“Don’t stop,” Cummings said. “You’ve stopped them from killing us for the moment.”
Vincenzo slipped the whistle out of his mouth just long enough to say, “I’m going to try something.”
Vincenzo desperately tried to recall the signals he had heard the trainers use. He tried a series of short tweets, then long ones, and finally, a mix of short and long, gauging the reactions. The Centurions just stood there, mesmerized. Vincenzo finally stopped blowing and waited. For what seemed like an eternity, none of them moved. The Centurions seemed confused. And why wouldn’t they be since Vincenzo’s audible signals were all made up.
Suddenly, Alpha locked eyes on Vincenzo’s shoulder. Vincenzo froze, afraid the slightest move might provoke the Centurion. Alpha moved slowly toward Vincenzo. When the creature got close, he raised a massive paw and held it out before him. To Sal Vincenzo, it looked like a spear aimed at his heart. He was too terrified to blow into the whistle again. It dropped from his dry mouth and hung by its red lanyard around his neck. Cummings looked on, sure his teammate was about to be skewered. He wondered if it would have been better to die first instead of witnessing the end that would eventually be his own.
“Schmidt? This is Black. Do you read me?”
“Loud and clear, over,” Schmidt replied from the Black Hawk hovering high above the forest near the rear of the building.
“I want you to drop Rossi only, I repeat, drop Rossi only, at the rear of the building, then move to Graham’s position and hold. You got that?”
“Drop Rossi at the rear, then hold over Graham’s position.”
“Correct. Go ahead and execute.”
“On my way,” Schmidt acknowledged, then he called Ruiz in the cargo cabin. “Ruiz. You got that? Kick Rossi out.”
Ruiz yelled, “Rossi! You hear that?” Rossi sat on the bench seat next to Williams.
“Yeah, I heard. Lucky me.”
Williams thumped his thumb against his chest. “No! Lucky me! Have fun sliding into that mess down there.”
“Why am I always on rope duty?” Rossi said. “Black knows I hate rope duty.” Rossi scooted his butt up to the open door, and hung his legs over the side. He grabbed the rope and nodded to Ruiz that he was ready.
“Hey, Rossi!” Williams shouted. “Watch you don’t get an evergreen up your ass on the way down!” He broke out in laughter. Rossi shook his head, then dropped out of sight. As soon as Rossi was safely on the ground and free of the rope, Ruiz pulled it back in and coiled it on the cabin floor.
“Schmidt! One away and on the ground!” Ruiz said into his helmet mike. Schmidt nodded over at Perry, then increased power and lifted the helicopter over the trees.
“Black, Rossi is on the ground. We are moving to Graham’s location now, over,” Perry radioed.
“Understood,” Black replied. “Buzz them on the way, bounce them. Let them know we’re out here.”
“My pleasure.” A grin spread across Schmidt’s face.
“Sonofabitch!” Foster yelled over the deafening noise as the Black Hawk hovered directly over the main building. What the hell are these guys doing? He was answered by a thump that shook the structure. Had men just dropped onto the roof? “Jack!” he bellowed. Another thump shook the room.
“Yeah!” Jack ran into the room.
Foster leaned in close and hollered, “Check with Serrafino and Robinson upstairs and find out if they can see anything. Tell them to be ready for drop-ins! Go, go, go!”
Jack bounded up the steps two at a time. The building’s old windows rattled as Jack scanned the parking lot from behind the curtains. Dirt and dust thrown up by the helicopter’s downwash swirled in the parking lot, restricting his vision. What are these bastards up to?
A moment later, Jack came tearing down the staircase just as another tremor shot through the building. He stumbled and fell against the wall halfway down, grabbing the handrail to steady himself. Regaining his footing, he rushed to Foster. “They don’t see anything up there! All they can hear is the helicopter. Serrafino said he thinks they’re bouncing the landing gear on the roof to shake us up or divert our attention!”
It just might be working, Foster thought. One more good thump and then the noise began to fade. Foster peeked out the front window again. He couldn’t see the helicopter, but it was clear they were moving off.
Vincenzo stood rock steady with his back against the tree, his eyes closed, ready to meet his maker. He didn’t need to see the end coming. He waited. And waited. It shouldn’t take this long to die, he thought. He could hear the heavy breathing and grunts from Alpha. The Centurion had to be right in front of him by now, almost face to face. Just do it, damn you!
Overcome by frustration, he opened his eyes. The big beast stood in front of him. His eyes were level with its fur-covered chest. In a moment of clarity, he noticed things, like the blood matting Alpha’s fur, the huge paw rising slowly again, a sharp claw pointing at him, a small strip of bloody, black material skewered on one of Alpha’s claws that had to be a piece of Graham’s fatigues. Graham. It was hard to believe that he was now little more than a steaming pile of chopped meat.
Sal Vincenzo took a deep, ragged breath, then closed his eyes.
Hail Mary, full of grace...
He felt the tip of one of the large claws contact his right shoulder and push.
The Lord is with thee...
He braced himself for the pain of dying.
It never came. He felt the pressure of the claw on his shoulder lessen, as if it was pulling away. He heard more grunts and low growls.
Kurt Cummings tried to make sense of what he saw. He thought Alpha would have sliced Sal up by now. What was holding the creature’s attention so intensely? What was keeping Sal Vincenzo alive? He watched as the Centurion kept poking a claw against the multi-colored patch on Vincenzo’s shoulder.
Recollection bubbled to the surface of his memory, pushing through the cloud of fear and pain. Recognizing the United States flag had been a part of the Centurions’ programming! They had been trained to identify the U.S. flag as a sign of a friend. But why had they attacked the trainers? They wore the same U.S. flag patches. No! The Centurions had been taught to attack anyone who pointed a weapon at them. The trainers had pointed their tranquilizer guns when the Centurions broke rank and ran down the trespassers. That was why, it had to be! Seeing Graham holding a weapon on them was Graham’s undoing also. And Graham’s black fatigues had no patches, not even the U.S. flag.
“Friend, friend,” said Cummings calmly.
Alpha stopped and looked at him. Vincenzo’s eyes opened. “Kurt? What—”
“Shhhhh...” Cummings whispered soothingly. He slid his fatigue top in front of him, prominently displaying the U.S. flag on its right shoulder. He pointed to it. “Friend, friend,” he said in a gentle tone. “Say it, Sal, say it.”
Vincenzo did as Cummings asked. “Friend, friend.”
Alpha looked him in the eye.
“Black! Black! This is Popavich!”
“Popavich! Where are you? What’s going on? Is Graham okay?”
“I don’t see Graham, and you won’t believe what’s going on.” Black could tell Popavich was trying to keep his voice low. “It’s them. They’re here. All of them!”
“Who’s there?” Black asked.
“The creatures!” Popavich hissed. “They’re all here standing around with two of the army guys. Looks like one of the guys is wounded. And I don’t see Graham anywhere. Jesus, I swear these guys are trying to talk to the creatures!”
“Have they seen you?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Stay there and keep your ears on,” Black ordered. “Williams will rendezvous with you. Hold your position no matter what! Do you understand?”
“Yeah,” he answered, “but I’m not gonna lie. If these damn things rush me, I’m outta here!”
“Just hold your goddamn position and wait for Williams,” Black ordered. “You should be able to ho
ld that position together.”
“Hurry up!” Popavich said.
Black contacted the UH-60 as it continued to harass the people in the resort by banging its landing gear on the roof. “Schmidt, this is Black.”
“Go.”
“Drop Williams at my position immediately.”
“Copy that. Be there in a second,” Schmidt radioed back. “We’re getting low on fuel.”
“Understood,” Black said. “Once Williams is on the ground head back to BoDex and fill her up. Stay there until I call for you.”
From his position next to the Humvee, Black watched as the helicopter left its spot over the top of the resort and approached him. He was tempted to head over to Popavich and take control himself but thought better of abandoning his position. They were spread way too thin as it was. Patience, patience...
Ruiz leaned toward Williams and shouted, “Your turn on the rope!” He jerked his thumb toward the open cargo door, then kicked the coiled rope out. Williams grabbed the rope and checked out the terrain below, then swung out and dropped to the parking lot.
Black spread a map out on the hood of the Humvee. He tapped a fingertip on Williams’s destination. “Popavich should be here. Get in there fast and hold that position.”
“Any sign of Graham?”
“No. Popavich said he’s got eyes on two of Foster’s men, one of them injured, and the Centurions are in there too, but no Graham.”
Williams patted his submachine gun. “I’m not worried. I saw Collins take one of them out pretty easy with one of these.”
“Hold your fire until you hear from me,” Black said.
“Unless I don’t have a choice.”
“If you fire that weapon it better be because death is kicking your door down,” Black growled. “Now get going.” Williams took off at a dead run, vanishing into the foliage.
Vincenzo helped Cummings to his feet and stood next to him, supporting him.
“Sal, give me the whistle. I want to try something,” Cummings said. “And do it slow. No sudden moves.”
Vincenzo slowly lifted the red lanyard over his head, then looped it over Cummings’s head. Vincenzo stared at Alpha the entire time saying, “Friend, friend, friend.”
“Get us over to what’s left of Graham,” Cummings said, “and move slow. Everything is slow until we get them to trust us.” The men moved as one to Graham’s torn up corpse. Cummings blew softly on the whistle, producing light wispy tones.
They finally stood over Graham’s remains. “Here goes nothing.” Cummings pointed to himself and said, “Friend, friend,” then pointed to Vincenzo and repeated, “Friend, friend.” He brought his hand down in a tomahawk chop directed at Graham’s remains and growled, “Enemy, enemy.” A few more times and the creatures began to grunt.
“Kurt?” Vincenzo said.
“I think maybe they understand. We’re still alive, right?”
Williams found Popavich. They hid behind dense foliage and observed the bizarre sight of a wounded army guy blowing a whistle and motioning to the creatures. It was a scene right out of a sci-fi movie. Williams and Popavich did not have the advantage of knowing the details of the Centurion project, otherwise they might have understood.
“What’s he pointing at?” Popavich whispered.
Williams fingered the focus wheel on the binoculars, trying to get a sharper image. “It looks like...oh, Christ...I think it’s...I think it might be Graham or what’s left of him.” Williams spoke softly into his mike. “Black, it’s Williams. Popavich is here with me. I think we found Graham. He’s...we think those...things...tore him up. He’s dead.”
Williams gave Black a full report on how many Centurions and soldiers were there and described what they were doing. Black digested it all, then said, “Hold your position. I’m sending Collins over. When he gets there, I want you three to wipe out everyone. You hear me? Everyone!”
“Hot damn!” Collins said after receiving his orders from Black. He hurried to his rendezvous with Williams and Popavich. Too bad about Graham, but he was pretty much useless anyway. This would save Collins the trouble of getting rid of Graham when he wrestled the team from Black. It’s about time Black let his pit bull off its leash! And this dog ain’t never gonna be on a leash ever again.
Williams and Popavich no longer heard the man with the whistle. The two men in camouflage and every one of the Centurions were staring in their direction.
“We’re screwed,” Popavich whispered.
Williams jumped to his feet. “Get up! We’re taking them out now!”
Before they could bring their MP5Ns to bear, the wounded man let loose a thunderously shrill blast on the whistle. He swung his good arm in a tomahawk chopping motion and bellowed, “Enemy, enemy! Attack, attack!” When Alpha threw his massive arms up and roared, the entire pack raced for Williams and Popavich.
“Fire!” Williams screamed. He moved his selector switch to full auto and squeezed the trigger on his submachine gun harder than he ever had before, sending a stream of bullets at the mass of confusion flying in his face. The creatures were moving and juking so fast he had trouble scoring enough hits to take any of them down.
Popavich leveled his weapon at the nearest creature and squeezed the trigger. Nothing happened.
“Take your safety off!” Williams screamed through the racket of his own submachine gun spewing round after round. Popavich moved his selector switch to full auto and started blasting. The air was alive with smoking shell casings arcing from the two submachine guns.
One creature took a giant leap and went airborne, fur-covered arms stretched out in front, claws trying to end Popavich’s life. Popavich directed his fire at the creature’s chest. A split second later, Popavich was on his back, the Centurion lying next to him, its chest torn open.
“Get up and fire!” Williams screamed as his MP5N went silent. He slapped in a fresh magazine. Popavich struggled back to his feet and opened fire again on the charging Centurions, unaware the front of his black fatigue shirt was shredded and bloody. They were hitting the creatures but they couldn’t stop them.
The rest of the Centurions were almost upon them. Only one of the creatures was dead. They all appeared wounded, but only two slowed their charge.
There was no way in hell Popavich was going to end up like Graham. Black was insane to think they could stop these things. It was time to withdraw. He shuffled backward as he continued to fire at the charging creatures. His heels hit something and he toppled over, slamming down on his back. He had fallen over the body of the dead Centurion. It was too much. He scrabbled on hands and knees into the brush. Williams’s submachine gun went silent.
Popavich watched Williams ram another magazine into his weapon. Their eyes met. Williams pointed his weapon at Popavich. “You think you’re gonna run out on me, you sonofabitch? I’ll kill you myself—”
Popavich gaped as two creatures crashed into Williams, driving him to the ground. His weapon went flying. The creatures tore into him, massive arms swinging, blood splattering on trees and bushes. His screams filled the forest. How could he take so long to die? Popavich dove headfirst into the brush.
Coming out on the other side, Popavich ran for Black’s position. His heart pounded like a jackhammer. He was done with this madness. If he had to run all the way back to BoDex, he would, but he was done.
“Serrafino said there’s a major firefight going on in his sector,” Jack reported to Foster.
Foster peered out the front window. A man in black darted from the woods. He ran past the parked Humvee where another man stood, then disappeared back into the woods on the opposite side, headed for the area Serrafino was watching.
Foster heard more gunfire. It sounded like a submachine gun, possibly two, on full auto, and a lot of ammunition being fired. An incredible amount of ammunition. What in hell were Cummings and Vincenzo up to?
“Sean?” Jack broke into Foster’s thoughts.
“Yeah,” Foster said.
&nbs
p; “I asked what you wanted me to do.”
“What did Robinson report?”
“He said it was all quiet in his sector.”
“Now listen carefully, Jack. Get Mitchell. Tell him to take Robinson’s post. And to position himself so he can see the rear as well as the side of the building. Send Robinson to me. Then tell Serrafino to adjust his position so he can also watch the rear of the building, as well as the side. Tell Mitchell and Serrafino that Robinson is going into the woods in Serrafino’s sector. You got all that?” Jack nodded.
“Give it all back to me,” Foster ordered. Jack recited Foster’s instructions perfectly. “Get going, and keep your head down.”
Jack ran toward Mitchell. “Jack!” Foster called out. “After you finish your run, get back down here. You’re about to be drafted into the army.”
Popavich dropped to his knees. His submachine gun slipped from his fingers. His eyes closed as he swayed, laboring to breathe. He was lost. During the whirlwind firefight, he had gotten turned all around. And now, he was sure Williams was dead, just like Graham, Becker, and Everett. He never would have believed The Reapers could be decimated like this.
Popavich’s eyes fluttered open. The black material of his fatigue shirt hung in shreds and was covered in blood. Is this my blood?
He carefully peeled the material from his body. Now he understood why he couldn’t breathe. Bloody furrows crisscrossed his chest. He had lost a lot of blood, and if he didn’t find help he would end up like the rest of his teammates.
Popavich heard a noise. Something was trying to get through the wall of thick, tangled brush. He struggled to get off his knees. He groped for his MP5N, brought it up, and checked the magazine. There were no rounds. He tossed the empty magazine and reached for a fresh one, but found he had lost his spares in his mad dash to escape. He dropped the useless submachine gun to the ground.
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