“Where the fuck did that come from?” somebody said over the comms channel.
“Find me that sniper, Raven One,” the Master Sergeant barked, communicating with the drone pilot who was tied into their comms circuit.
“The only heat signatures I hold are friendlies . . . all accounted for.”
A second sniper round echoed in the night, and this time Legend thought he saw a muzzle flash from inside the cabin.
“Rogers was hit,” came the report from the Team Two leader. “KIA.”
“Bravo One, you’re weapons-free,” Legend growled with clenched fists, Josie’s eyes on him.
“Light it up, boys,” the Master Sergeant barked.
The six remaining shooters went to work, pounding the cabin with volley after volley. Somewhere in the melee, a third sniper round targeted a Team One shooter.
“I don’t know how the fucker is doing it, but he’s hiding from thermal,” the Master Sergeant growled over the channel. “Request permission to incinerate.”
Legend looked at Josie. “I’m sorry,” he said. “We tried.”
She swallowed hard but gave him a nod.
“Do it,” Legend said into his mike.
The Master Sergeant gave the order to the drone pilot, and five seconds later, a streak of fire lit up the night sky. The missile struck the cabin from an oblique angle and detonated. A fireball mushroomed skyward, orange and brilliant against the white snow background. Burning chunks of wood rained down like individual tongues of fire, and Legend could not help but feel a biblical connection to the scene before him. Was this battle the precursor to an end-of-days firestorm yet to come? He raised his binoculars and surveyed the damage as fire began to burn out. In the middle of the wreckage, a geometric structure stood, having survived the explosion with little if any damage.
“What’s that thing sticking up?” he asked Josie and passed her the binoculars.
“That’s the original entrance,” she said, taking a look. “Barnes built the cabin around that concrete hut to conceal it.”
“Advancing on the target,” the Master Sergeant said. “I have three KIA, leaving in place.”
Frowning, Legend clicked his radio twice in acknowledgment; apparently the third sniper victim’s injury had been mortal as well. He wondered how the sniper had concealed his thermal signature. The drone’s thermal-imaging system was state of the art, capable of seeing inside structures. He got his answer a minute later.
“Found our shooter,” the Master Sergeant said, standing inside the smoldering wreck that had once been a log cabin. “Or what’s left of him. He was wearing some sort of metallic fabric suit.”
Josie winced. “Willie’s Faraday suit,” she murmured.
“Come again?” Legend asked.
“When Willie was giving me the tour, I saw a strange suit. It reminded me of those full-body, metallic fabric suits that stuntmen wear for fire stunts in movies. Willie modified the suit and helmet to act as a Faraday cage to block the orb’s mind-control waves.” She tapped the helmet his team had found her wearing when she was collapsed behind that dumpster. She’d demanded it back at the scene and not let it out of her possession since. “This helmet was part of it. The suit is made of layers of dielectric and metallic material. It would be an incredible thermal insulator.”
“Can you ID the body?” Legend asked the Major Sergeant, looking at Josie as he spoke.
“Definitely not Fischer . . . or Barnes. It’s either Sergeant Pitcher or the other guy, Ninemeyer.”
The pained look on Josie’s face made Legend sick, but what was there to say? The odds had just gone from one in four to one in two.
“Master Sergeant, can you tell me if he was wearing black suit pants or blue jeans underneath?” she asked, her first communication on the radio.
“Hold on . . . There’s a leg over here I can check . . . Uhhhh, looks like black suit pants,” came the reply.
Josie’s shoulders fell, pent-up tension suddenly released, and he heard her whisper, “Oh thank God.”
“We’ve got an entrance here, pretty much intact, Major. Security door, just like the lady said. But the missile did us a favor and breached it open. Say the word and we’ll proceed inside.”
“Roger that. Proceed as briefed,” Legend said, raising his binoculars for a closer look. He watched as the five Mountaineers from Fort Drum disappeared down the devil’s staircase . . . hell’s entrance made real by a circle of flame, smoke, and ember.
CHAPTER 48
Josie couldn’t stand it anymore. She couldn’t let those men face the silo alone. She couldn’t let them face the orb alone. They didn’t know what they were up against, and how could they unless they’d seen the things she’d seen? Unless they’d experienced the things she’d experienced?
She picked up the Faraday helmet—a.k.a. Willie’s tinfoil hat—and tucked it under her arm. Then, without giving Major Tyree a chance to say no, she started marching through the snow toward the silo entrance.
“Hey,” he barked behind her. “Where do you think you’re going?”
She didn’t answer him, just kept marching.
“Josie, stop!” he shouted, but she didn’t stop. She was past the tree line now and crossing the field.
A beat later, she heard a rustle behind her, and then a strong hand clutched her right upper arm, jerking her to a halt.
“Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?” the Major said, anger in his voice.
She told him. She told him with all the real vitriol and false courage she could muster. She didn’t want to go underground to face the orb, but it was something she had to do, with or without his blessing or approval. To his credit, he listened without interruption. When she’d finished her diatribe, he said, “This is a military operation. You don’t make those decisions. I do.”
“So what is your decision, Major?” she said. “Watch your men fall one by one, or you let me help them?”
He stared at her for a long moment, then said, “If you go, I go.”
“I’d prefer that,” she said, then looked at the two remaining shooters who’d trotted up to be at their side.
“All right,” he said. “You heard the lady. We’re going in.”
Their foursome advanced to the cabin, or at least what was left of it. As they walked through the wreckage, Josie averted her eyes from what she knew was Ninemeyer’s dismembered body. The smell of burning wood and charred other things filled her nostrils, and she tried to put the thought out of her mind. She picked up her pace and reached the doorway first. No magic wardrobe left to climb through this time, just the little concrete hut that contained the door. A hand grabbed the top of her shoulder.
“You’re in back with me,” the Major said and then motioned for the two soldiers to advance ahead of them. “We should try to let the Master Sergeant know we’re coming.” He keyed his radio as they stepped into the concrete stairwell. “Bravo, this is Alpha. Do you copy?”
His radio hissed, and he got a choppy reply. “Alpha, this is Bravo. Copy with noise.”
“Bravo, we’re coming to you.”
“Copy, Alpha, but I don’t advise. It’s tight quarters down here.”
The Major chopped a hand forward, and they descended the two-story stairwell. As they neared the bottom, Josie could see a couple of operators standing in the dogleg section of the hallway before the entrapment chamber. When they reached the bottom, the Master Sergeant pushed his way to the back of the throng to meet them. “We’re at the first security door. It’s locked, as expected, so we set a breacher charge. I was just about to pull everyone back and give the order to blow it when you called,” he said.
“Watch out for that murder hole,” Josie cautioned.
“Do you remember the location by any chance?”
“Left side when you’re looking at the second door. About four feet off the ground.”
“Roger that,” he said. “Thanks.”
The Master Sergeant waved them back up t
he stairs to the first landing and warned Josie to cover her ears. The breacher charge blew a moment later, and Josie was surprised to feel the concussive whump from the detonation as backed up as they were. Must be the combination of the confined space and concrete walls, she thought. The Master Sergeant disappeared back toward the pointy end of the spear to coordinate the advance. Gunfire erupted a moment later, and the cacophony was louder than the breacher charge. She pressed her hands against her ears.
“Josie was right,” came the Master Sergeant’s voice over the comms channel. “Someone is shooting at us from the murder hole. We can’t advance to the next door to breach it without casualties.”
“Options?” Major Tyree asked.
“I can toss grenades at it,” the Master Sergeant came back. “That’s about it.”
“Do it,” the Major ordered.
The machine gun halted. While Josie waited for the boom, she prayed Michael was not the one shooting from behind the murder hole. She jumped reflexively when the first grenade detonated, despite expecting it, and again when the second went off.
“Looks like we made a dent,” came the report. “Tossing one more.”
The next explosion had a slightly different timbre to it, and Josie guessed it must have succeeded in blowing open the second security door.
“Popped her cherry,” the Master Sergeant said, and then, “I’m advancing three—”
The next thing she heard were bloodcurdling screams of pain and agony.
“Bravo, report?” the Major barked into the radio.
“The guys got sprayed with something from a sprinkler pipe overhead . . . I think it might be . . . it might be acid.”
Three men clutching at their faces ran screaming toward them. Josie pressed her back against the concrete wall as they passed, stumbling up the stairs. Right on their heels, the Master Sergeant and the team medic stormed up the darkened stairwell. “I lost three men in the assault topside, and I’m gonna need CASEVACS for three more,” the Master Sergeant said. “God only knows what other devious booby traps this guy has. Time to call off this Mexican standoff and bring in the big guns.”
Major Tyree turned to glare at Josie, his eyes filled with guilt and rage. “Why didn’t you warn us about that?”
“I didn’t know,” she said, taken aback at the accusation. “I swear to God. Barnes gave me a tour of this place, but I think it’s obvious he didn’t share with me all its secrets. He’s been fortifying and modifying it for over a decade; who knows what other tricks he has up his sleeve. Maybe it’s time we change tactics.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“Instead of trying to force our way in, let’s try ringing the doorbell,” she said.
He narrowed his eyes at her. “And if the orb lets us in, then what?”
“We cross that bridge when we get to it.”
He inhaled deeply through his nose and then exhaled through pursed lips. The battle of raw emotions he was fighting inside was obvious on his face. A beat later, she saw him reach a decision. He looked at the two Mountaineers who had been assigned as their security detail. “Gentlemen, you’re relieved of escort duty,” he said.
“With all due respect, Major,” the lead operator said, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“You heard what the Master Sergeant said, Corporal. Nothing good is going to happen from here on in.”
“Yeah, I heard him. But, sir, I can’t in good conscience let you and Mike Pitcher’s wife sacrifice yourselves on some suicide op. I know Mike Pitcher. He’s good people. I’m all in, sir.”
Tyree put his hand on the young soldier’s shoulder. “Thank you, Corporal, but that’s an order. The mission has changed. It’s not an assault operation anymore.”
“If it’s not an assault, then what is it, sir?”
The Major smiled wanly. “A negotiation.”
The Corporal looked confused, but he popped a salute, which the Major returned. “Good luck, sir.”
“Thank you,” he said, then turned to Josie and asked, “Are you ready?”
“I only have one helmet, Major,” she said, leaving the rest of the sentiment implicit.
“I know. We’ll figure something out,” he said. “Oh and Josie?”
“Yes?”
“Now that’s it’s just the two of us, call me Legend.”
She nodded. “Okay, Legend.”
They descended the darkened stairwell and at the bottom navigated the dogleg to the intruder-entrapment chamber. She coughed involuntarily as a pungent odor assaulted her nose, eyes, and throat. “What is that?”
“Hydrogen-chloride gas,” he said, bringing an arm up to cover his mouth and nose. “Barnes must have sprayed them with hydrochloric acid.”
Overhead lights flicked on in the chamber.
Josie shielded her eyes with her free hand. The noxious fumes were beginning to make her gag. She wasn’t sure how much more she could take. “We want to talk,” she shouted, looking at the camera in the upper left corner on the far wall. “It’s just the two of us.”
“What is there to talk about?” a sublime female voice said over the intercom, a voice that could be coming only from the lips of Major Fischer.
She glanced at Legend, suddenly unsure what to say next. They hadn’t worked out a plan, so technically there was no going off script. She was about to open her mouth when Legend blurted, “A prisoner exchange . . . my life for Michael Pitcher.”
“Unacceptable,” the orb replied through Fischer. “However, I will agree to the inverse. Josie Pitcher in exchange for Major Fischer.”
Josie turned to face him, her heart suddenly pounding in her chest. From the expression he wore, it was apparent that this reversal had taken him by surprise. He’d made the decision that he would be the sacrificial lamb, never intending for that to be her fate.
“I can’t let you do this,” he said.
“It’s not your decision to make,” she said, steeling herself. “I know you care about Major Fischer. I can see the pained look in your eyes every time someone mentions her name. You blame yourself for everything that’s happened, but you shouldn’t. It’s not your fault. None of this is anybody’s fault.” She turned back to look at the camera, and with tears streaming down her cheeks, she said, “I accept.”
“Leave your weapons here. Then you may enter.”
He sighed loudly, then pulled the sidearm from the drop holster he wore and set it on the ground. She took a tentative step into the entrapment chamber, praying she wouldn’t be hosed down with acid.
“Leave the helmet,” the voice said.
“No,” Josie snapped. “No helmet, no deal.”
A germ of a plan had sprouted in her mind, and the helmet was a critical component of that plan. If she could get close enough to Michael during the prisoner exchange to slip it onto his head, then maybe, just maybe, Michael and Legend could get her and Fischer out of the orb’s range. It was a moonshot, but the only shot they had. When no response came, she whirled 180 degrees and took a step to leave.
“Stop!” Fischer’s voice commanded. And then with a discernible chuckle, “You may bring the helmet.”
“Let’s not linger in here,” Legend said, taking her by the hand and pulling her across the entrapment chamber and through the mangled door on the other side. On the other side, she saw an AK-47 whose muzzle was lined up with a rectangular slot in a steel plate reinforcing the wall behind the murder hole. The weapon was mounted on an articulated arm with some sort of mechanized trigger device, and a mess of empty shell casings littered the floor below. She raised an eyebrow at him.
“He’s got a robo-shooter,” Legend said, shaking his head in disbelief. “I’m guessing you didn’t know about that either?”
“No. I would have noticed that,” she said and led him toward the vestibule. The first blast door was open, just as it had been during her visit. The quaint little room beyond was a picture of tranquility, reflecting none of the carnage and violence of the t
rials the assaulter force had suffered to get here. A midcentury lamp glowed on an end table, and the same black-and-white pictures still hung on the painted walls where she remembered them. The second blast door—the one separating the vestibule from the LCC—was shut, and this time she noticed something else that had been hidden from her on her last visit when that door had been open. She screwed up her face at some sort of mechanical actuator bolted between the door and concrete wall.
Turns out old Willie is full of tricks, she thought.
Staring at the massive steel door, Josie couldn’t bring herself to let go of Legend’s hand. Doubt gripped her; her plan seemed suddenly ridiculous. Michael wouldn’t let her slip the helmet over his head. The orb would order him to rip it from her hands. A fatalistic, powerless dread seeped into her mind. It was the same feeling she remembered having as a little girl when she was being wheeled back to the operating room to have her tonsils removed. Except this time, instead of having to surrender her consciousness to chemical anesthesia, she was about to surrender her mind to the orb. Would she ever wake up? Were these her last moments as herself? When the orb was done with her, would there be anything of Josie Pitcher left? And what about the baby? How could she be a mother to her child if the orb turned her into a zombie? How could she care for it? How could she love it? Then a horrifying thought occurred to her—would the orb even let her keep the child? What if it made her . . . made her . . .
Oh God, I can’t do this.
Her knees began to tremble; she tried clenching her thigh muscles, but it didn’t help. Her mouth was dry. Her heart was pounding, and she realized this was the most frightened she’d been in her entire adult life, even worse than preparing for her first encounter with the orb behind the dumpster with Ninemeyer. That time, she hadn’t known what she was going up against; this time, she did. She remembered control of her body being wrested from her—like dozens of invisible hands, rough and unforgiving, seizing control of every part of her. And she remembered the pain of punishment. She did not want to feel that agony again. Not ever again. She wanted to turn around and run—to protect herself and her unborn child—but her feet felt like they were bolted to the floor.
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