Nightwatch

by Richard P. Henrick

  “Shooter ready… Stand by…”

  The timer activated with a loud, piercing tone giving the signal to begin, and Ted Callahan drew his pistol, aimed downrange, and began firing rapidly. In a matter of seconds, the first line of torso-shaped steel poppers fell. It was while running to the next box that he ejected the mostly spent magazine from his gun, and reloaded a full one that he retrieved from his belt. This time his aim was restricted by the steel barrel he was forced to shoot through, the exploding report of bullets striking steel clearly heard as the individual plates and gravity-turning targets were engaged.

  Thomas counted off eighteen shots before the next-to-last popper fell, revealing the final target of the scenario. From his vantage point, Thomas watched Callahan aim the red dot of his pistol to the head of the hostage-taker popper and hesitate the briefest of seconds before squeezing off his final shot. The popper fell with a perfectly centered head shot, and he ejected the magazine, cleared the live round from the chamber, and bolstered a safe weapon.

  “Hoo-ah!” exclaimed a massed chorus of voices from the bleachers.

  “One miss in seventeen-point-five-four seconds, with hostage taker eliminated,” reported the official scorekeeper, after sweeping the range with his binoculars.

  Another resounding chorus of “Hoo-ah” emanated from the bleachers, and Ted Callahan looked relieved as he removed his ear protection and turned around to acknowledge this cheer of support. And it was only then that he spotted Thomas.

  “Hell, if I knew you were watching, Kellogg, I wouldn’t have gone and intentionally missed that target,” Callahan jested, his smile wide and genuine.

  “That’s not bad shooting. Colonel, for a desk-bound fast-food junkie,” replied Thomas, who accepted his old friend’s handshake, and followed him over to a nearby table holding refreshments.

  “Seriously, Thomas, it’s good to see you again,” said Callahan, who toasted his newly arrived guest with a cup of ice water.

  Captain Christian was in the process of taking his place in the shooter’s box, and Callahan beckoned toward the young officer, saying, “And now we’re about to see a real shooter do his thing. Captain Jay Christian is an instructor at the MP school. He was formerly with Delta, and came here from Benning, where he was an award-winning member of the Army Marksmanship Unit.”

  They watched Christian prepare his weapon, and Callahan’s voice lowered to a bare whisper.

  “I’m sorry I had to pull you off the abortion clinic bombing case, Thomas. But when I called your office at aTF headquarters this morning and learned that you were nearby in Union, I couldn’t resist the opportunity of asking Director McShane for your services.”

  “Your timing couldn’t have been better, Ted. In fact, your call reached me just as my latest lead was in the process of fizzling out. It seems for the last month I’ve been going in circles, and I must admit it’s good to get away, clear the old head, and hopefully find some new perspective. Besides, I’m really enjoying being back on an Army post, though with all these young faces around, I’m feeling my age.”

  “Are you ready?” asked the timer from the shooting box.

  Captain Christian nodded that he was, and when the timer’s electronic tone sounded, he expertly drew out his pistol and began firing. The first series of shots went downrange like an automatic weapon, and when he sprinted to the next box and reloaded, the entire sequence passed in a blur. Bullets hit steel, the targets fell, and unlike Ted Callahan, Christian didn’t hesitate when it came down to the final shot.

  “No misses in fourteen-point-four-three seconds, with hostage taker eliminated,” noted the official scorekeeper.

  “Hoo-ah!” roared the audience from the bleachers.

  “Hoo-ah!” repeated Thomas, genuinely impressed by the demonstration he had just witnessed.

  A group of soldiers wearing rucksacks emerged on foot from the direction of the gravel road. Ted Callahan caught the attention of the lead figure in this column, and beckoned him over to join them.

  “Sergeant Reed,” greeted Callahan.

  “I was beginning to think you were going to forfeit the competition.”

  Sergeant Sam Reed snapped off a sharp salute and replied, “I’m sorry we’re late. Colonel. Our truck broke down and we had to hike in this last klick.”

  “Sergeant Reed is an instructor in our Sapper Leader course,” said Callahan to Thomas.

  “He’s about to take on Captain Christian’s MPs in an action-shooting competition. But before the good Sergeant can show Christian’s men why Army engineers lead the way, I’d like you to listen while he shares a little incident he was involved in last night that’s indirectly responsible for your presence here this afternoon.”

  After being properly introduced, Thomas listened while Reed painfully revealed the armed robbery that he and his nine-man Sapper class had been the recent victims of. The incident took place a little over twelve hours ago, in a hollow less than three miles from this very spot. Since Reed was a career soldier who obviously took his duty seriously, Thomas could understand his discomfort as he described the moment when the group of camouflaged strangers emerged from the forest and ordered them to drop their weapons.

  When Reed’s associate instructor had dared to question this command, he received a shotgun wound in the shoulder for his petulance. Only then did Reed realize the seriousness of their predicament, and he reluctantly instructed his men to do as ordered.

  The thieves got away with a virtual smorgasbord of weaponry, and Thomas didn’t have to hear any more to know why Ted Callahan had asked for his services. Included in this haul was an M60 machine gun, a pair of M249 Squad Automatic Weapons, two M4 carbines with M203 grenade launchers attached, four M16A2 assault rifles, twenty pounds of C-4, a box of detonators, a roll of detonation cord, three tactical radios, four AN/PVS-7D advanced Night Vision Goggles, and an assortment of flares and artillery projectile ground-burst simulators.

  Sergeant Reed’s voice was cracking with embarrassment upon describing the final act of humiliation that the thieves inflicted on them. For as they gathered up the weapons, they ordered the Sappers to remove their BDUs, and the engineers soon found themselves stripped to their underwear and bound up with duct tape.

  “And chances are that we’d still be out there at the mercy of the mosquitoes if it hadn’t been for one of my men driving out there two hours later in the water truck,” bitterly concluded the senior enlisted man, who waited until Thomas ended a perfunctory question session before discreetly putting a pinch of chewing tobacco behind his lower lip.

  Poor lighting conditions and heavy camouflage face paint kept Reed and his men from being able to further describe their assailants.

  And the last they saw of them was as they silently disappeared back into the tree line, with both their weapons and their BDUs in tow.

  Before Ted Callahan excused Reed, Thomas was able to schedule a proper interrogation session with the Sapper Leader course instructor for later in the afternoon, in the CID field office.

  As they watched him join his men beside the first shooting box, Ted revealed that both CID and a squad of MPs were currently combing the woods where the robbery took place for evidence.

  He also offered to personally convey Thomas to the site.

  Storm clouds were gathering in the western sky, and Thomas accepted this invitation on the condition that they proceed out there at once, before the threatening thunder showers washed away any promising clues. It was while rummaging through a carton of MREs for a field lunch that Thomas vented something that had been bothering him.

  “} can appreciate the Army’s desire to nail the thieves, Ted, but why do you need my help specifically? And why call you out from D.C.?”

  “Because last night’s robbery wasn’t the first to strike Port Leonard Wood with the same MO.”

  Callahan sniffed at the tuna and noodle pack he’d been stuck with, while Thomas had dug out the only spaghetti. He continued his story while leading Tho
mas to his HUMVEE to eat.

  “I was originally called out here last week, after a group of Special Forces engineers were robbed in almost exactly the same manner when working the Demo range. The take was over a hundred pounds of C-4, more detonators, and several cases of

  Eastern Bloc mines that had been confiscated in Bosnia and were being detonated to see how they functioned.”

  “Mines?” repeated Thomas, his expression tightening in horror.

  “Tell me about it. Special Agent. I realize that we in the CID and the ATP have enough on our hands tracking down all the automatic weapons, ammo, and high explosives being lost from our bases. But mines bring us into a shadowy new area, almost too terrifying to even think about.

  “The devices included in the heist were fully armed and equipped with fuses, detonators, and explosives. They included toe poppers, claymores, antipersonnel, frags, trip wires, and anti armor — a full gamut of mine hardware that could wreak unimaginable havoc if they were to get in the wrong hands.”

  “And you really think the same individuals are responsible for both robberies, Ted?”

  Callahan halted at the driver’s door of the HUMVEE.

  “Like last night’s robbery, the mine heist took place at night, with our Special Forces squad caught totally off guard. They too were ordered to take off their clothes by a group of heavily camouflaged assailants, who subsequently tied our Green Berets up with duct tape. And because it was all taking place in a driving thunderstorm, the clues were all but washed away by the time CID got out there late the next day.”

  “Could it be an inside job?” questioned Thomas.

  “I mean, who better than another soldier to sneak up and rob a group of Green Berets?”

  “Whoever it was had muchos ca jones and a thorough knowledge of these woods and the approaches that lead into them.”

  “How about the locals?” Thomas continued.

  “Any recent militia activity in the area?”

  Callahan snickered.

  “This is the heart of the Ozarks, Thomas.

  I don’t have to remind you, of all people, that some of the most virulent antigovernment groups in the country are based in these parts. Remember a few years back, when we traced down that stolen crate of Browning Automatic Weapons to our old friends in the Covenant, Sword, and Arm of the Lord? We found them buried in the Mark Twain National Forest, just south of here.”

  The muted boom of thunder rumbled in the distance, and

  Thomas found his attention drawn back to the shooting range, where Captain Christian was approaching them at a full sprint.

  “Colonel Callahan!” he shouted between heaving breaths.

  “The post has just gone on full strategic alert, and the CG wants you down in the Emergency Operations Center on the double, sir!”

  The red command flags hanging outside Hoge Hall in the Maneuver Support Center indicated three general officers in the building — a pair of one-star Brigadier Generals, and the two stars belonging to Major General Levering Atwater, the post CG.

  Thomas followed Ted Callahan inside, past a pair of smartly attired MPs armed with bolstered side arms. Yet another MP, this one an attractive female, was stationed beside the reception desk, and she greeted them with a crisp salute.

  “Colonel Callahan, I’m Sergeant First Class Joanna Blair, and I’ll be escorting you down to the EOC.” Looking at Thomas, she added, “I don’t believe we were expecting a civilian, sir.”

  “Special Agent Kellogg is with the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms, and I’ll personally vouch for him. Sergeant.”

  SFC Blair didn’t dare challenge this endorsement, and she led the way down a wide stairway. The modern glass, steel, and polished wood interior could easily pass for the headquarters of a Fortune 500 company. Great expense had been dedicated to its design and construction, a factor no doubt reflected by the Engineering Center that was housed here.

  At the bottom of the stairs, their escort conveyed them down a long, carpeted corridor. The pictures on the walls showed various scenes depicting the history of the Corps of Engineers. It was a rich legacy that went all the way back to the Revolutionary War, and continued on to Desert Storm and beyond.

  Beside a stylized painting of today’s engineers at work on the modern battlefield was an adjoining hallway into which the MP led them. The walls here were lined with sound-absorbent tile, and Thomas noted the open entryway was protected by a thick, steel, blast-proof door.

  The muffled sound of voices signaled their arrival in the EOC.

  It was a large, ten-thousand-square-foot room, with a theater style briefing area that faced a series of seven computer workstations, with four consoles currently manned. A podium was positioned to the side, and three immense projection screens dominated the room’s forward wall.

  The first four rows of seats in the briefing area were completely filled with officers of Major rank or above. All were dressed in BDUs, and Thomas felt conspicuous in his khakis, polo shirt, and lightweight aTF windbreaker.

  No sooner did Thomas join Ted in the vacant fifth row than the overhead lights dimmed. The middle projection screen flickered alive with a rich royal blue background surrounding the official crest of the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. This backdrop faded, to be replaced by the Chairman himself. Admiral Trent Warner was standing behind a podium, dressed in a green flight suit. The silver-haired flag officer appeared uncharacteristically tense as he stared into the camera and began speaking.

  “My fellow Americans and members of the Armed Forces, I am coming to you live from the National Airborne Operations Center, high above Eastern Europe. This unprecedented alert brief has been generated by a tragedy of immense proportions that started off several hours ago, when our President landed in the Crimea for what was to be a secret nuclear-arms negotiating session with the leaders of Russia and Ukraine.

  “I regret to inform you that our Commanderin-Chief never made it to that summit. Approximately one hour ago, while transiting Ukrainian soil, the President’s motorcade was attacked, and he was unmercifully gunned down by yet unknown assailants.

  Rest assured, this cold-blooded murder will not go unavenged!”

  The Chairman paused, and a murmur of shocked disbelief filled the EOC. Thomas found himself too stunned to talk, and he traded astounded glances with Ted Callahan, who incredulously whispered, “I don’t believe what I’m hearing!”

  Thomas found himself thinking about the other government personnel in the President’s motorcade. His brother, Vince, had been previously assigned to the same detail, and he listened as the Chairman continued.

  “Per the continuity of government protocol, I have assumed supreme leadership of America’s Armed Forces. I have also activated the alternative codes to our strategic arsenal, and have ordered these forces to an alert stage of DEFCON Four.

  “The very fact that I’m addressing you now speaks well for our continued command and control capabilities. This broadcast is being simultaneously transmitted to U.S. military command posts worldwide, but not the general public so as to avoid needless panic. Until the Vice President, or his successor, has been duly sworn into office as President, I will continue to fulfill my sworn duty as senior ranking military officer of the National Command Authority.

  “With your continued support, cooperation, and assistance, we shall prevail in this hour of darkness. Our great nation has undergone many great hardships in a little over two hundred years of existence, and this one, too, shall test the fabric of Lady Liberty’s will to prevail. It is up to the proud men and women of the United States military to take up the torch of liberty, to ease the nation’s fears, and to give our people hope for a brave new tomorrow. America’s best days are yet to come. God bless …”

  Before the Chairman could complete this time-honored affirmation, the floor beneath him suddenly bucked steeply to the left, then dove sharply downward. He grabbed onto the shaking podium as a water glass tumbled off it. And for a sobering m
oment, Thomas saw fear in Warner’s steely gaze as the Chairman looked to the still-rocking, tripod-mounted camera for one last second before the picture went unceremoniously blank.

  Chapter 14

  Friday, July 2, 1948 Zulu

  Nightwatch 676

  “Break left! Break left! Incoming missile!”

  Coach listened to his copilot’s shout of warning, and immediately turned the yoke hard aport. The 747 reacted almost instantaneously, and in the center of the instrument panel, the Altitude Director Indicator rolled hard in the direction that the plane was now turning. Coach could feel the strain on his shoulder harness, and he listened as Lucky anxiously cried out:

  “Radar shows a single air-to-air missile headed our way, compliments of that Red bastard in the lead MiG. It’s gonna be close, gents!”

  Nightwatch was still in the midst of its steeply banked turn when the cockpit filled with a resounding explosive crack. This was accompanied by a blinding streak of white-hot light that shot past them at supersonic velocity, a mere one hundred yards away from their right wing tip. In the blink of an eye, the eastern horizon lit up with a blazing fireball, and Coach and his copilot found themselves diverting their glances to keep their night vision intact.

  “American military 747,” intoned a Slavic-accented voice over the radio.

  “This is Colonel Anatoly Dubrinski of the Ukrainian Air Force in Foxbat One. You are hereby ordered to return at once to Simferopol Airfield, to answer to the charges of crimes of treason against the Ukrainian people. And be forewarned, next time I won’t intentionally miss!”

  “What in the blazes is he talking about?” quizzed Coach, ever hesitant to return to the eastern heading that they had previously been traveling.

  “Lucky, get Colonel Pritchard on the horn. Inform him of the situation, and find out how in hell he wants us to respond to this threat.”

  “Don’t forget to remind him that we’ve got no defensive countermeasures,” interjected Jake Lasky, clearly shaken by the near miss.