by Paul Bishop
Milton erupted in laughter.
“A little extreme, weren’t you?” Cameron asked.
The cook arrived with the steaming eggs and Lassiter nodded thanks.
“Regular rules of etiquette don’t apply here,” he said. “They apply even less inside the Biodome. If I lead your team into hostile territory and give an order, I can’t afford to have anyone wonder if I’m ready to back it up.”
“The law of the jungle?” the man asked.
He sampled the hot eggs and was delighted. “Exactly.”
“You’re forgetting one thing, mate,” Milton said. “I thought I made it clear I’ll lead this little foray. You’re only signed on as a guide.”
In response, he shoveled eggs into his mouth, along with a piece of bacon. He watched Dr. Consuelo de la Cruz’s backside move in the tight confines of her tan cargo pants and wondered what she’d look like without them.
“We do understand each other,” the Aussie insisted. “Don’t we?”
After he’d chewed his mouthful thoroughly, he twisted one of the bottles open and took a long swig of water. “Absolutely, mate.”
The pilots went through their pre-flight checklists for the three helicopters. Two were lighter crafts designed to carry ten passengers. The third was a big Chinook, the latest military model, and carried all the boxes of equipment. The plan was to fly the teams to the drop zone. Some of Stratton’s drones had located a relatively flat, mossy section between two fields of Pita where they planned to set up base camp. It wasn’t too far from the old original biodomes deep inside. Amazingly, none of the drones had been attacked by the locust swarms today—a rare occurrence of late, according to Cameron. Maybe the flying bugs had grown indolent. Or maybe the Lord of the Jungle had ordered a reprieve. Old man Stratton’s people operated on the assumption that Tarzan or possibly the Paul Stratton hybrid called the shots in the interior.
They’d find out soon enough.
Once the preliminary team—Milton and his crew—were on the ground and had a perimeter established, the Chinook would move in. It would deliver the equipment and start with the polyurethane flooring, which would hopefully provide insulation from the creeping dangers of the vociferous plant life. The material used was supposed to be impenetrable.
When their base was established, the search and capture part of the mission would commence. The secondary team—the medical one—would be led by Dr. de la Cruz. She’d apparently had experience working in less than ideal conditions with the Physicians Around the World group in war-torn areas. Despite that, Lassiter wondered if she had any idea what she was getting into on this trip. Not that he’d had a chance to ask her. She’d made no bones about her disapproval of him and conspicuously avoided or ignored him whenever they made contact.
Of all the beautiful babes in all the world, he thought and mentally assumed his best Bogart imitation. One who can’t stand me has to walk into mine.
Casablanca was one of his favorite old-time movies. The continent was right, although this was central Africa, not Morocco. He doubted if the good doctor even knew who Humphrey Bogart was.
He was impressed at the degree of thoroughness and preparation that had preceded him with the setup. There was even a ground support team stationed in the warehouse, which would maintain communication and support. As they stood in the hanger with their backpacks, ditty bags, and weapons, Milton came forward dressed in crisp, starched jungle fatigues.
“I need everyone’s attention,” he said. “Each of you has been given a necklace with this attached.” He held up a flat, silver medallion the size of a cap for a prescription bottle. “Put it on now and don’t take it off. It contains a homing beacon activated by pressing the button on the back three times.” He rotated the medallion to display the button. “This will allow the support team at the main base to pinpoint your location. Should you become separated from the main team while we’re inside, main base will contact me and advise your location.”
Lassiter watched as Dr. Cruz studied hers.
“If you are in distress,” the Aussie continued, “and need immediate evacuation from the Biodome, press the button four times and hold the last one until you hear a beep. Support personnel will then dispatch a helicopter to locate and evacuate you. Remember, three times if you’re lost, four you’re in distress. Everyone got it?”
A murmur of assent swept through the assembled personnel.
There were essentially three groups. Milton had a five-man squad for security. Dr. Cruz had her nurse and three ex-Army medics. The two African animal trappers and him comprised the third. Thirteen in all—an unlucky number. He wondered how many of them would make it out alive and hoped he’d be one of them.
He checked his bags containing his newly fitted armor and the weapon he’d been given. It was a standard automatic shotgun and he had handled one during his military time and knew it wasn’t a bad weapon.
Milton had his M-665 SAW and several boxes containing numerous belts of ammunition. Good, he thought. Let the big asshole get tired carrying around all the extra weight that probably wouldn’t make a helluva lot of difference if the shit hit the fan.
The rest of his squad had state-of-the-art Mark-35 Heckler and Koch Mechanized Assault Rifles. They could be wirelessly connected to their HUD’s to provide a reticule for targeting acquisition and rapid shooting in combat situations.
Despite the fancy equipment and weapons, he knew from experience that all the technology in the world couldn’t save you once things went south inside the Biodome. All he wanted was to be able to find and capture the dschungelgoot without ruffling any feathers or stirring up any hostile pheromones.
In and out, nice and easy.
Yeah, right.
The faces of Murphy and Raulk floated back to him.
They had been good men, both of them, and good soldiers.
Neither had a chance.
The rotors on the first helicopter snapped to life and the craft levitated a few feet off the ground, tilted slightly forward, and stirred a myriad of fine sand granules into the air. Lassiter hoped the pilots had cleaned their dust filters.
“Alfa Team,” Milton shouted. “Move out.”
The group picked their equipment up and followed the chopper out the door. Lassiter joined them. Outside, the late afternoon sun was descending in the west and he wondered about the prudence of beginning this mission on the cusp of darkness. Still, there was never an ideal time to go into the Biodome.
He was the last to sling his bags onto the metal floor of the helicopter. Armand offered him a hand up and he took it and hopped aboard. He sat beside the Algerian and nodded thanks.
“Aveq pleasure, mon ami,” Armand said. “It is wise to keep anyone who fights as well as you do as a friend, rader dan an enemy.”
Lassiter grinned. If they both made it out alive, he’d give the man his Beretta back. For the moment, however, he had it in his pants pocket and wanted to hold onto it. The .380 round wouldn’t be worth much in the Biodome, but he didn’t want Armand to know he still had it. Distractions were anathema on a mission.
The helicopter flew thirty more feet before it set down and the rotors slowed to a lazy rotation.
Through the open port, he saw the other chopper exit the hanger and the medical team scramble aboard. The medics and Dr de la Cruz had little problem, but Nurse Kathy had to be boosted into the cabin before the door closed behind her. Another twinge of concern rippled through him. The kid didn’t seem tough enough for this deadly adventure. The chances were that they’d leave her behind.
“Liftoff.” The pilot’s voice reverberated inside the aircraft.
No one had mentioned closing the doors of this bird. To do so would be a sign of weakness. Posturing and toughness were an integral part of survival in a group like this.
The helicopter swung upward, and the warehouse, helipad, and shantytown grew smaller and smaller until the blue sky filled the void. Beyond the outer confines of the third wall, the Sahara w
as a sandy, tan ocean. The outermost wall surrounding the Biodome became visible and the sand gave way to the anomaly—a collage of rainbow-colored verdant green, magenta, and fuchsia, with an occasional dot of cerulean. The thin gray ribbon of wall seemed about to be overwhelmed by the teeming flow of vegetation. At several points along the barrier, squads of men hoisted heavy hoses attached to trucks containing the fuel for the seemingly ineffective flamethrowers the men wielded.
Lassiter thought about the ancient myth of Sisyphus commanded by the gods to roll the boulder up the steep incline for all eternity.
In the Biodome, capitulation was death.
The dilapidated ridge of the second wall was no more than an interruption in the verdure and was virtually overwhelmed by the omnipresent flora.
The aircraft banked slightly, and the multi-colored jungle was replaced by the azure sky. There were no clouds visible, and the dry heat of the surrounding desert shifted subtly to an oppressive, clinging humidity. The pilot leveled out and advised that they were almost there.
“Get ready to hook up,” he said.
The squad members put their backpacks on, removed their D-rings, and slipped them around the Swiss seats they’d previously tied around their waists and buttocks. The coils of nylon rope had already been braided onto the cleats of the chopper. The rappel down would be quick and expedient. They passed over the innermost wall. It, too, had been overwhelmed by the inexorable, efflorescent leviathan. That meant they were only a scant three miles or so from the now-abandoned biodomes.
The craft slowed to a hover and descended to about fifty feet. The tops of some high trees were visible thirty yards away. He assumed they were now over the clearing. In the distance, two or three kilometers away, he saw the cracked and ruptured formations of the biodomes.
Welcome back to hell. Now, the waiting game begins.
Lassiter looked around at the enveloping darkness. The monotonous chirping of the ubiquitous insects resumed once they’d completed the base construction, and the humidity had settled over them like an invisible blanket. Luckily, a gentle breeze wound through the thick shrubbery to cool his sweat-soaked clothes. Before they’d taken off, Milton had fitted the medical team and the African trappers with scaled-down armor but no weapons. Dr Cruz had protested about wearing it and stated in no uncertain terms that she and her personnel were non-combatants, but the big Aussie had summed it up quite succinctly. “Doctor, in the Biodome, the definition of a non-combatant is a casualty waiting to happen.”
For a guy who’d never been inside, he’d gotten it right. Lassiter suggested they put on their armor as soon as they landed, but Milton shook his head.
“It’s not necessary,” he said.
“What?” he said. “We’re opening ourselves up to more vulnerability.”
“We should be safe enough as long as we stay in the base camp,” the man argued. “The HUDs need to be hooked up to the charging stations to get full zap. We’ll do it soon.”
“I disagree,” he said. “We should—”
“Remember, I’m in charge, mate.” Milton gave him a knowing look. “If you don’t, you won’t be able to afford the dental work afterward.”
He glared but held his peace. Infighting in the field wasn’t appropriate, and these guys still considered him an outsider. It did, however, make him question Milton’s decision-making. Was he intentionally obstinate because he felt threatened or was it something else? Either way, it seemed as if he was setting them up to fail.
Even though the battle armor was restrictive and uncomfortable, he decided he would put his on as soon as it was charged. If the other man wanted to try to stop him, he’d be hard-pressed. Right now, the operation depended on him.
The team proved very effective at setting up the base camp. Once the polyurethane flooring was unrolled, they’d positioned motion detectors and erected the tents. Two of the team in exoskeletons did most of the heavy lifting while the others remained on watch.
With most of the assembly complete, the soft glow of the portable lanterns lent a fraudulent tranquility to the camp. The two Africans were the last to arrive, having been lowered with the heavy equipment. They looked totally at home in the lush surroundings. He thought he should warn them that this wasn’t their jungle or even the one of their ancestors, but he kept his mouth shut. They’d learn soon enough.
Lassiter laid his armor out and plugged it into the provided charging system tower. Armand came up beside him and plugged his in as well. His face was covered with a brocade of sweat.
“It does not look like much,” he said. “Only another jungle.”
“Don’t underestimate it.”
“I will not,” he said and looked at him. “Do you still have my Italian friend?”
He felt the comforting weight of the pistol in his pants pocket. “Do you want it back?”
The Algerian shook his head. “Keep it for de moment. Perhaps, when we all have returned safely, I will ask you for it again.”
While he wasn’t sure if that was a challenge or a promise, he decided not to push the issue. At the moment, he was more concerned with the necessity to convince Milton and his team of the imminent dangers they faced and how quickly things could change. He found the big Aussie seated on a plastic chair outside his tent. He wiped the huge mini-gun down with an oily rag.
“From one extreme to another,” Milton said and caressed the thick barrel with an almost tender gesture. The sweat dripped from his face and hands, dappled the barrel, and mixed with the lubricant. “From ubiquitous sand to omnipresent humidity. One is as bad as the other.”
Lassiter placed the butt of his rifle on the protective flooring and went down on one knee so he could be eye-level with the other man. “I’d suggest you have someone set up the computer monitor and launch a couple of those surveillance drones Stratton supplied.”
The other man smirked. “Are you trying to question my leadership ability again?”
He pushed his slowly growing frustration aside. “I’m not looking to get into a pissing contest. The longer we stay here waiting, the more vulnerable we become.”
“You want to hit the ground running?” Milton continued to rub the cloth over the textured length of the barrel. “Isn’t that what American military men say?”
“Among other things. We have the drones so might as well use them, not only to look for this Hybrid guy but also to keep tabs on the surroundings. It’s full of potential threats.”
“I’m sure if he’s as redoubtable as described, we shouldn’t have any problem finding the Hybrid. He’ll probably come to us.”
“Exactly. We’ll need as much lead-time as we can get if we want to pull this off.
“Fine,” the Aussie said. He called to a couple of his men in French. Lassiter didn’t know their names, nor did he want to. He didn’t even want to study their faces. There were already too many bad memories.
Milton seemed totally unconcerned. He was either the coolest cat he had ever encountered or the big Aussie knew something he didn’t. The purported ancient quote given by the gladiators to the emperor in the Roman coliseum rang in his ears. We, who are about to die, salute you.
“Satisfied?” his companion asked and his massive face looked eerily similar to a Halloween pumpkin in the soft lighting.
He left without a reply and made a slow circuit around the perimeter to check the motion detectors and security wires. Everything seemed to be in order. The laser eyes would sound the alarm if anything bigger than a fly violated the space. For whatever strange, undecipherable reason, there were no mosquitoes inside the Biodome but there were flies. He retrieved his insect repellent and began to rub it over his arms and neck.
Someone came up beside him and he turned and saw the nurse.
“Is everything okay?” she asked. Her face was drawn and tight like a little lamb lost in the woods.
Lassiter smiled as benignly as he could. “For now.”
Two of Milton’s team launched a few mini-drones.
He watched as the two triangular, football-sized vessels ascended noiselessly from the launcher.
“What are they doing?” she asked.
“They’re sending out surveillance drones.”
She looked around. “But it’s so dark and everything’s so dense-looking. Will they be able to see anything?”
“They’re equipped with infrared lenses. It should give us an idea if anything out of the ordinary is approaching.”
He detected her slight shudder. “Is anything ordinary in this place?”
“There are the insects.” He paused, sighed, and raised an eyebrow. “Do you hear them?”
“How can you not?” she said. “Their chirping doesn’t let up.”
“That’s a good thing,” he said. “When it stops, it’s usually a sign of trouble approaching.”
“It is?” Her face showed a trace of alarm.
His gaze swept down her body and admired the curves made more evident by the clinging material of her sweat-soaked uniform. The humidity was good for something.
“Some entomologists believe the sound is most likely the result of insect copulation,” he said.
A trace of a smile graced her mouth. She was about to say something when Dr Cruz’s voice interceded.
“Kathy, what are you doing?”
The nurse turned and started to explain but was interrupted by the doctor.
“Come here and help me organize the tranquilizers,” the other woman said as she approached them. A stern expression had settled over her very attractive face. Her sodden blouse and pants clung to her body as well. He cast an admiring glance at her svelte but curvy figure.
She obviously read his mind and her frown deepened.
Lassiter flashed a grin and almost spoke his thoughts. You can’t go to jail for what you’re thinking. Wisely, he kept his mouth shut again. He really wished he’d met this woman under more favorable circumstances.
“Is there anything I can help with?” he asked.
The expression didn’t change. “Stay out of my way. And stay away from my nurse.”