Relentless Savage

by Dave Edlund

  “And your orders are to transmit the records from Ming’s experiments to the PLA. Why? Even you can see that this is the work of monsters!”

  Zhao snickered as he slowly moved his hand across his belly toward the holster on his hip. Zhao gambled that Jim wouldn’t notice the subtle movement.

  “The Second Department is charged with collecting and evaluating information that may have relevance to weapons and tactics. We analyzed the wreckage from your Black Hawk stealth helicopter that crashed in Pakistan and obtained a sample of its ‘stealth skin’. We analyzed all the electronic countermeasures and surveillance equipment onboard your EP-3 spy aircraft after it entered our airspace at Hainan and rammed one of our J-8II fighters. Iran, a valued ally, allowed us to inspect the predator drone in their possession. We have even penetrated your most secret nuclear weapons laboratories at Livermore, Sandia, and Los Alamos.” He paused to let Jim absorb this admission.

  “Why would we ignore the research at this facility? After all, it was funded by the PLA.”

  “You’re a lunatic, Zhao. This isn’t a weapon that can be controlled. It’s a weapon of terror.”

  “History is filled with such weapons! In the sixth century BC the Assyrians poisoned enemy wells with rye ergot. Throughout Europe in the Middle Ages rotten corpses, often infected with plague, were catapulted over city walls—arrows were dipped in infected blood or manure. And let’s not forget how your own government distributed thousands of smallpox infected blankets to the Native Americans in your often over-looked genocidal war to conquer their lands.”

  Zhao’s hand was inching closer to his holster, his torso still screening the motion from Jim’s view.

  “The world no longer lives in that age. Terrorism is no longer accepted as a legitimate means of settling disputes,” Jim argued.

  “You would have me believe that diplomacy works? That the United Nations has made the world a better and more peaceful place? Nonsense! Look at the atrocities that America committed in Iraq. You killed over one million Iraqi civilians in order to discover those ‘weapons of mass destruction’ that existed only in the mind of your president. When chemical weapons were deployed in Syria, the UN did nothing more than issue speeches expressing moral outrage.”

  His fingertips were now brushing the clasp on the holster, his head turned, trying to gain a glimpse of Commander Nicolaou’s exact location. Just a little further and he would have a grip on the pistol.

  “You can’t win, Zhao.”

  “Who’s going to stop me—you?” Zhao laughed deeply this time, the sound masking the metallic click as he unsnapped the strap securing his pistol.

  “Wu confessed that cruise missiles are scheduled to strike in six minutes.”

  “Enough time to send the most recent research data in a burst transmission.” His hand was now on the pistol grip. “The historical data offers nothing more than an interesting perspective on Ming’s trials and errors before he achieved the current success.”

  As Zhao finished speaking, he yanked the pistol from its holster and spun, simultaneously raising the weapon to fire.

  Jim was no fool. His Super Hawg .45, was already drawn and aimed. Both guns roared.

  Zhao fell forward, tumbling down the staircase. He was dead by the time his body came to rest at Jim’s feet.

  Chapter 52

  Darfur

  June 14 0958 hours

  Luckily, Peter had geography in his favor. Running downhill, Peter slid to Homer’s side, cradled the heavy rifle, and fired at the exposed creatures. All three Homothals fell dead, but Peter was out of ammunition.

  “I’m out,” he announced to Homer.

  With one hand firmly pressed against his calf, Homer shook he head. “I don’t have any more. Only the full mag in my rifle.”

  Peter swapped weapons and scanned the boulders below for more enemies. Not seeing any, he turned back to Homer. “How bad is it?”

  “Missed the bone, but went through my calf. I can’t walk.” He grimaced as a spasm of pain shot through his body.

  “Let me see,” Peter said. He leaned over and gently pulled back Homer’s hand. Then he pulled back the cloth of the pant leg, exposing the bullet wound. As the cloth gently brushed against the wound, Homer stiffened and stifled a yelp.

  “Bleeding’s not too bad. Let’s get behind some cover and then put a bandage on it.” Homer nodded toward a large rock behind Peter.

  “That’s gonna be our best cover.”

  It wasn’t far to go, and Homer crawled into position behind the rock while Peter used the rifle scope to search again for enemies amongst the boulders—he didn’t find any.

  “Maybe they’re all dead.” Peter said.

  “No, I saw at least ten, probably fifteen.”

  Homer retrieved a field dressing while answering Peter, and then deftly wrapped it around his leg, securing the ends of the bandage. Peter pulled the pant leg down over the bandage to provide a further barrier to dirt.

  When Peter looked up again, two more Homothals had emerged from the boulders and opened fire at Peter and Homer. The bullets slammed into the rock and Peter ducked. He placed his rifle against the solid support and took aim. Ignoring the bullets whistling overhead, still more striking their sandstone barrier, he aimed carefully—it was close enough he didn’t need any ballistic computer helping his aim. He pointed, aligned the crosshairs, and squeezed the trigger.

  “You have to get over the ridge,” Homer ordered.

  Before Peter could reply, fourteen Homothals and soldiers began a charge.

  Peter stole a quick look over the sandstone rock and was rewarded with a barrage of bullets. He quickly pulled his head back. “I can’t get all of them.”

  “In about two minutes it won’t matter much anyway. Give me the rifle. I’ll slow them down so you can make it over the top.”

  Time slowed almost to a stop in Peter’s mind. He closed his eyes and was engulfed in conflicting emotions. I can still make it over the ridge and be with Ethan. I want so much to go home with him. Maybe I can forget it all. I just want to be home again with my son.

  He opened his eyes and turned his head, facing Homer. “Give me the gun and get outa here. You have to go… now!” But it was more than his words. Homer’s eyes were pleading, begging Peter to go and reunite with his son.

  Peter’s brain continued to swirl wildly, refusing to settle on a course of action. He’d felt this obscene confusion moments before Maggie died, taking part of his soul with her. Peter dropped his head and squeezed his eyes shut, grasping frantically for a logical thread to latch onto.

  I can leave now. If I run hard I can make it to Ethan, we can go home together. But if I go, Homer won’t come home. He’ll never see his family and friends again. How can I abandon him? Ethan and Joanna are young adults; they don’t really need me anymore. God, how I will miss them.

  A sudden calm descended and Peter knew what he had to do.

  “Not gonna happen,” he said, fixing Homer’s glare with determination and grit. Then he aimed and fired the last of his ammunition, taking down six.

  Homer had his service pistol in hand and began shooting as well, the pistol braced against the rock. He managed to drop three Chinese and another Homothal before the slide clanged open.

  As bullets were gouging out chunks of sandstone, Peter hunkered down low for safety. He spied a larger outcropping further off to his right. It wasn’t far, and if he could drag Homer over they would be shielded from the expected air blast over the compound.

  “How much time?” Peter asked.

  Homer studied his watch while bullets zinged overhead and smashed into the rock. “About 90 seconds,” and then, as an afterthought, he added, “It’s been good knowing you.”

  “We aren’t dead yet. There’s still enough time. I can drag you over there, behind that rock formation.”

  “We’ll never make it.”

  Tossing aside the useless rifle, Peter placed a firm grip on Homers load harness. “Come
on, we have to try.”

  The shooting ceased, perhaps the remaining enemy realized that the Americans were out of ammunition.

  “We’ll be sitting ducks as we cross in the open. You make a run for it. I’ll just slow you down!”

  “Let’s go!” Peter began tugging, his boot heels digging in the soft dirt as he pulled. At the same time he looked down the slope and saw three Homothals and one soldier approaching. They were advancing with determination, and Peter noticed that the soldier had a dark beard, his face looking more Arabic than Chinese. Although they were all armed with assault rifles, none were firing.

  That changed as soon as Peter pulled clear of the rock cover. Quickly, he dived back for protection.

  Without warning, there was a deep crack from above. It sounded like it came from the ridgeline. The distinctive report was that from a M107 rifle, which could only mean Gary was in position to provide covering fire. Within milliseconds of the rifle report there was a second BOOM as the Raufoss round entered the lead Homothal and exploded.

  “Now’s our chance!” Peter renewed his effort; only this time Homer was helping to pull himself forward. They had to crawl across ten yards of open slope, then they would have the protective cover of the massive stone outcropping.

  Although Peter didn’t know it, Todd was behind Gary helping to spot targets. They reasoned that the only chance Homer and Peter would have was to hunker down behind a large boulder. As soon as Peter started to pull Homer, Gary knew where they were going, and he opened up with the Raufoss ammunition.

  Gary kept shooting, Todd leaning close and shouting targets in priority of threat. Another Homothal went down, and then the third one, it’s chest blown apart.

  “Soldier,” Todd announced calmly. “Last one.”

  Gary aimed and realized this was not a Chinese soldier. The man stopped and aimed his rifle at Peter, but before he could pull the trigger Gary fired. The explosive bullet hit low and severed both legs. Korlos bled to death within 30 seconds.

  All threats eliminated, Gary and Todd dashed over the ridge and rejoined Ethan, who was sitting in a patch of shade, his back against part of the rocky ridgeline. Gary didn’t bother to take the rifle figuring it would only slow him down.

  Ethan still appeared disoriented and unsure of recent events. “Where’s my Dad?”

  Before either man could answer, the first missile detonated.

  Chapter 53

  Darfur

  June 14 0954 hours

  The smoke was still wafting from the super hawg’s muzzle as Bull, Ghost, and Magnum jogged around the corner to meet up with their commander. Jim leaned down and felt Zhao’s neck for a pulse and secured his sidearm.

  “We have to get out of here,” he reminded his men. “We have only a few minutes to evacuate.”

  The team hustled up the stairs faster than they thought possible. No one wanted to be present anywhere near the compound when the missile struck.

  Turning the latching mechanism, they passed through Ming’s office and emerged into the outer hallway, leaving the dull interior for the bright morning light. Jim glanced at his watch… 0958.

  “I hope that missile isn’t early,” Jim declared as he pointed in the nearest direction that would lead them away from the group of buildings. The four men took off running.

  They had covered almost 200 yards when the first cruise missile came in low and fast. Traveling at just under the speed of sound, they heard it seconds before detonation.

  “Down!” Jim shouted, and the team dove in unison for the ground, covering their heads as best as possible.

  The warhead detonated over the aircraft hangar and was quickly followed by a second explosion as the next missile arrived on target. If they had been armed with nuclear warheads the SGIT team would have been vaporized.

  Despite their injuries, they all rose to their feet and kept running. Jim’s head was pounding, and a wave of nausea washed over him. It was as if someone was hitting his head with a bat with every step he took.

  Ghost felt the burning pain from the bullet wound to his thigh. Magnum was trying not to move his upper body as he ran but found that every time he stumbled and twisted his torso to maintain balance, the sharp stabs of pain thrust through his shoulder. The bandage on Bull’s arm had a slowly spreading red stain, and his ribs were on fire.

  Still, they continued running. To stop now meant certain death.

  Seconds later the next missile arrived. This one altered its flight path at the last moment, maneuvering into a steep climb followed by a dive almost straight down. The missile plowed through the earth and exploded 20 feet underground. The shock wave caused all four men to stumble and fall.

  Jim was up fast, and Ghost, too. But Magnum had landed on his left shoulder and was writhing in pain from the impact.

  “Ghost… give me a hand!”

  As Bull slowly rose, Jim and Ghost converged on Magnum and helped him to his feet. Then they were running again for safety; handicapped by their wounds, the pace was slowing.

  The next four missiles arrived almost simultaneously. Two plowed into the earth and exploded deep under the complex. The other two were air bursts aimed to destroy the structures above ground and ignite fires in the rubble. The combined explosive force threw the four men forward. Luckily, there was enough separation between ground zero and the men that the blasts only caused additional minor bruises.

  Looking out over the smoldering wreckage, Jim had a strange sensation. He feared that the complex may not be totally destroyed. Yes, only rubble existed where buildings were minutes ago, and there were a few small debris fires. Surely the equipment must all be in ruins. Certainly the explosives his team had rigged would have destroyed all electronic records and notebooks in the laboratory.

  But what of the data in the computer center, and virus samples? Jim wondered. Would the heat of the explosions be enough to kill the viruses? Could there have been biological samples and other records stored in secure vaults deep under the complex? He couldn’t shake the notion that something important had survived the attack.

  If the virus had survived… if data from the heinous experiments had not been totally destroyed, then maybe someone could replicate Colonel Ming’s work. Jim shuddered at the thought.

  Yet the political leaders in Beijing—and maybe some military leaders as well—had ordered the air strike to destroy everything. They clearly feared what Ming had developed and sent in Captain Wu and his team to ensure complete destruction.

  Or had they? At that moment Jim realized his mistaken assumption. With a sudden sense of urgency, Jim shouted to his men. “Get moving… it’s not over yet!”

  Long ago, Ghost, Magnum, and Bull had learned to never question Boss Man. If he gave an order there was a damned good reason for it and they knew to carry it out… no questions, no discussion.

  This learned reaction saved their lives.

  Despite their pain and fatigue, they pushed their battered and bruised bodies onto their feet and ran for a low rocky drop off that marked the edge of the dry streambed. The men dove over the ledge and fell four feet to the sandy, gravel-strewn ground. Quickly, they all squirmed back up against the ledge. Now out of sight of the compound remains, they could not see the approaching missile… but they heard it.

  The explosion occurred as two successive blasts. The first was not very big, but it was almost instantly followed by a much larger explosion… a massive blast and fireball. The intense light from the explosion and the heat blasted over the edge of the streambed. Nestled tight against the rocky wall, Jim and his team were safe in the shadows. From their protected position, looking away from the blast, they saw smoke rise from tinder-dry tumbleweeds exposed to the intense thermal radiation.

  As the fireball rose it created a backdraft, sucking dust and debris up into the conflagration. Four seconds later the fireball consumed itself and vanished.

  Jim raised his head. The destroyed compound was fully engulfed in fire… everything would be consume
d in the intense blaze ignited by the final missile, one armed with a tactical thermobaric warhead, just as Wu had tried to warn.

  Finally, Jim began to relax, if only slightly. He still wondered if the compound was built with a well hardened bunker that could have survived the onslaught, but then he reasoned that the Chinese had access to the original architectural plans and they would have chosen the missiles’ warheads accordingly.

  The virus and lab data must have been destroyed, and Colonel Ming was dead as well. It was likely that all of Colonel Ming’s men and the Homothal army he was creating had also perished. Still, Jim couldn’t feel assured without personal verification.

  Under different circumstances, he might be able to search the smoking ruins, to be confident the destruction… and their mission objectives… were complete. But with so many wounded men, in hostile country, and low on ammunition and medical supplies, he didn’t have the luxury of waiting around. With a sigh, he accepted that he had to let it go.

  His eyes still focused on the flames reaching 50 feet into the clear desert air, Jim said, “Our job is done. It’s time to get out of here.”

  Epilogue

  Bend, OR

  June 28

  “The views from here are incredible. I don’t imagine one would ever tire of it.” Jim stared out the panorama windows at the Three Sisters, three distinctive volcanic peaks in the Cascade Mountain range, still lightly coated with snow. Standing next to Jim, Peter was also absorbing the beauty.

  “I think I’ve heard you say that before,” Peter replied with a smile. “It’s always awesome… no matter how many times I look at those mountains, it’s never enough.”

  “Colonel Pierson asked me to pass along his commendation for a job well done. All of the American hostages were reunited with their families eight days ago… they’re going to be fine. The Colonel has officially listed you as an approved contractor. My office will send some paper work to you, and they have already started the process of elevating your security clearance.”