by Evan Currie
He picked up the first body, heaving it up over his shoulder, and passed it back to the man behind him. In the smoke he couldn’t tell if the body was male or female, or even if it was still breathing, he could just make out the shape by the few degrees difference from the blazing environment around them. It was all his equipment could give him in the hostile environment he was dealing with, better than he’d had when he started in his chosen vocation over fifteen years earlier. It was enough, it was all he asked for in fact.
The next two bodies went back, and at least one of them was moving as he passed it off to the man behind him, so Marion had the satisfaction of knowing that at least some of the Emergency Medical Teams outside would have some work to do.
Only then did he turn his focus on the hulk that was protruding from the outside wall and ceiling, noting that in the Infrared the metal of the chopper was well above the surrounding area, temperature wise, and seemed to be heating up. He shook his head, but started forward anyway, only to be stopped by a hand on his shoulder.
He glanced back and recognized his Chief Lieutenant, Corrin Bradley, as the man shook his finger at him in chastisement. He didn’t have to hear Bradley’s voice to know that the man was lecturing him, in his mind at least. He looked back, just to make sure that there was another man behind them in the chain, then nodded to Corrin and pointed to the chopper.
Bradley nodded in return and clapped him on the shoulder as they started toward the hulk that was literally glowing an evil red color in their infrared HUDs.
*****
“Well this is gonna be fun,” Major Malcolm uttered under his breath, his hand cradling his assault rifle.
The other members of the SAS team, Interpol Officers, and the sole Australian police Inspector looked out from the edge of the city ring across the open terrain to where the glass of the greenhouse gleamed.
The twenty-five thousand acre greenhouse occupied a huge area around the massive tower that stretched one thousand acres into the sky above them, warming the air that drive the rising thermals the tower used to generate power. Because of the need to eliminate any risk of shadows falling across the greenhouse, and thereby impairing the heat production which was the facility’s bread and butter, the city had been mandated not to be built within five hundred meters of the facility.
Since the power tower conglomeration owned the land out to that range, it was a simple ordinance to maintain.
What it did for the assault, however, did bear thinking on.
The scrub and dust that made up the Australian outback had been bulldozed and trampled and generally pounded into the ground by the construction teams, leaving nothing but a flat, featureless section of land between them and their destination.
Or, as one of the SAS men had referred to it at first sight, Sniper’s Paradise.
“Alright, we’re going to cross fast. Stay close to the monorail pillars, use them as cover,” Malcolm started, but Anselm held up his hand. “What is it, Interpol?”
“A little hand, courtesy of the Americans,” Anselm replied, holding up the portable the American agent had thrown him, “They have a satellite above us with Thermal detection ability.”
Malcolm leaned over, looking at the imagery, then whistled quietly. “How close can you get?”
Anselm toyed with the device, zooming him. “Close. That’s us, I believe.”
Malcolm let out a short, sharp laugh. “Americans. They always have the best toys.”
Anselm nodded, noting that he could count how many people were in their little group by their heat signatures on the portable’s screen.
“How does it handle the higher temperatures inside the greenhouse?”
“Not badly,” Anselm replied, scrolling the image with a flick of his finger. “They have guards posted at the entryway for the monorail trams, but the edge of the skirt seems mostly clear.”
“They probably can’t spare the people to guard it,” Malcolm decided, thinking about it. “Alright, we’ll duck back into the buildings and circle around. We find an open space, then move in there.”
“Hang on,” Anselm said softly, “There is one blind spot. The central spire of the tower is hot enough that it’s impossible to tell if they have anyone on the tower. That’s their best vantage point.”
“Agreed. Ok, we scout that the old fashioned way,” Malcolm said, waving a hand. “Mac!”
“Sir.” Mackenzie said softly, moving up to join the powow.
“Take Givens back and find a good spot, then I want you to check that tower for Tangos.”
Mackenzie looked up, along the thousand meters of tower above them, and his face kind of pinched. “The whole tower Sir?”
“Concentrate on the top,” Gwen said, speaking up, “The rest you can just quickly scan and anything that shouldn’t be there will pop out at you.”
Mac looked at Malcolm, who nodded.
“Yes Sir. How do you want to handle any we find?”
“Do your thing, Mac.”
“Alright, Sir,” Mackenzie grinned.
*****
Patrolling the top of the tower was enough to drive a man nuts, Corbin Maerin decided as he leaned over the railing again, using the powerful field imager he’d brought to observe the city below. He’d had to knock out the panes of plexiglass that normally filled in the tourists observation ‘bubble’, just so he could see down to the city, but without them in place the winds swept through with an irritating randomness.
Sometimes warm and sweet, blown in from the maw of the tower, and sometimes cold and biting, leaving him shivering in place as he did his best to keep watch. Around the circle of the four hundred meter walkway, there were others doing the same thing, but he still managed to feel alone when he looked down on the world below.
He had his long rifle beside him, an accurized Chinese Type 88. It was an old configuration, but well built, and totally useless from where he stood unfortunately.
Corbin knew that he was sentenced to being nothing more than a spotter, given his location. The only targets that might be open to him were a thousand meters below him, and a thousand or more meters out, within the city. If the distance weren’t bad enough, and it was pretty bad, he had to admit, the thermal variance from the glass below caused the air to shimmer and totally loused any shot a man might make.
No, he was doomed to be a spotter on this mission. It was impossible to make a shot across those conditions.
Those were the second to last thing to pass through Corbin’s mind.
The last was a 10mm rifle round fired from one kilometer down, and eleven hundred meters out. The entry hole was a small, almost black hole in his forehead that began to snap his skull backwards as the bullet pulverized the interior of his skull in passing. The shockwave pushed ahead of the round literally liquified the brain matter, and when the round exploded out the back the explosion of blood and gore that blasted into the air created a grotesque mockery of a jet, snapping his skull and upper body forward again.
He went over the rail, already dead as his body began its long fall.
*****
Jeremy ‘Mac’ Mackenzie lifted his eyes from the scope of his rifle, a satisfied smile gracing his face as the dot in the distance plummeted down the side of the tower.
“Nice shot, Mac,” Micheal Givens said, lowering the imager. “Thought the heat shimmer would screw you up for sure.”
“Naw. Had to do too much desert training to be fooled by that, Son.” Mackenzie replied, looping his arm around the strap of his rifle as he climbed down from the perch he had chosen. “Now come on and let’s tell the Major we’ve bought him that window he was asking about.”
“Right,” Givens agreed, handing Mac’s pack to him as the Sniper dropped down to the ground and then the two of them double timed it back to where the rest of the group were waiting.
“Done?” Malcolm asked as they arrived.
“Yes Sir. One tango spotted.”
Malcolm looked back over his shoulder at the
tower, “That would be the tumbling carrion we saw hit the central cone?”
“Yes Sir.”
“Good.” Malcolm nodded, “Interpol, you people ready?”
Anselm nodded, “We’re ready, Major.”
“Alright. Double time across the way.” Malcolm stated, “Eyes open, mouths shut. Let’s move.”
*****
They ran, sometimes sprinting, sometimes jogging more slowly, all the way across the five hundred meters of open terrain to the greenhouse, using the only cover that was available to be had. From pylon to pylon, along the length of the monorail tracks they moved, taking cover behind each one as Anselm stopped to check the information from the American satellite.
At first the cover was sufficient, the angle they could be seen at almost nonexistent from the distant greenhouse. But as they closed, the angles became narrower and narrower, and with less than a hundred meters left to go, Anselm had to call a halt.
“What is it?” Malcolm asked, huddled tight against him as the rest of the men pressed in closely against them both.
“Two men, approaching from the east.” Anselm replied, tilting the portable so Malcolm could see.
On the screen, the gentle curve of the greenhouse showed as a large spot that glowed warmer than even the surrounding desert. Within its embrace there were two vaguely warmer spots, both difficult to make out against the heat of their surroundings, but there just the same. Malcolm nodded, and quickly gestured to two of his men.
“Tavish, Percy, take them.”
The two men of the Australian SASR edged toward the corner of the cement pylon, their assault rifles leading the way as they glued the weapons to their shoulders and cheeks. They moved slowly, pressed tight to the cement, one crawling on one knee and the other above the first. At the corner of the pylon they paused, looking through the advanced optics mounted on the weapons’ rail systems.
“No joy, Major.” Tavish said after a moment. “Just some bushes. No target.”
Malcolm nodded, turning to Anselm, “If they can’t see the tangos, then the tangos can’t see us.”
“Just hang on a second,”Anselm hissed, “Just…wait. They’ll pass.”
Malcolm grimaced, but nodded, wagging his finger to two more men. “Sergeant, Teal. Other side.”
The two men nodded, being the closest in the huddle to the other side of the pylon they mirrored their teammates actions of a moment earlier and leveled their weapons from that side.
“Still no target,” Tavish said after a moment.
Anselm grimaced, then looked over at the SASR weapons. “Major…what weapons are you using?”
“Standard issue,” Malcolm replied, “XM-90 assault rifles.”
“What about electronics?”
“Not so standard. We were issued the latest generation Land Warrior systems to test.” Malcolm said.
“The American design?”
“That’s right.”
“Trooper,” Anselm hissed, crawling over to where Tavish was crouched, “give me your weapon.”
Tavish glanced back, face incredulous. “Fuck you…sir.”
Anselm grabbed the man’s soldier, “Just give it to me, Trooper.”
Tavish looked past Anselm, like the Interpol man wasn’t there, eyes locking with Malcolm. The Major hesitated for a moment, then nodded imperceptibly. Tavish scowled, but nodded, and gave up his weapon.
Anselm took the rifle quickly, and examined the small computer system that was integrated into the weapon’s optics. Since the turn of the millennium, the United States Armed Forces, in particular the United States Army itself had poured billions of dollars into what had been termed the Land Warrior program. That was, a series of weapon systems designed to enhance the effectiveness of each individual soldier to the point where one man could be more combat effective than a squad had been previously.
The system had been, and still was, incredibly expensive. Expensive enough that the Land Warrior Weapon Systems, often referred to as Objective Individual Combat Systems (OICS), were effectively priced well beyond the range of most of the world’s armies. Only the United States military could afford to outfit soldiers with the full array of system components, and even they could only do so in relatively small numbers.
The individual components, however, had filtered out into many military and para-military organization the world over. Laser rangefinders were standard on many rifles now, along with the computer displays required to put them to best use. Smart munitions were in limited use in at least fifteen different military organizations, plus nearly uncountable para-military ones. Even the more advanced carbon fibre composite armors with their Nano-Fibre Musculature Enhancers were beginning to see use in British and Israeli militaries.
In just a couple seconds, Anselm confirmed his initial thoughts and nodded with satisfaction. The optics had a port that was compatible with the American portable he was using. He slid the computer into the port and the system synced automatically.
“Presto. One satellite aimed assault rifle.” He smiled slightly, then handed the weapon back to Tavish.
The trooper stared at the weapon for a moment, eyes glued to the infrared signal which was now overlain with a ballistic trajectory that updated with every motion of his rifle. He glanced back over his shoulder to Malcolm, and the Major nodded.
“Go to it, Trooper.”
“Sir.” Tavish nodded, moving back to place.
“What?” Gwen looked around, “No! We don’t know that they’re…”
“Take the shot, Trooper.” Malcolm repeated.
“You can’t…!”
Anselm grabbed Gwen then, covering her mouth and pulling her down.
“We don’t have a choice,” He hissed tiredly into her ear. “We don’t have a choice, Gwen.”
Tavish, for his part, ignored her as he setup his shot in the fan shaped screen of the portable computer. Coupled with the satellite it was, without a doubt, the most expensive rifle scope he’d ever heard of, but the SAS Trooper just smirked to himself as he leveled the weapon around the corner of the pylon and watched the screen.
The trajectory line showed red as he swept it across the field of fire, flashing blue for a moment as he crossed the correct angle but at the wrong elevation. He lowered the rifle slightly until the line flashed green.
“Locked One.”
“Take the shot.”
Tavish nodded, letting out a barely held breath, and then slowly squeezed the trigger on his rifle. The weapon barked once, bucking into his shoulder, but he didn’t let that slow him for an instant as he relocated the rifle to the second target. This time, when the line flashed green, he didn’t wait for orders.
The rifle barked again, sending its six millimeter round flashing down range where it tore through a line of bushes that were planted around the circumference of the greenhouse, and burrowed deep into the chest of a stunned man who was trying to figure out why his partner had crumpled to the ground.
A hundred and twenty meters away, on the other side of a thick hedge of bushes and across an expanse of desert, the assault team broke cover and made the last sprint to the greenhouse skirt of the immense power plant.
*****
“We’re ready to broadcast, Amir.”
Abdallah Amir nodded, setting down the portable computer he had been taking notes on, and turned to where the men were setting up the cameras. “It’s about time.”
“We’re sorry,” The lead technician said as he flipped the camera on, “The jamming signals were causing interference, even over our clear channels.”
“Is it fixed?”
“Yes, Amir.”
“Good. Then let us do this.”
Amir straightened his clothing as he settled into the chair behind the heavy desk, eyes locking onto the camera as his prepared speech flowed freely through his mind. The light on the camera flickered from yellow to red as he nodded, and the tech pointed to him.
“We’re going out live,” came the hissed word
s.
Amir smiled slowly, taking his time. He knew that the introduction file sent along with the feed address to all the interested parties would ensure that he wasn’t preempted by any foolish news crew.
Today, there was only one story in the entire world.
“I am Abdallah Amir,” He said, smiling thinly, “And I represent the People’s Armies from all across this forsaken world. Our brothers in Iraq, our comrades in Korea, our friends in Sri Lanka, and all of those in this world who dare to strike out against the oppressive authority of the so called ‘Civilized Nations’. Today, we stand ready to strike against that oppressive ‘Civility’ in such a way as is the only recourse of dissidents in an oppressive society.”
“We are called terrorists now, though in the past we have had other names. Patriots, to the American Revolution. Soldiers to the Vietnam Conflict. Guerrilla freedom fighters to the causes supported by the ‘Civilized Nations’…But terrorists because we have chosen not to accept the civility you so generously offer us.”
“Today I hold Forty thousand hostages within the great symbol of Australian ‘Civilization’, the Tower of Power whose very name is hateful to God. I will not hesitate to execute these people if my demands are not met, or if the Civility of your nations demands that they attack my position…”
*****
“Jesus Christ,” Carl Severson hissed, eyes wide, “Who’s all getting this!?”
“CNN is running it live, Sir!”
“The BBC just picked up, and so has Skynet!”
“Every channel in Australia’s already got it running!”
Severson closed his eyes, shaking his head, even as the phone on his desk began to ring. He looked at it, not having to check who it was. That ring tone only came from one phone. He picked it up, even as phones all through the building began to sound, and schooled his voice to a steady tone.
“Yes Mr. President, I’m watching it now. No Mr. President, I don’t believe he’s bluffing. Mr. President, this is more serious than you think. Remember the incident report I sent you earlier, Sir? Yes Sir, this is the one.”