"Got a few stragglers on the second floor!" called out Switchplate's voice. In the background, Cooper heard the sound of automatic rifle fire. Someone screamed before the transmission cut off.
"On your left!"
"I see him—take ‘im out!"
“Switching mag–“
Cooper focused on the transmissions from the other squad as he followed behind his own, heading deeper into the bowels of the chalet. The staircase looped around one empty landing and descended further into the darkness where pair of glowing lights lit the bottom of the stairwell.
"Hey, I thought that EMP bomb knocked out all the power?" asked Charlie, somewhere down below in the stairwell.
"Yo Coop, these lights aren't electrical–they’re chemical. Somebody dropped two glow sticks in these bulbs…" announced Jax from the bottom.
Cooper changed frequencies to communicate with Switchplate. “Switchplate, you okay?"
"Yeah," grunted Switchplate. "One of these fuckers grazed my leg, but we got ‘em all. Second floor’s clear."
“Actual, Overwatch—I got movement on the south ridge. Looks like climbers coming up the side. Foot mobiles with weapons."
"Fuck me sideways…" muttered Switchplate. “They sure got reinforcements up here fast.”
“We just walk into a trap?” asked Charlie.
"Take up defensive positions!" ordered Cooper. He glanced down the last few steps to see the rest of his squad stacked up on the door at the base of the stairs. "The HVT’s gotta be behind this door. Think you can handle the climbers?"
"Fuck yeah we can handle these assholes," retorted Switchplate. "But that don't mean I want you to take your time down there…"
Cooper grinned. "I love your pillow talk."
Switchplate laughed and signed off.
Cooper changed frequencies back to his squad. "Full court press, ladies—breach on three. I want flash bangs as soon as the doors open. Ready?"
"Hooyah," replied Charlie. Cooper watched as he pulled a canister off his chest rig.
"On three…two…one," said Cooper. "Breach!"
Jax and Charlie kicked the door at the same time and smashed through cloud of splintered word. They both dropped and rolled out of the line of sight.
"Flash bang out!" called Charlie as he lobbed the stun grenade through the open door.
"Tossing!" announced Jax a split second behind Charlie. Cooper turned from the door and closed his eyes. The last thing he saw was the rest of his team averting their vision. He saw a tremendous flash, even behind his closed eyelids and his HAHO helmet’s auto-opaque visor.
"Go, go, go!" shouted Charlie.
Gunfire erupted as soon as Charlie and Jax dove into the room. Jax hit the floor to the left and Charlie to the right, both of them firing at the stumbling shapes on the far side of the room.
Cooper had a hand on Sparky's back as the team sniper stepped in and fired a short burst from his MP-5 before ducking to the left. Clutch followed Cooper to the right.
The new room had been a guard position. Fifteen feet from the door, a long, low desk sat surrounded by monitors. Behind the desk was another door and to the left, a larger one. Both the metal doors were set in simple cinderblock walls.
One guard already lay dead across the desk, arms hanging limp and dripping blood on the hardwood floor. Blood splattered the wall behind the desk, where two other guards been taken out.
"One more behind the desk," warned Charlie.
"Another one disappeared through that door," added Jax.
“They’re going for help!” announced Cooper.
In answer, the surviving guard raised his gun and fired jihadi-style over the desk.
"Draw his attention—I’ll flank him," offered Sparky.
"Firing!" said Charlie as he peppered the left side of the desk. Cooper trained his own weapon on the desktop, waiting for the guard to appear.
To the right, Sparky ran a few steps and slid, slamming his body against the wall. He aimed and fired a single three-round burst, sending papers into the air like frightened birds. He crouched and disappeared behind the desk. After a moment, he stood, relaxed.
"Clear."
As one, the SEALs rose and took defensive positions around the large steel double doors.
“These may be too thick for the det-cord I have left,” muttered Jax as he ran a hand over the thick, steel door. "Maughan has he rest."
Cooper examined the exposed hinges. “Sparky, break out the give glue.”
COOPER LOOKED DOWN THE long, dimly lit hallway at the wreckage in front of him. His hopes of finding Reginald evaporated. He decided the mission was a complete failure.
"Damn, what a mess,” said Jax.
Cooper sighed and lowered his rifle. "Command, you seein’ this?" Cooper called out.
Static interfered with the transmission, but the message was still clear enough to understand: “Looks like a collapsed tunnel—any signs of life?"
"Negative, Command,” Cooper said as he walked down the tunnel, boots crunching on crumbled rock and plaster. Once-upon-a-time,the walls had been perfectly smooth. The arched ceiling easily reached up to nine feet high.
Cooper turned and looked back at Jax. The tunnel was wide enough for three men to walk abreast. Regularly spaced fluorescent lights had been embedded in the ceiling. Cooper reached out and traced his hand along the wall. The tunnel sloped down at a slight angle, leading deeper into the mountain.
"There's no sign of the medical lab,” observed Jax.
“Then where does—did—this go?” Cooper asked, staring into the murky, clouded distance. As far as his night vision could penetrate, all he saw was rubble and debris.
Cooper approached the cave-in that blocked off the hallway. He knelt and picked up a few of the chunks of rock and concrete, intermingled with broken wire and twisted rebar. Cursing under his breath, he pulled out a small camera and took several pictures of the damage for the debriefing.
“She said this is the only entrance. There should've been at least 25 people working down here,” Charlie observed from the tunnel entrance.
Cooper looked around. "Well, I have to say if anybody's still in there, they aren’t getting out anytime soon…"
“Action’s gettin’ a little stiff topside, Actual," called out Juice from the chalet's roof.
Cooper turned and made his way back from the rubble pile. "Command, Striker 2-1 Actual. Be advised, Team 2 is engaging enemy reinforcements that came up the mountain."
“Copy that, Actual, can you gain access to the lab? The images we’re getting from your helmet-cam look grim.”
Cooper turned and glanced at the pile of rock that blocked the end of the corridor. "Negative, Command—not without some heavy equipment and a lot more men."
"Copy that, Actual, standby one."
Cooper tilted his head back and looked at the ceiling, hands on his hips. Typical. Switchplate's fighting reinforcements topside, the whole reason for the mission is blocked by a pile of rocks, and Command wants me to sit on my thumb.
As Cooper struggled to contain his frustration, he noticed one crack in the ceiling looked wider than the others. He took a closer look. Not only was it wider—it was glowing. He zoomed in and noticed light escape through the crack.
"What the hell is this?” It was too high for Cooper to reach with his hands, so he drew his dive knife and probed the crack. Bits of the ceiling trickled down onto his helmet like chalk. Cooper jumped out of the way, assuming the ceiling was about to cave. When nothing happened, he reached down and picked up a rock. It crumbled easily between his fingers—the rock turned to powder. "That's drywall…" he muttered.
"What you got, Hoss?"
"I don't know,” he said to Jax, “but the ceiling is hollow." Cooper used the barrel of his rifle to expand the hole. He quickly exposed thick bundles of insulated wires. Cooper looked up and down the hallway.
Well, it makes sense. If there's a lab further down there, they’d need data and power…
&
nbsp; Cooper reached up and noticed a large trunk of wires branched off from the main line and disappeared into the wall. Cooper glanced at the sides of the tunnel. It didn't appear to be any different—solid rock, just like the rest of the corridor.
"Something doesn't add up here…" Cooper rapped his fist along the wall, and heard a hollow sound directly underneath where the wires disappeared into the side of the tunnel. "Jax—get over here! We got a hole to make."
"What's the sitrep, Actual?”
Cooper stepped back to allow Jax room to apply a rope of detonation cord along the wall.
"Command, I think I've located a false wall. Could be a door, but I can't figure out how to open it. Got a lot of wires in a false ceiling heading off to the side. Could be something—could be nothing. We'll know in a few seconds. Standby one."
Cooper stacked up on the left side of the explosive, Jax turned and leaned against the right side. "Fire in the hole!" he called out. Jax flipped a switch on the transmitter in his hand and pushed the red button.
Cooper heard the familiar muffled crump and a cloud of dust enveloped the hallway. Not for the first time he was glad he wore a self-contained HAHO suit. Cooper stepped through the hole in the wall before the dust cleared. Another corridor stretched off into the murky distance.
"Command, I think we got something here."
CHAPTER 10
London, England.
VASILY ANDROPOV STEPPED THROUGH his hotel’s massive front doors. He coughed in the stiff breeze that ruffled a few bits of trash down St. Martin’s Lane. Glancing at his watch, he pulled the well-worn coat a little tighter around his shoulders. Catching his reflection in the front door, he resolved his first order of business would be to get a new coat before finding a suitable club for the night's entertainment. He had plenty of money and time to kill before tomorrow morning’s meeting at Onnei’s UK branch.
Perhaps Mother would like some nice fabric…she could sew a dress or make new curtains or something. He frowned. He didn't know the first thing about what his mother would do with a bundle of fabric. Vasily wanted to get her something, but what?
Another problem troubled him: he had no idea where to find the shopping district. London was a huge town, easily dwarfing anything he'd ever seen in Russia. Even Kursk—until today the largest town he’d ever visited—could fit inside a suburb of the British capital.
He’d been so lost in thought he did not notice a black cab approach the curb nearby. The driver said something unintelligible, so Vasily assumed the man wanted to know if he needed a lift. Vasily nodded, his fist at his mouth as he coughed.
"Shopping," Vasily croaked. He cleared his throat and turned the collar up on his old farm coat. English…try English. "If…I wish…shopping." Was that it?
Comprehension crossed the man's face. He nodded and spoke again, jerking his thumb to indicate the street. Vasily frowned and pointed at his jacket. The driver leaned over the seat as Vasily got in the cab and asked something again.
Vasily looked around, unsure what the man was asking him. He understood the word ‘shop’, but little else. He sighed. If only I’d been assigned Paris. At least I would have had a chance at understanding what people are saying.
Vasily spotted an attractive woman across the street as she talked with an old man in a sharp suit. He pointed at her. "Fancy."
The driver turned, took in the pair and flashed a smile at Vasily. He rattled off something and put the snug little car in gear. Vasily nodded his thanks and stifled a sneeze. Cursed doctors and their vaccines…
Vasily sat in the back of the cab and watched as the gray stone buildings blurred around him. The driver weaved in and out of traffic, honking his horn when needed to avoid pedestrians and other cars. More than once, he closed his eyes as a pedestrian stepped out onto the street and narrowly avoided a trip to the hospital. The driver continued talking to Vasily, but he understood little to nothing. He nodded along and tried to smile at what he thought were the appropriate times. As he grunted agreement at the man’s inane rambling, Vasily marveled at the large stone structures and classic architecture of downtown London. The city seemed to sprawl on forever.
Is there no end to this place?
At last, the cab driver pulled up to the curb of a street filled with shops—department stores, dressmakers, tailors—all displaying their wares in well-lit windows. Vasily stared in open-mouthed wonder at the frank display of luxury. Such wealth was largely unknown back in Kursk, with the exception of the local mafia lords.
He reluctantly tore his eyes from the happy shoppers outside and thumbed through a stack of British currency. He examined the numbers on the driver’s fare meter. Hoping he picked the right brightly-colored bill, Vasily handed the driver his money.
The man looked between the money in his hand and Vasily with a furrowed brow. He shook his head and tried to hand the money back. Vasily insisted and refused to take it back.
“Keep it,” he said in Russian. “I feel generous tonight!”
The driver tried again to refuse—a bit half-heartedly—but in the end he relented. Vasily watched as he removed a few of bills before pocketing the rest and handing over the change.
Even through the language barrier, Vasily understood what the man was trying to do. He smiled—for the first time in his life Vasily was able to be financially generous and enjoyed raising a hand to signal the driver to keep the change. A wide smile spread across the driver’s face. He motioned for Vasily to exit the cab and seemed content to wait.
Vasily shook his head. “I don’t know how long I’ll be…”
The driver looked at him askance, the language barrier palpable. At length the man nodded. He pointed at his watch, then pointed at the cab, and finally pointed at the curb. Vasily watched in silence. Then he pointed at Vasily.
He wants to know if he should wait for me! Vasily smiled and nodded. He glanced at his own watch and adjusted for London time. I shouldn’t be out late tonight. I want to make a good impression tomorrow, so that means a good night’s sleep. An hour for shopping and another for dinner…that should do. He pointed at his own watch, held up two fingers and arched an eyebrow.
The cab driver nodded and flipped the switch on his fare meter. A yellow light changed to blinking red on the meter. Vasily exited the vehicle and coughed again. He shuddered and hurried forward, eager to get inside the warmth of the building. He continued to cough and sneeze inside the first store, trying not to wince as people took notice.
These British are scared of the flu? They sit here in the lap of luxury with more resources and bounty than I've ever seen in my entire life and they fear a little sickness? These weaklings would never survive back home. Vasily caught a man staring at him. The taller man nodded stiffly and shuffled past, wrapped in gravitas. He looked weak.
In Russia, only the strong survive.
They fear me the flu. Vasily smiled to himself as he sneezed into his hand before he absently wiped it on his pants. His eye caught the price tag on a skimpy dress. That much? For that? There's hardly enough fabric there for a scarf, let alone a dress. Nyet. He sniffed and cleared his throat as he moved toward the men's department.
An hour and a half later, Vasily emerged from the boutique wearing his new full-length trench coat. He turned up the collar to protect his neck and spotted the cab driver. A coughing fit struck him as he approached the little black car and he doubled over in an attempt to pull air into his lungs. The driver lurched from his car and ran to assist.
"It’s okay," Vasily said through clenched teeth. A cold sweat broke out over his forehead and he failed to hold back another sudden sneeze. The cab driver recoiled and wiped at his face as Vasily apologized profusely.
The cab driver laughed it off and finished cleaning his face with a handkerchief. He said something to Vasily and the smile on his face said there were no hard feelings.
Upon reentering the cab, Vasily made it clear he was hungry. The driver nodded and off they sped into the growing twilight.
Time to eat and then maybe it’s off to bed. My chest feels thick. A good night’s sleep will help. And vodka. Dedushka always said vodka will cure anything that ails a good farmer.
Vasily watched the blurred buildings as exterior lights turned on and London cloaked itself in a sparkling evening gown. He lost track of the statues and ornate buildings bathed in floodlights as they skimmed around parks.
At last they pulled up out front of what looked like an old townhouse. Vasily noticed the people entering the place wore tuxedos and ball gowns. Mortified he would be under dressed and seen as a foreign simpleton, Vasily shook. He shook his shoulders as if he were dancing.
The driver's eyebrow climbed his forehead. He laughed and said something Vasily didn't understand—but the driver did say the word ‘club’, so he nodded enthusiastically.
Almost an hour later, Vasily settled into a comfortable booth at Club Rodina. He belched and looked at the remains of his steak dinner. Full and fortified with his third vodka of the night, Vasily felt better than he had since he'd been hired by Onnei.
He swirled a glass of vodka and surveyed the dance floor. His table vibrated in time with the loud bass. He watched with an amused smile on his face as several dozen scantily dressed women gyrated to the music. All around him, other men and women were watching those on the dance floor.
Vasily knew dancing was out of the question–what dancing he’d experienced had been common Russian folk dancing. Hardly something that would garner him the attention he wanted from girls in a place like this.
He finished the vodka and put the glass down, then signaled his waitress for another round. He hoped it would boost his confidence enough to approach one of the unattended women at the bar. His server walked over with a shy smile on her face and brought him a fresh glass. Vasily took a sip and decided he had the money, he would no longer drink cheap vodka. He grimaced and put the glass down. It was time he drank real vodka.
The waitress asked him a question, and he doubted he would have been able to understand her even if he could hear over the noise. The alcohol in his system had already begun to affect him, so that didn’t help either. Vasily smiled and put his hand over the glass.
Firestorm: Book III of the Wildfire Saga Page 5