Man of Honor (Enforcement Division Book 4)

by Chris Malburg

  Li Yong fumbled with his cell phone. The open metal door softly shut on the last soldier as they headed out toward the brand new ship. One ring. Answer, damn it. Two rings. “Helen?”

  “Colonel. Are you okay? We are coming to you.”

  “No! A squad of twenty PLA special forces soldiers just left this warehouse. They are on their way to board the new cruise ship. Forward gangway. Exercise caution.”

  “Sweetie,” Helen whispered. “Jack! Answer me.”

  “Copy.”

  “Can you see what the Chinese reinforcements are doing down there?”

  From the seventh floor open balcony, Jack looked down the five-story atrium that was Central Park on Princess Fantasy. “Not good, hon. Clusterfuck in the making.”

  “What?”

  “See that giant spruce in the center? Looks like they’re getting ready to torch it—”

  Gallagher’s voice came over the com link, “Can you believe that?”

  “They’re going to smoke us out. Using a Christmas tree. These guys have no code. None.”

  “It must be thirty feet tall,” Helen said.

  “Yeah, it’s a big-un, hon. All those glass ornaments, light bulbs, strings of tinsel—”

  “They’ll explode in the heat, sending glass daggers everywhere,” Gallagher said. “And that mountain of combustible presents—that tree will go up like a Roman candle. The smoke will be the least of our problems.”

  “What’s worse than smoke inhalation?” Jack asked.

  “That tree is plastic. Its toxic fumes will poison anyone who breathes them—hydrogen cyanide, mercury, all sorts of nasty stuff,” Gallagher answered.

  A dust ball skittered over the new marble floor, past Helen. “Guys, it gets worse. They just turned on the air conditioning. That’ll spread toxic smoke all over the ship. We won’t be able to escape it.”

  “Look down there at five o’clock,” Jack said. “Chinese State Security came prepared. They’re donning gas masks now—”

  “If anyone has a bright idea, now would be a good time to share it,” Helen said. “Smitty? Gallagher? Jack?”

  “Gallagher, say your position,” Jack asked.

  “Deck 5, in the trees ten yards outside of Central Park. I’ve got the General and Mother. We’re keeping out of sight.”

  “Crypto, pull out your blueprints and tell me where the master control panel for Deck 5 is.”

  “Looking now,” Crypto said. “Scrolling through the ship’s plans on my phone…got it. Gallagher is close, just down the hall, make a left. The control closet should be right there.”

  “Gallagher, copy?” Jack asked.

  “On our way. What do you have in mind?”

  “First, a diversion.” Jack scanned Central Park below. It contained everything a kid—and some adults—could want. A rock climbing wall, zip lines, a wave pool for surfing, water slides, even a carousel. Must be something we can use here. The State Security officers were around the Christmas tree now. Oh man. Each has an oilcan with a flaming nozzle. “Double time it, Gallagher.”

  “I’m here, Jack. Lucky they left the control closet unlocked. This baby has more controls than a 747. Everything’s here. Talk to me, Jack.”

  “On my three count, start up the carousel and crank the volume to max. That should stop them at least for a minute until they figure out what’s happening.”

  “Three,” Jack said into the com link. Immediately, the ship’s huge carousel with horses, zebras, elephants, and lions to ride lit up and began moving. Deafening music blared throughout Central Park, menacing in its lyrics as well as its volume. The Chinese State Security men froze and looked at the giant illuminated carousel.

  “Now,” Jack said into his com mic. Immediately, the fire suppression system inundated the entire Central Park area. Fire retardant gas—FM200—fogged down over everything—including the plastic spruce.

  Instantly, the entire ship filled with the ear-splitting, demonic beat of marching boots. Huge lights pulsed to the blaring music.

  I’ve got the reach and teeth of the killin’ machine, with a need to bleed you when the light goes green. Best believe, I’m in a zone to be, from my Yin to my Yang…

  “No shooting unless we’re intercepted,” Jack shouted above the din to his newly expanded team that now included the four SAD members. “It’s a big ship. Maybe we can pick our way around the aggressors, and they won’t know where we went. Use the flash-bang grenades only when we get behind them and start shooting. Then make a break for the dockside hatch. Until then, we let our stealth do our work for us. After that, the distraction will create enough confusion to cover our escape.”

  Hoffman—leader of the SAD operators—pointed to two of his men. “Brandon, you take deck seven. Move toward them from the bow. Cohen, you’re on deck five. Take them from the aft.”

  “Smitty and Crypto,” Jack said, “split up and go with them. With that, we have four guns bracketing the Chinese. Helen, you’re with me up on deck seven to provide sniper overwatch.”

  Put a grin on my chin when you come to me, ‘cuz I’ll win, I’m one-of-a-kind and I’ll bring death to the place you’re about to be…Forged in a fire lit long ago, stand next to me, you’ll never stand alone, I’m last to leave, but the first to go...

  “What about me?” Gallagher asked. “I can shoot.”

  “I know you can, Tommy. You provide close in cover to the General and Mother. Any unfriendlies come close, shoot ‘em. No matter what, you unite them with Li Yong. If we don’t make it out, you get them to New York and disarm the next wave of attacks before they ignite World War III. I’m counting on you, Tommy.”

  “You got it,” Gallagher said and turned to go.

  “Hey, Tommy. Where’d you get that godawful music?”

  “Warrior’s Song. Like it? I copied it from my phone to the ship’s audio system.”

  “Go,” Jack said. “Twenty of them against just eight of us. I like those odds. They haven’t seen hell unleashed from two SEALS, four SADdies, and two others. Not to mention my marksman wife and her ’98 Bravo as well as Crypto.”

  They all disappeared in separate directions to take up their ambush points. Staying low, Gallagher, the General and Mother headed one deck down, blending into the darkest point of Main Street. Through the team’s com link everyone heard Hoffman’s and Smitty’s two clicks signaling the twenty PLA commandos just passed their position.

  “Fire! Fire! Fire!” came Hoffman’s order through the com link. Helen took the lead PLA commando out; Jack put down the last. Two shots, two kills.

  “Bug out, hon,” Jack said into his throat mic.

  Snipers never stay in the same position for very long if they can help it. They slid around a supporting column and ran up three steps to a stage lighting platform used to light the theater productions that would someday play on Main Street.

  “Three tangos down,” came Hoffman’s voice over the com link.

  “We got four down here,” said Smitty.

  “With our two,” said Jack, “the odds just evened up some. Stay sharp. Smitty meet me on Deck 6 next to the ice cream shop.” He listened for the acknowledging click. He whispered into Helen’s ear, “Just stay put up here, sweetie. You’re safely buried in the shadows. Scan the decks for targets of opportunity. Take them when you can.”

  Come to the nightmare, come to me, deep down in the dark where the devil be; in the maw with the jaws and the razor teeth, where the brimstone burns and the angel weeps…

  “Where are you going?” Helen asked.

  “We’re the sharp end of this spear. Smitty and I will flush the PLA boys from their hide. They’ll likely scatter to both sides of our point. Then Hoffman and the others will take them out. Cover me, sweetie.”

  Jack and Smitty slid around the corner and silently descended a set of steps to reach Deck 6. He quickly peeked around the corner. Clear. Then he crouched down and slid along the wall in the dark toward the ice cream shop with Smitty covering their flan
k. The whole place smelled of fresh paint, brand new plastic, and newly milled carpet. All the surfaces gleamed a bright green in Jack’s night vision goggles. What a shame to shoot up such a pretty place. The door to the ice cream shop silently gave way as he pushed inside. He kept the M4 raised and one eye on the exterior.

  “Hoffman and the others are moving into position. You can just see them on Deck 7 above and Deck 5 below us,” Smitty said.

  “Hey, Boss,” whispered another voice over the com link.

  “Go, Gallagher,” Jack said softly. He knew the entire team was listening to this exchange.

  “Got an unobstructed view of the hostiles and where I think your three teams are. Helen is above you. I just saw movement.”

  Jack thought for a second. There are more of them than of us. They probably brought far more firepower. Let’s level the playing field, why don’t we? Shock and awe. Maybe add a new wrinkle to the meaning of asymmetric warfare. “Okay, guys. Change of plan. Listen up.”

  Jack steadied his NVGs and peered through the eyepieces. Across the gulf above Main Street, his two elements crept silently into position. Rifles at their shoulders; their advance toward the group of now 11 PLA soldiers was cautious but steady. At the rock-climbing wall, two of the SAD operators separated from the group and silently began their ascent. The hostiles faced the back of the wall on its other side so its top looked directly down on them. A perfect kill zone.

  The killing machine’s gonna do the deed, until the river runs dry and my last breath leaves. Chin in the air with my head held high, I’ll stand in the path of the enemy line, feel no fear, know my pride: for God and Country I’ll end your life…

  Jack watched as the nervous PLA commandos stayed in their bunched formation. Their rifles covered front, back, up, and down. One of the commandos warily leaned out over the railing for a look down on Main Street. Immediately, Jack heard the supersonic crack of Helen’s Lapua 7.65mm round. The man silently fell over the railing onto Main Street below, landing with a wet thump.

  “Nice shot, hon. Ten tangos left,” Jack calmly whispered into the com link.

  Click, came Helen’s answer.

  With the M4 snugged into his shoulder and sighting down its barrel, Jack silently rushed across the center bridge to the other side of Main Street. A rainbow of lasers shot all around the ship’s cavernous interior. Brilliant white strobe lights pulsated to the menacing rhythm coming from the PA system.

  Hoffman’s team was positioned on the second bridge to the left, and the others, on the right. The PLA had positioned themselves smack at the intersection of the three bridges.

  Jack and Smitty’s suppressed gunfire was no more than a series of loud coughs. Through the disorienting strobe flashes, Jack saw one PLA commando spot them and raise his rifle. Jack’s two-round burst exploded his head. But not before he got off a burst himself. Jack heard a stifled yelp followed by some expletives come over the com link.

  “Hoffman’s hit,” came the report.

  “Condition?” Jack asked.

  “More than a nick,” came Hoffman’s strained voice. “Right ulna in my wrist is shattered. I’ll have to shoot with my left hand.”

  “Hang back,” Jack ordered. “Just cover our flank.”

  “Click.” Message received.

  The rest of the commandos broke away to both sides of the oncoming aggressors, firing in controlled bursts as they ran. The sound of bullets pinging on the brass handrails echoed over Main Street, adding to the menace blaring from the PA system.

  Jack held up one fist, signaling Smitty to stop. The laser light show made it impossible for the PLA to identify locations of the muzzle flashes. They’ve no idea where the enemy is shooting from; disorienting strobe lights. Any movement seems surreal. Hell in a ship, thought Jack. And that godawful, threatening song:

  I made the devil himself turn and run, I am a warrior and this is my song…

  Jack watched as Hoffman and his counterpart waited while the Chinese unknowingly ran toward them. No contest. They all went down in a torrent of lead. The last man standing raised his radio to his lips. Jack shot him twice in the side of his head before he could say a word. He toppled backward, his face a contorted mass of blood; his dead eyes open, unseeing.

  “Okay, Gallagher,” Jack said into his mic, “that’ll do. Secure your special effects. And turn off that awful racket.”

  Silence returned to Princess Fantasy. Even so, Jack’s ears kept ringing. He hurried over to the fallen Chinese commando who tried to radio his superiors. He quickly rifled through the man’s pockets.

  “Your FBI bosses will want this,” Jack said to Smitty. He held up the man’s PLA picture ID card. “They always want documentation of who their adversaries are.”

  “Sure do,” Smitty said. “There’s even a box to fill in that information on the After Action Report form.”

  “No kidding?” Jack asked.

  “I kid you not, Boss. America always keeps an eye toward the well-being of enemy combatant’s families. When this is all settled, our government just might pay China a few billion for these guys’ burials and for the repair of their cruise ship.”

  Overhead, Jack heard the whine of the popular Voodoo Zip Line. Every cruise ship just had to have a Voodoo Zip to be competitive in the market. Helen sped past them, one gloved hand on the cable, controlling her speed, both legs stretched out and her 98 Bravo slung over her shoulder.

  “You look sexy as hell, hon,” Jack called into the com link as she whizzed past toward the landing platform below them on Main Street. “Stay there, Helen. We’ll be down in a minute.”

  Jack unbuttoned the flap of the dead PLA soldier’s pocket. What’s this? He unfolded a map of the docks with the PLA’s radio frequencies for tonight’s operation. This might come in handy as the night wears on, Jack thought as he pocketed the map.

  “Rendezvous down on Deck 4 at the excursion gangway. Let’s stand down and double time it outta here people.”

  “Need to hurry,” Li Yong’s urgent voice came over Helen’s cell phone. “There’s a PLA strike force coming into the dock area. What’s your escape plan for my parents?”

  “Jack!” Helen repeated Li Yong’s warning over the com link.

  “Let’s get Mom and the General off this ship. We’ll figure out the rest later. Move!” Jack said.

  It took them another minute to move everyone down the gangway. Hoffman crouched beside Jack in the shadow of a huge dumpster. He cradled his right arm from the bullet that shattered the ulna bone. A make-shift sling held it in place. “We arranged for transport,” he grunted through the pain. “That is unless you have plans of your own.”

  “We didn’t get that far,” Jack said. “Can you make it with that arm?”

  Hoffman nodded. “Special Activities Division always travels first class. Only I’m not going to be doing any flying. Any of your team have aviation experience?”

  “Maybe,” Jack said, looking at Helen. “Depends on the aircraft, I guess.”

  “You’re going to love this one,” Hoffman said. “Follow me, gents, and ladies,” Hoffman said through gritted teeth. His words paid respect to the tremendous contribution Helen’s sniper abilities made tonight.

  The huge warehouse was pitch dark. Only Li Yong and the four from Special Activities Division knew that it contained their ticket out.

  “This way,” Hoffman said. “No time to waste.”

  In the dark, Jack didn’t see it until they were almost beside the seaplane. “You have got to be kidding.”

  “It looks like a giant piece of art deco,” Helen said running a hand reverently over the fuselage. “A Turbine Mallard Seaplane. She’s beautiful.”

  “Fast too,” Hoffman said as he walked up to the plane, careful not to bump his injured arm. “Perfect for this mission. Get in.” He pressed the button on his key fob with his good left hand. The side hatch lifted and the airstairs deployed. One of the SAD operators ran over to the huge rolling doors. He found the button tha
t raised them. A concrete ramp went from the warehouse door right down into the harbor.

  “Convenient,” Jack said.

  “We scoped out this facility from satellite imagery,” Hoffman said. “They use this particular warehouse for pulling light amphibious barges out of the harbor right into the storage facility. Speeds the unloading time. We’re just reversing the procedure.”

  “Hey Jack,” Hoffman said from the Mallard’s co-pilot seat. Helen sat in the left seat. “Come on up here and settle something, will ya’?”

  Jack walked up to the seaplane’s flight deck, stepping over rucksacks, rifles, and other gear.

  “Best Yankee shortstop ever?” Hoffman asked. “I say Jeter, hands down—”

  “It’s Phil Rizzuto,” the other SADie objected from the doorway. “He’s already in the Hall of Fame. Played 13 years, with a three-year break for the military during WWII. Played 1649 games—”

  Jack stood beside the operator, both hands gripping canvas holds on either side and watching Hoffman coach Helen on all the controls. Her delicate hands pushed buttons and flipped switches. Her movements got faster and less tentative as she became familiar with the instrument panel layout.

  “That’s only because Jeter’s not yet eligible,” Hoffman said. He gave her the thumbs up. Helen held down a button. The sound of a vacuum cleaner filled the cockpit. Its volume grew in intensity as the port side propeller spun faster and faster. It roared to life, expelling a plume of blue smoke. More button pushing and switch flipping, then the starboard engine came online. Helen reached down and released the parking brakes.

  “Besides, Jeter played 20 years in 2,747 games.” Hoffman pointed out the windshield, straight at the harbor. Helen goosed the twin throttles and pointed the seaplane’s nose where Hoffman indicated. The plane gathered speed as it crossed the dock and moved toward the entry ramp.