The Uvalde Raider

by Ben H. English

  “Dad often cautioned that I would pay for my raising,” replied Ezekiel in good humor.

  “But that doesn’t mean I have to, also. I swear, you Templars are all the same. If there’s trouble to be found, you will find it. And if there isn’t, you won’t rest until you manage to stir some up.” Her voice had the slightest hint of exasperation, yet Sue was grinning up at him as she said it.

  “Yes ma’am, and since you are now part of the clan, we fully expect you to do your part.”

  Sue half-snorted in glee and gave that special giggle, the same one she had since she was Jacob’s age and then they walked on together.

  The scene had changed again almost immediately in the dream, and that was when the sleeping Ezekiel finally recognized it for what it was. The cold chill of reality kept trying to intrude upon this shortest of spans of happiness, forcing him to accept that Sue and Jacob were gone and he was now alone in life.

  He needed not the heartbreaking reminder, as he already knew this was nothing more than the journey of a mind and soul that so desperately ached for those whom he loved most. Yet he enjoyed it all the same, as it brought back something immeasurably precious that had been missing over the long, lonely years.

  Toward the end of the dream Ezekiel knew he would have to leave soon enough, though he wanted so badly to not have to go. Like so many times before he yearned to stay, to do nothing more than be with her and Jacob and let the rest of the world just pass on by. But duty of some sort would always call, and he would pack his bags and head out the door.

  Sue never said much about it. Yet he knew that she not only understood but in her own way encouraged him to go and try to make that difference, be it big or small. At times, she seemed to realize even better than he the kind of man he was and his role in this life. Ezekiel had treasured her for that and for so many other things.

  Even in the dream, she knew it was time for him to go again. Sue smiled and they had kissed as he held her so very close, soaking up the love and warmth now missing for so long. Wistfully, he turned away and faced his awakening consciousness as the scene around him evaporated like the dew of a late summer night, when exposed to the unsparing sun of morning.

  All that was left was the fading, final taste of that same life-giving dew in a still grieving heart, and the reawakening dread of something horrific beyond imagination about to occur. For there would be many other mothers and small sons walking along another river in San Antonio this morning, and they would never see another day unless he somehow stopped Qassam.

  Lying there recouping in the semi-darkness, Ezekiel Templar allowed himself a moment to take stock of his present physical condition. The hole in his left leg still throbbed, but nothing like before and nothing that he could not put up with. It occurred to him that he needed a clear head far more than he needed any more of the pain killers, and the old Texan resolved to avoid any more of those if at all possible.

  From long habit, Ezekiel did not move until he brought himself out of the fog in which he had awakened. He strained his ears to listen outside of the room in which they were being held, but could not catch more than the occasional low word spoken in Arabic or the muffled sound of someone moving about outside. When he opened his eyes, most of what he could see was limited to the ceiling and the upper part of the opposing wall.

  Wanting to take in more of what was around him, he shifted his position slightly. Ezekiel moved with care, not wanting to cause any more trauma to his injured leg, or his bruised and lacerated wrists. The large zip ties had dug deeply into the skin when he writhed around on the sofa, battling to control himself against the searing pain of the bullet. His mouth was dry again and the colonel found himself wishing for some more water from that bladder canteen. He worked his mouth and tongue against each other, trying to get some semblance of moisture going.

  Turning his head, he first looked over at Max. His movement had almost been imperceptible, yet the German acknowledged him with a slight nod from among the shadows. Rolling his head the other direction he saw Micah, who had positioned himself best to observe their guard. The previous one had been replaced and another stood just outside the door. The man appeared fresh and alert, his Kalashnikov AK slung at an angle across his chest.

  The older Templar pondered on his nephew saying he had a way of getting loose, that he just needed some time away from watchful eyes to do so. But as in most things time was a valuable resource, and they were quickly running out of what was left. As long as that guard was alert and paying attention, Micah could not make whatever move he had planned.

  And if Micah could get loose, what then? He would have to overpower the guard, free Ezekiel and Max, obtain weapons and only then could they try to take control of The Uvalde Raider, along with its deadly payload.

  Ezekiel Templar had been involved in plenty of dicey situations and knew that such ad-libbed assaults usually had one way only to success, and about a hundred other ways where it could go from really bad to much worse. Really bad in itself meant a failure and there was no way they could allow that. They had to stop the Flying Fortress from completing its mission as a biological incubus.

  He racked his brain, trying to remember everything that Qassam had said, along with his own surmising of the viability as well as possible weak points in the terrorist’s plan. The VX nerve agent possessed was reportedly the most potent chemical substance of its type ever put into mass production. It was the kind of rabidly murderous weapon that kept world leaders up at night developing ulcers, and put other men tasked with responding to such into an icy cold sweat.

  Bizarrely enough, VX had been developed by British scientists in the mid-1950s, building upon German research conducted during the Third Reich. Ezekiel remembered a decades old conversation with a British MI5 security officer, discussing the then-current Klaus Fuchs affair as well as the attending discovery of the Cambridge Spy Ring. While lamenting over the damage caused by these scandals and the accompanying compromise of state secrets, the MI5 man had gone on to speak of other intelligence concerns that bothered him even more.

  These included the possible pilfering of classified information involving other highly sensitive projects, including work done in the development of a new super nerve agent family known as the V-series. Among these laboratory spawned nightmares, VX was the most advanced and potent concoction of them all.

  The secrets for developing this devastating killer were later traded to the United States in exchange for thermonuclear technology. From there, the information was somehow leaked to the Soviet Union, just as Ezekiel’s MI5 contact had worryingly predicted.

  Following true to form, the nerve agent began appearing in the research facilities of some of the Communist superpower’s client states. These included Cuba, who in the early 1980s was embroiled as a major participant in the Angolan Civil War. Beginning in 1984, regional hospitals reported the existence of patients who had apparently been exposed to a chemical weapon that was ultimately confirmed as VX. Some four years later, a UN commission determined this barbaric act to be part of Cuba’s anti-insurgency activities in the strife torn African country.

  Nevertheless, the most publicly identifiable of those client states had been Sadaam Hussein’s Iraq. At about the same time as the United Nations established Cuban culpability in Angola, rumors began to swirl about the use of VX by Hussein in the ongoing Iran-Iraq war. Furthermore, it was highly suspicioned the ruthless dictator had gone so far as to employ it against his own Kurdish civilian population in the city of Halabja. The results were described by witnesses as being stunningly horrific.

  Yahla al-Qassam claimed to have five hundred gallons of this diabolical mixture. From what Ezekiel had seen and heard earlier, the terrorists were installing portable pumps on The Uvalde Raider as a technique of dispersal. If that was the case, it would turn the old bomber into some sort of improvised aerial spreader, much like a crop duster but on a far larger comparative scale. However, the objective would not be some farmer’s field for
the betterment of his crops. This effort would be a devastating terrorist attack on a major city in the United States.

  The ensuing environmental damage and casualty rates would be unimaginable to most, even Ezekiel with his specialized knowledge had difficulty in calculating just how bad it could be. He knew the inherent qualities of the agent were made to order for the kind of application that Qassam envisioned. Following the aerial release of the deadly substance, the population of San Antonio would be exposed to it through skin contact, absorption through the eye, or by breathing in the settling mist.

  Unlike many other weaponized chemicals, it was heavier than air and would tend to settle in areas of lower elevation. It was also odorless and tasteless, and its consistency was said to be much like a light motor oil. VX was astonishingly lethal, any droplet large enough to be seen with the human eye was enough to kill the average human being.

  Furthermore, the agent’s likeness to a thin motor oil meant it evaporated slowly, and in a cooler climate could remain for days or even weeks. Experts in the field of chemical warfare had a clinical term for such useful abilities, they referred to it as an agent with ‘high persistence.’

  Ezekiel wondered if that characteristic was why Qassam had chosen this particular season to carry out his plot. The weather would be cool compared to the blazingly hot days of summer, but not so much as to keep people indoors during the morning hours. As a general rule, October was considered to be the nicest time of the year for the San Antonio area. There would be more people outside, thus a greater number of highly vulnerable targets.

  As far as any indirectly attributing lethal effects, Ezekiel recalled reading that VX could also mix with water, although not as easily as other nerve agents. The San Antonio River bisected the city running roughly north to south, and then joined with other rivers before exiting into the Gulf of Mexico some 250 miles away. Any runoff would be yet another means to introduce the substance to populations downstream, and yet another opportunity for the substance to wreak death and devastation upon all who came into contact with it.

  The retired colonel turned his thoughts to the logistics involved, to further gauge objectively those same chances of success. He calculated the total weight of the nerve agent and its attending ancillary equipment to be in the neighborhood of three tons, a weight The Uvalde Raider was easily capable of accommodating.

  Any chance of mechanical difficulties on the part of the Boeing ran from extremely small to none, Ezekiel knew that better than anyone else. His professed doubts to Qassam concerning the airplane’s current state of repair and capabilities had only been a ruse, a red herring to dissuade as well as learn more. He had personally seen to every small detail of the Flying Fort’s restoration; it was presently a better aircraft than any B-17 that flew during World War Two.

  The next link in this potentially catastrophic chain was the identity of whoever Qassam had chosen to fly the Boeing. Piloting a Flying Fortress was no mean feat, and there were not many pilots still alive who had any real seat time in that type of multi-engine aircraft.

  Yet Qassam seemed to be supremely confident in his choice for the task. The terrorist leader was not the sort to run a bluff, and putting a bullet hole in Ezekiel’s upper left leg signaled that he had no need for the colonel’s flying abilities. Evidently all that was required of Ezekiel was to witness what was to come, as well as being a hostage who might prove himself useful in the future. But who had Qassam picked to fly The Uvalde Raider? The identity of this mystery pilot gnawed at him.

  With no defining answer to that essential question, the elder Templar rechanneled his thinking into other aspects of Qassam’s scheme. There was plenty of avgas in the Boeing’s tanks, enough to get it to San Antonio as well as a good ways beyond. Ezekiel had always believed in the experienced pilot’s rule of keeping plenty of fuel aboard, one never knew if there might be a diversion due to need or circumstance. The present range for the heavy bomber would not be an issue as far as available fuel.

  The flying time in getting to San Antonio was not much more than about an hour, once the aircraft reached a correct heading and cruising altitude. Ezekiel figured that would be no more than around 5,000 feet, which also dovetailed nicely into what the Hezbollah leader had in mind. To power the portable pumps needed for the agent dispersal, Qassam would most likely use small gasoline engines like the type found on large lawn mowers. Such two stroke powerplants worked best at lower altitudes, where there was sufficiently dense air to run reliably.

  From long habit, the elder Templar recalled the prevailing regional weather conditions that he committed to memory before starting from Houston. A high-pressure system was sitting over most of western and central Texas, and the forecast called for a bright, sunny day with no chance of precipitation or any sort of cloud cover during the morning hours. Visibility would be unlimited, and at 5,000 feet the average Boy Scout could find San Antonio with little more than a folding road map from a convenience store.

  Qassam had spoken of covering a path with the agent some twenty-three kilometers long and a hundred meters wide, or by the more familiar English measurement about fifteen miles in length by a hundred and ten-yard width. From an estimated 5,000-foot altitude while traveling around 200 miles an hour, Ezekiel calculated that covering the targeted area was completely doable and likely Qassam’s estimate was conservative. There were four Wright Cyclone 1,200 horsepower radial engines powering The Uvalde Raider, and each one of them turned a large three blade Hamilton Standard propeller. That made for a lot of air turbulence.

  His own calculations were also dependent upon the on board equipment used to distribute the chemical for maximum effect, but Ezekiel was forced to give the devil his due in that, too. Yahla al-Qassam would not stump his toe in the choosing of that equipment, considering the other meticulous research and planning that had been done.

  The terrorists would probably pump the agent at high pressure out both sides of the Boeing, angling the sprayer tips down and to the rear from the aircraft itself. To further enhance the improvised system, it would be simple enough to affix some style of aerator on the nozzles. This would churn the nerve agent into a finer mist as the ghastly mixture spewed from the aircraft.

  Any sort of crosswind would carry the deadly substance over a still wider area as it drifted down to the ground. From those same weather forecasts Ezekiel had noted a projected breeze from the east at some five to ten miles an hour. If Qassam and his team arrived over the city at any time past ten in the morning, that wind would be present.

  His best guess was that Qassam would make his run roughly north to south over the targeted area. This would be partly for the forecasted breeze, as well as several other tactical reasons. Coming in from the northwest, a north to south course would call for little more than gentle pressure on the controls to line up for the attack. There were plenty of easily discernable landmarks on the northern side of the city to facilitate such an approach.

  Flying in from that direction would make for a downhill run due to the higher terrain located north of San Antonio. This in turn would allow them to drop some of their altitude in a smooth, natural manner, making it easier to pick out a prominent point to aim the aircraft towards. The slightly lower approach would also allow for a more effective dispersal pattern. Finally, that particular course would have them headed to their closest likely escape route, the Rio Grande and Mexico.

  Ezekiel had already judged the Hezbollah leader as not being kin to the suicidal type. Like many of his kind he was quite capable of ordering others to their deaths, yet considered his own mortal existence far more precious. His escape would be just as carefully planned and attended to as the mission itself.

  It was obvious the terrorists had entered Texas from Mexico, and returning there would be far more logical than an attempt to remain in the United States. It was just as obvious this group possessed a fully functioning and capable support network there. Once south of the river their available options would widen dramatic
ally, as would their chances of successfully evading any pursuit.

  All in all the entire scope of the operation was as gifted in design as it was utterly damnable in nature. More important in practical terms was its execution, and everything appeared to be working in Qassam’s favor so far. It was one of those plaintively tragic instances that made one marvel at human determination and ingenuity, while at the same time being horrified by the homicidal baseness and innate cruelty.

  But if there was one weak point to the plan, one element that could bring near instantaneous disaster to all involved, it was the VX itself. The effectiveness of a weapon is sometimes mirrored by the inherent danger to the user, and this nerve agent the terrorists possessed was the best example that Ezekiel could think of. The formulation of the deadly chemical along with its storage, transportation and handling was fraught with catastrophe if the smallest mistake was made at any juncture in the process.

  One could look upon those involved in these stages as being some sort of snake charmers, interacting with a supremely venomous serpent that was never completely controlled, and searching for a way incessantly to kill them as well as any other living thing in the general vicinity. There was no room for error when dealing with VX, no safe zone in which one could take a respite and relax. Laxity in any form sorely tempted fate and in the most grievous manner imaginable.

  Ezekiel recalled how this particular serpent had already struck inside the United States, and not that long ago. An airborne military test drop in Utah involving VX had gone ever so slightly awry, and the substance killed thousands of head of livestock in the appropriately named location of Skull Valley. Though the Army at first vehemently denied responsibility in the face of accusations made by furious area ranchers, it was that one single incident that led President Nixon to ban all open air chemical weapons testing in 1969.

  Yet somehow Qassam, in that same dreadful example of human determination and ingenuity for the worst of all possible goals, had managed to charm this monstrously poisonous snake, and he and his team were still alive and doing well in the final stage of delivery. They had transported the insidious killer nearly halfway around the world, and were now maneuvering it into the position needed to display its full, utterly horrendous potential.