Olympus Rises (The Code of War)

by Jim Roberts

  "Doc, do you know what this thing is?"

  "No, not really...it's complicated." The doctor continued to turn the disc over in his hands, studying the intricacies of its construction, "I'll explain what I know when we get back. But trust me when I say that Olympus is going to want this back. At all costs."

  For two hours the APC made its way through the mountain range. They stopped once to refuel from the external diesel tanks attached to the rear of the vehicle. It sincerely felt like they were driving blind. The general plan was to push the APC as far as it would go and once it had run out of gas, to get out and walk.

  So far they had been lucky. Besides the two Olympus vehicles that had chased them, they had seen no other aircraft or ground vehicles, for that matter. It was looking as if their breakneck escape had finally eased down. Joe had checked the cabin of the APC and found a small survival kit. Inside were several tinfoil packages of Russian Krations. The tasteless bricks of protein matter were hardly palatable, but it was all they had and they were grateful for it. They were, however, out of water. Joe judged they would be okay for another day, but by then had better be in Afghanistan, or find a water source somewhere close by.

  No one had much to say, especially Joe. The last few days had been so harsh, so painful, that he was left feeling vaguely empty. The thoughts of his lost unit - the five men he had failed to intercept at the fortress; all weighed heavy on Joe's mind. He swore that no matter what, he would go back and get his men. His failure in leading his unit would not doom them as well.

  By four o'clock in the afternoon, Danny was doing better. Yune had switched the suit's remaining power to medical priority. The suit had administered morphine and begun auto-suturing any exposed wounds Whisper had. Joe marvelled at the invention, half wanting one for himself.

  For the past half hour Joe had been fiddling with the radio, an almost antique heap of junk attached like an afterthought underneath the steering column. After getting every manner of static possible, he tossed the receiver to the side in desperation. So much for that.

  Suddenly, Krieger hit the brakes, jostling everyone in the vehicle forward. He switched off the engine and listened.

  Joe called out from his seat, "What's wrong?"

  "Ssshh! Quiet!"

  Joe hushed up and listened. A vague rumbling sound echoed off the hills of the Pamir mountains.

  Krieger looked back, "NATO aircraft!"

  Joe was perplexed, "How do you know?"

  Krieger pointed at his ears, "Can tell the engine sound. F-18 Super Hornet! We are in Afghanistan, or at least very close!"

  The news was music to Joe's ears. He popped the lid above him and climbed up to take a look. About three miles to the south he could spot the vague shapes of aircraft zipping through the mountain range. Krieger had been right; NATO aircraft out patrolling the border.

  The Russian started the APC back up and accelerated on.

  After another mile, the mountain range began to give way to the familiar flat steppe of the open plains of northern Afghanistan.

  Krieger leaned back and yelled, "Looks like Kondoz province, if I don't miss guess!"

  Joe was about to ask the Russian how he knew that when a loud *clank* sound reverberated off the armored right side of the APC. Everyone in the vehicle jumped; Joe leaned forward to peer out the window, searching the hills to the west.

  "Sniper!" said Krieger, not entirely surprised.

  "Who is it?" asked Joe.

  "Well, we're driving in stolen Russian APC, so who knows? My guess is Taliban. Too low caliber to be American sniper bullet."

  Another round hit the APC near the front window, startling Joe. His gaze swept the hills, straining to spot the sniper against the late afternoon sun, "Can't see anything. He might be in that hilly area about six-hundred meters due west of here. What the hell are they trying to do?"

  "My friend, there is other problem," said Krieger, tapping Joe on the shoulder and pointing at the odometer, "We are almost out of gas."

  "Oh for the love of...are you serious?" asked Joe in exasperation.

  "Always serious my friend!" Krieger gave Joe a wide grin. Abruptly the engine of the APC began to sputter, "There is still tank of gas on back of vehicle. Volunteers to refill?" His joke went unremarked upon. The APC managed another few hundred feet before the engine choked and died. They came to a stop dead center in the middle of the open steppe of the Afghan plain.

  Joe pushed himself back into his seat in exasperation. All this way and now we're stuck in the middle of a desert being shot at by Taliban. Joe shook his head in disbelief, "I'm open to any suggestions you guys might have!"

  From the back, Dr. Yune shrugged nervously. Krieger looked over at Joe, his face a mask of cynicism, "We could tell them war is over?"

  Several more bullets impacted into the side of the vehicle directly behind Yune. The Doctor jumped at the noises, "What are we going to do, Joe?"

  There were no weapons in the APC; Olympus didn't seem to be in the business of leaving loaded armaments in just any vehicle for someone to up and steal. Joe had only his Desert Eagle .50. They certainly weren't going to shoot their way out. He couldn't use the Dushka; the sniper would pick him off the instant he stuck his head outside the turret hatch.

  Krieger shrugged nonchalantly, "Well we're OK as long as they don't have RPG. Armor is too strong."

  After a few more sniper bullets impacted around the passenger side, the shooting abruptly stopped. Joe looked out the window, squinting into the sunlight; desperately searching the mountains to the west for any movement.

  And then he saw them.

  Three man Taliban attack fireteam, moving closer. They used the jagged mountainside as cover in order to close the distance between them. Joe opened the metal glove compartment in front of him and fished around. His luck was holding for the moment; there was a small pair of binoculars inside. He held them up and took a closer look. As he had feared, one of the Taliban grunts had an RPG-1; a rocket-propelled grenade capable of blowing a tank from here to Timbuktu.

  "They have an RPG," said Joe completely unsurprised. Their luck had been so bad for the last few hours - why should it change?

  Yune, sitting across from Danny's prone form, asked worriedly, "What are we going to do?"

  Krieger spoke first, "Don't know...pray?"

  Joe had no intention of being blown to hell inside a metal coffin. He pulled himself over the passenger seat. Positioning himself under the turret, he prepared to open it, "I'm going to try to get the RPG bastard with the machinegun. It's our only chance!"

  Danny croaked weakly from his makeshift bed, "No...Joe that's suicide. They'll kill you the second they see your face."

  An explosion rocked the vehicle roughly, sending Joe flailing wildly against the metal interior. He shook his head and checked his mates. They weren't dead yet. The Taliban idiots must have missed them.

  Krieger turned around, "Whatever you do my friend, do it soon. They missed that time - next time probably not..."

  Joe gripped the hatch handle and was about to push when a spectacular caterwaul of gunfire echoed outside the APC. Joe frowned, "That's not them, who's doing the shooting?"

  Krieger yelled back from his seat, "It is Apache helicopter my friend!"

  Throwing caution out the door, Joe opened the turret and peered out gingerly. As Krieger had said, to the west a NATO Apache helicopter must have picked up the ruckus on its long-range sensors and had come to check it out. The chopper hovered over the Taliban snipers, raining fire from its 30mm chaingun upon their hapless position. Joe saw the insurgents vanish amidst a cloud of dust and bullets.

  Joe yelled down into the APC, "It's the cavalry, guys! We're safe!" Joe yanked off his dirty white cotton shirt and climbed out the hatch into the waning light of the Afghan afternoon. He waved the shirt wildly back and forth. The Apache made a brief hover over their position. Joe saw the pilot give them a thumbs up. He waved back.

  After all the hell they had been through,
their ordeal was finally over.

  Chapter 15

  A New Deal

  Bagram Airfield - One Week Later

  The Bagram Airfield was one of the last major remnants of the Coalition's ten year conflict in Afghanistan. A veritable city in itself, it was situated in the mountainous province of Parwan, in the more secured eastern section of the country. Built around an old abandoned Soviet airbase left over from the Soviet-Afghan war of the 80's, a veritable boomtown had grown from this remote location over the last decade.

  An insanely busy airport spread out through most of the base's surface area, with the rest dedicated to troop barracks, civilian lodgings, a fifty bed medical center and a large promenade set up to resemble something similar to the Atlantic City boardwalk. It was truly a feast for the eyes; in the middle of a high altitude airbase to see Burger Kings and Exchange Dealerships selling American soldiers new vehicles for when they arrived back home.

  At the end of the promenade was the JOC (or Joint Operations Command building); a converted Soviet Airplane Hanger painted a pasty light blue, now utilized as the primary command structure for the US Army Command stationed in eastern Afghanistan.

  As Joe Braddock walked along the Promenade, towards the JOC, he was less then interested in the shops selling T-shirts and Starbucks coffee. He walked quickly, flanked by two Army MP's, clad in their camo uniforms and black and white elbow upper arm insignias. Joe was dressed in a newly loaned set of Army fatigues that fit too loose at the waist.

  The past week since arriving at Bagram Airbase had been one of the most infuriating times in Joe's life. The Apache had radioed in a nearby overwatch of Marine Black Hawk helicopter transports to come and pick the unusual band of survivors out of the desert. The Apache was unable to land itself; however two Black Hawks arrived only a half hour after the call was sent. Upon setting down in the steppe, the pilots had asked Joe for his name and unit. After finding he and Danny were from the missing Ranger detail, they immediately loaded the four disparate men into the chopper.

  Krieger had been hesitant at first, but Joe told him it would be okay. There really was little choice in the matter anyway. The issue came when Krieger refused to give any background on his unit or place of origin. From there, the Marines were forced by regulations to tie his hands before bringing him on board the helo. After searching Yune, they found nothing of interest on his person and allowed him to take care of Whisper with his hands free and a guard personally assigned to watch him.

  The Black Hawks lifted off, leaving the husk of the trusty APC that had carried them all the way back home, behind. Joe had made sure one of the accompanying Marines had dropped a grenade inside to make sure the machine was no use to anyone else, especially the Taliban. The Marines were unsure about taking Danny aboard, but Joe had managed to convince them the suit was of national security importance and that the top-brass would be very interested in the device. After that, the Marines allowed it on board the helo. Yune stayed close to Whisper, making sure he had all the help he needed.

  A four hour flight had brought them to Bagram Airbase in the dead of night. From there they were split up, against Joe's demands. Krieger was hauled away brusquely by MPs, and Yune and Danny were led off by several paramedics, flanked by Army troops. The Black Hawk pilots must have radioed ahead what their cargo was. Joe found himself being taken to what resembled a rather ramshackle barracks and told to shower and sleep. Several MPs stayed with him the entire time, keeping a close eye on his activities.

  Joe understood, in the face of Taliban insurgency, that the methods were valid. But still, it felt overly harsh just the same. The MPs brought him a quick meal of meatloaf and potatoes and told him to get some rest. His debriefing would begin in the morning.

  The next three days had been absolute hell. In a closed interrogation room in the JOC, Joe was grilled by two Army Lieutenants for nearly eight solid hours a day with no breaks. Every single possible detail of his capture, imprisonment and eventual escape was scrutinized and dissected. Joe demanded to see their commanding officer, stating that there were still men in his unit left imprisoned in Olympus's clutches. But his pleading fell on deaf ears. The general thinking was that Joe's incursion across the Kazinistani border had angered the government of the small country and forced a military reaction due to the size of the invading unit. Joe tried to tell them about Olympus, but the Lieutenants barely believed anything he said.

  Jetpacks? Stiletto heeled Ninja Women? Who the hell do you think we are Sergeant? Tell us another one!

  A reprieve came on the fourth day of their return. Joe had finally been granted a visit to his friends. Danny was still in the med-center, being treated for the plethora of wounds he'd received in the last few days. Yune had managed to convince the Marines and MPs to allow him to stay with the Canadian. It was only afterwards that they had learned the Whisper suit had been confiscated. It was being taken to a secure site on the base to be held until proper authorization came for its release.

  The Doctors confirmed Danny would never see again. He had also lost five percent of the skin tissue on his face as well as permanent damage to his nasal passages. Yune told Joe he would begin working on a set of bionic glasses for Danny as soon as he could.

  Danny also imparted to Joe that he had given his resignation to CANSOFCOM, due to his current state. The unit had agreed; wishing him the best and an open offer to return in an administration capacity if ever he wished to. Danny and Yune had asked Joe what had become of Krieger. Joe hadn't seen the Arab-Russian for some time and was rather worried himself.

  For the last few days of the interminable week, Joe had been confined to barracks. For three days, he sat in a mouldy old Army cot, bouncing a tennis ball, waiting for some sort of action.

  And now finally, here he was, on his way to the JOC to finally speak to the base commander, a Brigadier General Anson Howard. With all the evidence weighed, Joe hoped the General would see the truth and green light some sort of rescue to get his boys out of that country and take down those Olympus sons of bitches.

  For a command center of one of the largest airbases in Afghanistan, the JOC was lightly staffed. The withdrawal was beginning to put a strain on personnel and most of the remaining staffers within looked haggard and tired. Joe could relate. As he was led up the steps toward the General's office, his stomach was in knots. The memory of his men being loaded into the helicopter and flown away to God knows where was still fresh in his mind. He hoped - no, he prayed the General would listen.

  At the top of the heavily air-conditioned hanger, behind a makeshift wall built with stucco and plaster, was the base commander's office. The MPs knocked on the door. Joe took a deep breath.

  "Come in!" came a voice from inside.

  The MPs opened the door and entered, followed by Joe. The General was sitting behind his desk reading some papers. Joe stood to attention, saluting his superior; eyes forward. The General was far from the classic image of a three-star General. In his mid fifties, the General had heavy bags under his eyes; probably sleep deprived due to the withdrawal. Still, his uniform was tidy and his white hair was cut high and dry.

  The General did not respond to the young Army Ranger. Joe set his tongue in his cheek, but stood at attention like a good soldier. After letting him hang for a full ten seconds, the General returned the salute, "Sit down Sergeant. You boys can wait outside." The MPs nodded and left the room. Joe pulled out the uncomfortable looking folding chair opposite the General and sat down as instructed.

  "Sorry for the hell we've put you through this past week Sergeant, but we had to get some things cleared up."

  "Yes sir, thank you sir," replied Joe in good military order. It was all he could do not to tear the General a new sphincter for keeping him waiting this long.

  "Now there are many questions that still need to be asked, but first I'm going to ask the most pertinent and it's the one I want you to be completely truthful about."

  "Of course sir."

  "Good
. Now tell me Sergeant...What really happened to your men?"

  Joe blinked at the question, "Sir?"

  "Your men Sergeant. Tell me the truth of what happened on June the 6th, 2014."

  "Sir..I don't understand," stammered Joe, "I...thought I gave my statements to the two Lieutenants earlier in the week."

  "Oh I know you did son," said the General, leaning back in his chair, regarding the young Sergeant with intelligent eyes, "But I need you tell me right here and now that that the bullshit story you boys told about flying jet troopers and space age private militaries was a bunch of hooey."

  Joe didn't know what to say. The General stood up and walked around his desk leaning against it.

  "Son...I know the weight of command is hard...and I don't doubt that whatever happened, you did your duty to try to prevent your platoon's destruction. But if I'm going to protect you, I need to know what really happened out there. I know you were just telling that story because you're scared."

  "Begging the General's pardon, sir but...but what I said was the truth. Danny, Yune, Krieger...they must have backed up my story...word for word!"

  "They did son and very well. It was quite a doozy. I don't think I could ever think up something like it myself," the General crossed his arms and continued speaking, "I know those three fellas are loyal to you. You're a charismatic fellow. You rescued them from a Kazinistan prison. They'd vouch for you if you were in trouble."

  "No sir...you don't understand...what about the Whisper suit?"

  "Sorry Sergeant, but that...unusual suit does not prove the existence of some phantom private military. The reality is there are thirty-nine men missing from the unit you were commanding. So I need you to tell me the truth about that day."

  "Sir I don't know what else to tell you. There are still five men out there that are being held by the Olympus Private Military as we speak. I have to rescue them before it's late!" Joe was almost shouting now.