramjets quit completely. He was horked. Ichiro made a quick decision. Using the remaining momentum, he turned the delta and tried to aim it at the Headquarters Building. By this time, all hell had broken loose on the various radio freqs, with one Phalanx blown up and the other two unable to function, Security Control quickly became aware that something was wrong.
Ichiro was rewarded with fifty caliber strikes and a Stinger AA missile blowing his right jet pod apart, taking some aircraft control with it. The Key West Base Security Forces were pretty well trained to respond this fast. Dammit. A three inch former shipboard gun firing air burst rounds also got a big piece of him. The delta began to veer to the left, heading toward the entrance causeway. Ichiro tried to bring it back toward the Headquarters Building. No Joy. Knowing he was going down, he managed to regain some control of the delta. He flared it out, dumped air brake and flaps, and popped the canopy of the modified to human cockpit, anything he could think of to slow it and bring it down into the channel water west of the causeway. If he struck the causeway road and bridge, he would damage the route Torbin and his assault team needed to take to quickly get to the Director’s office. That must not happen. The delta flared on the edge of a stall then pancaked into the channel water. It slid on top of the water, then began to dig in. It finally stopped and began to sink, its nose some four yards from the causeway’s rocky edge.
When the B-25’s pilot, Captain French, received the morse code from Ichiro, he realized he was about thirty seconds early. He had just been contacted by Key West Security Control, which was telling them that they were a bit off course and trying to locate the Overseas Highway to follow to Marathon Airport. Just as the Controller on the radio was telling him to turn to a heading toward Marathon, he suddenly yelled, “Number one Phalanx just blew up! B-25 aircraft. Leave the area immediately!”
“Fuck!” Captain French exclaimed. He hit the jump light to flashing amber. “Captain. Gotta move now. Hang on!”
The assault team, seeing the amber light, had already stood up. They had been automatically checking their chutes and gear as they neared the destination, so everything was Go. They all grabbed the solid bars suspended from the top of the fuselage interior, and were lucky they did. The pilot banked to the right. Then, he rolled the WWII Bomber into a tight left hand turn, trying to line the aircraft up so as to fly straight up Highway 1. The modern stall warning horn began blaring, and the large airship began to shudder a bit.
“Come on, baby. You can do it. Did I ever tell you my great-granddad, Joe, flew B-25s in WWII?” Captain French commented to his co-pilot, Captain Vandenberg.
Torbin said a quick prayer, “Lord, send an angel and give us more lift.” He called aloud to his team. “Visors down!” They had visors attached to their goggles that would automatically darken if there was a bright flash, like a nuke. He knew that the missile Ichiro had launched would take about thirty seconds to reach the target. It would spend a second or two boring down into the Tschaaa complex, and then detonate. Regardless, there would still be a flash and mushroom cloud. The twenty-five miles or so the blast would cross would take a little time, and the distance would hopefully reduce the physical effects. The original plan had been to hit the ground in their chutes just before the wind hit so as not to screw up their tight landing pattern. Now, it was going to be catch as catch can.
Miraculously, the B-25 did not stall. Captain French was leveling out when Captain Vandenberg hit the green light and yelled, “Jump!” At that exact moment, unnoticed by either pilot, Ichiro’s delta hit the channel water. The B-25’s wings were just level when Gunny Smith went through the door, with Corporal Black on his ass. The plan was for the Gunny and Black to get to the ground first and provide cover of the landing zone area, Highway One, just northeast of the causeway entrance. Like clockwork, everyone was out, tight on the ass of the man in front. The drogues they threw out quickly deployed the chutes, and everyone landed just yards apart. Torbin who was the last out, yelled, “Geronimo!” just because he could.
Because they had to jump early, their landing zone was actually closer to the where the causeway connected to Highway One. Gunny Smith and Black hit almost at the signal light that controlled the traffic between the highway and the causeway. Despite their darkened clothing and dark chutes, the small street light illuminating the traffic signal area made Gunny extremely nervous. The main gate guard shack was about two hundred feet down the causeway. Fortunately, the timing of the assault offered cover to the team due to compromised visibility
. Early dawn causes problems with human eyesight, as the eyes are trying to switch from rods to cones. Therefore, for a short while, things are a little indistinct, sometimes blurry.
Just after Gunny and Black hit the silk, there had been a large flash from the southwest direction of the Base. Ichiro’s weapon detonated. After a couple quick twists and turns, the missile had pointed directly at its intended target. However, a glancing hit from a small plasma weapon had knocked the missile off course. It veered down to the left, and then went straight into the outer southeast quadrant of the circular Marquesas Keys. No longer striking the center of the complex, the nuke hit the outer structures. It had burrowed only some thirty feet down before it detonated. Taking the path of least resistance, a large portion of the blast was directed in a southwesterly direction into the surrounding sea and reefs.
Moments prior, Adam had hung up the telephone with security control after an update on the spaceplane. Suddenly, his office windows shook. His radio began to broadcast the yells from the security controllers that a Phalanx had just blown up.
He yelled at Mary and Kat. “Shelter. Move!”
“Adam.”
“Don’t argue, Mary. Move!” Jamey and Jeanie came from the sleeping quarters, robes on. “Shelter. Move!” Adam repeated a third time. The two made a beeline to the escape elevator. Air raid sirens began to undulate.
A little over two years ago, Adam had started the construction of a complex of underground shelters capable of holding the population of the Base. It had not been easy, as the Florida Keys sat primarily on coral reef materials–some soil the mangroves grew in and some rock. Using Tschaaa energy weapons, and some assistance from the other alien species, he had shelters constructed about two stories down. Soon, local Conch labor came to help, as did some of the new recruits for the New Capital that came from the rest of North America. The shelters were constructed using a form of Tschaaa organic “cement” to build buried waterproof block houses (waterproof due to the shallow water table) for defense against a nuclear or biological attack. What Adam did not tell the Tschaaa was that the shelters were built as much for defense against a Tschaaa attack as from any rogue humans.
The elevator dropped three stories from the second floor, where his office and the living area suites were situated. It automatically hit the patented Otis elevator emergency braking system that let it slide to a stop on the bottom floor. It opened to a blast door, which allowed entrance to the large two rooms and a small shower/bathroom room. With substantial emergency supplies, and an escape tunnel modeled after the Minuteman missile launch control facility tunnel, survivors could last for weeks.
As the women descended to the shelter, Adam activated a hotline he had installed a few weeks ago directly to His Lordship. He buzzed the connection. A few moments later, His Lordship picked up.
“Director. It is early and I was still resting. What is happening?”
“Lordship, we are under attack. Get to shelter!”
His Lordship signed off immediately. Adam stood up to retrieve his body armor and weapons when there was a flash of light across the lawn near the Headquarters Building. Not overly bright, but bright enough to know that a nuke detonated in the distance. Adam heard a distant rumbling, followed by substantial winds blowing across the base. Based on the direction, Adam could tell that a nuke had detonated on top of the Tschaaa complex at the Marquesas Keys. He punched a direct line buzzer to Security Control that signaled evacauation. Security Control, if they hadn’t already figured out what was happening, would immediate begin the planned and practiced shelter evacuation plan. A special klaxon went off. Every single Security Soldier, all five hundred or so of them, were mobilized to get the populace to the shelters. They rushed to put MOPP gear on, as most were to remain above ground to secure the base from further attack. If there were a tactical nuke strike follow-up, this would be a death sentence. Adam was expecting another nuke in the first minute after the first strike at the Tschaaa Complex. When this did not occur, he knew that they had been spared, for whatever reason. But, depending on prevailing winds, fallout could be the death of them yet.
Chief Hamilton picked that moment to enter his office. “Well, Adam, I think the balloon just went up.”
“I think you are right, old friend. The ladies are in the shelter. You need to take the ladder down to join them.”
The Chief snorted, “Yeah, right. You can order me all you want, but I’m staying next to you, watching your back. Just like old times.”
Adam smiled at his friend. “Willie, no matter what happens, it’s been a pleasure.”
He reached his hand out. Willie took it. “Hell, Director. We’re not dead yet. Let’s have some fun.”
On Highway 1, the wind had hit just as the assault team landed. Only their extensive training enabled them to hit their quick release clasps before the wind began to blow them around. As it was, Torbin was pulled onto his butt before could release his open chute. Luckily, this early in the morning in a limited populated area, there was no one nearby. However, they had landed so close to the entrance to the causeway that Torbin was certain someone would see them and sound the alarm. The Gunny, thinking the same thing, had already told Corporal Black to get his Barrett 50 caliber operating and cover the guard shack. A hundred yard or so shot would be easy for Black. So far, no signs of reaction as the assault team formed-up.
What no one knew was that the Sergeant and Security Patrolman who manned the entry point were already scrambling to throw on their MOPP Gear. The explosion of the Phalanx had drawn their attention first, then the air raid Sirens. As soon as the warning sounded after the distant flash, even before the accelerated wind hit, they put the MOPP head pieces on, and scrambled to zip up their coveralls. There was no thought of anyone attacking their position on foot. After all, anyone doing so would be hit by radiation.The idea that the detonation was too far away to really irradiate much had not sunk in. They heard a large object strike the channel and send water shock waves up into the causeway. They had also heard the approaching delta, but had seen many before this. The idea that a delta could be behind the attack was not credible to them.
“Hey, hurry up with your gear and see what hit the water,” the Sergeant ordered.
Grumbling about possible radiation exposure, the Security Troop finished with his MOPP gear, not bothering to put his weapon and ammo harness back on. He grabbed his M-16 and went outside to look.
Ichiro had survived the impact thanks to tight cockpit straps, though he knew there would be some bruising. He hit the quick release clasps and was out of his unused ejection seat. He had designed and had made a special quick release G-suit. A few velcro straps and a long zipper and he was out of it. Underneath, he wore a black Ninja suit, traditional headgear and all. Only his eyes showed, though he had a pair of smoked pilot’s glasses on to protect him from any residue light from the flash of detonation. He took those off and tossed them into the delta cockpit.
The Security Troop was hampered by several things when he went to see what had hit the channel. First, the MOPP Gear head piece was not conducive to good sight, it being built primarily for protection with an integral gas mask. Second, his eyes adjusting to sunrise, then the weird flash, had made his normal good vision a bit indistinct. Next, the tendency of the human mind to see what it expects to see. When he saw Ichiro clamber into the water and head to the rocks that surrounded the Entry Control Point on the causeway, he surmised it was a gray or maybe one of those new soldier class of artificial being that had been recently introduced. He knew grays flew Tschaaa craft sometimes, so why not the new soldiers. Humans did not.
“You, there! If you can understand me, grab my rifle barrel and I will help you up. The safety’s on.” The figure grabbed his rifle barrel. Instead of pulling itself up, the figure yanked and jerked the Troop forward and down toward the water. Off balance from standing on the large rocks, he quickly fell into the channel, the rifle twisted from his grip. His cries were muffled inside the MOPP
gear, and he soon struggled to stay afloat in the restrictive suit. The Sergeant had heard another large splash and went out to investigate.
“Hey, did you fall in or...” He was face to face with a figure all dressed in black. The Sergeant had a .308 G-3 late from the German army that he tried to bring into play. A katana parried the barrel up as he fired a single round off into the early morning light.
Ichiro, actions born of a thousand practice sessions, brought his sword down in a half circle and then stabbed upward, into the Sergeant’s lower body to avoid body armor. The Japanese warrior’s sharp blade penetrated the lower abdomen, nicking the right lung and then bumping the spine. Ichiro twisted the blade sideways, hitting the spine with the cutting edge, and then pulled it back out. The move was over in less time than it took to read this passage. The Sergeant collapsed to his knees, his spine partially cut, then fell forward onto his face as he grabbed his abdomen. Ichiro struck the base of his neck with the hard blunt end of his blades grip, and the Sergeant lay still. This was only the second man he had ever killed. His mission in life was to kill Squids. But sometimes circumstances dictated actions. He wiped his katana on the dead Sergeant’s MOPP uniform, and then ran low down the causeway onto the base, trying to keep to the shadows. As he exited the area, he smashed an overhead light attached to the building with his sword.
When the .308 went off, Cpl. Black was just getting into position with his Barrett. He saw the rifle flash, tried to use his scope to see what was going on. The sun was working its way up over the horizon, to replace the short flash of light from the nuke. He saw a dark figure move, then disappear past the guard house as a bright light on the front of the building went out.
The Gathering Storm Page 40