Canticum Tenebris (Wrath of the Old Gods Book 2)

by John Triptych

  Smalley heard the Marine pilots screaming in their headsets, calling anyone who was listening in on their frequency for help. As the seconds ticked by, it felt like years as the enemy Apaches got ever closer. Admiral Zimmerman grimaced helplessly as he lay strapped in his chair on the opposite side of the cabin. Agent Mullins and his Secret Service team seemed to be whispering to each other, but Smalley couldn’t hear what they were saying.

  As the Apaches got to within optimum distance for their chain guns, the other Sea King helicopter quickly turned and charged straight at them, hoping to confuse the gunships for a few more seconds to give the chopper with the president some more time in which to escape. However, the Apaches instantly realized the desperate tactic that had been employed against them as the lead gunship instantly fired its Hydra 70 rockets at the charging Sea King. The rockets exploded on the front part of the Marine helicopter’s cockpit and sent it crashing down in flames.

  Now that Marine One had been stripped of all her escorts, the Sea King was flying just above ground level and jinking in every direction, its pilots were doing everything they could think of to evade the relentless gunships now tailing them. The Apaches had advanced target acquisition sights and the lead gunship took its time to carefully aim for the rear rotor before opening up with its 30mm cannon. Within seconds, close to a half dozen high-explosive dual purpose rounds began to impact the Sea King’s rear rotor. Even though Marine One had special armor protection and electronic countermeasures, it did little against two barrages of 30mm rounds that nearly tore off the back rotor. The Sea King pilots tried as best as they could, but the loss of the tail rotor sent the helicopter on a downward spiral.

  “Marine One going down,” the Sea King pilot said just seconds before impact.

  Smalley screamed as the crash crumpled the front part of the cockpit. The Marine pilot lowered the nose of the helicopter down at the last second in order to lessen the impact on the passenger cabin. The intense collision combined with the sudden stop upended the fuselage as the wreckage flipped over and it rolled a few times before settling on its side. Admiral Zimmerman had leaned forward and placed his head in between his knees just before the crash so he was lucid and able to act as soon as the helicopter had stopped. The Secret Service team had also braced themselves for impact and even now they were taking off their seatbelts before moving over to where the president was.

  As he felt the warm blood running down his forehead, Smalley shook himself awake as he saw Agent Mullins and his team beside the president. Smalley groaned as he unbuckled his own seatbelt.

  Agent Mullins unbuckled the president’s seatbelt as the rest of his team began to examine the Commander in Chief to see if he was injured. “Mr. President, are you okay, sir?”

  The president was in a daze. He had a pounding headache but other than that he didn’t feel any pain in the rest of his body. “I-I think I’m okay.”

  Marine One’s crew chief crawled from the rear of the cockpit. His right arm hung limply on his shoulder. “Both pilots are dead.”

  Admiral Zimmerman looked out of the side porthole of the fuselage that had ended up as the ceiling. “Those two Apaches are still circling around, if we get out of, we’ll all be sitting ducks.”

  As he said those words, the two gunships instantly veered away and flew off into the horizon.

  As his team helped the president off of his chair, Agent Mullins checked to see if there was a fire of some sort within the cockpit. The whole wreckage smelled of burned rubber and jet fuel. “We need to go,” he said tersely.

  One of the Secret Service agents was able to push out the side door of the helicopter. Using his arms, the agent pulled himself up and stood on top of the wreck as he started to help the others in getting out. Agent Mullins was the second person to get into the open as he helped the president through the door before jumping down onto the dusty ground. Just as he got the Commander in Chief to sit down alongside the fuselage, he immediately saw four dark spots in the sky that were slowly getting bigger. As he squinted his eyes for a closer look, he realized they were Blackhawk helicopters.

  Admiral Zimmerman was crouched on top of the wreck and he saw them too. “Four choppers inbound,” he said, stating the obvious.

  Agent Mullins looked around. He noticed a copse of bare trees about half a mile away. “Mr. President, we need to move. Now.”

  The president said nothing and just nodded. John Smalley realized they needed to buy some time. “The rest of us will stay here, Mr. President. We’ll try to delay them as long as we can.”

  “Then may the Lord be with you,” the president said as he was led away by the four Secret Service Agents. Then they started to make a run towards the trees. One of the agents was limping but he kept up as much as he could while the others half-carried the Commander in Chief.

  Just as the five of them got halfway between the wrecked Sea King and the trees, the two lead Blackhawks flew around the small group of Secret Service men who used their bodies to shield the president. The pair of transport helicopters circled them before touching on the ground, one in front and the other behind them. Almost instantly, the side doors of the Blackhawks slid open and men wearing black body armor poured out, aiming their assault rifles at the group. Another pair of Blackhawks started to circle the wrecked Marine One helicopter as Admiral Zimmerman noticed their side doors were also open and men with scoped rifles were aiming at him.

  Knowing that further resistance was useless, the president pushed Agent Mullins back and stood up before straightening his tie and brushing the dust off from his dark blue suit. “You’ve done your job well, Andrew. It’s time to give up,” he said softly.

  All four Secret service agents grimaced as they realized their Commander in Chief was right. They all placed their SIG Sauer P226 pistols on the ground and put their hands up but they continued to surround the President.

  One of the men in black lowered his M4 rifle and pointed a finger at them. “Mr. President, come out here. Right now!”

  The president pushed his way past his bodyguards as he kept his arms up in the air. “Don’t hurt my men,” he said as he took a few steps forward.

  Within seconds the other black clad men grabbed the president and ushered him into the second Blackhawk. At that instant, one of the Secret Service men dove for his pistol and was instantly cut down by rifle fire. The other black clad troopers instantly reacted, shooting down the remaining three Secret Service agents. The last thoughts of Agent Mullins were about his wife and how he failed the president before he lost consciousness while bleeding out.

  The president turned his head back as soon as he heard the rifle fire and let out a cry of anguish as he saw his bodyguards slaughtered. He tried to break free from the grip of the two men who were holding him but they held him fast. Another trooper who was following from behind drew a taser from his hip holster and fired it at the president, who then instantly fell onto the ground and lay stunned. The other two troopers picked him up by his shoulders and legs and started to carry him onto the waiting chopper.

  A hundred yards away, John Smalley saw what had happened and he started to make a run towards them. “They’ve got the president!”

  “John, wait!” Admiral Zimmerman shouted as he lay crouched down beside the wreckage of the Sea King. Beside him was the injured crew chief whose arm was in a makeshift splint.

  The third Blackhawk that was still airborne instantly pivoted and hovered alongside Smalley, as one of the door gunners aimed his M4 rifle and fired. The president’s Chief of Staff took a bullet to the throat and instantly went down.

  Steve Van Dyke tore his helmet off in disgust as he keyed in his walkie-talkie. He was standing beside one of the Blackhawks on the ground as he saw the president being carried into the fuselage. “Goddamn it, cease fire! We got what we wanted.”

  “Sir,” the voice on his walkie-talkie said. “I recognize Admiral Zimmerman, the NORTHCOM commanding officer is down there hiding in the Marine One wreckage.
Do we have permission to take him out?”

  “Negative,” Steve growled. “There’s no need to slaughter these people. Just take him with us.”

  “Affirmative.”

  Steve shook his head in disgust while he climbed onboard the Blackhawk as it prepared to take off. His men were only partially trained as a unit and way too eager to kill everything. It was a blemish to an otherwise flawless operation so far. The Soldiers of the Lord had now struck three times today. First was the hidden nuke inside Cheyenne Mountain. Then the series of bomb attacks in Peterson, and finally the successful downing of Marine One, taking President of the United States as their hostage.

  God is with us, he thought while he made a silent prayer of thanks just as the helicopter lifted off from the ground.

  8. The Prisoner

  Siberia

  Even though the time of day was high noon, the entire city was bathed in a twilit night as the convoy of military vehicles made its way into the Novosibirsk army garrison compound. The snowfall had been continuous since the Glooming had started and by now almost the entire country was blanketed in an ice-cold hell of biblical proportions. The two lead vehicles were GAZ Tigr light reconnaissance trucks, followed closely by a half dozen BMP-3 infantry fighting vehicles and a dozen Ural-5323 heavy cargo trucks brought up the rear. As soon as the convoy entered the compound, soldiers in winter coats immediately alighted from the nearby barracks and began to cheer. This was the first supply run the city had received in over a month.

  General Dmitri Klimov stood outside of the front door of the headquarters building as his aide passed him a lit cigarette. He was nearly sixty years of age and his balding forehead and wispy grey hair was partly covered by his military cap. Klimov was the commanding officer of the 41st Army, the main contingent of the Siberian Military District. Normally a taciturn man, Klimov knew he had to turn on the charm and just tell the truth in order to survive in these perilous times, for he knew who was in charge of this convoy even though he wasn’t sure why this particular man was sent over to him.

  The fourth BMP-3 in the line turned sharply left and veered away from the rest of the convoy, it then drove up to the front of the building where Klimov was waiting. As soon as the infantry fighting vehicle stopped, its four rear hatches opened; two were along the back of the IFV while the upper ones beside them were opened afterwards. Almost immediately, four men wearing black military fatigues and hooded masks instantly jumped out. Klimov could tell that they were Spetsnaz Alpha Group troopers, the top-tier of the Russian special forces. After they formed a protective cordon, a fifth man popped out from the top hatch and jumped down onto the snowy ground in front of them. Unlike the heavily-armed soldiers who were guarding him, this man was dressed in a black civilian parka and wore heavy boots as he made his way over to where the general and is aide was standing.

  As the man got to the front porch, Klimov moved forward to meet him and held out his hand. “Colonel, it is a pleasure to see you, welcome to Novosibirsk!”

  The man took off his right winter glove before shaking the general’s hand. “General Klimov, I am honored that you would actually meet me out here when we could have been introduced in the warming comforts of your office instead.”

  Klimov shrugged. “Since your convoy is the first supply run we’ve had in almost a month, I felt honored to meet you out here, Pasha. Follow me inside, if you please.”

  With his aide walking discretely behind them, Klimov led the younger man down the dimly lit corridor as they headed for the commander’s office. As the still functioning heaters of the building began to make him feel more comfortable, the man took off his heavy parka before handing it off to the aide behind him who quickly ran up and took it. Although Klimov affectionately called him Pasha, his full name was Colonel Pavel Denikin, and he was a deputy director in Russia’s Federal Security Service, or FSB for short. Not even forty years of age, everyone within the government had already heard of Denikin’s meteoric rise from obscure junior officer to newly promoted full colonel. It was said that he was the personal protégé of the Russian president and as such needed to be held in the utmost respect, lest anyone incur the head of state’s enmity and subsequent wrath. Even though he had a higher rank than Denikin, Klimov knew it was better for his sake to treat the younger man as his superior.

  Klimov’s personal office was the only room in the building with its own fireplace. As both men sat down on the antique leather chairs beside the crackling embers, Klimov’s aide quickly placed Denikin’s parka on the coat rack by the door before heading off to the kitchens to make some tea as he closed the door behind him.

  “My assistant is very efficient,” Klimov said as he took his cap off and placed it on the coffee table in between them, “the tea should be here in less than five minutes.”

  Denikin ran his hand along his slick black hair to make sure it was in place. “Actually, I wouldn’t mind a shot or two of vodka right now. I feel better drinking it than tea these days.”

  The general chuckled as he reached over and opened a bottle of clear liquid sitting on the table before pouring it into two shot glasses. “This is homemade vodka. One of the cooks has been using potato peels since we ran out of the commercial stuff weeks ago.”

  Denikin titled his head upwards and downed the shot of vodka in one gulp. Already, the fiery spirit had begun to give him a warm feeling that cascaded all over his body. “It’s good to see you again, General. It’s been a long time as I recall.”

  “Yes, five years or thereabouts since the last time I saw you, Pasha. You were just a young lieutenant then when your father introduced us. Now look at you: a colonel in the FSB and not even middle age yet. You are clearly destined for great things.”

  “Six years, actually. And I assure you I have earned my position within the service through merit, not because of who I know.”

  Klimov smiled. “Of course, Pasha. I didn’t mean anything about that remark. You are a talented man and richly deserving of your rank. In fact, I admire you and your achievements.”

  Denikin looked away and snorted. The general was clearly licking his boots now. Most probably because of some sort of screw up in this last operation, no doubt. Best to get to the truth right away, he thought. “I’m sure you have been briefed as to why I am here?”

  Klimov straightened his back. “I was able to receive a message by both courier and radio relay. My orders are to assist you and your men in any way possible. I was told to expect at least two companies of reinforcements. That is all, Pasha.”

  “The truth is only half of this convoy made it. The journey took almost two weeks and we were attacked three days ago. I lost half my men,” Denikin said.

  Klimov’s eyes widened. “What? Who attacked you?”

  “I’m not sure. We only saw glimpses of them in the snow. There must have been dozens of them. One of the men with me called them chorts- which is our word for devil. The one thing I remember about that word and what we saw is it denotes some sort of pig-faced demon from our classic folk tales. Nevertheless, they started ripping through the infantry fighting vehicles as if they were made of paper. My men reacted and we fired on them with everything we had. I think we might have hit a few, but it didn’t seem to matter so I told everyone to accelerate and keep going. Those demons disabled at least a dozen vehicles that we had to leave behind. God only knows what happened to the men that were in them.”

  “I see … should we conduct a rescue operation?”

  Denikin shook his head. “No, those men are probably dead by now anyway, so why risk more? From the looks of things, we may need every soldier we have here. Things are getting worse and we are losing too many men across the country. Have there been any attacks within the city as of yet?”

  “Field reports are not very accurate. Although we’ve had no reported attacks that were verified by my men there have been many disappearances but I cannot give you a definite number. It seems both the city and my troops are slowly being decimated by
an unknown force. Some of my men are now openly complaining when they are being ordered to patrol the city since the police units have all but either fled or have disappeared. Four of my divisions are now at half strength based on the last roll call. The one good thing about this cold is that people are too weak to mount a protest- if the weather was any hotter, we would have riots all over the city right now because people are starving. We haven’t been able to get much news from the outside since this nationwide blizzard began so what is the situation with the rest of Russia?”

  “Not much better, I’m afraid,” Denikin said. “The government has evacuated Moscow because it is too dangerous. The borders with the West are in flux because of events that are occurring in the EU. All the events that are happening seem to parallel the great Patriotic War. The government has begun a draft of all able-bodied men, but I doubt we have the time to train or even recruit them. The president and his cabinet are heading eastwards as we speak.”

  “To the underground bunker complex in Kosvinsky Kamen?”

  “I’m not at liberty to discuss it, General.”

  “Of course, Pasha. My apologies for asking too much about it.”

  A knock on the door made both men silent as Klimov’s aide came inside bearing a tray with two tall glasses of hot, steaming tea which he quickly placed on the coffee table before departing. Denikin helped himself to another shot of the homemade vodka before he began to sip his tea.

  “As you can see,” Klimov said, “all my men and facilities are at your disposal. So what is it that you need?”

  “Let’s start from the beginning. You sent Moscow a hand-delivered report about two children that you found in the forests just outside of the city.”