Nightwatch

by Richard P. Henrick

  The last time he had seen Chief Warrant Officer Lewis Marvin, the big-boned Green Beret was headed on a secret mission deep into the heart of Cambodia. Marvin and his Studies and Observation Group fire team never returned, and had been officially listed as missing in action. Vince couldn’t even begin to imagine how Marvin had made his way back, let alone what his new mission might be.

  “Take cover, sniper!”

  The dreaded warning sounded a bare second after the first round exploded from the surrounding forest. Thomas dove to the ground, and as he pressed his body into the damp soil in a desperate attempt to gain cover, another bullet ricocheted close overhead.

  From the rear of their formation, an M16 returned fire, and Thomas rolled over into the same shallow culvert that also sheltered Ted Callahan. Yet more sniper rounds whined overhead, and Thomas listened to Callahan as he urgently addressed his two-way.

  “Commander Three, this is Commander One. We are taking live fire, and request immediate assistance. Over.”

  Chapter 26

  Saturday, July 3 0101 Zulu

  Night Watch 676

  The order calling Coach down to the conference room arrived just as the lights of Brest, France, were visible in the night sky thirty-two thousand feet beneath them. Taking his place at the pilot console was his backup. Major Owen Lassiter. Lassiter was short and wiry, with a spiky crew cut that did little to cover up his rather large, protruding ears. The Ross Perot lookalike took his flying seriously and didn’t care for idle chatter in his cockpit, a fact that both Lucky and Jake were painfully aware of.

  While Lucky was in the process of giving Lassiter a weather update. Coach excused himself, taking a moment to stretch his cramped limbs in the vacant upper-deck rest area. His bunk invitingly beckoned, yet he turned instead for the stairway that conveyed him down to the main deck. At the base of the stairs, he passed the ever-present, dour-faced security guard, and grabbed a mug of black coffee at the galley, before continuing forward into the conference room.

  There were six individuals seated there. At his usual place at the head of the table was Admiral Warner, with Colonel Pritchard. Major Hewlett, Captain Richardson, Brittany, and Red seated alongside the Chairman. Each of them had their eyes locked on the rear projection screen, where a real-time video conference with General Lowell Spencer was being held.

  As quietly as possible. Coach took the vacant seat next to Brittany, all the while listening to TACAMO’s distinguished, silver-haired EAO describe the tense situation currently taking place beneath the Atlantic.

  “… and that’s the extent of the damages,” continued Spencer, his deep blue eyes showing little hint of outward emotion.

  “I’m confident that the Rhode Island can complete the repairs from their position on the continental shelf, and that they’ll still be able to fulfill their alert platform duty should they be called upon to do so.”

  The Chairman leaned forward and addressed the microphone that was placed in the center of the table.

  “I appreciate the update, Lowell. It sounds like Captain Lockwood and his men are doing one hell of a fine job down there. Any word on the vessel that struck them?”

  Spencer shook his head.

  “We’re relying on the Polk to track it down. But so far, the Red bastard has eluded us.”

  “We still don’t have any proof that it was a Russian submarine, Lowell,” reminded the Chairman.

  A pained expression crossed Spencer’s face, and he dared to counter.

  “I don’t want to get into another argument with you, Mr. Chairman, but as far as I’m concerned, it’s only too obvious who’s responsible for this flagrant act of undersea aggression.

  Regardless of what General Zhukov told you, how can we trust a nation that can’t even tell us who’s in charge of its nuclear arsenal?”

  “The Russian Defense Minister gave me his word that their nuclear release codes haven’t in any way been compromised during the current power struggle,” stated Warner.

  “And I have no reason to doubt him.”

  “Then why can’t we speak to their President directly, and get his personal guarantee that the codes are still under his direct control?” Spencer countered.

  The Chairman looked at Red. The systems analyst wore headphones and a chin mike, and after inputting a flurry of data into her laptop’s keyboard, she indicated with a despondent shake of the head that she still had no luck getting in touch with the Russian President.

  “It appears the President remains at sea, unreachable,” the Chairman said in a bare whisper.

  “It’s another goddamn coup attempt!” exclaimed Spencer.

  “The spineless sons of bitches killed our President, and now they want to take over the goddamn world. Where the hell’s Vice President Chapman? This country needs its Commander in Chief.

  Coach couldn’t believe Spencer’s audacity, and he watched the Chairman’s face redden with rage. Trent Warner wasn’t the type of man who liked to have his authority challenged, and he angrily scanned the faces of those gathered around the table, finally halting on Captain Richardson.

  “Can PEMA provide an answer for the good General?” he asked impatiently.

  Richardson doublechecked his laptop’s display screen before answering.

  “The central locator system indicates that we’ve yet to make contact with the Vice President or his party. The Speaker of the House is on his way to Missouri’s Fort Leonard Wood to personally coordinate the Search and Rescue effort and to be immediately available to take the oath of office should the Vice President be deceased, while Senator Brennan, the next in line for the Presidency after the Speaker, is standing by on Capitol Hill.”

  Spencer appeared to be somewhat appeased by this information, and he waited for a pocket of air turbulence to pass before expressing himself with a sober seriousness.

  “I gather that you’re still headed for Washington?”

  Coach was the next to be swallowed by the Chairman’s icy glance, and he took this as a prompt to answer the General.

  “Nightwatch is just passing over the coast of Brittany. Our ETA at Andrews is 0735 Zulu.”

  Yet more turbulence shook TACAMO, and Spencer could be seen grabbing the edge of his padded command chair. Worry crossed his face, and Coach noted that the decorated veteran suddenly looked every one of his sixty-three years and then some.

  Chapter 27

  Friday, July 2,

  Hacklelolr Hollow Mark Twain National Forest

  “Damn it, Ted. The way they’ve got us pinned down, we’ll never get out of this ditch alive.”

  Yet another 7.62mm round whined overhead, and Ted Callahan dared to look up and meet Thomas’s glance.

  “Hang in there, Kellogg. Sergeant Reed and his Sappers should be arriving on the scene any second now.”

  From his prone position beside Callahan, Thomas expressed his number one fear.

  “If these are indeed the guys who snatched the VP and my brother’s Secret Service team, I wonder what in hell they’re trying to pull off. They might be able to keep us temporarily at bay, but it’s only a matter of time until we bring down enough reinforcements to take them out.”

  “I’m just concerned that these are the same skunks who’ve been stealing weapons from Leonard Wood. If they’re locals, they’ll have a thorough knowledge of these woods, making tracking them down difficult.”

  A series of three closely grouped sniper rounds rained down on them. One of the rounds ricocheted off a boulder, embedding itself in a tree trunk only a few feet behind them. Thomas instinctively ducked, and as he pressed his head into the ground, he inadvertently swallowed a mouthful of wet dirt. He spat out the mud, and his companion laughed.

  “We finally made a mud eater out of you, Kellogg.”

  “I’ll never complain about an MRE again,” promised Thomas, who managed a nervous smile himself.

  An intense outburst of automatic-weapons fire sounded in the distance.

  It had a vastl
y different pitch from the fire previously directed upon them, and Callahan glanced at his watch and matter-of-factly commented:

  “If I’m not mistaken, that should be Sergeant Reed and his boys completing their flanking maneuver.”

  No sooner were these words spoken than Callahan’s two-way activated, and the sound of gunfire faded.

  “Commander One, this is Commander Three. Over,” broke in a breathless voice from the speaker.

  “Commander Three, this is Commander One. What did you find up there. Sapper leader?” asked Callahan.

  “Commander One, the opposition has been neutralized. And, sir, you’ll never believe what these rascals were up to.”

  “Have you located the Vice President?” Callahan asked hopefully.

  “We’re still checking, sir. If you proceed about half a klick up the path, you can’t miss us.”

  “Roger that. Commander Three. We’re on our way. Over.”

  Callahan informed the MPs of the all-clear. They emerged from cover, and with Captain Christian leading the way to check for booby traps, they continued up the trail.

  Thomas was last in line. He was relieved to be on the move once more. Ever hopeful that his brother would be found safe and sound close by, he easily kept up with the formation, which proceeded forward with a new sense of urgency.

  It was as they neared a large open clearing that he smelled the distinctive odor of ammonia. A group of Sappers were in the process of examining a ramshackle Airstream trailer that was positioned at the clearing’s western edge. Two men with their hands restrained behind their backs were spread out on their stomachs nearby, with a Sapper keeping watch over them with an M-16. They were dressed in camouflage fatigues, and had their long hair tied in ponytails.

  Sergeant Reed emerged from behind the trailer, carrying a pair of hunting rifles with scopes on them. Ranger Glickman accompanied him, and when she spotted Thomas, a wide grin lit up her face.

  “Special Agent, I believe you’ll be especially interested in what we found back there.”

  “I assume that it’s not the Vice President.”

  “I’m afraid there’s no sign of him,” replied the Ranger.

  “Though at long last we’ve managed to catch a pair of notorious methamphetamine bootleggers who have been plaguing the forest.

  Their lab is right out there in the woods, and we caught them using stolen anhydrous ammonia fertilizer to convert ephedrine into meth.”

  Thomas found it hard to hide his disappointment, and he looked at Ted Callahan and vented his frustration.

  “Where the hell’s Vice President Chapman and Vince?”

  “I believe the answer to that question lies further down the river, my friend,” offered Callahan stoically.

  Chapter 28

  Friday, July 2,

  Stinking Pond Hollow Mark Twain National Forest

  They used an improvised field stretcher constructed out of salvaged canoe paddles and fishing line to carry Lewis Marvin from the crash site. Vince noted the severe burns that covered Marvin’s backside as they pulled him from the underbrush. The rear portion of his flight suit was burned away, revealing raw, burned skin, and when they initially moved him, he howled in pain and slipped into unconsciousness.

  He remained unconscious for the entire hike into the hollow.

  Vince suspected he was in shock and that, in addition to the burns, he had severe internal injuries as well. Marvin would need immediate medical attention. Yet because of their isolated location and the hostile nature of their escorts, getting him to a doctor was doubtful. All that Vince could do was keep him as comfortable as possible, and try to attend to his wounds once they were at the campsite.

  Junior was particularly anxious to have his father question their new prisoner. Marvin was apparently the first solid evidence proving the existence of the dreaded UN-sponsored, One World/ Black Helicopter conspiracy. Vince’s previous acquaintance with Marvin only served to fuel Junior’s paranoia, and Vince could only hope that he’d get a chance to clarify their relationship. Of course, he was equally interested in learning all about Marvin’s involvement with the ambush.

  One of Vince’s greatest fears was how Andrew Chapman had fared during their hike to the river. He was afraid that the VP might have further incurred the wrath of his captors and had been subsequently shot. He was thus pleasantly surprised when they entered the campsite and found Chapman alive and well, in the midst of a spirited game of checkers with Amos Stoddard.

  The checker players were seated on the wooden porch of a small, ramshackle cabin. There was an open Mason jar filled with a clear liquid substance beside them, with Satan snuggled up alongside Andrew Chapman’s outstretched feet.

  Just as Vince and his party emerged from the forest with Marvin in tow, Amos completed an eagerly anticipated triple jump, wiping the last of the VP’s checkers from the board.

  “You might be a devious politician,” shouted Amos in triumph, “but you sure are a lousy checkers player.”

  Satan began barking to announce the newcomers, prompting Tiny to exit the cabin. The tall, potbellied redhead with the inappropriate name carried a shotgun, and he called out to Junior in a deep, resonant voice.

  “Who are ya carryin’ in that stretcher. Junior? Don’t tell me you went and snagged the President?”

  Junior ignored this facetious remark, and instead excitedly addressed his father.

  “Pa, it’s a United Nations storm trooper! We practically pulled him right out of his black helicopter on the banks of the Eleven Point.”

  They lowered the stretcher onto the porch, and both Amos, Tiny, and Andrew Chapman examined the ashen-faced man whom it carried. Marvin remained unconscious, and his quick, shallow breaths and cold, clammy skin didn’t bode well for his continued survival.

  “Could someone please get him some water?” Vince pleaded.

  Miriam put down the SATCOM to fulfill this request, while Junior said, “Our Fed knows him. Pa. They’re most likely in cahoots together.”

  “His name’s Lewis Marvin,” Vince interjected.

  “We served together in Vietnam. The last time I saw him was some thirty years ago. He was on his way into Cambodia for a Search and Rescue mission. Not a single member of his unit ever came back, with Marvin himself listed as missing in action.”

  Amos snickered.

  “SAR mission, my ass. He was no doubt part of the CIA’s secret war, and they purposely listed him MIA to use him for other clandestine operations, like the one he’s currently involved with.”

  “Though I was too young to serve in Vietnam,” interrupted Andrew Chapman, “I got a chance to serve on a Senate Intelligence committee during my stint in Congress that was tasked with investigating the CIA’s involvement in the war. I have no doubt that they were indeed involved in some activities that were never reported to the American people.”

  “Yeah, like selling opium on the streets of America to finance their One World agenda,” Amos retorted.

  “I never saw any proof that such a thing ever occurred,” replied Chapman.

  “That’s ‘cause you’re either a fellow conspirator or dumb enough to believe their doublespeak,” said Amos.

  “You politicians are all alike. You’ve sold out to other interests, forgetting that your true purpose is to serve the people.”

  “I beg to differ with you,” countered Chapman.

  “You’re making an unfair generalization.”

  Amos spat at Chapman’s feet.

  “Like hell I am! You’re nothing but a bunch of self-serving crooks. It’s time to clean out Washington, and tar and feather the whole lot of you.”

  “You can do that with your vote,” said the VP.

  Vince didn’t like the direction this argument was taking, and he cringed when Amos Stoddard began laughing wickedly.

  “Like this country has ever seen a fair election,” said Amos, looking directly at the VP.

  “We might be poor, but we ain’t stupid.

/>   The only candidate who wins is the one that best serves the corporate. One World interest. Us folks at the bottom of the economy don’t have any real say in the government. We’re too busy fighting to survive, and ‘cause we never had the time for a decent education, the system has passed us right by. The trouble with you politicians is that you’ve lost touch with the American heartland, and deserve to be shot for your inattention.”

  Tiny alertly rammed a shell into the barrel of his shotgun and offered it to Amos, saying, “Come on, old man. It’s time to back up those bold words of yours with some action. Let’s shoot the Federal bastards.”

  “Yeah, Pa,” Junior put in.

  “Now’s our chance to really make a difference.”

  Vince knew it was time to intercede and defuse this volatile situation, and as he was mentally formulating a strategy to do so, Lewis Marvin began to stir. He issued a low moan, and when his eyes opened, Vince took advantage of his return to consciousness to divert attention from the VP.

  “Lewis, it’s Vince Kellogg from A Company, First Battalion, Third Group.”

  Marvin’s bloodshot eyes slowly focused on Vince, and he didn’t appear to display the least hint of recognition, prompting Vince to add, “Our teams were assigned to the Rung Sat Special Zone together, under Colonel Sharp.”

  “That bastard,” cursed Marvin, his hoarse voice but a whisper.

  “It were pencil-dicked sons of bitches like Sharp who lost the war for us. Jesus, Kellogg, it looks like I really screwed the pooch this time. What the hell are you doing out here in these infernal woods?”

  “I was all set to ask you the same question, Lewis. I was part of the canoe convoy you attacked.”

  Marvin winced in pain, and as he struggled to scan the faces of those gathered around him, his stare finally halted on Andrew Chapman.