J. J. SHOOK HIS head, trying to clear it of the buzzing. His vision was coming back faster than he expected, most likely because he slammed his eyelids shut once the M84 slipped from his hand. It didn’t help his ears, but it reduced the shock of the brilliant magnesium/ammonia sulfate light burst.
His head hurt, his legs felt rubbery, and his internal organs felt like they were on the verge of liquefying. It took a moment for him to realize the darkness around him was on the outside of his eyeballs. The lights were out. He reached for his night vision goggles.
He wobbled forward, still shaky from the flash-bang. It did to him what he wanted it to do to the hostiles. Maybe someday he would feel sorry for them, but not now. He had a team to lead.
He felt someone—Hawkeye?—switch off his tactical light. Fine with him. He had enough of bright lights for awhile.
Through the NVGs he saw Jose and Crispin ahead of him, moving along the hall as he had been doing. They stepped over the body of the man who tried to spread J. J.’s brains on the wall. He caught up to them in several short, but quick steps. His addled mind wandered for a moment.
Focus.
Tess. The twins—
He bit his tongue. The pain brought him back to the moment.
J. J. could see where the hall gave way to an open work area on the east side of the building. He hated this. Offices had too many doors, every one could conceal a heavily armed man. That was the thing about spec ops, they seldom got to choose the field of play; it was chosen for them.
Straightening, J. J. could see the other side of the hall. Aliki, Pete, and Nagano were moving into the area, guns pointed in the direction most likely to harbor killers.
WHAT WAS IT J. J. called this? A true suicide mission? Aliki thought he was being overly dramatic. Maybe not.
He could see J. J.’s unit on the other side of the hall. He did a finger countdown. When he retracted the last finger, he stepped into the open area and knew the others were with him. Two men stood at the far wall, next to a set of windows.
Aliki raised his weapon—
Everything went from green to yellow as the lights in the area came on suddenly. The NVG which amplified low light did the same with bright light. Aliki couldn’t see.
Gunfire, loud, shots made by the two men.
Gunfire, muted, shots made by the team.
Aliki pulled the trigger and felt the M4 in his hand vibrate.
J. J. WAS THE last into the room, one second after the lights came on, giving him that one second to snap up the NVG. He saw Aliki drop to his fanny, his weapon blazing. Nagano spun and let out a howl. All continued to return fire. J. J. entered the fray with hesitation. He flicked the trigger, aiming at the men who had the advantage of knowing the room—and better sight.
The room was filled with laboratory-style work tables that reminded J. J. of his days in high school chemistry. To the right was a wall of glass, or most likely, a wall of plastic. He didn’t have time to take in the details, just the impression of a storage area with a single door—a door standing open.
Rounds fired by his men shattered windows and punched holes in the ceiling. One of the shooters popped up from behind a lab table. He looked comfortable with a weapon, he looked angry, he looked like a man ready to die of a cause. He also saw something hanging from the man’s neck.
It took a second to process: the man was wearing a cylinder. A bomb? No—a canister, like the one described to him by Colonel Weidman.
“They’re wired,” J. J. shouted into the radio. “Fall back—”
Something small, but felt like a sledgehammer, hit his protective vest at the shoulder, spinning him. The round skipped past his ear. He snapped his gaze back to the gunmen. One rose again and found a bullet waiting for him. It caught him in the hollow of the throat. He stumbled back into the wall behind him. Several rounds hit the second man and he tumbled over.
“Cease fire. Cease fire.” J. J. scooted forward, his weapon aimed at one man’s head. Jose moved to the other. J. J. thought he was hearing something; something too indistinct to cut through the buzzing in his head.
Then he heard Jose swear. A glance showed Jose draw his Nimravus knife and cut the canister from the corpse of the attacker. “Out! Out! Move!”
J. J. stepped back as Jose sprinted past him and through the door to what J. J. earlier assumed was a storage area. Jose moved through the open door and slammed it shut.
CHAPTER 32
J. J. REACHED FOR the door, and the motion sent ripples through his shoulder where the bullet had glanced off the body armor. There was no penetration but the impact made his arm feel as if it were hanging by a thread.
“No!” Jose still held the canister, his hand over the nick caused by one of the scores of bullets flying through the lab area. “Get the men out of here, Boss. I don’t know how much of this junk leaked out.”
“I’m not leaving you.” J. J. pressed his hand to the plastic wall separating the storage area from the room in which the battle took place. Behind Jose, J. J. could see tables, two large, aquarium-like boxes with manipulator arms no doubt used to handle the really dangerous material—like the material seeping into Jose’s body.
“Yes, you are. You need to evac now.”
“We don’t leave men behind, Doc. You know that.”
Aliki stepped close. “All combatants confirmed dead, Boss.”
“Joker, get Boss and the others out of here. Do it now.” The medic’s voice was muted by the transparent security wall. Aliki cocked his head to the side. “What?”
“Boss, we got company.” Pete stood by the window looking at the street three stories below. “Got a mob moving in.”
“Armed?”
“Roger that.”
J. J. took two seconds to think. “Secure the stairwells. No one gets through the door. Clear?”
“Yes, Boss.” Pete and Crispin headed down one end of the hall; Nagano, after giving Aliki a slap on the shoulder, started down the other.
This mission started with all the elements necessary for complete failure. The conditions were still in place.
Jose pressed himself to the door. For a moment J. J. thought he was moving closer to be better heard, then he realized the obvious: Jose was blocking the door. “Boss, I appreciate what you’re doing, but if this stuff is as bad as I think it is, then I’m dead already. I died the moment I grabbed the canister. I-I . . .” He coughed. “I don’t know how much got out. I got to it right away, but . . . I just don’t know.” He grimaced as he removed his helmet and black balaclava.
“Doc, what is it?”
“Please. Leave. You gotta get the team out. Please, Boss. Don’t make me beg.”
For the first time since meeting Jose in Basic Training, he saw tears in the man’s eyes—eyes redder than tears could make them. His eyes were hemorrhaging. J. J. radioed Pete. “Junior, I need the SAT phone. Now.”
Pete emerged from the hall in dead run. “Here, Boss.”
“Get Colonel Weidman on the horn.”
A few moments later, Pete handed the phone to J. J. “Colonel, I need an evac team asap. I need a rescue team with chem suits. I have a man who’s been exposed.”
“Give me a sit rep.”
J. J. did, fighting back tears and anger.
“Expect a Chinook in ten, get your men to the roof. You’ll be making a SPIES evac.” The Special Purpose Infiltration and Exfiltration System sounded flashy but mostly it meant J. J. and team would soon be dangling beneath a massive helicopter. A definite thrill ride.
“Understood, sir.” He switched off the phone and handed it back to Pete.
“What did he say, Boss?”
“He was very specific. He said you and the others are to go to the roof. A helo is inbound.”
“Did the locals lift the no-overf
ly ban?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t ask. Tell Joker to prepare the team for a SPIES lift.”
“Yes, Boss. Let’s go.”
“I’m staying here.”
Pete petrified in place. “Excuse me, Boss?”
“You heard me. Get out of here.”
“Not without you, Boss.” Pete set his jaw as if his words were the final comment on the matter.
“Junior . . . Pete, I’ve never known you to disobey an order. This is an order. Get your butt in gear.”
Pete hesitated. Started to turn. Stopped. Turned back to J. J. and opened his mouth, then shut it again. He keyed his radio. “Joker, Junior. Boss has ordered us to the roof for exfil.”
“Roger that.”
Pete walked away from J. J. looking as if his boots had turned to concrete.
“Please, Boss, please go. The longer you stay in this room the greater the danger to you.”
“Yeah, I figured that.” J. J. looked into his friend’s face and saw the faces of Jose’s wife, Lucy, and the faces of each of his four children.
He touched the wall then leaned his head against it. “I’m so sorry, Jose. I’m so, so, sorry. This isn’t right. You sacrificed yourself for the team, for me.”
Jose chuckled weakly. “I always wanted to go out by falling on a hand grenade. I guess this is close enough.”
When J. J. looked up, he saw blood running from Jose’s eyes and nose. He also saw blisters the size of dimes forming on his face and growing as J. J. watched. “There’s got to be something in your med kit.”
Jose shook his head. Coughed. Leaned against the door, this time for support. “Not . . . for this. I didn’t . . . pack for chem warfare, just for your usual . . . gun battle and bombs.” He slid down the wall until he was seated.
“Stay with me, Jose. Do you hear me? I’m giving you a direct order. You will stay alive.”
“Yes, Boss. Whatever you . . . say.”
The canister slipped from Jose’s hand and rolled on the smooth floor. J. J. could see a stream of white liquid pour from the nick in the metal container. “Please God, please, please, please . . .”
Jose stopped responding. Blood mixed with a clear fluid oozed from his ears and mouth, drying slowly on the skin.
J. J. removed his helmet and balaclava. “I let you down, Buddy. I blew it. You were my responsibility. I should have planned better; should have anticipated better; shoulda . . .”
The words and thoughts were ridiculous. Soldiers lost buddies. It had always been that way. It would never change. Neither would the temptation for team leaders to second-guess themselves. They came to rescue an American woman, a female soldier, a diplomat, and it cost them another life—the life of a friend.
An unwanted image floated to the churning surface of his mind: the photos they left behind at Manas. “For them and for those like them, we do this.”
The windows of the building began to shake, then the sound of two powerful rotors pressed through concrete and glass. The helo was here.
“Boss, Joker. Our ride is here.”
J. J. didn’t move.
“Boss, Joker. Do you read?”
“Yeah, I got ya.”
“The pilots brought a few Rangers with them. They just fast-roped on the roof and set up a perimeter. The crowd got sight of the helo and the fresh troops and are dispersing.”
“Understood, Joker. Is there a bio-chem team?”
“Yeah, Boss, some men in funny suits are headed your way.”
“Understood.”
After a long pause. “You coming up? There’s another helo inbound.”
“I’ll take the next ride.”
“Boss, you need to be up here.”
“I’m staying with Doc.” He spoke the words with finality.
The radio stayed quiet and J. J. used the time to clear his eyes of tears. A few moments later four men in full body suits and face masks appeared like aliens out of a sci-fi movie. Four other men followed: Pete, Crispin, Nagano, and Aliki.
“I ordered you men to the roof,” J. J. snapped.
“Yes, yes you did,” Pete said, “and you did it with flair.”
“Then get back up on the roof.”
“Yes, Boss. Will do.” They continued into the room. “Just as soon as the team is assembled. The whole team, I mean.”
“You are defying a direct order.” J. J. tried to sound furious but the fire in his belly had turned to ashes.
Crispin looked at Pete then the others. “Yeah, that’s pretty much what we’re doing. At least, I think that’s what we’re doing.”
“Yep,” Joker said. “I’ve defied orders before and it felt just like this.”
J. J. wanted to be angry, to fly off the handle, to apply his boot to four butts, but he couldn’t raise the rage. Instead, he felt admiration.
“Back away,” one of the men in suits said, then entered the secure room. They had to lean into the door hard enough to move Jose’s body. It seemed the final indignity.
The men carried a stretcher which they left outside. They moved with purpose and with obvious practice. Then they began to rush. It took several minutes to lift Jose’s body into a protective suit and another minute to carry him to the stretcher. J. J. was surprised to see their haste. Surprised until he heard, “He’s still alive.”
When they reached the roof, a metal rescue litter was on its way down from the helo. Jose was transferred to it and slowly raised to the helicopter, where another man dressed in a safety suit guided the device into the open, side door of the Chinook. A moment later a harness on a line descended to the rooftop. J. J. donned his helmet and started for it, but one of the men who took Jose’s body held up a hand.
“Sorry, but you’ll have to take the next one. This bird was considered contaminated the moment your man was loaded onboard.”
One of the other men slipped into the harness and was lifted skyward. In turn, each suited man ascended to the helo which peeled away.
The next Chinook hovered over the building, its two rotors pounding the roof and the men on it. A rope with a series of harnesses tumbled out the side, and J. J. did something he hadn’t done since Ranger training: Hooked himself to the rope, as did each of the men in his unit. The half dozen Rangers on the roof did the same with a second rope.
Once certain his men were properly secured, he nodded to one of the Rangers who radioed the helo.
J. J. and the others were lifted from the roof and left dangling in the prop wash as the helo rose and started for Manas Air Base. Below, he saw a caravan of military vehicles he assumed belonged to the Kyrgyzstan military. What was in the building—bodies and biochem—was now their problem. As the helicopter moved north, J. J. saw rioters, protesters, and looters. Buildings and cars burned. The further north they went, the more carnage he saw. The city had lost its mind.
Not one of the people below could know how close they came to being exposed to a substance that would leave them dead in the streets. J. J. prayed there were no other canisters out there.
TO J. J., LUCY looked as if she hadn’t slept in weeks. Her normal makeup and perfectly styled hair was absent. The fact he was seeing her over a video conference system bridging half the world didn’t help.
“He’s better, Lucy. The doctors think he’ll pull through just fine, although they don’t know if there will be long-lasting effects.” He hated being that honest. What he wanted to say was Jose was outside playing basketball, but that would be a lie.
“Is he conscious?”
He rubbed the skin of his hands which felt slightly oily from the decontamination cleaning he endured. “Yes. He does nothing but criticize me and talk about you and the kids.”
“Pain. Is he in much pain?”
For a brief second, J. J
. thought about lying, but he had moral objections to doing so—that, and he was a lousy liar. He was never able to tell a fib and be believed. “Some, but not as much as I would expect. The doctors have him on morphine and other things I don’t understand. He sleeps a lot.”
Lucy wiped at her eyes. “Where is he now?”
“He’s being airlifted to Germany for more advanced treatment. My brother will be calling you soon. He’s arranging for a flight so you can visit him. Can you get someone to watch the kids?”
“Can I bring the children?”
“No, I’m sorry . . . It would be best they not see him. His skin is still recovering from the blisters. I’m told those are minor things.”
“I see. Yes, my mother will take care of the children. Do you think he’ll come home with me?”
J. J. shrugged. “I really don’t know, Lucy. That’s up to the doctors. My guess is, he’ll be in the hospital for several weeks, but then I’m just a soldier, my medical knowledge ends with Band-Aids.” He leaned closer to the camera as if he could whisper in Lucy’s ear. “I want you to know he saved not only the lives of the team members but probably thousands of lives of others. He is a true example of what Jesus said, ‘Greater love has no man than to lay down his life for his friends.’ He was willing to do that without hesitation.”
“He has always been my hero.” More tears in Lucy’s eyes.
“Mine too, Lucy. Mine too.”
J. J. TURNED THE video conference center over to the rest of team to call family and assure them that, like Mark Twain, their deaths had been exaggerated. He was certain no one would tell how close they came to fulfilling the news media prophecy. He was the last to make a call.
Tess looked more beautiful than he had ever seen her. “You’re looking good, kid.”
“You too. Especially now that I know you’re alive.”
“I heard about the misinformation. I’m sorry.”
“Why? Planning your funeral was fun. I got a pink coffin for you.”
“I always did look good in pink.”
“Of course, now I have to cancel all those dates I made with other men.”
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