The Gathering Storm

by Marshall Miller

  “Whaddya see?” Gunny Smith asked, crouching down by him.

  “I saw the muzzle flash, then a figure running off into the dark, down the causeway. Wait. There is another figure getting out of the channel, and there’s something partially submerged in the water. Maybe an aircraft. Should I take that figure out?”

  “No, too much noise, even with the air raid sirens going off. This 50 has a distinctive bark.”

  At that moment, in low crouch, the assault team showed up on the entrance to the causeway, Torbin in the lead.

  “Cover us, Black.” Gunny said. Black just smiled. He loved his work.

  Gunny joined the rest of the team across the four lane causeway road, and told Torbin what had just happened.

  “Damnit, I bet that was Ichiro, and that is his delta, sure as shit. Come on, let’s get there before that troop getting out of the water blabs we’re here.”

  They ran crouched down the along the causeway, thankful that the Base personnel had been stingy in putting up lights. The one Ichiro had taken out had been a bright flood light, aimed into the eyes of oncoming traffic to slow down approaching vehicles and people. However, the sun was working its way up over the horizon. They had to move fast.

  The waterlogged Security Troop had made it up out of the channel and onto the causeway, sans his rifle. He finally deigned to remove his MOPP headpiece as he couldn’t see out of his soaked gasmask eyepieces.

  “Soldier, what is going on here?” A stern voice commanded. He gazed upward and saw a Captain he did not recognize, sans MOPP gear, standing in front of him. He heard running figures.

  “I don’t know Captain. Some gray threw me in the water, and–ohmygod–the Sergeant’s down!” As he turned to look at the Sergeant, Torbin hit him at the base of his skull with the butt of his M-4. The man collapsed. Torbin checked his pulse. Still alive. No need to kill people unnecessarily. He retrieved the Sergeant’s rifle. Good, a .308, hopefully with some distinctive tracer rounds in it. Nothing like perceived friendly fire to confuse the issue. He slung his M-4 and held the G-3 at low ready and ran after his troops.

  As soon as he saw Torbin take out the remaining sentry, Black jumped up, grabbed his Barrett and began running to catch up on the causeway. He saw Hagel waited for him by the guard building. As he closed, he saw the sniper had a handheld radio in his hand, apparently obtained from the building.

  “Come on, Black. I don’t want to miss the party.” He stepped back into the guard shack and ripped the direct land line to Security Control from the wall. Torbin was still behind the team. He glanced back and in the brightening morning, saw Hagel and Black hot-footing to catch up. The front part of the team exited the causeway onto the Base proper. Off to the right was the Headquarters Building. Gunny Smith used hand signals to spread the team out into a line assault formation. They were approaching the HQ Building from the northwest side, some half mile away. Torbin was catching up when he heard vehicle engines. From his left came three security vehicles, a Humvee with a 50 caliber mounted on top and two Jeeps. Each had two MOPPed out soldiers in them, so the drivers were trying their hardest not to hit something due to their limited vision.

  He turned and began waving at them like he had something to tell them. As the drivers began to slow down, keyed on him, Torbin went into the CQB Groucho Marx walk, raised the .308 rifle and fired full auto. He fired at the Humvee driver first, the heavy mixed bag of armor piercing, tracer and ball rounds punched through the front semi armored windshield and hit the driver. The Humvee skewed off to its right and hit a palm tree lining the HQ entrance road, the Gunner on top almost thrown off. The middle jeep’s driver was hit by the next burst, which caused him to cut the wheel so sharply that the jeep flipped on its side, and rolled, the passenger being thrown free. Torbin hit the third jeep with the final rounds in his magazine. The driver slammed on the brakes and try to back up. The radiator was trashed and a round clipped the steering wheel. The driver and his passenger bailed out.

  Sergeant Hagel arrived on the scene, having heard on his purloined radio screams of, “Cease fire. Blue on blue. Cease fire!” Someone thought Captain Bender was a friendly who had opened up by mistake on the vehicles. The Gunner on the Humvee began to fire his 50 caliber as Torbin dropped his now empty .308.

  Luckily, the first rounds went high, and Torbin flattened himself to the ground, trying to make himself as small a target as possible. The Humvee gunner started to adjust his fire when his weapons receiver exploded. Sgt. Hagel had hit the Ma Deuce with a .308/7.62 AP and a tungsten penetrator round, detonating the round in the chamber and destroying the receiver. The gunner fell into the interior of the Humvee. Torbin jumped to his feet and signaled to Black, running up behind Hagel, to take a cover position underneath some bushes in a small depression. This spot would give the Barrett operator the ability to cover the main entrance of the HQ Building as the assault team members entered.

  The two Security Soldiers from the third jeep fired from some bushes near their disabled vehicle. Once again, the restricted vision from the MOPP head gear was not conducive to accurate fire and the first rounds went high. Torbin rolled behind an old U.S. Post Office mailbox that someone had left in place. He leaned around the right side of the box and fired his M-4 on full auto. Sgt. Hagel fired his M-14 into the bushes as well, sending three rounds down range. The firing from the bushes stopped.

  A burst of fire from the HQ Building parking lot set rounds ricocheting around the assault Troops. Before there were any casualties, Sgt. Nelson let loose with his Mini 249. The Security Soldier hidden behind a vehicle was hit and went down. The gunplay stopped. Torbin saw the gunny, about twenty five yards in front, looking at him. Torbin signaled to continue the assault to the HQ Building. Torbin started to stand up and leave the cover of the mailbox. Then, all hell broke loose.

  30 caliber auto fire came from the roof of the HQ Building. Chief Willie Hamilton had gotten into the fray with his beloved BAR. Of course, Torbin did not know who it was. The 30.06 AP rounds began striking around the assault team members, as they scrambled for cover behind the few vehicles and light poles in the lot. An AP round went through both of Sgt. Nelson’s thighs, taking him to the ground. Rounds hit the mailbox Torbin was hiding behind. He tried to crouch even lower. From behind a palm tree lining the parking lot entrance, Sergeant Hagel responded with his scoped rifle. Just as Chief Hamilton shifted the BAR to reload with a fresh magazine, Hagel fired. The AP rounds smashed into the BAR rather than the Chief’s head. He sprawled backwards. Torbin could tell things were heating up, so he yelled at the gunny, “Take them into the building!”

  As he started to leave the cover of the mailbox, more rounds of a different caliber began to hit it. He ducked back again. “This is getting damned ridiculous,” he mumbled to himself. Director Lloyd was firing from his second floor office window with a 10mm Ex FBI MP-5. The heavy rounds hit the mailbox like a drum. Torbin snapped a burst out in the general direction before he ducked back behind it. Just as Adam ducked back into his office, Sgt. Hagel blasted the window area with his M-14. Adam was splattered by pieces of wood molding and he dropped to the floor. Torbin, seeing Hegel’s action, leapt up and ran toward the rest of the assault team. Hagel, seeing no motion from the second floor window, began to head forward also.

  Torbin yelled at him, “Did you hit anyone?”

  “Can’t tell, Captain.” Although Torbin was supposed to try and capture the Director alive, that option was rapidly disappearing. He considered blowing the shit out of the office with HE rounds. But then, he would not be able to tell for sure if he got him or not. Damn. He had to try at least one assault, as per orders.

  As soon as Major Jane Grant had realized that an assault team was on Base, she started to form a fire team sans MOPP gear. She knew that no logical commander would waste a highly trained team if he was planning on nuking or hitting the Base with a bacto-bomb. She also knew they were after the Director with the least amount of collateral damage. Security Control was on
ly some six blocks from the HQ Building and she began to throw a team together.

  Adam was on the office floor, when a voice crackled over a small radio receiver he had on his desk. “Director, I will be there in ten seconds.” It was Andrew. After getting word of the nuke strike, and verifying here was no chance of the Cape being the destination of the spaceplane, Andrew had elevated his Falcon off the tarmac, rotated toward the direction of Key West, then took off like a bat out of hell. Now, he was almost there. Once again, the people on the ground felt the odd vibrating electricity that preceded the arrival of a Falcon. Then it was over the parking lot.

  Torbin swore. “I need the Grenadiers, Stingers and LAWs up front. Fire at will!”

  Andrew sat the Falcon down between the assault team and the front entrance. He had considered just blasting away, but did not want to cause any more collateral damage that he had to. For once in his existence, Andrew had underestimated the capabilities of his former fellow humans and overestimated his Falcon.

  Andrew set the Falcon down, and started to scan the area with his sensors. Then the Falcon shuddered with the hits from two HE 40mm and one HEAT round. This was quickly followed by a LAW rocket. A Falcon had a force field or “shield” system. However, it was made to operate in near vacuum conditions, as atmosphere degraded its capabilities. Therefore, the system was rarely operated close to the ground. Only the tough organic barnacle like skin was there for protection. The LAW Rocket, capable of penetrating eight inches of hardened steel, blew a satisfactory hole in the hull, damaging some of its control systems in the process. The 40mm grenade shells did lesser damage, but some damage nonetheless. Andrew quickly dropped to the parking lot pavement through an escape hatch. As he dropped, the Falcon began to power up and rise in the air. As it rose, the Stinger missile, with an enhanced warhead, struck the underside of the Falcon, blowing a satisfactory hole. The craft wobbled a bit, and then dashed toward the ocean. Andrew sprinted to the entrance door of the HQ Building at an Olympic games speed.

  Andrew’s interface system told him that the Falcon had taken substantial damage, more than he had considered possible. He sent it to a safe distance, saving it from further harm. He might need it to bug out with the Director. Andrew realized he had made a significant error in not taking the chance of collateral damage and should have targeted the parking lot, blasting anything that moved. He had become so used to people acting in abject fear to the Falcons and the capabilities they reflected, that the concept of a substantial attack had become foreign.

  The assault team let out various whoops of joy and satisfaction at the sight of fleeing robocop and Falcon. Torbin ordered, “Forget the Falcon! Hit the building!”

  There was a loud report from the roof of the building. A .338 Lapua round smashed through Sergeant Hagel’s body armor and he collapsed. Chief Hamilton, a bit banged up, was still in the fray with a sniper rifle he had as backup. Torbin was close enough to the Gunny that he dashed over and grabbed the loaded Shorty M-79. He spun around and lobbed the CS shell onto the top of the HQ Building just as the .338 rifle spoke again. The heavy round hit Rifleman Moore’s M-4, smashing and jamming the receiver. He yelped and dropped the weapon. Before Willie Hamilton could fire again, the CS shell hit the roof, began spinning and shooting CS gas about. With no gas mask, the Chief was soon spitting, sputtering, and then retched. He stumbled to the exit hatch in the roof to escape the gas.

  Handing the M-79 back to Gunny, Torbin ran over to Hagel. He was dead, the heavy round overpowering his body armor and hitting his heart. Torbin grabbed his dog tags, the M-14 rifle, and a spare magazine. He would grieve later. Three large figures came striding from the far side of the parking lot. Torbin immediately recognized them as the new Soldier class being the Tschaaa had developed. A smaller, poor man’s robocop, they were still well over six feet tall and tough. Torbin slung his M-4 and began shooting the M-14 at the figures. He was joined by the Riflemen and Sgt. Washington with his M-60-E1. High velocity bolts of energized metal needle-shaped rounds came from the odd-looking, large weapons they were carrying. PFC Mooney took a round full in the chest. The round from the bolt gun, of the type demonstrated to Adam Lloyd some time ago, blasted through his body armor and through his body. Mooney toppled over, dying. A similar round hit Cpl. Martinez in the chest, and he fell backwards.

  Sgt. Washington screamed out a curse and began slamming 7.62 machine gun rounds into one, then another of the Soldiers. Torbin concentrated on one as he shouted, “Grenades!” Sgt. Washington concentrated his fire on the head of the nearest Soldier, and was rewarded with the head toppling off the being’s shoulders. The legs locked and it fell like a tree. Torbin smashed several rounds into the face and neck of one of the remaining Soldiers. Blinded, it started to fire in all directions, a bolt catching Gunny, knocking him over. There was a loud report. Black’s 50 caliber slammed into the being’s chest, knocking it over. It lay still.

  A 40mm grenade caught the third Soldier full in the chest, blowing it apart. Torbin dashed to Gunny, just as he began cursing and trying to get up. The bolt had hit his body armor at an angle, singeing and bruising his ribs before exiting.

  “Going to make it, Gunny?”

  “Fuck yeah, Skipper. This is just a scratch,” he grimaced.

  Cpl. Martinez stood up, yanking and pulling at his body armor. There was smoke rising from the front of his fatigue top. He threw off his armor, and then pulled a smoldering object from underneath his t-shirt. It looked like a book.

  “Santa Maria–my mom’s bible saved me!” Cpl. Martinez exclaimed. The bolt had penetrated his rifle’s receiver, his front armor plate, coming to rest in the back of a small bible he was carrying inside his fatigue top. His chest was singed by the fire started in the bible and his chest was bruised, but that was it.

  Torbin gave him his M-4. “Here, use this.Your rifle’s trashed.”

  Torbin heard the Gunny curse loudly. “Skipper, something hit my rifle. The bolt is fused.”

  “Go grab Nelson’s SAW M249. He can’t move with his thighs shot to hell.”

  Moore checked on Mooney. The bolt round had penetrated his body armor and into his chest. He was dead. Moore grabbed his dog tags and his rifle. “See you later, Buddy.”

  A 30 caliber tracer zipped by. Everyone grabbed cover behind the few vehicles, light poles, and palm trees in and around the parking area. Some three hundred yards away a line of some non-MOPPED troops were approaching, about seven in number. Torbin yelled for smoke, and two Grenadiers each fired a 40mm smoke round in front of the assault line. The WP round set up a thick barrier of white smoke between the attacking Security Forces and Torbin’s group.

  Gunny Smith crouched next to Torbin behind a staff car that was parked on the edge of the parking area. Torbin said, “Excuse me.” He grabbed the Shorty M-79 from the Gunny again, loading the last CS round. He fired it and the CS round hit near the barrier of smoke.

  A couple of Security Troops dashed through the smoke, firing, and then proned out on the ground to provide fire for the others trying to attack through the smoke. They began to cough, choked, then retched as the CS gas, hidden in the smoke, hit them. With no gas masks, they had no protection. Two more armed human soldiers came through the smoke, and ran into the CS concealed gas. They tried to keep firing, but soon choked, coughed, retched, and their eyes blurred with tears. Two other Security Troops swung wide of the smoke barrier, coming around the north end of the smoke, missing the CS gas. One fired a grenade, and then was blown apart by Black’s Barrett 50 Caliber. His comrade tried to flee and was hit and downed by rifle fire. The rifle grenade exploded at the feet of Joe Fein, slamming him backwards. It nearly amputated his right leg, and he lay with his life’s blood spurting out from a cut femoral artery. Cpl. Martinez tried to stem the flow of blood, but was unsuccessful as there was more than one puncture. Fein was dead within a minute.

  Torbin had to make a quick decision. His small force was being whittled away; the blocking Falcon has delayed the assa
ult just long enough to allow other forces to arrive.

  “Gunny. Base of fire with that SAW. Sgt. Washington. You, Trump, Moore, Muller. Hit the building. Everyone else, on me, covering fire.”

  Technically, the twelve man squad was divided into two fire teams, under Sgts. Smith and Washington. Or, it could be reconfigured into three four-man teams. All twelve men were trained to operate with any others as part of any sized force. No matter who was left, they slid into whatever slot was necessary. With the squad automatic weapon as the base of fire, Torbin, Standing Bull, and Martinez spread out and began suppressive fire across the parking lot. Sgt. Washington, Trump, Moore and Muller began the mad dash to the entrance door. Nelson lay cursing next to Black’s concealed position, his shot up legs preventing him from doing much of anything. Someone had thrown him Fein’s rifle with grenade launcher before they all got busy. He checked it over and it seemed to be still operational. He turned, slid around and faced backwards, cursing from pain. He had refused to take the morphine in his first aid kit, not wanting to dope himself up to the point of ineffectiveness. At least he could be rear security.

  The four CS gassed soldiers tried to fire at the figures running at the door, but were too gassed to be effective. Finally, they began to crawl and roll back through the smoke barrier. One was hit and stopped moving. Torbin had the rest hold fire until another threat appeared. The lone gunman, who had fled when his grenadier buddy had been hit by Black’s 50, tried to engage Washington and his men from behind a light pole, as Major Jane Grant tried to help the three gassed survivors to safety behind a nearby small utility building. She received a good dose of residue CS for her trouble. The Major called for backup over her radio. The lone gunman, for his bravery, was sieved by the assault team. Then they were through the front door of the Headquarters Building.