by Dirk Patton
Ten seconds later I could hear the Humvee’s straining engine, punctuated by distant gunfire from the pursuers. The boat had drifted a few feet, a current created by the continuing outflow of water pulling it towards the dam, so I bumped the throttle and steered until it nudged the dock. With the nose against the wooden planks, I left the throttle partially advanced to keep it in place for boarding.
There was a screeching of tortured brakes and the grinding of tires on sand and rock from above. A huge cloud of dust boiled up, slowly starting to drift towards me. An instant later, Igor appeared at the top of the slope and stopped, turning to wave at someone to hurry.
I recognized Chelsea when she ran down the steep embankment, then had no idea who the next girl was. Right behind her came another I didn’t recognize, and it dawned on me that Igor hadn’t been sitting on his hands while I was gone. He’d rescued the captured girls.
They kept coming, Chelsea pounding down the dock as the last one crested the top and started down with Igor right behind her. Holding the boat as steady as I could with the throttle, I glanced to the side and recognized another problem I’d overlooked. The other two boats! What was to stop our pursuers from using them to chase us out onto the lake? And if they brought a SAM with them, Vance would be a sitting duck when he came to pick us up.
Tearing two grenades off my vest, I pressed them into Chelsea’s hands and held on as I met her eyes. She looked back at me like I was deranged.
“When I tell you, pull the pins and throw them into those boats,” I said, turning my head to look at the targets.
“I… I…” she stammered.
“Pull a pin and throw, then pull the second pin and throw. Underhand, just like a softball! You’ll be fine. You’ve got five seconds once the pin is out.”
She nodded, appearing less than confident. I released her, looking around as the last girl jumped in, landing on top of the pile of girls that had already boarded. We were overloaded, the boat riding low in the water, but at the moment I didn’t care.
Igor came running backward, rifle aimed at the top of the slope. Turning at the last possible instant, he leapt and crashed onto a cushioned seat at the stern.
“Now, Chelsea!” I shouted.
A spoon clanked as it hit the deck, then the first grenade arced across forty feet of open water and landed in the cockpit of one of the boats. A heartbeat later, another clank as the second spoon hit the deck and I jammed the throttle forward. By Chelsea’s excited shout, I was pretty sure she’d put both grenades exactly where she wanted them.
The ski boat’s engine roared, but our acceleration was sluggish. Either it wasn’t as powerful as I’d expected, or we were even heavier in the water than I’d thought. Glancing around, I saw all the bodies crammed in, then looked up as the first grenade detonated.
The boat that had been next to the one I’d taken shuddered, chunks of debris ripping through the air, then flames began to appear as it started to settle in the water. That left the boat at the opposite end of the dock, and I kept waiting for the blast that would take it out of commission. And waited. It never came.
It’s a rare thing, but not unheard of, for a grenade to have a faulty fuse. I knew this wasn’t Chelsea’s fault as I’d clearly heard two spoons hit the deck of our boat. She’d pulled the pin, there was no doubt, but the grenade hadn’t done its job.
There wasn’t time to turn around and try again. As we slowly accelerated out into the lake, dust billowed above the marina as the bad guys began arriving. Quickly, figures appeared along the edge of the overlooking terrain.
Immediately, I began sawing the wheel back and forth to present a more difficult target. I don’t know if they started shooting at us, but that’s what I would have done. Regardless, a little insurance never hurts. And if they were firing, it must have worked. Neither the boat nor any of the people in it took any incoming fire.
“Here come!” Igor shouted.
I threw a glance over my shoulder. He was lying across the stern, body on top of the engine compartment, aiming towards our pursuers. At the marina, men were swarming around the boat that hadn’t been destroyed.
“Chelsea, drive!” I shouted.
With a frightened look, she slipped behind the wheel when I jumped up and headed for the stern. I had to climb over the girls that were still trying to sort themselves out, then stretched across the engine cover next to Igor.
“Pissed off the natives, didn’t you?”
I yelled to be heard over the bellowing motor. He looked at me and grinned.
“Igor need fun, also,” he said, then it was time to get serious.
We had opened up close to three hundred yards of space from the dock, but I could clearly see the activity through my rifle scope. They had the boat started, and four men climbed aboard as those remaining behind released the lines and shoved it clear. I wasn’t terribly concerned over most of them but didn’t like it when I saw what one asshole had carried with him. He had a Stinger.
The Stinger is a shoulder fired, heat seeking, Surface to Air Missile. The launcher consists of a long tube that houses the missile, with a box-like housing near the front that contains the targeting system. They’re simple to use, with minimal training, and the sight of the weapon reminded me how incredibly lucky, or good, Vance had been to avoid the one that had been fired at the Chinook.
“Rachel! Can you hear me?” I shouted into the radio.
I had to try three more times before she answered.
“Tell Vance there’s a boat chasing us, and they have a Stinger. He’ll know what that means. He has to stay clear!”
As I was speaking, Igor began firing. He no longer had the sniper rifle I’d taken from Groom Lake and was having to make do with an M4 rifle with a low power scope. But, after his third shot, the boat suddenly swerved, losing a little bit of ground. I don’t think he’d hit any of the occupants, but he’d apparently given them something to think about.
I heard Rachel answer my message, but was too busy trying to sight in the man holding the Stinger. Everyone else was only armed with rifles, and while they couldn’t be dismissed, they didn’t present much, if any, danger to the Chinook.
“Shoot the fucker with the Stinger!” I shouted to Igor.
He grunted, and both of us began firing slow and steady, aimed shots. If we could take out the SAM, we could throw out enough suppressive fire for Vance to come in and pick us up.
We kept at it but weren’t having any success. There was some wind creating small waves on the surface of the lake, and while the ski boat wasn’t bouncing too much, it was enough to throw us off. Even if we’d had a stable platform to fight from, the pursuers’ boat was also jinking around in response to the water conditions.
The boat suddenly slowed, catching Igor and me by surprise. But a second later that surprise changed to an oh fuck moment. The guy with the Stinger stood up and pointed the business end of the missile tube directly at us.
“Will work?” Igor shouted.
“Shoot that fucker!” I screamed, switching to full auto and sending a stream of bullets towards him.
No, Stingers are not designed to attack ground based targets. But, the targeting system doesn’t know that. Right now, the infrared seeker head in the missile was attempting to lock on to the heat of our engine. If it succeeded, the operator would be notified and could fire the weapon.
While I didn’t have first-hand experience with using one against anything other than an aircraft, I’d heard stories of it being successfully done. As long as the target was hot enough for the missile to achieve lock, and there wasn’t anything blocking the flight path, in theory, it should work.
My only hope was that the heat being emitted by our engine wasn’t enough for a missile that had been designed to home in on jet engines to achieve a lock. But then, we were floating on water that would present a nice, cool background to the seeker head. And, we’d be the lone hot spot in all that coolness.
While I kept emptying magaz
ines at the boat, and getting a few hits that sent shards of fiberglass into the air, Igor maintained a steady rate of fire. One round at a time. I dropped an empty mag, slapped in a fresh one and took careful aim. We were drawing away from the boat as it bobbed in the swells, waiting for the Stinger to lock on so they could finish us off.
Igor and I both fired at the same moment. He, a single round, while my rifle kept chattering. A couple of seconds later, the man with the Stinger pitched backward. The missile flew out of his hands and tumbled once in the air before splashing into the lake and sinking.
I released the trigger and Igor and I stared for a moment, hardly able to believe our luck. We traded smiles, then looked back to see the boat surge forward in pursuit. It was more than three hundred yards behind, probably more like four, but within a very few seconds it was obvious it was much faster than we were.
“What the hell did you do to these guys?” I shouted, a little surprised at their determination to catch us.
“I kill many,” Igor said, shrugging.
Grinning, I called Rachel with the news that the Stinger was out of commission. Vance answered instead.
“Took you long enough,” he cracked.
“Fuck off, flyboy,” I said. “I’ve still got a boat on my ass, and he’s faster than I am.”
I flinched when a bullet struck a few inches to my right, pinging off a stainless steel rail. From within the boat, there was a cry of pain as the ricochet found one of the girls. I started firing again, in full auto, Igor joining in. It must have helped as no more rounds found us, but our pursuers were gaining. They were inside three hundred yards and drawing closer.
“On my way!”
I heard Vance’s voice on the radio but didn’t have time to respond. Changing magazines, I began firing three round bursts. One of the occupants slumped to the side and stopped moving, but the remaining pair kept shooting. A moment later there was another cry of pain from within the boat, then a round slammed into my rifle.
The impact was vicious, shoving the weapon into my face as pieces of the receiver turned to shrapnel and tore into my arm and shoulder. I was briefly stunned, then looked down at the ruined rifle still gripped in my hands. Only one eye was working, and I reached up to touch my face, my hand coming away covered in blood.
Before I could check myself further, a roar from behind caught my attention, and I looked up as the Chinook overflew the boat that were chasing us. Vance was low over the surface, the huge rotors kicking up rooster tails of spray. The bad guys disappeared in a cloud of water, then it was our turn.
Vance came right over us, continuing on without slowing and rapidly pulling away.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I screamed into the radio.
“Gonna scoop you up, dogface,” he answered. “Keep going straight.”
Now far ahead, I saw the Chinook slow to a hover and descend. The rear ramp was all the way down. I could make out a figure that I was sure was Rachel, standing at the top of the ramp. As we approached the now static aircraft, Vance continued to descend until the ramp was submerged and water was washing into the interior. I finally realized what his plan was.
“Grab something and hold on!”
I shouted the warning to Igor, then slithered backward off the engine cover and onto the top of a girl. Scrambling over legs, arms and heads, I made it to the wheel and grabbed Chelsea’s arm, pulling her out of the seat. Dropping in, I swiped at the blood that was starting to block my one good eye, then shoved on the throttle. It was all the way forward. We couldn’t go any faster.
Through the stinging spray of water, I squinted at the open maw of the Chinook with my good eye. From behind, Igor’s rifle began firing again. The bow of the ski boat reached the ramp with a jarring impact. The tail dipped as our weight came onto the ramp, then we screeched our way up and into the aircraft, slamming against the bulkhead that protected the cockpit. Hammering the throttle to idle, I ripped the wires apart that were keeping the engine running.
The Chinook shuddered and tilted back and forth as Vance struggled to regain control after the sudden change in weight and balance of the aircraft. The rear ramp whined audibly over the roar of the rotors, finally sealing with a dull thud.
The ski boat, with a sharp keel, was leaning to the right at a 45-degree angle. I sat there, my body having decided it was time for a break. Rachel, Tiffany and Dog were looking at me from the protection of the far side of the bulkhead, then all three hurried forward.
Rachel came around to the low side of the tilted boat and leaned in. I smiled at her, but it felt like it was someone else in control of my face. I couldn’t see out of my right eye, and my left was looking through a red film of blood.
“Sit still,” Rachel said, a grim expression on her face. “You’ve got a bullet sticking out of your head.”
Despite her warning, I raised my hand, intending to find it and pull it out. She grabbed my hand, stopping me, then I fell down a deep, dark hole and didn’t know anything else.
51
The Thor satellite, in geosynchronous orbit over the north Pacific, woke up and responded to Jessica’s command. It only took a few seconds for the targeting data to load, then eleven rods were pushed out of their tubes. Small guidance pods on the base of each gave them an initial downwards thrust, also making slight adjustments to their trajectories.
“Rods are away, sir,” Jessica said to Admiral Packard. “Eight minutes, twenty-seven seconds to impact on target.”
Packard looked at the main screen in the room, verifying that the Russian fleet was staying on course, the bow of each ship pointed directly at the inbound Tomahawks. In the lower corner, a small clock counted down the time to target for the lead missile. -00:09:18. The Thor rods would arrive fifty-one seconds before the first cruise missile.
“Admiral! Message from the North Carolina, sir!”
Packard turned as a young Lieutenant dashed up and held out a piece of paper, still warm from the laser printer. He read it quickly, then looked up at Captain West.
“Get a message to our consulate in Sydney,” he said, handing the paper to his aide. “They’ve got Marines. It’s time for them to earn their pay. I want them out the gate and helping our boys.”
“On Australian soil, sir?” West asked in surprise.
“Don’t give a shit about anyone’s panties getting in a bunch,” the Admiral growled. “Help our men!”
“Aye, aye sir!”
The Captain raced away, heading for the closest communication terminal.
“Seaman,” he said, turning to Jessica. “Can you show me our Sydney consulate?”
“Yes, sir,” she said.
She worked quickly, taking over a display on the side wall. It took her a couple of attempts, but she persisted, succeeding in establishing a real-time link with an NSA satellite over Australia. Manipulating the imaging feed, she paused to look up the coordinates of the US consulate. Plugging them in, the image smoothly zoomed until the large building was centered on the display.
“There,” Packard said immediately.
He pointed at a large swath of ground that was a black splotch in the middle of the densely concentrated city lights of Sydney. Within the darkness, bright pinpricks of light could be seen. There was one area where they were tightly concentrated, then a long line of them to the east. They were seeing the muzzle flashes from lots of rifles being fired.
Jessica zoomed some more, then made adjustments to the software that allowed them to clearly see the battle being fought. Packard stepped around a console for a closer view of the screen.
Eight SEALs were running across a broad, grassy field. Three of them were obviously injured but were still fighting as they all fired towards a broad skirmish line of soldiers that were in pursuit. Packard squinted, looking at the attackers. They were all in Russian uniform.
The SEALs were making for a narrow street that bordered the Royal Botanical Gardens, separating them from a large hospital complex. After that, there
were three blocks of downtown Sydney before they would make it to the skyscraper that housed the consulate.
“Sir, the consulate is sealed off by Australian police,” Captain West said, hurrying to Packard’s side. “The Marines can’t get out without fighting.”
“Show me!” The Admiral snapped to Jessica.
She adjusted the satellite view slightly to the west, then put a red marker on the top of the tall building that housed the consulate. An entire city block surrounding the location was closed off, dozens of official vehicles filling the streets. At least fifty armed men, wearing police uniforms with body armor, formed a cordon around the area.
“They can’t stand to our Marines, sir,” Captain West prompted.
“No, but they can,” the Admiral said.
He pointed at a convoy of military trucks that was moving through the city streets at a high rate of speed. Several of them stopped at the north edge of the consulate building to disgorge Australian soldiers, the bulk continuing on past the hospital and spreading along the street that bordered the gardens. Over a hundred men jumped down and quickly formed up to prevent the Americans from exiting the open field.
“Get the Australian PM on the phone,” Packard said. “Now!”
He kept watching as Captain West dashed away to place the call. The SEALs were still fighting, but they’d slowed when they saw the Australian forces formed up to cut them off. One of them fell, having been shot, before they all dropped to the ground and continued firing at the advancing Russians.
The Aussies weren’t there to join in the fight, just to make sure it didn’t spill into the city center. And, almost assuredly, to make sure the Americans didn’t escape.
“Sir, the Australian PM,” Captain West said, extending a headset towards the Admiral.
Packard snatched it out of his hand and settled it in place without taking his eyes off the screen. The SEALs, apparently out of ammo, had stopped firing and were running at the line of Australians. The Russian troops, with no more fire coming their way, began charging across the open ground. The Americans came to a slow halt when the local soldiers guarding the edge of the field raised their weapons to prevent them from coming any closer.