by Jerry Ahern
He laughed and fired off a salute, “Yes Ma’am, Sir, I’ll shut up. I have to tell you though I’m really excited about going to the coast of North Africa when we leave New Germany. I want to be there when the Team starts bringing up more of the wine and olive oil jars. When they opened the first two and found that they didn’t contain wine or olive oil but scrolls smuggled away from the Library of Alexandria, before its contents were lost forever—as the Roman Legions burned it; man what a find. If there are more and they really are from the Library, this could be one of the most important discoveries ever made. Especially those in languages no one has ever seen before, some in Greek, detailing the existence of a proto-human civilization, possessed of highly advanced technology. If we can only decipher what they say.”
Emma setting up for the final approach smiled and said, “I am excited myself and as a child of technology, I’m certain the defense department’s computers will do the job. Oh, by the way Dear, I meant to tell you something. I’m pregnant.”
As a PhD candidate at the University of Mid-Wake Amanda Welch was researching for her dissertation and combining this with her lifelong passion—genealogy. The University of Mid-Wake was the oldest surviving academic institution on Earth, it was located at Mid-Wake, beneath the Pacific Ocean. Amanda, an indirect descendent from one of the original Eden Project cadre got most of her lineage from Mid-Wake, the experimental underwater colony which survived The Night of The War. Mid-Wake had been able to expand and thrive. It is from Mid-Wake that virtually all of the racial stock of the new United States originated.
Her thesis on theoretical astrophysics had allowed her, as part of the work, to be able to examine the electronic logs of the original Eden Project’s five hundred year voyage. Even now, she was amazed they ever made it on their elliptical voyage toward the far distant reaches beyond the edge of the solar system. If she weren’t already religious, realizing the perils the Eden Project ships survived without force fields to protect them from the destruction that could have been wreaked upon them by even microscopic meteorites or the chance encounter with almost anything else would have made her a believer.
However, Amanda had found an anomaly. It couldn’t possibly be correct, but here it was. She had to call it to the attention of her professor, Doctor Emil Culbertson. After gathering her personal electronics, she glanced at herself as she pulled on her cloche. She’s a ‘20s and loved the look… She made her way from her small off-campus apartment to the meeting with Doctor Culbertson, for which she was already late.
Following the meeting with her faculty advisor and several other doctoral candidates, Amanda left the office, waiting about 30 seconds before cracking the door back open and asking Culbertson, “Do you have an extra minute? There is something I need to show you.” Culbertson waved her in, refilled his coffee mug and motioned her toward the large plotting table in the center of his large office. “What do you have, Amanda?” Culbertson liked the spirited and intelligent student, she was articulate with a passion for education—and she was very easy on the eyes.
“Okay, thanks for giving me this time. As you know I have been reviewing the electronic logs of the Eden Project’s voyage and I think I have found an anomaly. Now, I know I have something but I can’t figure out exactly what it is or what it means or if it means anything at all.” Amanda realized she was talking much too fast and inhaled deeply to settle her nerves.
“That is what an anomaly is, my dear. Something that initially we don’t understand, we have to study, examine and dissect the data to figure out what it is, if it is anything at all and what it could mean, again if anything at all,” Culbertson said gently, he could tell Amanda was nervous.
Taking another deep breath Amanda started again, “It is amazing to me that the Eden Project even made it. Amazing they survived on the voyage into deep space and back from beyond the edge of the solar system.”
“Ah, yes,” Dr. Culbertson said taking a sip of the black mud he called coffee. “A truly remarkable feat and all without modulated force protection fields; they should have been destroyed by meteorites ranging from infinitesimal to significant, if not heroic size. What is the anomaly?”
“The Eden Project flight, as impossible as it might seem was interrupted and remained in a geosynchronous orbit around something—I have no idea what—for nearly three terrestrial years before continuing on, as if nothing had happened.”
“Impossible.” Culbertson said emphatically. “That my dear is quite simply, impossible.”
An hour later, Amanda took care to simply close Culbertson’s office door not slam it shut as she wanted to do, hopefully shattering the window in it as a by-product of her anger. After reviewing the data, Culbertson had tried to disprove her claim and failing that had told her privately that he couldn’t counsel her strongly enough to forego any references to the anomaly. “Amanda, you’ll make yourself a laughing stock within the scientific community. In less than three hundred more years, it will be the year three thousand. In all of that time, there has never been any even remotely provable example of extra-terrestrial life. Yet, you claim the Eden Project Fleet was stopped for three years, in geosynchronous orbit around something but you can’t tell who stopped it and where it was stopped. The reason I say don’t discuss the anomaly is, my dear, you are hitching your star to a computer glitch.”
Finally, frustratingly Amanda agreed to consider dropping any reference to the anomaly but while a budding if beginning scientist, Amanda was also known for having a stubborn streak. Amanda took the Tubeway off campus to the high rise apartment she shared with her girlfriend Paula. It was affordable and that’s all that she could say about it originally, but, the two friends had made it homey…
Chapter Five
The press pool covering Rourke and Emma’s arrival for the dedication ceremony celebration led by Wolfgang Mann, President of New Germany, and his wife, Sarah, was waiting at the airport. As Rourke and Emma deplaned, one reporter shouted a question to Rourke about Michael running for the Presidency. “Would that not make for a historic alliance between the United States and New Germany, Michael’s mother the wife of New Germany’s leader?” Rourke simply nodded and pressed on through the throng of reporters and well-wishers to be greeted by Wolf and his presidential security team.
Once inside the airport a uniformed officer approached Mann and whispered something in his ear. Mann turned to the Rourke’s and simply said, “Please follow me immediately, we have a problem.”
Rourke asked, “Wolf, what is going on?”
“John, we have just learned that a group of neo-Nazi terrorists have seized the school where Sarah was making an unofficial visit. Sarah was reading to a group of small children when the group entered the school. All we know right now is that Sarah, along with a dozen children, their teacher and an assistant teacher, are being held hostage.”
“Where was her security...?” Rourke demanded.
“Initial reports are the Security Team’s communications were neutralized, we don’t know how. The attack was swift, vicious and overwhelming; the security team has been murdered; executed to be more accurate. The terrorist’s demands are impossible—even if they weren’t; their timeline is. They’re threatening to kill Sarah and the other hostages and in 20 minutes will begin to execute one every ten minutes thereafter. Our security plans never anticipated an event like this, there is no way for our regular forces to get here in time.”
“Was this a planned and advertised visit to the school?”
“No,” Wolf said. “Totally spur of the moment. Sarah only decided to go about thirty minutes before the attack. I was going to pick her up there after I had picked up you and Emma.”
“Good,” said Rourke. “This had to be a target of opportunity. That means the terrorists did not have a chance to do a thorough analysis of the building plans. That can work to our advantage. How far away is the school?”
“Close to us, maybe ten minutes but too far for my SWAT and Hostage Team; they woul
dn’t be able to respond and set up in less than thirty minutes.”
Rourke laid his and Emma’s attaché cases on a nearby table and stripped off his suit coat and popped open the cases. He pulled his double shoulder holster from his cases, checked magazines and ensuring both .45s had a round in the chamber and the thumb safeties engaged, before slipping the double rig on and shoving a CombatMaster into each holster. Then he popped open Emma’s case and taking loose his belt, threaded two holstered .357 Colt Pythons in place after checking to be sure the cylinders were full. He pocketed two Safariland speed loaders and handed the shoulder holster with its Sig 226 clone and extra magazines to Emma.
“Wear this, I don’t care what Wolf’s Security thinks about it, wear it. You are not going.” Rourke patted his own stomach, Emma nodded.
Turning to Mann, Rourke’s face was hard, “Here’s the situation. We have an active-shooter situation, we have hostages; the bad guys have already killed which means they won’t hesitate to kill again. We don’t have time to wait for re-enforcements; we have to go in now. Wolf there is no other way. Between you and me and your security detail we can do it.”
“Excuse me, Sirs,” Manfred Schmidt, head of the security team said. “That cannot be allowed to happen. I am sorry but this detail’s primary responsibility is to protect the President; I have given orders to local law enforcement to send additional officers to isolate and secure my President at this location, they are en-route as we speak and the motorcycle officers that accompanied our convoy are already establishing a cordon of protection. The other situation cannot take precedence over the President’s safety.”
Wolfgang Mann, the President of New Germany, one of Rourke’s oldest comrades and one of the world’s most recognized fighters, slumped and nodded. Rourke knew he was alone. “Wolf, I’m going in if it has to be by myself. There is no option, give me four of your guys. I can do it with four.”
“Negative, Herr Generaloberst Rourke that cannot happen. Our duty is to protect the President and that is what I’m going to do.”
“Wolf, with four, I can do this. By myself, it is a suicide mission for me and a death sentence for the hostages, one of which I remind you is Sarah. At least give me a sniper, someone to cover me and give me a chance to get in the building...”
One of the security detail members stepped forward, “Herr President. I am a qualified sniper, I have my weapon with me and with your permission I will volunteer to assist Generaloberst Rourke.” Schmidt started to object but was silenced by a wave of Mann’s hand.
“Thank you Sergeant,” Mann said to the volunteer. “I am indebted to you. Retrieve your weapon. John, what else?”
“Can you give me the loan of two of your MP-7s? Second, can you get me close to the school?”
Mann nodded, “The answer to both questions is yes.”
“You are to keep Emma with you. Stay in this location and secure it. Is that acceptable Mr. Schmidt?” Schmidt nodded. “Good, I need a vehicle and driver to drive me and the Sergeant near the school and drop us off. Tell your emergency responders to stay close but out of sight until they see my all-clear signal.”
Wolf designated a driver, with that Rourke winked at Emma and with his new sniper followed the driver to the parking lot. While in transit, he was able to use the vehicle GPS system to pull up the school’s location and view the layout of the neighboring streets for the best approach. “What is your name, Sergeant?”
“Jäger, Herr Generaloberst, Hans Jäger.”
“Jäger? Am I correct that means Hunter?”
“Yes, Herr Generaloberst, it does.”
“Hans, you and I are going on what well could be a death mission. I’d appreciate it if you would call me John,” then extended his hand across to the back seat where the sniper was already adjusting the rifle that would protect Rourke. They shook hands and looked into each other’s eyes, a look only people who have been in combat or those about to go into could fathom. Turning back to the driver Rourke said, “Here, drop us here,” pointing at the screen.
Five minutes later, Rourke and Jäger were dropped off; the New Germany Security Police had cordoned off the entire area and were beginning to evacuate the nearby buildings. They crossed the security line and began moving toward the school building. Before Rourke turned into the alleyway he stopped and did a quick inventory. Between the CombatMasters and two Pythons he had a total of 68 rounds.
He had the MP-7 slings slung over his neck and one over each shoulder forming an X on his chest and back. He hoped that wouldn’t give the bad guys a target to aim at. The MP-7 on his left side was pri med and set for fully automatic fire; he would use it for suppressive fire. It, like the one under his right arm was loaded with fifty 9mm rounds, Rourke didn’t think it was enough but it was all he had—168 rounds—total. The one on his right was set for semi; he would engage individual targets with it. As their ammo ran out he would simply discard them and switch to the .45s.
The .357s, his last line of offense, unless he could rearm from one of the terrorists he planned to kill. His Leatherman Wave Multi Tool rode next to his wallet in his left rear pocket and the A.G. Russell Sting A-1 just behind his right hip bone mounted to the belt. He had wadded up his tie and shoved it in his right rear pocket, maybe a tourniquet or restraint. Looking at his dress pants he grimaced. “Wished I had a pair of jeans, these are not going to last through the next few minutes. While I’m wishing, I wish I had a pair of combat boots but at least I have boots with a decent tread instead of dress shoes.” Making one last check of the holster retention straps, he stood.
“Okay, Sarah I’m coming; hang on.”
He was hoping the neo-Nazis were in fact not totally familiar with the school building, from the initial reports they seemed to have covered the front of the one and a half story building, expecting the attack would come from there. That would have been logical to expect; Rourke was hoping to surprise them with something illogical, it was after all his only chance. To get a full picture of the building required Rourke and the sniper to approach it several times from different streets. On the third viewing, Rourke saw what he was looking for, next to the loading dock was what appeared to be a garbage chute he hoped the terrorists had not noticed.
They had spotted two terrorists on the roof of the second level of the school to the left providing over watch for the operation. From the far end of the building they had good high ground and almost perfect visibility. They could see and shoot at any threat but he noticed each carried an inexpensive civilian model walky-talky. He knew they had only about a quarter mile range and that was line of sight. In an urban operation like this they would be useless except for communication to the inside of the building.
Rourke’s reconnoiter had identified a single weakness; on right side of the ground floor, the garbage chute. If he could make a short rush to that wall without getting killed he had a chance at pulling this off. If he didn’t, Wolfgang Mann’s Tactical Teams would have to breach the building and clean up his mess, along with—he was sure—his and Sarah’s bodies. His concern was that this was beginning to look like an amateur event not a well-coordinated and planned action. However, that could be a ruse, a set up and there could be surprises ready to kill him. There was only one way to find out.
“Hans you have two minutes to get to that third story window right there.” Rourke pointed to a building across from the school. “Can you take two shots from that location and remove the sentries without being detected and do it silently?” Jäger nodded and set out at a run to circle to the near side of the building. Rourke figured he had twelve feet to cover and when one of the guards turned to the other and asked for a light for his cigarette, Rourke moved.
Feeling naked during his dash and expecting a shot at every step, he sprinted. Leaning with his back against the brick wall, he steadied his breathing and stared at the window he hoped Jäger was ready in. A window shade moved, twice—Jäger was ready. Rourke stepped up on a convenient water faucet and cautio
usly lifted the opening of the chute; all the time dreading a fusillade of automatic fire which luckily did not come. As luck would have it the chute wasn’t a chute at all. Lifting the cover he saw simply a room with a closed door; smiling at his luck, Rourke pulled himself inside.
Phase one was completed; now came the hard part. Listening at the door, he heard nothing. If there was something on the other side, or someone, the metal door was too think and too well sealed to tell. On one of the shelves he saw a squeeze can of 3-IN-ONE oil. He jerked the red plastic top completely off and liberally poured oil on the two hinges then replaced the can on the shelf. Gently and carefully turning the door handle, the latching bolt cleared the facing plate.
The door opened and through the crack he saw them, unbelievable—they were standing in what appeared to be a kitchen or break room, relaxed, waiting on coffee to perk—five idiots on a coffee break, about to die and with no clue. In the background he could hear children whimpering and a woman crying.
His assessment of the situation changed on the spot. These were not seasoned killers, they had killed certainly and they had done it maliciously and efficiently but there was no weapons discipline in the other room. Three had laid their weapons on the kitchen table half way across the room and the barrels were pointed in all directions; two didn’t have their bolts closed. The smell of marijuana hung in the room. One dork, with extreme earrings had his weapon leaning against a cabinet, also out of reach, so he had both hands free to snort a line of what looked like cocaine from the counter top. The last punk, his bleached hair arranged in a “do” that reminded Rourke of Woody the Wood Pecker, had his AK slung over his back and they were joking and laughing about this “great adventure” and how they would be “heroes” of the new Fatherland. Rourke could see no security plan in effect; this changed everything.
Were they vicious? Yes. Were they seasoned professionals? No, these looked like punks who had been pumped up on propaganda and turned loose with a rough plan that could never have worked and now were high on drugs and blood lust. Alright, Rourke eased the door shut and silently counted. If there were only ten, two were on the roof and they were at best a secondary threat and he would be able to see them responding down the stairwell on the other side of the room.