“I agree with Lee, you’ll need every dollar you have.” Sable yawned, rolled his shoulders, and rubbed his neck.
“But I feel them coming back.”
“Anyway, when you get to Canada, the best place to live would be off the McKenzie River. During the winters, the only way in is by plane or dog sled,” Masters said.
“No man’s land.” Lee shivered and squeezed Bill’s hand.
“I guess if I could get used to Delta Junction, I can get used to almost anything.” Bill brought Lee’s hand to his lips and brushed it with a kiss.
“I can take the isolation,” she said. “So long as you’re with me.”
“In spite of the danger?”
“I think we should check on the village again and see what’s happening,” Sable said.
Becky stretched. “We should head home and get some sleep.”
Chapter 30
As dusk crowded in, Sable knew he shouldn’t be near Kanashig. He should be back at the detachment planning the defense of the village. His men were competent enough to complete this mission alone. They could stop the war before it started. He had handpicked the squad. Ahead, a dark sedan blended with the brush and trees. Sable held his hand up and the squad stopped. Silently, he adjusted his night vision goggles and then steadied his .40 cal pistol.
In the darkness, a shadow moved through the brush. Where was the other—asleep in the car?
A twig snapped and Sable stopped and held his breath. Another sound came from his left—water trickling. In the dark, a figure urinated. Sable motioned for one of his men to follow and gave signals for the rest to converge on the sedan. His heart thudded. Sable jammed the .40 into the man’s neck and whispered, “Make a move or call for your partner and you’re dead.”
Behind him, he could hear the muffled sounds of the other man being pulled from the car. “Drop your weapon. Flinch and you’re dead.”
“Do you know who you’re dealing with?” the frightened voice whispered.
“Government vigilantes who think they’re above the law.”
“You’re wrong. I’m a federal agent with the Defense Investigative Service.”
“No, you’re not. You’re just another criminal.” Sable drove the pistol into the agent’s neck.
“You’re illegally detaining—”
“So.” Sable cocked the pistol. “I told you to drop your weapon.”
“Release me or suffer the consequences.” The agent tossed his gun aside.
“You’re here illegally.” Sable threw a sidekick to the agent’s knees and the man folded to the ground. “And we know your intentions.” He could have sworn the agent’s face blanched white in the dark.
“I am Agent Donald Anderson and you’re illegally detaining—”
“I’m tired of listening to a broken record.” Sable slammed Anderson’s face into the dirt where the agent had urinated. “The truth will set you free. Anything else’ll get you killed.”
Sable moved back and the agent pushed himself up, zipped up, and faced his captor. “I demand you release me immediately.”
“You demand nothing, you’re a prisoner—no privileges, not even an attorney. Now, tell me when the Army will strike!” With a few hand signals from Sable, his men brought the captives together.
“I’ll tell you nothing. When our replacements show up they’ll know something happened and will immediately report it,” Anderson said.
“I’ll turn you over to the villagers. Maybe you’ve heard how bloodthirsty Indians can be,” Sable bluffed. “If you don’t tell me what I want to know, I’ll put you and your partner at ground zero where the helicopters are going to spray the nerve gas.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“I’m Tlingit. My people mean a lot to me.”
The threat seemed too much for Anderson. His face was ashen even in the moonlight, his eyes troubled and confused and his raised hands were shaking. “Tomorrow morning at five-thirty,” he said shakily.
Chapter 31
The spreading red glow on the horizon lit the sky behind the mountains to the east. Military trucks lined the road into the village, ready to load bodies. Wheeler, soon to be a lieutenant colonel, felt the excitement as his men spread out into attack formation a mile from the village. There was no way the villagers could escape or defeat the finest fighting forces in the world. Wheeler hungered for a good battle, a fair fight—his gut told him spraying nerve gas was an act of cowardice.
The finely tuned helicopter blades beat almost silently as Wheeler focused his binoculars on the village. The Black Hawk was set up with the newest stealth technology, and he felt privileged to ride in it. Ahead, the lead chopper banked for its lethal run. Something nagged at Wheeler. The village was too quiet. There weren’t any lights.
Wheeler pressed the transmit button. “Death Angel, THIS IS Black Hawk. Are you prepared? OVER.”
“Hawk, THIS IS Angel. AFFIRMATIVE in thirty, OVER,” the pilot on the other end said.
“Angel, THIS IS Hawk. Go for it. We’ll protect your backside. Now, let’s kick some ass!”
* * * *
From behind willows on a small knoll, a lone guardsman leapt up and took aim with his Stinger missile launcher at the helicopter bearing down on his village. A flashing red light in the sight, along with a pulsating tone, told him he had a lock. A somber expression of determination masked his face as he pulled the trigger and felt the explosion and recoil of the missile as it hurled from the tube. The gunner dropped the expended launcher and picked up a new one. Simultaneously, he watched the smoke from the missile’s tail streak to its target. Solemnly, he watched the first helicopter burst into a ball of fire.
The shock waves from the first explosion rocked the other chopper.
The pilot banked sharply, dove, and zig-zagged to get below the tree line. In the distance, the first rays of the sun fell on a large building. The second chopper exploded into a fireball, the blades lifting far above the nonexistent cockpit. It kept whirling like a giant scythe ready to cut down anyone or anything in its path. Smoldering fragments spewed forth and then lazily drifted down on the currents of the wind.
* * * *
On the ground, Special Forces Company Commander Hadly gave orders for his unit to retreat. As the unit turned and the special squads fanned out to protect the rear of the unit, he wished Major Wheeler hadn’t split his forces.
“Surrender! You’re surrounded and outnumbered,” Maroak said over a bullhorn. “You’ve three minutes to drop your weapons.”
Looking through the trees, Hadly couldn’t see a thing. They had to be bluffing. Even if they were outnumbered three to one, but his men could win. “No way! I warn you. My men will give as good as they get,” he shouted.
* * * *
“Two minutes and counting,” Maroak said. “Captain Hadly, we know all the intel on your mission.”
Silence.
“You’re up against the best Army National Guard unit in the state. Surrender or die.”
Silence.
“We don’t want bloodshed, but we will destroy your unit.”
Maroak’s troops were completely ready. Most of his troops were dug into well-camouflaged foxholes. Behind them were his armored personnel carriers equipped with .50 caliber machine guns for support in case he needed to retreat. The Special Forces’ unit was caught in a typical cross fire. A platoon was deployed on the left flank laterally, ahead of the front lines, ready to provide concentrated rifle, machine gun, and mortar fire. The ambush now formed an “L.”
“One minute and counting,” Maroak said.
Over the radio net, Commander Hadly gave the order to fire on his signal. His men could take on a lousy Guard outfit any day.
They’re nothing but weekend warriors, he mused.
“Not a threat at all,” he shouted. “The hell with waiting. Eat our lead, bastard!” And then he fired. Immediately, the surrounding area burst into flames from rifle fire and exploding mortar shells. Soldiers screamed as bullets or mortar frag
ments hit them. The sound of the screams burned into Hadly’s mind. In the dim light from the early morning sun, he could see some of his men being blown apart by mortars. They didn’t even have time to scream before dying.
“Damn, they’re ready,” Hadly said to his radioman. He hugged the ground. The small birch he hid behind provided no cover. “Give me the mike, I need to call Command,” he yelled over the roar of gunfire and mortars.
Before Hadly could grab the hand mike, a bullet hit the radioman, throwing him backward and onto the ground. Carefully, Hadly low-crawled over to the dead man. He rolled the corpse over. A bullet had penetrated the body and the VHF radio.
“Dammit!” The pandemonium of noise drowned his voice. Bullets ricocheted. Twigs and branches fell into his face. The ground continued to shake from the impact of mortar rounds.
Hadly needed a plan. The buildings offered cover for his men. And, of course, the Guard wouldn’t destroy their town. When the major died, Hadly became Black Hawk 1. “Retreat to the village,” he said on his personal radio. “I authenticate ZULU YANKEE ALPHA NOVEMBER. FIFE, FOWER, TREE, TOO, WUN, MARK! OVER.”
“First Platoon, ROGER.”
“Fourth Platoon, ROGER.”
Static.
“Second Platoon, Third Platoon, respond.”
Static.
Looking down at his watch, he couldn’t believe the time. This had taken place in less than twenty minutes and he’d lost two platoons. Retreating from the village, his men used every delay tactic in the book.
Maroak’s soldiers maintained contact with the retreating unit. So far, they hadn’t lost a single man, but the situation would change. The armored personnel carriers, armed with .50 caliber machine guns, remained in reserve. The Geneva Convention rules prevented their use, but as far as he was concerned, it didn’t apply here. Yet, he would use the weapons only as a last resort. He passed orders to the flanking unit on the left to keep the enemy in a cross fire as they retreated.
As his unit advanced, Maroak stepped over mutilated and torn bodies. Smoke, gunpowder, cordite, and blood hung heavy in the air. Suddenly there was no opposition. “All units THIS IS Raven WUN, Cease Fire! I authenticate FOXTROT GOLF ECHO CHARLIE, OUT.”
It was silent. Three remaining soldiers from Hadly’s force threw their guns aside and raised their hands.
* * * *
Back at Guard headquarters, Maroak paced his office. As he glanced down at the three soldiers and two agents, Maroak pondered; he couldn’t kill them, but maybe he could scare the shit out of them. Grabbing the collar of the only remaining platoon leader, he said, “Captain Hadly, we need an understanding.”
“I am a prisoner of war, I have certain rights, and I only have to give you my name, rank and social security number,” Hadly said.
“Let’s get things straight. You’re not a prisoner of war. Your unit illegally attacked our native village. So you don’t get any privileges at all,” Maroak growled into the man’s ear.
“My name is Joseph Henry Hadly, Rank, Captain—”
Using one hand, Maroak grabbed Hadly by the lapels and lifted him to eye level, leaving his feet dangling off the ground. “I don’t give a damn about your name, rank, and number. You are not a prisoner of war. This isn’t war. It’s mass murder.”
“I don’t know what—”
“I don’t want any information from you or your men. Instead, I’m giving information.” Maroak leered, drew a large bayonet, and laid it against the side of Hadly’s neck.
Hadly blanched white and stuttered, “If you release my men and me, we’ll tell our superiors what you want. But, we’ll be back in greater numbers.”
“Don’t be stupid. How do you think we were so prepared?”
“I don’t—”
“We have moles in Arctic Warrior and at Fort Greely.” Maroak pressed the blade tightly into the flesh. “We’ll know when and where you’ll return.” Maroak shoved Hadly into the chair and almost tipped it over.
Hate reflected from Hadly’s eyes. “We’ll be back.”
“Such brave words. Do you think the SECDEF will commit more troops?”
“You can bank on it.”
“He couldn’t stand the publicity and if he does, we’ll reserve special torture for the soldiers.”
“You can’t do that.”
“In an illegal war, we can do anything we want. Have you ever seen a man skinned alive and staked for the wolverines and no-see-ums?”
“But—”
“I guarantee when you return, you’ll be the first.” Maroak smiled broadly.
Chapter 32
After only a couple hours of sleep, Sable went back to the cabin. He used an unmarked car so he wouldn’t draw attention. Though he was fatigued, something nagged at the back of his mind. Something had wakened him from a deep sleep and brought him here. Sable leaned against the windowsill, staring out at the forest. He turned momentarily as Bill ambled into the room.
“Good morning.” Sable saluted him with a cup of hot java.
“You let him in?” Bill looked first at Becky then at Sable while he stretched and grumbled.
“Of course, he’s family,” Becky said.
“Hell, it seems we can’t get rid of you.”
“That’s me—a bad penny.”
“If I hadn’t been the best man at your wedding, I’d swear you were here to steal my woman.”
Sable chuckled. “I wanted to let you know the jails in Delta, Tok, and Fairbanks are bursting at the seams.”
“It seems the tide has turned in our favor,” Jon said.
Sable turned toward Lee and lifted his cup. “If you would please. I need another cup of coffee. No, belay that; bring it in a plasma bag. I going to inject it directly into my veins, or maybe even an artery.”
A bright glint flashed on the pane above Sable’s head. Then he saw a red dot move across the window to Bill’s head. “Take cover! Hit the floor!” Sable hurled himself across the room and knocked Bill to the floor.
“What the hell do—”
A hail of bullets shattered the window and threw glass shards, driving them into the walls. While Sable drew his .40, Bill low crawled to a backpack in the corner. There, he dug out what Sable guessed was a 9 mm. Behind Sable he heard the others scrambling for cover.
“Well they found me,” Bill said in a whisper.
“Dr. Kincaid, this is Defense Investigative Service Agent Martin Gilstrap. You and your friends are under arrest.”
Sable slipped against the wall under the shattered window while Bill took the other. “Your warrants are lies. I’m Alaska State Trooper Robert Sable. Stop your attack or face the consequences.”
“You have three minutes to surrender or die. The first shots were a warning.”
“Most of your cohorts are already in jail. My question is do you want to join them?”
“Is there another way out?” Sable looked toward Lee, who was peeking over the edge of an old frayed couch with several bullet holes in the material.
“Through the wood box.” Lee crawled across the floor and grabbed a rifle from a rack on the wall, handed it to Jon, then headed to the box.
Bill looked at Sable. “Well, I’m glad you’re here in this mess with us.”
“This will make us even for you and Red saving me.”
“Maybe.”
Sable glanced out the window and saw two agents and their car in the shadow of the trees. A sunbeam broke through shadows and reflected off a rifle scope.
“We need to get out,” Jon said from the wood box.
“No shit,” Sable said. “Once we get out of here is there somewhere to hide?”
Jon motioned behind the cabin. “A swale leads to a gully behind the cabin.”
“Next time I will be sure not to fill the box this high.” Lee opened the lid and threw out one piece of wood after another.
“Do you have any other weapons?” Sable asked.
“A pistol, under my pillow.” Lee tossed the last piece of
firewood aside.
“I’ll get it.” Becky crawled toward the bedroom.
“It always pays to have a back way out,” Jon said. “However, if we survive this, I’m putting in a back door.”
Sable motioned for the quartet to start moving.
“But it’s so small.” Bill stared into the depth of the box.
Lee slid into the box and crawled out the other side of the wall. Jon handed her the rifle, then followed.
Sable stuffed the extra pistol Becky handed him in his belt and crawled through the box. Large slivers from the edges of the box dug into his skin and he bit his lips to keep from cursing from the pain. Sable and the others scurried to the swale, jumped in and hunched down. “Damn. This is good. It comes up right behind them.”
“You have no time left, Dr. Kincaid.”
The machine gun spoke. The thuds of bullets striking walls and windows exploding cut the silence. “This was your warning.”
Sable leaned over and whispered into Becky’s ear. She nodded and cupped her hands into a blow horn. “Please give us a couple of minutes to come out. You’ve wounded a couple of us. We need first aid.”
“You have three minutes. But, if you don’t come out with your hands up, we’ll level the cabin.”
Sable motioned for the others to follow him. Soon the depression became a gully where they could move more rapidly. They heard the continuous drone of machine gun fire behind them.
Sable stopped, looked over the edge of the gully and cocked the .40. He saw movement behind a black sedan parked not more than fifty feet from the cabin.
“Now what?” Bill hunched next to him.
“Bill and I will circle around and take out the hit team. Jon, you and the women stay here.”
Lee looked furious. “What do you mean? I’m not a weak female.”
“Calm down; Sable’s right, we need to conserve the weapons.” Jon patted Lee’s shoulder.
Slowly and carefully, Sable and Bill headed north, using the forest for cover. They took each step carefully, avoiding twigs and fallen branches. Sable slipped his pistol in his holster; he planned to use fists. Sable slipped to the ground and crawled toward the agents. He paused for a moment and selected the larger of the two. The agents remained oblivious to their approach. One man slammed a clip into his weapon’s magazine and resumed firing.
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