Something clamped onto Schmidt’s right ankle like a vice. He yanked as hard as he could and kicked with his free leg, but he could not break loose. Suddenly, he was pulled back toward the cockpit.
A fire extinguisher lay within Schmidt’s reach and he grabbed it. He beat at the creature’s claws, but he didn’t have enough room to give it a good swing. The Centurion continued to drag him back toward the cockpit.
Out of desperation, Schmidt pulled the pin on the fire extinguisher and discharged it at Alpha. All that did was further enrage the Centurion. Schmidt tossed the fire extinguisher aside and grabbed at the harness attached to the copilot’s seat.
The creature had peeled open the damaged nose of the Black Hawk like the petals of a flower and jammed himself into the cockpit as far as he could. Now the Centurion was backing out of the cockpit with the terrified pilot firmly in his grip, but Schmidt was not going without a fight.
Just when it felt like Alpha was about to tear his leg off, the pilot let go of the harness. The creature pulled Schmidt through the torn open front of the cockpit, holding the man upside down by his leg. Schmidt’s hands could not reach any of the debris littering the ground to defend himself. He saw Cummings approach.
“Help me!” Schmidt screamed.
Cummings blew the whistle as hard as he could. The shrill blast stopped Alpha.
“No! Stop!” Cummings yelled. “No!” He held his uninjured arm out, palm facing the creature in the universal sign for halt. Alpha just looked at him, Schmidt still dangling upside down from the Centurion’s musclebound arm. The creature roared angrily at Cummings and shook his helpless victim, seemingly in defiance of the order. For a fleeting moment, Cummings thought he might have lost control.
Staring into the Centurion’s eyes, Kurt Cummings slowly put the red whistle between his lips and gave another shrill blast. The Centurion stared at him, ears twitching. Cummings let the whistle fall from his mouth, held his palm toward Alpha, and repeated his last command. “No! No! Stop!” He pointed to the ground at the creature’s feet. “Down! Put him down!”
Cummings was trying to remain calm, but he was beginning to doubt he could save the pilot. As if reading Cummings’s thoughts, Alpha gave another mighty roar and swung Schmidt around, then let go of his leg.
The pilot’s body flew in a shallow arc and slammed onto the broken end of a stub still attached to the Black Hawk’s rotor hub. Schmidt’s flesh and blood body was no match for the unyielding three-foot piece of damaged rotor blade. He hit with such force that it easily tore into his upper back, the jagged end punching its way out through his upper body. Schmidt stared down at the rotor stub protruding from his chest. He rested his hands on it, as though he was considering pulling it out. The pilot looked at Cummings, then his head fell to his chest as he died quietly, pinned to the helicopter wreckage like an insect on a display board.
Alpha roared, pounding his broad chest with his fists while Cummings looked on.
Just then, the creature’s ears perked up, twitching, at the sound of two gunshots somewhere beyond where the rest of the Centurions had chased the last two Reapers into the woods. Alpha gave a lingering last look at Cummings, then charged toward the sound of the gunshots, disappearing into the brush. Cummings had a strange feeling he wouldn’t be seeing the creature again.
Black and Collins ran as fast as they could through the dense woods, the three Centurions in pursuit. The creatures’ numerous wounds were starting to slow them down. In the long run, the men would probably crap out before the Centurions did. At least that’s what Collins thought as he vaulted over a fallen tree trunk. Unfortunately, Black was still keeping up with him.
Collins was actually hoping Black would fall behind enough for the Centurions to catch him; then while they were occupied with tearing Black apart, he would be able to slip away. As far as he was concerned, it was every man for himself, and since this whole screwed-up failure of an operation was Black’s fault, who better to be the sacrificial lamb?
Collins glanced over his shoulder in full stride and saw Black about fifteen feet behind, still going strong. He could hear the three maddened Centurions farther back, a chorus of roars and branches breaking.
“So long, sucker,” Collins muttered as he skidded to a halt and swung around to face Black, his handgun extended. Without a word, he fired two shots, one to each of Black’s legs, then took off like a rocket.
A stunned Black crashed to the ground, his momentum propelling him a few feet further. He howled in agony gripping both legs. “Collins, you sonofabitch!” he screamed. “I’m gonna kill you, you bastard! I’m gonna ki—” and then the three Centurions were on him.
Still on the run, Collins heard Black, then the Centurions. Shots rang out. The screams and roars faded as Collins pulled farther away.
“If I hadn’t seen the Centurions, I wouldn’t have believed it.” General Attwood lowered the binoculars. “Did I really see one take the Black Hawk down?” This was far beyond his wildest dreams. Now he could imagine wave after wave of Centurions pouring across foreign battlefields. America might never lose another soldier! The possibilities were endless.
“Looks like they pretty much wiped out all of Black’s force,” Foster said. Kurt Cummings stood alone in the middle of the carnage.
“Keville!” the general bellowed. Jim Keville stepped out of the kitchen. “You and Mitchell saddle up. We’re going out.”
“General,” Foster said. “Looks like we got communications back as soon as the Black Hawk went down.”
“Excellent, Sergeant,” Attwood replied. “Keville, now that we’ve got communications capability, get our people here ASAP with whatever they need to sanitize this place. I want every trace of us gone.”
“Yes, sir!” Keville got on his portable radio and called Arnie Vought at BoDex.
“Sergeant Foster, you stay here. I don’t want you traveling on that leg,” Attwood ordered.
“Yes, sir,” Foster said, disappointed.
“Let’s go, men.”
“Sir, just a reminder not to flash our weapons if we run into any Centurions out there,” Vincenzo said.
“Right.” Attwood stepped onto the front porch, followed by Vincenzo, Serrafino, Robinson, and Mitchell.
Jim Keville joined them. “General, Brad Peters is on his way with a full crew.”
Attwood nodded, then strode across the parking lot toward Cummings, the others fanning out to either side. The crunch of gravel under combat boots was the only sound.
“Kurt,” the general said softly. Cummings didn’t respond. He stared silently at the woods where Alpha and the others had vanished. General Attwood put his hand on Cummings’s shoulder. “It’s okay,” he said. “It’s over. You’re okay now.” He motioned for Mitchell. “Mitchell is going to check you out, okay?”
Mitchell steered Cummings toward the resort. “Let’s go inside.”
The two men only took a few steps before Cummings stopped. “I don’t think the Centurions are coming back, sir.”
“What makes you say that?” asked Attwood. “I thought you had them under some sort of control.”
“I did, sir, for a while. But as the attack went on, they started acting without any orders. They were making their own decisions.” Cummings dropped the red whistle. “I don’t think they need us any more, sir.”
Attwood watched Cummings and Mitchell disappear into the resort. “Let’s get moving. Jim. When Brad Peters arrives, he gets whatever he needs. You know what has to happen here, and it has to happen quickly.”
Jim Keville nodded. “I’ll make sure everything is taken care of.”
“Sergeant Serrafino,” Attwood said, “You and Sergeant Robinson enter the woods where we last saw the Centurions. Check for any sign of where they may have gone. If you see them, do not engage. Remember there are at least two of Black’s men unaccounted for. And don’t go too far into the woods. It will be dark soon and I don’t need to lose you two out there.”
Attwo
od turned to Vincenzo. “You’re with me, Sergeant. Let’s check out the area.” They stopped when they saw Ruiz lying dead, his darkening blood streaking the side of the blue Humvee.
“See if you can find something in the Humvee to cover this man.”
“Yes, sir.” Vincenzo walked to the back of the Humvee and lifted the hatch. “Jesus! Sir, there are two more bodies back here.” Vincenzo backed away to give the general a clear view.
“Sergeant, hand me one of those tarps,” Attwood said. “And grab another one and cover these men.” Attwood walked back to Ruiz. He took a knee and spread the tarp over the body. His moment of silence was interrupted by Vincenzo shutting the rear hatch of the vehicle. Vincenzo approached Attwood, a third tarp under his arm.
“For the pilot, sir.”
“Yes, another body,” Attwood said. The two men walked to the UH-60 wreckage.
“Sonofabitch.” Vincenzo gaped at Schmidt’s body, hanging limply from the broken rotor stub that protruded from his chest.
“Let’s get him off there, Sergeant.”
“Yes, sir.” Vincenzo stood on the right side of Schmidt’s body, General Attwood on the left. They lifted Schmidt’s body a bit, then slowly slid him along the broken rotor stub. There was a wet, sucking sound as they pulled the body toward the end of the broken blade. Once he was freed, they lowered him to the ground and covered him with the tarp.
“General, there’s something you should see back here.” Vincenzo motioned toward the rear of the helicopter.
Sticking out from under the helicopter were two thick, fur-covered legs attached to a muscular, fur-covered torso. It was a dead Centurion, crushed under the helicopter.
“Sergeant, we’re going to need another tarp.”
Serrafino and Robinson soon returned from their search for the remaining Centurions and the remnants of Black’s force. They approached General Attwood and Vincenzo by the helicopter wreckage, standing next to a blue tarp.
“The pilot,” Vincenzo offered in explanation.
“Sir,” Serrafino began, “we followed some tracks quite a ways in. All we found was the remains of what we think was Black.” He hesitated. “They did quite a number on him, sir.”
“Just the one body?” General Attwood asked, not wanting to know the details. It didn’t matter at this point.
“Yes, sir, we only found one man’s body. No Centurions.”
“Any sign of which way they went?”
“Sir, the tracks went on a little farther before they faded out,” Robinson said. “Last direction they were headed was northwest.”
They were going deeper into the wilderness, Attwood thought. Was there someplace they were trying to get to or just escaping blindly? And what happened to the second man?
“Will you be able to direct the BoDex team back to retrieve the body?” Attwood looked up at the sky, concerned about the fading daylight.
“Yes, sir,” Serrafino said.
They were interrupted by the rumble of large diesel engines. A long convoy rolled into the parking lot. Brad Peters had arrived with an incredible assortment of vehicles, including two large flatbeds and a crane. It looked like he had brought everything in the BoDex fleet. Personnel poured from every vehicle.
Jim Keville trotted toward Attwood while Brad Peters ran down the line of parked vehicles yelling commands. Portable generators with high intensity light towers were unloaded and positioned around the perimeter of the parking area.
After Schmidt’s body was moved to an ambulance, a second group descended on the wreckage of the UH-60. Men and women attacked the Black Hawk, using heavy-duty construction saws to cut through whatever they couldn’t remove by hand. Sparks flew like fireworks from the whirling saw blades. Large sections of cut-up wreckage were lifted by crane and deposited on the flatbed. Then, shouts erupted from the Black Hawk.
“What’s up?” Keville yelled.
“Found another body in here, Jim,” Brad Peters said. “Poor bastard went violently.”
“Get him out and keep moving. We’re really chasing the daylight now.”
“We’ll have him outta here in a minute or two,” Peters answered. “And don’t worry about the daylight, we brought our own.” The light towers were powering up.
The crew had put Popavich, Rossi, and Ruiz into body bags and moved them to an ambulance, with Schmidt’s body already onboard. Keville ordered them back to BoDex. Perry’s body was bagged, then lifted from the helicopter wreckage and deposited in a second ambulance.
Attwood turned to Serrafino. “Sergeant, can you lead a group to Black’s body for retrieval?”
Yes, sir.”
“Robinson, can you find the spot where you saw the other two bodies and the dead Centurion?”
“I’m sure I can find it again, sir.”
“Jim, set up the retrieval groups and get them out there,” Attwood ordered.
“Yes, sir.” Keville divided his personnel into two units: a small one assigned to Serrafino and a larger one for Robinson.
“I need to get back to BoDex to deal with Sheriff Jarvis,” said Attwood. “Jim, can you oversee the operation here?”
“Absolutely, sir,” Keville replied. “Things are moving right along.”
“Good. I want to take Mitchell, Cummings, and Foster with me, and the three civilians too. Can you arrange transportation for us?”
“Yes, sir. If that’s all, sir, I’ll be right back.”
“Go ahead.” Keville ran along the convoy until he found a suitable vehicle.
“He’s pretty good at what he does, sir,” Vincenzo said.
“Yes, he is,” Attwood said. “It’s a good thing we have him. Just like you and the rest of the squad. I hate to think what would have happened without your squad out here today.”
“Thank you, sir.”
A moment later Jim Keville returned with one of his security men. “General, when you’re ready, this man will take your group back to BoDex.”
“Get your vehicle ready and wait in front of the resort,” Attwood said. “We leave as soon as we’re loaded.”
Within minutes, General Attwood stepped out of the resort followed by Foster, Mitchell, Cummings, the MacGregors, and Jennifer. The Suburban rolled past the dwindling piles of wreckage.
Vincenzo spent the next twenty minutes walking the perimeter of the parking lot waiting for Serrafino and Robinson to return.
“Sal!”
Vincenzo turned and saw Bernie Robinson followed by a pair of BoDex men carrying a body bag with the remains of Black, the leader of the Reapers. One of the men had vomit stains on the front of his shirt.
At that moment, Dave Serrafino stepped out of the woods followed by personnel carrying two body bags and a dead Centurion wrapped in a tarp.
Serrafino, Vincenzo, and Robinson watched as the bodies of Graham and Williams were placed in an ambulance. The dead Centurion was brought to the truck where the other dead creature lay.
“Hell of a day,” Dave Serrafino said. He removed his hat and wiped the sweat from his brow.
“Can’t say it was boring,” Bernie Robinson replied.
“Hey, Dave,” Sal Vincenzo said, “The General left a little while ago with the rest of our team and the civilians. He assigned Jim Keville to oversee the cleanup. He said we’re to watch over things here and make sure everyone gets out okay, and since you’re now senior man onsite…”
“Yeah, I know. It’s my headache now.” Serrafino crammed his hat back on his head. “What say you two split up and patrol the perimeter. I’ll see how close we are to getting out of here.” Serrafino found Jim Keville.
“Jim,” Serrafino asked, “any idea how much longer?”
“If all goes well, about an hour, maybe an hour and a half.”
True to his word, Jim Keville lead the entire convoy out of the parking lot seventy-one minutes later. Every bit of the wrecked Black Hawk had been removed along with numerous bodies of men and beasts. The place looked almost peaceful in the fading su
nlight.
The last vehicle to leave was the Humvee. Robinson drove. Serrafino, in the passenger seat, silently stared out the window. Vincenzo slumped in the rear, struggling to keep his eyes open.
At BoDex, General Attwood directed the driver to the infirmary where Dr. Julia Talbot stood waiting.
“Put them down there,” Talbot said. Eric Mitchell and Talbot’s staff helped Sean Foster and Kurt Cummings onto hospital beds while Talbot gave orders. The medical staff removed the men’s camouflage fatigues, then removed the field dressings. Attwood took Talbot by the elbow.
“How are the rest of the injured?” he asked quietly.
“Tony Bascombe should recover. Nichols is still heavily sedated. We’ll have to bring him back slowly and see how he responds.”
“Good, good.” Attwood scanned the room. “Wasn’t there a third man here?”
“Yes, sir. Derek Dufresne,” Talbot replied. “He didn’t make it.”
“I’m sure you did all you could, doctor,” Attwood said sadly. “Please take care of my men.”
“They’re in good hands, sir,” she said.
The next stop for General Attwood was the Visiting Guest Quarters. Arnie Vought had hustled the MacGregors and Jennifer Pruitt into one of the lavish residences used by visitors, typically well-connected politicians and businessmen with deep pockets. Before leaving the civilians to get cleaned up, Vought took their requests for dinner.
Attwood next had the driver drop him at his office, where an impatient Sheriff Al Jarvis sat fidgeting on a leather couch. Attwood burst in, hand extended.
“Sheriff Jarvis! Thank you for your patience.” Attwood pumped the sheriff’s hand. “My sincerest apologies for the wait. It’s been a rather hectic day. Sit, please.”
“That’s all I’ve been doing, General.”
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