Angels Fallen

by Francis Smith

  “I need you two boys up in the cockpit for take-off,” Eian said before turning back to Jim and Dan. “And I will see you gentlemen in a few weeks when we divide the big cash: ‘til then.”

  “Good job, Eian, ‘til then, my friend,” Dan said, shaking Eian’s extended hand, shaking it vigorously, patting him on the back with the other. “We are going to have one hell of a poker game. I might even let you win a hand or two. Now get the hell out of here,” he shouted above the whine of the APU.

  Dan’s reflexes were still in prime condition considering the events that had transpired over the previous 48 hours. Of course, the ten cups of coffee didn’t hurt. Something about the situation didn’t feel right. His grandmother called it “Irish beforehand.”

  Dan tapped his pocket out of reflex. His weapon was still safely in its place. Glancing to the rear of the aircraft, he noticed something moving on the tarmac. His “Irish beforehand” was clearly working. The hairs on his neck rose. His heart raced. Its confirmation came quickly with several black-clad figures appearing out of the darkness brandishing weapons.

  “Damn it, gentlemen, we have company, four figures with weapons toward the rear of the aircraft.”

  “Jim, go up front and start the truck. We have to get the hell out of here,” Dan said, extracting his Beretta 9mm in response, quickly checking its ammunition status.

  “Eian, close this aircraft door and get the hell out of here. We’ll see you in a few weeks.”

  Eian saluted Dan in the aircraft’s doorframe before turning to yell up to the cockpit. “Sean and Colin get back down here. We have trouble brewing.”

  COMMANDER ROBINSON LED HIS three fellow SAS troops in their race towards the B737 aircraft, stopping a mere 50 meters from its rear to reassess the situation.

  “Sergeant Major, when we are in range, concentrate your weapon fire on the truck just in case our birds of prey are trying to off-load and flee.”

  Turning to face his other two commandos, he said. “We will split into two groups. Jennings and Astor, I want you gentlemen to assault the aircraft from the port side over the wing entrance. The Sergeant Major and I will move to the starboard side of the truck.

  Remember, we cannot screw this one up, gentlemen. Safeties off and I’ll see you after the mission. Cheers.”

  DAN FIRED SINGLE SHOTS at the fast approaching figures forcing them to take cover on the tarmac for the moment. “Let’s get this truck the hell out of here, my friend,” he said to Jim. “We have company and it’s not the local police. They would have identified themselves by now, cutting off any possible escape route with a hundred cars surrounding us.”

  Jim struggled to locate the keys to the truck, finally locating them overhead stuck in the driver’s visor. “Who the hell are they?” he said, bullets now impacting the side of the truck with soft, dull thuds as they struck. He hastily stuck one key after another into the ignition before finding one that brought the truck to life with the roar of its eight cylinders.

  Dan ducked behind the safety afforded by the wooden containers, they offering some protection from the SAS bullets that seemed close to finding their mark. “FBI or SWAT would also have also identified themselves. No doubt thieves got wind of this little operation. Get this rig the hell out of here before we are dead on arrival.”

  The van suddenly swerved from side to side as Jim tried to get control of the rapidly moving vehicle.

  Dan held onto the truck with one hand, with the other firing at the dark clad figures.

  “Who in the hell are they?” Jim yelled back once more.

  Dan reloaded his weapon. Satisfied, he peers above the crate at what appears to be only two figures versus the original four, they still firing blindly at the truck from an ever-increasing distance.

  Jim slowed the truck to negotiate the curve that announced the airport’s exit, now searching for the main road. “Jesus, that was close,” he said to himself in the empty cabin of the truck.

  Dan squeezed his way into the truck’s cab, sitting in the passenger’s seat. “We are heading for a gas station about two clicks up this particular road,” he said, looking in the truck’s mirror for anything suspicious that might be following them.

  “I just hope Eian and his friends are okay back there,” Jim said. “There were a lot of fireworks going on back there.”

  “Eian’s a big boy,” Dan replied, reloading his weapon, “he can handle himself.”

  Millville Airport

  Thick droplets of blood marked Eians’ course on the aircraft floor as he weaved his way forward, rushing to close the forward service hatch, the last door before he could ready the aircraft for take-off. Checking the area outside the door, he couldn’t believe his luck when he found two SAS men kneeling on the ramp no more than 25 meters away, firing at Dan and Jim. Eian positioned his weapon against the doorframe, his Uzi coughing out a short burst, immediately killing both Commander Robinson and the Sergeant Major.

  Eian turned to Sean and Colin, both having made their way down to the cargo hold when they heard the first shots being fired. “Sorry, boys, but you missed the action,” he said, a smile creeping onto his face as he fought the obvious pain in his wounded arm. “Sean, go back upstairs and make sure nobody entered the aircraft from the topside. These gentlemen,” pointing to the now lifeless bodies on the ramp, “most likely have friends. Colin, I want you to close this access door and secure it for flight. We are getting the hell out of here.”

  PRIVATE JENNINGS AND CORPORAL Astor took advantage of the confusion on the opposite side of the aircraft, scaling up and onto the aircraft’s port wing, entering the aircraft through its emergency over-wing door.

  Positioning themselves on opposite sides of the aisle, they moved forward toward the cockpit area.

  SEAN SCALED THE aluminum steps from the cargo hold, reaching the top of the steps as Private Jennings and Corporal Astor were moving toward his position. Damn it! Sean cried aloud as he caught a short burst in the upper torso from Corporal Astor, killing him instantly.

  In the cargo area, Eian turned in time to notice Sean’s feet protruding from the top of the steps, him obviously dead. The topside of the aircraft was compromised.

  He realized he was dealing with professionals. Eian decided to make his way back to where Colin still struggled to close the aircraft’s door. Eian caught Colin’s attention with a slight tap to the shoulder, yelling above the still whining APU. “I think it’s time to retreat out of here and allow these buggers to meet their fate.” He brandished two grenades. “I want you to go over on the side of the tarmac. Once you’re safely in place, you can provide me with covering fire. I’m going to give these buggers a real surprise by dropping these grenades by the plane’s center fuel tanks.”

  Colin fingered his own weapon, wondering what the hell he had gotten himself into. “You didn’t warn me about the possibilities of a firefight, Eian. You told me to simply drive the truck here, load some goods, and hop on the plane for a 30-minute ride to Newark. A total of four or five hours work and I would get five grand, real easy. This is going to cost you extra, boy.”

  Both nervously eyed the steps leading to the topside of the aircraft.

  “It’s like friggin Vietnam around here,” Colin yelled back.

  “Relax, you will still get your fiver with a bonus, but let’s get the hell out of here first. Dead men can’t get paid. Now take up a position 50 meters from here.”

  A quick shove from Eian sufficed as Colin dropped out of the aircraft, limping slightly from his fall as he quickly moved toward cover.

  PRIVATE JENNINGS AND CORPORAL Astor finished their topside sweep of the aircraft, cautiously starting down the stairway leading to the darkened cargo hold. From their vantage point, they could see the hold contained three individual compartments for separating various types of cargo. A narrow passageway on each side allowed access to the rear of the aircraft.

  Corporal Astor detected movement in the rear of the aircraft. “We have someone in the th
ird hold,” he said, moving carefully to the bottom of the steps. “A flash grenade should stun them. I’ll break to the right and you take the left side. On my command, ready…”

  EIAN COULD SEE THE COMMANDO’S dark image at the bottom of the steps. The timing couldn’t be more perfect, rolling his grenade toward the center of the aircraft as he jumped out of the aircraft’s door, running like a fox from the hounds and toward where Colin lay in wait.

  “GO,” CORPORAL ASTOR SAID, tossing the stun grenade into the aft cargo hold, closing his eyes, covering his ears, and opening his mouth to minimize the effects of the impact. The stun grenade exploded three seconds after he had pulled the pin, a blinding luminous flash followed by a thunderous bang intending to momentarily blind and stun the intended victims.

  They moved rapidly into position, breaking to the left and right respectively, quickly slipping past the first empty cargo hold.

  Corporal Astor was the first to see Eian’s grenade.

  The shrapnel laden explosions punctured the aircraft’s interior, consuming the entire aircraft in a fireball that rose up a hundred feet in announcement.

  Eian’s grenades had evidently blown over the center fuel tank, as intended.

  COLIN HELPED EIAN UP FROM the concrete ramp, the force of the explosion having tossed him as if he were a rag doll.

  “Jesus, Eian, what the hell did you do?” he said. “I thought you were just dropping a couple of grenades to knock off the boy’s topside, not destroying the whole friggin plane.” Colin looked about the immediate area in case additional attackers still lurked.

  “Well, now, the whole damn plane is history, isn’t it? Eian said. “Let’s get the hell out of here before we attract any more unwanted attention.” He glanced over toward the airport tower. “Don’t look now, but here comes the emergency response team. Let’s move our position. How much money do you have?” he said, moving toward the same fence line that Jim and Dan had escaped through minutes before.

  “I have five bucks,” Colin replied, trying to keep pace with his sprained ankle, a gift from Eian when he was pushed from the aircraft.

  “And I have ten, so we have a lousy 15 lousy bucks between us,” Eian said, holding tightly onto his flight bag. “Maybe we can hitch a ride to Philly?”

  “Just a minute there, Eian,” Colin said. “What about my five grand you owe me? I was promised five grand upon completion. Let’s have it so we can split up and make a run for it.”

  Colin looked menacingly at Eian, advancing towards him. “You have it in that bag or what?”

  “You’re being a real pain in the ass, Colin, you know that? You can’t wait, can you? We have a burning plane right behind you, and I just killed four people in a span of five minutes. Don’t you think this might be a bad time to inquire about your money? You are a real jerk, you know that? No, you know what? Here, take your damn money.” Eian extracted a bundle of cash throwing it at Colin’s feet.

  The aircraft in flames behind them created a surreal scene as Colin stood looking down at the cash. Eian extracted the Beretta from his jacket pocket, pointing it at Colin. “And I owe you this too, you…” he said. “Pick up your money so I can say I paid you with a clear conscious before I administer some Irish justice.”

  “Eian, come on, man, I was just kidding. I knew you were going to pay me. Don’t do it, man,” Colin pleaded, now on his knees.

  “Goodbye, Colin,” Eian said, placing two well placed bullets to Colin’s head. “You couldn’t wait till we got to Philly?”

  Eian quickly gathered the money from Colin’s lifeless body before disappearing into the airport tree line and freedom.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  ROUTE 55 – SOUTHERN NEW JERSEY

  “That was too damn close for me,” Jim said. “Who the hell were those cast of characters? They dropped out of nowhere and started shooting like it was the Wild West. Any friggin ideas?”

  “It wasn’t the U.S. Special Forces or police, I can assure you of that,” Dan said. “Not their tactics. They would have taken us out with snipers, and then assaulted the remaining forces in the plane with precision. I would place my money on the Brits. Their SAS troops utilize techniques similar to the one you just had the privilege to experience. That’s their top-notch people. They drop out of the night like owls onto their prey. They never let those boys out of their cage unless they really have a bad-ass character on their hands.”

  “Do you think they got wind of what we were doing? I don’t think there could be any other excuse for it. Somebody dropped the dime.”

  “Now calm down,” Dan said. “We are free and clear of that place. Nobody can find us, I assure you. What I’m worried about is Eian and his friends. If any of them get pinched and drop the ball on us, we may have some trouble.”

  “Do you think Eian’s alive?” Jim said, looking to Dan rather than the road in front of him.

  Dan shook his head. “I have my sincere doubts about it. If they were SAS, nobody would get free of those boys. They would have had that place buttoned up tighter than a virgin’s sweater.”

  “I can’t believe the Brits would have the nerve to pull something like this in our country. Our government wouldn’t allow them to operate over here.”

  “I can only think that I’m to blame for this one, Jimmy. They finally pinned that bombing on me. It’s the only rationale for them coming here. They wouldn’t give a damn about the gold, or you for that matter. But first things first,” pointing to a well-lit area containing a variety of fast-food restaurants. “Pull over at that Denny’s up ahead. I want to check our cargo and the truck for any obvious damage. We took a few hits from those bullets back at the airport. I don’t think the local police would take too kindly to our driving through the area with bullet holes everywhere. We might attract a little attention. Besides, lad, it’s time for my hourly caffeine fix. I need a little java to keep me going.”

  CHAPTER FORTY

  NEWARK INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT – NEW JERSEY

  General Parker nervously paced up and down the aircraft’s narrow aisle, a mad scowl upon his face. The General’s staff had lost communication with the assault team 15 minutes earlier. He stopped beside the lead communication’s officer.

  “Lieutenant, play it back,” the General said in a low voice, not wanting to be overheard.

  “Sir?” the communication’s officer questioned, puzzled by the request.

  “Go the hell over your goddamn notes and replay what had previously transpired,” he yelled loudly, surprising even himself at his tone. Realizing it wasn’t the young officer’s fault, he quickly corrects himself. “Accept my apologies, Lieutenant. Circumstances dictate that I have a lot on my mind.” He paused, looking about, before smiling. “A word of advice, Lieutenant. In the future when you eventually assume a command position, you will realize that the human brain can only take so much before it either shuts down or snaps.” He patted him on the back. “Please read the notes you have on the action report.”

  The Lieutenant picked up his notepad nervously searching for the appropriate page that the ground operation started. “Yes, sir,” he said, his finger traveling down the page to locate the precise moment of the parachutists’ exit from the aircraft.

  “As you are already aware, at 7:45 p.m. local time, we had confirmation from Commander Robinson that they were on the deck approaching just aft of the target. At 50 meters, they were spotted by the suspects and chose to press on with their attack. At that time, we picked up small arms’ fire for three minutes’ time until the Commander’s radio went dead. Sensing a bad connection, I switched over to try to raise the Sergeant Major on the same frequency, finding that too was inoperable.”

  The General allowed the information to replay fresh in his mind in case he had missed something. “Could it be a total radio failure on our part or theirs?” speaking with no hint of anger or sarcasm in his voice.

  “I checked and rechecked our controls, sir,” the Lieutenant replied, pointing to the bu
ilt-in test controls for the Rascal communication’s set, a state-of-the-art unit that was standard issue equipment for SAS troops. “Doubtful on our end, General. I would say the radios are working fine, sir. The failure is due to our people being incapacitated.”

  If you mean dead, Lieutenant, then say dead,” the General snapped back in a fit of rage, taking off his jacket, throwing it against the communications panel located above the Lieutenant’s head.

  The Lieutenant picked up the crumpled leather jacket, brushing off the jacket before carefully handing it back to the general. “They are most likely dead, sir,” retreating to his communications console.

  The General flopped down in his chair. He picked up a piece of paper and a pen from the metal table in front of him. He started scribbling some words, speaking softly to himself in the same instant. “Damn, this was a royal screw-up,” rolling up the sheet of paper into a ball, throwing it toward the open cockpit door at no one in general.

  “General, I am picking up a live feed from CNN concerning Millville Airport,” said another flight officer from his seat next to the lieutenant.

  The General once again seemed his vibrant self, perking up. “Damn it, man, put it on the main screen. Quiet everyone.”

  The crew huddled around the 13-inch screen, all jostling for a decent view of the picture. Only the pilot stayed at his post, monitoring communications with the airport control tower.

  “CNN has just received updated information on an aircraft explosion from one of our sister stations located out of Philadelphia,” the portly anchorman said. “We now go live to WPVI.”

  The location changed from CNN’s Atlanta studio to show a live feed of a middle-aged, yet attractive female, reporter standing a half-mile from a fire. The only way to realize it was an aircraft was the tail section protruding through the flames.