Skyfire

by R J Johnson

Ash stopped him, placing a hand on Alex’s chest and looking into his eyes. “It’s not me who needs to believe in you.” He stared at Alex, the message clear. Alex had signed up for some heavy lifting, and he’d better get to it if he wanted to stick around.

  With a nervous gulp, Alex looked down at the equipment harness and began to strap himself in.

  After a few hours of flying over the dark ground below, there was a change in the men’s attitude. One of them stepped up to Ash and showed him something on a screen. Ash took the laptop away from his subordinate and examined the image, typing a quick command on the keyboard.

  “We’re covered on radar?” Ash asked the goateed man.

  “They’ll never see us coming. My guy in DC said their stuff should be disabled by now.”

  “Good,” Ash said, snapping the laptop shut. “Jason!”

  Alex forgot his new codename for a second and didn’t react at first.

  “Jason!” Ash said again, sounding annoyed. Alex realized his friend was calling his new name and moved over to help him.

  “What’s up?” Alex asked.

  Ash looked at him, his eyes narrow, “Get your head in the game, soldier. I need you focused.”

  “Sir,” Alex said, snapping to. Ash was never one to stand on ceremony, but Alex was determined to show him he’d made the right call bringing him along.

  “This is our target.” Ash pointed to an indicator on the laptop screen. The flashing point of light was just off the African coast. “It’s a C-5 Super Galaxy, loaded down with more cash than even our grandchildren will be able to spend.”

  “How much?” Alex asked.

  “The report I have says just over six point six,” Ash replied.

  “Million? Nice…” Alex said, slightly disappointed in the amount.

  “Billion,” Ash corrected.

  Alex swallowed hard and thought about all that money.

  “How do we get to it?”

  “Oh, that’s the easy part,” Ash said with a grin. Alex didn’t like that answer, but decided to roll with it.

  “What’s the hard part?”

  “That’s where you come in, my friend,” Ash said smiling. “We need your expertise to figure out which containers have the cash and create enough confusion so that they don’t know what’s supposed to go where.”

  “A shell game?” Alex asked, starting to get it.

  Ash nodded. “I knew you were the one to bring into this. You’ll mix up the shipping manifests and labels to the point where even the best quartermaster won’t be able to figure out who requested what or where it’s supposed to end up.”

  “Nothing like using the Army’s bureaucracy against itself,” Alex realized.

  “Exactly,” Ash said.

  He pulled a briefcase out from under his seat and handed it to Alex. “Don’t lose this.”

  “What’s in it?” Alex asked, examining the briefcase, “Is it the nuclear football?” He was referring to the briefcase the President took everywhere with him, the one that gave him access to the nuclear launch codes.

  Ash chuckled and shook his head. “No, but it’s about as valuable right now.”

  He opened the briefcase and saw a small laptop, packed neatly with a portable laser printer and stacks upon stacks of blank label paper with pre-assigned bar codes on them.

  “Everything you need in there?” he asked Alex.

  He examined the equipment and nodded. He’d be able to obscure just about anything.

  One of Ash’s men stood and moved his way towards them. “Figure five minutes on target.”

  Ash nodded and looked at Alex again, taking his measure. Alex sat up straight, hoping to exude the bravado he didn’t feel.

  “Are you ready?” Ash asked.

  Alex nodded and swallowed, clearing his eardrums. The plane began descending in preparation for their operation.

  Ash stood and indicated that Alex should follow him. Alex walked behind his friend and mentor, confused at first and uncertain of what they were doing. He figured that they would switch things around at an airport while they were on the ground, but with the way Ash and the men were looking, he was beginning to have his doubts.

  After herding everyone down into the rear of the plane, a bright green light came on, and the men surrounding him put on their goggles. Alex looked at his new friends, alarmed. He really didn’t like where this was going.

  The rear of the plane opened up wide. Gale force winds began blowing through the cramped space, making their already unsteady footing even less certain. Ash ignored the wind, hooked a tow line onto the top of the plane and released the brake.

  A long piece of metal tow rope began feeding its way out the rear of their plane door. Alex watched as the line began to float aimlessly behind their plane. Nodding in apparent satisfaction, Ash looked at his collection of tough guys.

  “All right, fellas, who’s up first?”

  The burly man with the long goatee stepped forward, and Ash helped secure his harness and line to the tow rope. Looking everything over, Ash nodded, and the burly man stepped up to the edge of the plane.

  “Geronimo!” the man shouted as he leapt out the back and slid down to the end of the tow rope. Two more men stepped forward and hooked their lines onto the tow rope, lowering themselves carefully after their friend, feeding the line through the hooks attached to their harnesses.

  Alex watched them as they floated down the rope, looking impossible as they hovered in mid-air. Suddenly, there was a lot of turbulence as the plane entered the Super Galaxy’s wake.

  “Stay frosty, boys,” Ash shouted over the rushing wind, “this is the tricky part!”

  Two more men jumped out of the plane, using the steel cable to keep them on course. The goateed man aimed his body towards the other plane that now loomed below him, surfing the wind back and forth, all the while keeping his eyes on the prize.

  He landed on the wing of the plane, his feet skittering across the smooth surface, barely able to hang on. At the last second, he found his footing and managed to attach the end of the tow rope to one of the many eyehooks on the ceiling of the C-5 (normally used for maintenance). Securing the connection, he waved his friends down.

  One by one, they all floated down the line, hooking themselves solidly onto the plane’s surface, crawling all over like ants that had discovered a particularly tasty morsel.

  Ash turned to Alex and indicated that it was his turn to hook onto the tow rope. Alex swallowed and double checked the hooks that secured the briefcase to his chest. He attached his harness to the tow rope and looked at Ash one final time.

  “Don’t worry!” Ash shouted over the gale force winds. “I’ll be right behind you!”

  Alex nodded and jumped.

  It was like no other feeling he’d ever had in the world. He was floating and falling at the same time. The harness was the only thing keeping him alive, and he held on for dear life, letting the natural incline of the tow rope swing him gently down toward the Galaxy’s roof.

  The goateed man nearly caught Alex, but he ended up coming in too fast. He landed far harder than he meant to. The goateed man helped Alex up, latching his line to his harness the second he landed on the roof.

  Ash landed right behind him (with a lot more grace, Alex was disappointed to note) and looked at him with a face that asked if he was okay. Alex nodded.

  The men on the roof crouched down, keeping a low profile as to cut down on the wind. Alex knew that they couldn’t last long up there, so he hoped there was a plan to keep moving before they ended up with a long trip down to the cold Atlantic below.

  The goateed man punched in an emergency access code to a hatch located on top of the C-5’s main cabin. It opened with a pop and a hiss, the hole slowly widening as the man turned a crank.

  Finally, he got the hatch open and waved the men in. One by one, they dropped into the hatch and down from the roof of the Super Galaxy. Alex never felt so relieved as when he heard the dull echo of his combat boots hitti
ng the metal of the airplane deck.

  Ash followed him in, and Goat (as Alex had nicknamed the burly man) followed afterwards, cutting the tow rope to free their plane from the hijacked aircraft. He reached up and pulled the hatch shut, sealing them inside without anyone catching on.

  “Everyone on board?” Ash asked as he surveyed his people. He nodded as the count came up correct. “Good, let’s get to work.”

  They moved down the corridor towards the stairs, which normally led to this model’s cargo hold. Sure enough, the hold was there, and the men entered two by two.

  Alex opened up the laptop and took out the portable scanner, which he could use to determine the crates’ contents.

  “We’re looking for crates labeled as seed corn,” Ash told him. Alex nodded, just as two of the men shoved past him on their way to the cockpit and pilot’s cabin.

  Alex knew he should have been scanning and concentrating on his task, but he couldn’t help but watch the two stand next to the cockpit door and enter, their silenced pistols drawn.

  He heard two other men shout, followed by a pair of muted gunshots.

  As the team seized control of the cockpit, three of their cohorts ran down the stairs, hoping to ambush the three guards who stood over the shipment of money. Unfortunately, there’d been no way to muffle the opening of the hatch, and their silencers weren’t quite as silent as the movies made them out to be. The three guards drew their guns and greeted the intruders with a full barrage, sending them ducking for cover.

  Ash swore and turned, pointing to the crates. “Stick to the plan! Find the money!”

  Alex nodded and began scanning the nearby crates as the gun battle raged below him. He heard his new…well, he couldn’t call them friends…allies, he supposed… shooting back, while the men in the cockpit struggled to steady the plane.

  “FUCK!” Ash screamed. He pulled his radio down. “SITREP!”

  A bullet ricocheted three inches from Alex’s eyes, stinging his left ear. He ducked.

  “Three tangos down!” the goateed man shouted up to Ash. “Spencer and Jones didn’t make it!”

  Alex heard Ash cursing under his breath.

  “Do we have the plane?”

  The man in the cockpit radioed back an affirmative.

  “Good. Keep it on course, get changed and don’t deviate from the plan. We’ll take care of the bodies; you just stick to your orders.”

  As the guards sent out another volley, Ash stood, resolve etched on his face. He strode down the stairs, ignoring the rounds exploding around his head. Raising his MP5, he began firing in three-round bursts. A chunk of wood burst out from the cargo container and splattered Ash with splinters. He ignored it and continued to fire until the holdouts at the end of the corridor dropped dead.

  The holdouts, Alex thought. Poor young boys, who’d only been doing their job, killed by men who wore the same uniform they did. White hot rage boiled up under his skin. What the hell are these people doing?

  He grabbed Ash’s arm. “What the fuck, Ash? You said no one was going to die!”

  “Not now!” Ash barked. He moved down the corridor to join the men down in the cargo hold. Furious at being pushed off, Alex followed his friend and saw the men moving the three dead sentries behind some stacks towards the rear of the plane.

  Alex looked again at Ash and saw a different person, someone he’d never known existed. He had no words. He didn’t know anything about this new Ash, but he did know the gravity of the situation he was in.

  And if he wanted to survive, he knew he’d better get to work.

  “Where are the labels?” Ash yelled.

  Alex didn’t react. He only continued to look down at the cargo hold, where the men were opening up random boxes looking for the money. From behind the stacks where they’d stashed the bodies, Alex saw swelling pools of blood.

  “Get their uniforms off!” Ash screamed to his men. “And find that goddamn money now!”

  Pushing down the urge to vomit, Alex decided to focus on the mission. He was here to get his slice of 6.6 billion dollars. There would be plenty of time to mourn those kids later.

  Alex darted through the stacks, working quickly, scanning each crate and slapping a new label on each one. Where supplies had been meant for Rammstein, they’d now be diverted to Okana. Supplies bound for the Green Zone in Baghdad were heading for the Korean DMZ.

  Every time he found a cargo container labeled “seed corn,” Alex would tear the label off and spray a bright orange X on the sides for the other men. The other men took those crates and began maneuvering them towards the back of the cargo plane, using the same heavy hydraulic jacks that had loaded them in.

  “Time?!” Ash called out.

  “Two minutes to drop zone!” another man shouted.

  Ash looked at Alex. “I hope you found ‘em all.”

  Alex hoped so too.

  The men began strapping cargo parachutes to the containers Alex had separated from the rest and were putting the final touches on everything. Alex, for his part, was printing out and slapping labels on various containers, finishing up the confusing manifest.

  “You’re ditching the money over the Atlantic?” he asked Ash, printing out another label and slapping it on a nearby box.

  “It’ll get where it needs to go,” Ash said, sounding confident. “And we don’t have time for stupid questions!”

  Alex ignored the rebuke and worked faster. He scanned and reprinted several labels, signing and copying the script of the quartermaster who had released the cargo to the pilots.

  “The manifest, sir!” Goat said to Ash, handing a large set of papers to him. Ash snatched them and handed them over to Alex.

  “Fix this to say they only took off with 18 crates instead of the 26 it has now.”

  Alex nodded and began to get to work, fixing everything as quickly as he dared. He knew a hundred different investigators would scrutinize the manifest for any possible flaws, so he had to make it look perfect.

  “Get those rear doors open. We’ve got 30 seconds ‘til we have to start ditching the cargo!” Ash barked.

  Alex worked even faster. He wiped the sweat from his brow as he carefully copied everything as it had originally appeared, with the exception of the eight missing cargo containers. By the time anyone realized that the shipment was missing, they’d be long gone.

  Or so he hoped.

  The winds started up again, whirling around the cargo hold as stray pieces of paper and trash began to fly around the interior.

  Ash turned to three of his men. “You three stay with the pilots! Stick to the plan and get to the rally point as soon as you’re clear. Your orders ought to give you cover after dropping off the cargo to fly to Rammstein.”

  “See you at the rally point, Ash!” one of the three men shouted. Ash nodded and turned to Alex.

  “Ready to get off this bucket?” Ash asked him.

  Alex nodded. Ash handed him a parachute, which he quickly wrestled into. A green light came on, and the three men began pushing one of the heavy cargo containers out of the hatch.

  “Help me!” Ash said to Alex. He finished strapping on the parachute and got behind one of the containers. Fortunately, they were on wheels, so it was a simple matter to roll them down the inclined ramp.

  Container after container fell out of the rear of the plane, their chutes deploying the instant they fell out over the inky waters of the Atlantic.

  Finally, all eight containers were floating down to the ground safely. Alex watched as the Special Forces men tossed the dead sentries out after them.

  The dead men disappear into the night. Alex wondered what his father would say.

  Just finish the mission, he thought.

  “Time to go Alex!” Ash said, then saluted, dashed down the hatch and jumped.

  “Better go now, or else you’ll never catch up,” Goat growled.

  Alex decided not to stick around. He jumped clear out of the plane, pulling his parachute’s cord at the firs
t possible second. The parachute snapped open and jerked him back, then eased him into a quiet descent.

  He floated down in the cool night air, thinking again of the poor kids’ faces. No matter how Ash spun it, he’d helped murder innocents, and all the water in the Atlantic Ocean couldn’t ever wash that away.

  It barely even registered in Alex’s mind that he was a multi-millionaire now. He tried to think about the money and everything he wanted to do with it, but no matter how much luxury he imagined, the whole operation seemed just as pointless as the damn stupid war had been from the very beginning. All based on lies and promises no one could keep.

  At least he was free… and all it had cost was his soul.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  They looked at him as they would a stranger. It was exactly what he’d feared all along. They were judging him.

  And he didn’t blame them at all.

  Emily was the first to break the silence.

  “What happened next, Alex?” Emily asked.

  He sighed. It wasn’t really important to the story how they got the money out of the ocean. A yacht the size of the house he grew up in had been parked nearby, and they had spent the night trawling the waters for the containers – which, thanks to their buoyancy, had been bobbing innocently in the middle of the Atlantic.

  They really didn’t need to know what happened after they’d recovered the cargo, Alex decided.

  “After we got the money, we got to the rally point, and Ash told me we had to wait for the heat to die down,” Alex said, hanging his head, feeling the shame run through him again. “Somehow, that turned into six years of working as a mercenary for one of the worst people I’ve ever met.”

  He looked up in earnest to his friends. “I swear, if I had known, I never would have done what he’d asked me for, but it seemed…”

  “Like a good idea at the time,” Scott finished for him. His mouth looked heavy with sadness – maybe for losing the friend he’d thought he ‘d known, Alex pondered, or maybe because Scott knew him best, knew how bad he must be feeling, and didn’t see the point in twisting the knife.

  Emily wasn’t so kind.

  “How many people did you kill?” she asked, her eyes narrowed.