“You never give us guys a break, do you, Sid?” Colonel Sears said, jokingly jabbing the twenty-five year veteran female Sea Knight pilot Sidney Zibrinski in the arm.
“Never let up, I say,” she replied, smiling as the two Marine pilots stood and exited the briefing room, leaving Lieutenant Minichino alone with the captain.
Lieutenant JG Minichino was watch officer for the Combat Information Center, which was the tactical heart and soul of the vessel’s coordinated strike force. A ten year Navy man, he prided himself on precision and total accuracy. He was affectionately known as ‘mixer man’ by his shipmates, a title bestowed upon him for the astute manner of mixing up a variety of exotic cocktails while on shore leave.
“Captain, the quartermaster in the chart room reports that we’re one hundred ninety-five nautical miles from Tenerife,” Minichino reported, reading the data off the clipboard he held. “At our present speed of eighteen knots, we’re looking at a six hour ETA at best.”
“Eighteen knots, huh?” Mac grunted in disdain. “We can launch the Cobra and the three Sea Knights, correct?” he asked his CIC Officer.
“Yes, Captain, we can, but it would be a one way trip until we came within island range to recover,” Minichino replied. “We can send in the Cobra now, as it has a range of two hundred seventy-four nautical miles. I’d delay launching the Sea Knights. Fully-loaded with twenty-five Marines each, they would be cutting it close as the combat range is one hundred eighty-four miles, Sir.”
“Make it so, Lieutenant,” he said. Mac picked up the briefing room phone and buzzed the engine room.
“Engine room,” a voice yelled over the din of the steam turbines.
“Chief, this is the captain. I damn well know that this vessel can push twenty-one knots or better. Seeing I ordered top speed, may I inquire as to why we are presently only making eighteen knots?”
“Captain,” the young engineer responded nervously, “these engines are getting up in years and I’m worried that they might blow under too much stress.”
“Then by God, let ‘em blow!” Mac roared loud enough for the entire engine room crew to hear over the loud speaker. “I want all you got, Chief, understood?”
“Aye, sir. I’m on it,” the rattled chief replied, sweat forming on his forehead as he put down the intercom mic. “You heard the man,” he said to his crew in the engine room. “Fire ‘em up, and pray we don't have a shit-storm.”
Mac made his way back to the bridge, followed by Lt. Commander Ewell. He walked to his chair, his senses attuned and adrenaline flowing, feeling alive for the first time in a very long time.
“I just hope we’re in time to help those poor bastards on Tenerife,” he said to Ewell, who nodded in agreement. They heard the Claxton sound on the launch deck where Colonel Sears was going through his pre-flight checklist and preparing his AH-1F Strike Cobra for launch.
“God only knows what will happen if we arrive too late.”
27
The sun was now making its descent behind the twelve thousand foot peak of Mt. Teide, casting shadows upon the rocky summit road leading to the Bishamon complex. Turner sat behind the wheel of the idling black Bishamon Mercedes, overlooking the sheer drop-off where Paulo met his cruel demise the night before.
Seeing the wreckage of the rover far below only intensified his anger for the man that Samuel and Yashiro were now extricating from the trunk of the vehicle.
He and Osama will be brought to justice for their barbaric actions, he promised himself as he sat silently and steeled his mind for the fight ahead. For him, the last twenty-four hours of death, destruction, and fight for survival culminated into this one final act that would end this ongoing nightmare. He not only had to save his father and Maria from these murderers, but also the countless, nameless individuals that faced certain death if the tsunami actually occurred.
He looked at his watch and saw that it was well past four o’clock. Though his mind was prepared for the conflict ahead, shades of doubt mixed with a twinge of fear crept into the deepest recesses of his soul. He doubted that they could succeed and wondered if it would have been more expedient to hide out until it was safe. For a brief moment, he wanted to avoid the peril that lie ahead and let the rest of the world deal with Pencor and Osama. He feared that his friend Samuel would somehow die because of his wild roll of the dice. He quickly dismissed the notion, knowing that the lives of untold millions depended on their success. I have to hold on for their sake, he thought, pushing the demons of fear and anxiety from his mind.
Turner had finished conversing with Under Secretary Robertson on the Global Star phone just before they stopped to remove Pencor from the trunk. The conversation with Robertson troubled him deeply as he watched his demented passenger unceremoniously lifted out of the trunk. Robertson’s words still echoed in his ear.
“Mr. Turner, you need to be aware that if you fail to neutralize the Scalar weapon at the facility, the United States Navy frigate Milford will be authorized to launch its Tomahawk missiles to eliminate the threat,” he had said flatly.
“If you do, sir, you may be causing the deaths of hundreds, perhaps thousands of innocent people here on Tenerife,” Turner countered in protest.
“That is understood completely,” Robertson retorted, “but the President is getting a lot of pressure from some people in the Senate. They are stating the argument of minimal collateral damage on Tenerife, as opposed to the countless lives lost here at home. Though it is regrettable, this is not negotiable. That weapon, along with the entire facility, will be neutralized if you fail to succeed,” he said in finality.
“You’re not giving us much leeway,” Turner argued.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Turner, but we have no other choice at this point. We will give you sufficient warning on your SmartCom VHF radios now that you have given us the frequency. The USS Hazleton is en route to La Palma as we speak and will give you ample warning,” he said. “If, and when, the order comes to launch, you and your teams will be evacuated by the support choppers that will be launched from the Hazleton. You must be clear on this, Mr. Turner. When you get the order, you had better get your asses out of there.”
Now, as he sat alone in the Mercedes, he realized that no matter how he looked at this scenario, many innocent people were going to die. He was furious at those responsible, and regarded them now as a cancer that needed to be completely eradicated.
Robert Pencor, with his hands still bound, was hurriedly shoved into the passenger seat by Samuel, who shut the door behind him.
Pencor glared at Turner, but his usual controlling demeanor was quickly unsettled. He saw a fury in the blue eyes of Turner that bore through him with an intensity and hatred he had never seen before.
“I hope the damn facility comes down on your head, Pencor,” Turner hissed at him. “Animals like you don’t deserve compassion. The scary thing is the rock you crawled out from under probably holds more like you.”
“Mr. Turner,” Pencor said, feigning control of the situation. “People like you and your father are weak. It’s the powerful that will always control the world, and there is nothing that you or your misguided leaders in Washington can do to alter the fact that the world’s economic configuration is about to be completely redrawn. I intend to hold power in that new global structure and my Zero Point Generators will ensure that, Turner. You, or anyone opposing me, will be eliminated like a bug under my shoe,” he spat caustically.
“We’re going to make sure that you don’t get that chance,” Turner replied as Samuel and Yashiro climbed in the back seat. “We’re headed now to stop your Scalar weapon and put an end to your sick, twisted scheme.”
“You mean you’re taking me to Osama’s facility?” Pencor asked in perverse joy. “Good,” he said laughing aloud. “I’m sure my associates will be more than glad to see you, and your friends. You should have made your escape when you had the—” His ranting was cut short as Samuel jammed the barrel of his 45 stiffly into the back of Pencor
’s head.
“Amigo, if you don’t shut your trap, I’m personally going to throw you off the next cliff we come to, understand?”
“Very well,” he responded, knowing that these were desperate men; desperate men, in his world, always made fatal errors. All I have to do is to wait until the time is right, he mused with a malevolent grin as the Mercedes sped up the access road to the Bishamon compound.
After a few miles, Turner could see the foreboding facility and its rolling gate. He pulled over and came to a stop on the side of the gravel road.
“Cover him. I’m going to have a look-see,” he said, as he got out and walked to the rear of the car with the binoculars Captain Saune had given him. He peered through the binoculars at the facility and slowly lowered his gaze to the gate area. He saw a transport truck with at least fifteen armed men, who seemed to be loading the back of the vehicle with supplies. Shifting his view to the gate, he saw four armed guards milling about the guard shack. Without taking his eyes off the compound, he hit the transmitter button on his VHF radio link.
“Captain Saune, do you read me?”
After a few moments his earpiece came to life with the sound of Saune’s voice behind the noise of the Bell 205 Huey helicopter.
“Go ahead, Josh. I read you,” he replied.
“We’re positioned about a quarter mile from the main gate. I’m seeing at least nineteen armed combatants in the compound’s front gate area, and have no way to tell how many of Osama’s goons are stuffed inside the facility,” Turner reported. “What’s your ETA?”
“Give us ten minutes, Josh. We’re coming in from the western slopes with the sun at our backs.” Saune responded. Samuel got out of the car and walked back to his friend, while Yashiro continued to guard Pencor.
“Roger that, Captain. We’ll await your signal, and then move out. Good luck to you and your men,” Turner said.
“And to you, my friend,” Saune responded, with utmost admiration for this steadfast man that he had come to respect. “See you in the control room. Saune—out.”
“We have about ten minutes, Samuel,” Turner said solemnly, lowering his binoculars and seeing the smile on the face of the tough Peruvian.
“Are you ready, amigo?” Samuel asked in a carefree manner, as if they were merely going to a ball game.
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” he replied, looking at his friend. “You’re a good friend, Samuel; you didn’t have to go along with this nutty plan, you know.”
“Hey, don’t worry. It’s a cinch getting in there,” he stated, pointing to the Bishamon building in the distance. “Besides, we have Pencor, so we don’t need no stinking key,” he added, in an exaggerated accent that caused Turner to laugh aloud.
“Samuel,” he said after a few silent moments. “If I don’t make it out, I want you to tell my dad….”
“Hey, Josh,” Samuel softly interrupted. “No more talk like that, okay? You’ll see your dad real soon.” After many silent minutes, the two heard the classic thumping sound of the Bell 205 coming from the western flank of the mountain.
Pulling the 45 from the holster, Turner looked at his friend and smiled a wide grin. “Lock and load, my friend; it’s Miller time.”
“If it’s all the same to you, Josh, I’d rather have a Corona,” Samuel responded. The two jumped back into the car and started up the road toward the gate as the Bell 205 Huey came into view above the landing plateau at the lower access of the compound.
‘“Cry havoc, and let slip the dogs of war.”’ Samuel whispered from the back seat, quoting Shakespeare's Julius Caesar and poking the back of a confused Pencor’s head with his pistol.
“You didn’t finish the quote, pal,” Turner said as they neared the gate, his mind now steeled for the conflict that lie ahead.
‘“…That this foul deed shall smell above the earth with carrion men, groaning for burial.”’
28
Unbeknownst to Captain Saune, the Bishamon guards had been doubled at the lava tube’s entrance as a result of the brazen escape that morning by he and Turner in the Sikorsky. The Bell 205, flown by he and his men, quickly dropped into the compound’s landing platform.
The unexpected arrival of the Huey managed to catch the Yakuza soldiers off guard, allowing the crucial seconds needed for them to touch down on the makeshift landing pad and stir a dust cloud into the air. Those precious seconds gave Captain Saune and his men time to leap from the side door of the Huey and make a run for an outcropping of boulders some fifteen feet distant.
The precious moments ended abruptly, however, as the Yakuza soldiers quickly recovered and gunfire erupted from the lava tube entrance high above them. The Tenerife National Guardsmen dove for cover behind the boulders, but Saune and his men quickly returned a deadly barrage of weapons fire from their M16A1 rifles. The six mercenaries quickly scattered for cover under the onslaught.
Saune knew in seconds that they were in a strategically precarious position. He didn’t expect the entrance to be this heavily guarded, but rather hoped that minor resistance would have made it easier for them to summit the rise to the cave entrance. With a loud alarm blaring from the facility above them, the six combatants at the lava tube entrance were soon re-enforced from within the facility. They unleashed a fierce volley against Saune and his men, trapped in their exposed position far below.
“We’re sitting ducks here, Captain,” Sergeant Juan Ortega yelled as he let loose another flurry of shots at the cave entrance. “We have to get to higher ground.”
“I’m aware of that, Sergeant,” Saune yelled back, scanning the area for a possible means of gaining a better tactical position.“There!” he yelled, pointing to the loading platform that served them during their wild escape earlier that day. “We’ll split and start a flanking maneuver at the loading platform where the conveyer belt is. “You four,” he yelled, pointing to the four soldiers at the far end of the boulder. “I want you to lay down staggered left-to-right grenade fire every five seconds. That should give time for the rest of us to make it to that metal platform.”
Understanding the captain’s plan, the four men at the end readied the 40mm M203 grenade launchers that were attached to their M16s.
“On my mark—” Saune yelled, counting to three under his breath. “Now!” he yelled as the last man in his skirmish line jumped up and fired the rifle-propelled grenade. The subsequent explosion sent the surprised Yakuza men scrambling for cover. The bloody remains of one of Osama’s men showered the lava tube’s entrance. Captain Saune and the other four men jumped into action and scrambled towards the metal platform. Ten meters seemed like a mile as the next of Saune’s men unleashed another grenade. The Yakuza guards eventually realized the potential flanking maneuver and responded with a murderous spray of gunfire, killing the last man of Saune’s group just before he reached the cover of the platform. The four remaining at the platform returned fire and eliminated another of Osama’s men.
Though in a better position, Saune had a sickening feeling in his gut that his chances were becoming slim at best. Although his two teams were helplessly outnumbered, they continued firing upon the men at the lava tube entrance high above them. Hoping for a miracle, he punched the lever on the conveyor belt to no avail. The Bishamon personnel must have disconnected the power to the unit after this morning. I hope Josh is having better luck up above than we are down here, Saune thought as he let loose a grenade from his rifle at the cave entrance.
As the desperate battle raged on the landing plateau below the Bishamon facility, the black Mercedes approached the main gate above the facility. Slowing the vehicle, Turner could make out the distinct sound of an alarm resonating throughout the perimeter of the complex. He saw, to his relief, the large contingent of Yakuza soldiers deserting their loading duties at the transport truck and scrambling back into the building through its main doors.
“They're going down to access the tunnel from the supply room on the lower level.” Yashiro said. The four remaining ga
te guards saw the Bishamon vehicle approaching and dutifully opened the long, rolling gate.
“Not a word, Pencor,” Samuel threatened from behind him in the back seat, “or your retirement comes early. Do you understand?” Pencor nodded and smiled as Turner used his controls to open the electric window on Pencor’s side. He lowered it halfway as the car rolled to a stop at the gate. A wide-eyed guard, excited by the sound of gunfire below, saw Pencor in the passenger side and waved them through without fanfare. He then returned to the guardhouse after closing the gate.
“So far so good,” Turner said as he pulled the car up close to the double steel doors that led into the bowels of the facility. “Do you have the access card, Yashiro?” he asked, shutting the engine off, and putting the 45 back in its holster.
“I’ve got it right here, Josh,” the little Japanese scientist replied as he held up the magnetic swipe card used to unlock the main doors in the facility. “It should get us into the control room as well.”
“Let’s do this,” Turner said, climbing out of the car, followed by Samuel and Yashiro. Pencor slowly opened his door and, as he got out, looked around him for any possible opportunity to make his escape. Samuel watched as Yashiro ran the magnetic card through the door lock slot. Pencor quickly bolted into a run towards Osama’s guards just as the buzzer sounded and the door unlocked. In the split second that Turner pulled the door open, Pencor began yelling and pointing to the three intruders at the door. Samuel started to react as Pencor ducked behind the loading truck.
“Never mind him, Samuel. He’s useless to us now. Get inside quickly,” he yelled as the three ducked inside the ominous building. Gunfire from the gate guards peppered the door as it closed behind them. Turner saw a steel rod lying next to the door that was most likely used to prop the door open, and shoved it through the handles of the double doors, effectively locking it from within.
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