by G. P. Moss
Chapter Seven
The full moon looks closer, gigantic in its dominance of my vision and eerily welcome as a guiding light. Though the rain hammers its relentless journey like a persistent drum beat, accompanying the deep growl of the powerful engine, its consistency is comforting after the unpredictability of the fearsome, killing waves.
I concentrate on pushing the Subaru as fast as is safe as Johnny continues to search for a signal on the satellite phone. There's something but no useful connection - either everyone's busy or dead. I still feel occasional rumbles, the vibrations running through my thighs like an electric current. The sound is distinct from the engine roar - it's deep from the earth again and it worries me. If the airfield's affected, we'll need another plan but we need communications for a helicopter airlift. Earthquakes occur here but they usually happen fast and never serious enough for aftershocks if this is what's happening. It is happening, I know it.
Maybe it's just the natural fault lines but it's been happening more often all over the world. Nobody listens to the environmentalists - to the massive corporations and governments, they're just wellie-wearing liberals who can't see the big picture.
"Nothing at all, comms are down," Johnny says. There's no resignation in his voice, just a quiet acceptance of the current situation - we're trained to accept the worst, then to move forward.
There are no signs to the airfield - checking my watch, we've been on the highway for ninety minutes so we're keeping watch for any light cutting through the blackness.
As the Supermoon stares at the errant sea that caught our friend, faint, flickering lights present themselves like an unexpected gift. We know they should be there but with recent events, it's still a surprise.
Johnny checks the Brownings as I cut the speed to sixty miles per hour - we've been before but we don't know the entire layout. Saving further enthusiasm for the time we know we've a serviceable aircraft to board, I keep checking to my left in case the airfield's split in two by the highway.
A quick glance in the rear-view shows tired eyes, the usual deep-blue, rimmed red with driving fatigue. My face is a mess of mud splats courtesy of the storm - if Alice could see me she'd say I was her action man - her favourite name for me. Smiling at the thought of her, my lips purse, almost locking my jaw as I see headlights behind us.
Whoever it is has either managed to keep far enough back to evade detection or has raced to catch us - it's a car coming fast and I know it's not friendly. Johnny's already turned in the tatty black Recaro seat, pushing it back as he kneels to take a better look.
"Old sedan, by the look of it, a V8 by the noise," he says, squinting through the rain-lashed back window at the growling lump of metal about to snatch our tail.
He can probably guess what I'm going to do as he grips the seat, bracing against the whipping acceleration as my foot slams pedal to metal, preparing for the distance I need, to turn and face these clowns.
"How many?" I ask, as Johnny grabs rifles from the back seat.
"Hard to say - three, maybe four. More than us," he replies, without a trace of fear.
I nod to Johnny as I brake hard, yanking the steering wheel and praying we face our unknown enemy instead of the way we were heading. We do. As the sedan bears down upon us, I'm out, the rifle stock jammed hard against my shoulder, my perfect firing position. Johnny opens his door in a manner suggesting patience until he pulls the pin on the grenade.
The car screeches as the driver attempts to slow his momentum, partially succeeding as the sedan lifts high into the air, the explosion finally offering an answer to the raging storm. Smashing upside down onto the highway, smoke forces its way out through the downpour as its tank ignites, flames rushing out of every hole as the car quickly sheds its paint, stripping the metal to beyond its base, leaving a corroded shell on the swimming road.
I don't take chances even though I know there's little chance of survival for the occupants. The burning remains of two of them are among the wreckage while two more are on the hard scrub, one each side of the highway. I check the one on the right. He's dead, missing an arm and half his right shoulder. The clothing's not military - more likely the cartel's village idiots if they think they can just jump a Special Forces team, albeit a unit of two.
"Cartel?" Johnny shouts through the rain. He's holding a dark shape - looks like a Glock.
"No doubt,” I shout in reply, finding an old, matt black revolver a few yards from the dead thug.
Searching the pursuer's pockets, I find a smashed prepay phone - it's gone way past the stage of intelligence-gathering so there's nothing of interest except a small bag of off-white powder which, for me, cements the cartel theory. We may be on our way out but that's another four we've eliminated.
We pocket the handguns, heading back to the Subaru as I notice my head is no longer a rain-drum. The first break in the storm for several hours feels like a lightening of the soul - it also highlights the vast swathes of damage as the moon finally has a say in the dominating rule of black sky. I'm tired - even thinking it saps my strength as energy levels quickly deplete. I remember the training - when you're at this stage, you're still thirty per cent short of real exhaustion. I slap myself, hard across the face.
I stopped the car just short of a gap in a high, wire-mesh fence, the outer layer of the airfield. A wooden sentry shed sits at the entrance but it's empty - perhaps the guards left in a hurry to find a stronger shelter from the storm. There's no damage to the outside - the door is padlocked and I've no desire to search inside - not everyone's our enemy and it's not our property. Slamming the Subaru into gear, I take it at a steady thirty, hoping this is the last stage of our journey through this unpredictable land. In the distance, amber lights twinkle in the night sky, forcing me to check my breathing as I wonder what's there to greet us.
Chapter Eight
Two sets of headlights appear, filling our car in an eerie bright wash as a pair of Jeeps hurtle from opposite diagonals, their compressed-air diesels making them sound like heavy lorries. I pray they're friendly as Johnny slides the safety from both Brownings, one in each hand, ready to pass mine once the Subaru has stopped.
We can't run but I'm not going to be boxed in either so I stop the car before they reach us, the Jeeps sensibly stopping twenty yards away.
"Identify yourselves!" The crisp voice with only a trace of accent quickly calms my fears but we still grip the guns - unwelcome surprises never surprise us.
"Lieutenants Nowak and Christianson," I shout, not knowing or caring about the rank of the inquisitor.
"You can put the guns away, Lieutenants. I'm Captain Smith - Major Williams is at the shed, if you will follow us."
“Yes, Sir!" I reply, keeping the words clear and sharp - nobody needs to know the relief I'm feeling.
The 'shed' turns out to be the long, low, cream-brick building I remember from the day we landed here. We follow Captain Smith's long, purposeful strides as the Jeeps head off, no doubt on perimeter patrol.
Johnny and I are over six feet tall but the Captain and Major Williams manage to look down on us - they're like twin giants, a good six feet eight with enormous chests and shoulders - I doubt their clothing comes made-to-measure. They look like military field officers, dark brown neat hair, and clean closely-shaven faces. Everything about them is massive, including their heads and thick, wide noses. I look at Johnny, then down at my own, filthy, torn black combat rags – it’s plain to see who the grafters are.
"We were expecting eleven of you, and tomorrow, though I understand why you’ve come now," the Major says, staring down through bottle-green eyes.
"Sir, Captain Browne is missing, presumed dead, along with his contact and her son. The six troopers at the house have also perished, I believe – there’s nothing left of the building.” I’m only giving the barest facts - I'll give more when it's asked for.
As the Major looks at each of us carefully, Captain Smith addresses me.
"Did you see their bodies?"
"I believe Captain Browne had been shot, Sir - he was on the ground as we caught up with them. His contact was trying to pull him to safety as a giant wave hit, taking out the ground beneath them. When I looked afterwards, there was only a deep void, hundreds of feet down. It would be unlikely anyone could survive that."
"But not impossible?" the Major asks.
"No Sir, not impossible," I concede. "I looked, Sir - there was no sign of them and the storm was becoming stronger. We saved ourselves."
"No point in eleven deaths, nine’s bad enough - you did the right thing. Okay, I'll send the report, MIA, presumed dead. Communications went down but they've been restored - the transport's coming at lunchtime tomorrow, twelve noon."
I glance at Johnny but I can't read him as he stands still, listening to the conversation. My words 'we saved ourselves' just hit home and I'm wondering if he's feeling the same guilt. The Major is right though - we'd have died too if we'd stayed any longer.
"We've no choice but to clear out," the Major says. "Two reasons. Our operation has been compromised, by the same people we're trying to assist. Ha-Yun, Captain Browne's contact, was always running the risk of detection but there was a high-level leak, I'm sure. A brave woman - I'm never happy about dragging contacts back home with us but she and her son were deserving of our protection. We failed and for that I'm sorry."
It's the first time I've heard the woman's name. Harry really was working for the top - Johnny and I are minions here. Before I offer further information, the Major speaks again.
"The other reason we're pulling out is global. Those manic drillers have pushed the envelope and it's beginning to bite. It wouldn't surprise me if there's a link - these quakes and tsunamis here. Richter readings are climbing all over the world. If the now thinkable unthinkable happens, we'll be needed at home."
I nod grimly - I've been saying this for years, privately of course. Privately? I should have been screaming it.
"Sir, the leak was Colonel Kim. Not just the leak but we now know heavily involved with the cartel. I believe he shot Captain Browne. Kim had kidnapped the woman's boy. We killed Kim, Sir."
"What a mess, but well done. You'll stay in here tonight, there are sleeping bags in the other room. Help yourself to soup, and whatever else you can find. Tomorrow, this place will be up in flames."
The shed has escaped the worst of the storm - hot water for washing and the satisfying taste of tea with milk is welcomed as I remove the grime and replace the bitter taste in my mouth with something refreshing and familiar.
The Subaru's boot is emptied - with the help of Captain Smith, we strip and clean the captured weapons, deciding which to discard, before choosing anything decent to take on the transport tomorrow. Special clearance in our country means there'll be no Customs staff interfering but everything must be accounted for within our unit.
The guards are now protecting the shed as well as searching for perimeter breaches - the last attempted attack on us shows that the wild weather hasn't put off those anxious enough not just to see us leave but to erase all trace of us, permanently.
We can't leave fast enough but touching down on home ground will be bittersweet - we're one officer and six troopers short - apart from our personal loss, that's a lot of families torn apart with no remains to bury. Missing in Action, presumed dead will likely bring a reluctant acceptance, rather than the eventual peace they deserve.
I sleep, a heavy slumber, filled with dreams of deep, black holes and the frightened face of Ha-Yun, pleading for the help that never came.
Chapter Nine
I'm wide awake. The first thing I notice is the birdsong's returned - if they think it's safe then it probably is. At the first warning sign, before we even register it, they're off to safer ground. We've much to learn.
Major Williams calls me through to his small office as I repack my kit.
"Alex, one of my sources has located the troopers' remains - no survivors, as you'd expected. He'll be here within a couple of hours - I'll send guards to meet him at the gate - nobody's coming in here until we're out of this airspace."
"Right, Sir." I don't ask but the Major continues.
"There was a search near the inlet, at the place you described last seeing Captain Browne and his companions. Nothing, not a trace, I'm afraid. It's like they just vanished - hardly surprising when they’ve been hit by a tsunami."
I'm surprised there's anyone left here to trust but evidence of a few rotten ones doesn't mean the whole lot of them are the same. It's fear and it's contagious. We survive and prosper only due to the bravery and selflessness of people like Ha-Yun.
Johnny's outside, scouring the area with a pair of powerful Steiner binoculars. The transport will now be here by ten - the Major needs the troopers' remains on this flight - the transfer cases are already ready - thankfully the power stayed on so there's still ice. These men may be dead but for their families, a physical presence means they can say goodbye.
*
The Airbus A400M Atlas, the best transport aircraft we've had in decades, appears to glide effortlessly on its approach to the rough landing strip - it's a basic airfield but the Atlas is built for fast drops and evacuations in inhospitable places.
Everything's ready as the remains of our comrades are boarded with honour and respect before the guard NCOs drive two heavily protected Land Rover Snatch's into the cargo hold. There isn’t much else to be crated as we assist the crew to finish loading.
Major Williams is true to his word. As we prepare for takeoff, the blast of explosions can be heard over the shuddering roar of the four huge turboprops as the Airbus starts its journey, shaking the ground in its dominance. The fire the senior officer lit has spread quickly through the shed, igniting gas tanks and a separate fuel dump - he really is annoyed at our time spent here.
In less than a minute, our giant bird is defying gravity as we leave this tormented land behind us. If conditions were different, if the integrity of the local military hadn't been flattened, we'd be out there searching for Harry, Ha-Yun, and her boy. I leave with a nasty, bitter taste in my mouth at the thought of leaving our colleague and friend behind as the transport climbs, roaring into a darkening sky. It's hard to say from here if the new massive rumbling sounds are from the Atlas or the rapidly diminishing ground below.
Johnny looks clean and fresh in laundered fatigues - he'd washed clothes in the night, perhaps not wanting the black dreams of my own sleep. He's quiet, like the rest of us, looking deep in thought, new multiple furrows carved into his face from stress and fatigue. He's from the same valley as Harry and, like me, knows his wife, Aveline.
I live around one hundred and fifty miles away, in the coastal town of Eastsea but once I've seen Alice, I plan to visit the valley - as one of the last people to see Harry alive, I need to be able to answer any questions Aveline may have in her grief.
The aeroplane rocks slightly as the building storm tries to take it on but it stubbornly rights itself, driving forward with immense power.
Looking around at my colleagues' faces, each man has his jaw set hard and straight - nobody will call the mission a failure but it feels like one to me and probably does to them, too. We're not magicians - we take what we're given and do our best.
The aircraft rocks again but everything's tight in its place - whatever's out there is unrelenting in its determination to test our nerve. It needn't bother - when you've been in the sun-ravaged Sahara Desert, surrounded by armed guerrillas and had to lie your way out of certain death, nothing much else scares you.
The pilot announces that after almost eleven hours, we’re entering home airspace. I’m normally an outwardly calm person – internal fear is different and sometimes necessary for survival, and I hope I don’t give too much away as a tight knot takes hold of my stomach. We’ve lost men before but in situations where we knew there was a high chance of casualties. On this last mission, we lost seven personnel, a brave civilian, and her boy, to nature. I think of the changin
g weather patterns, the increase in earth tremors and tsunamis and wonder how much of this is by our own hand. Most of it, I bet.
The Airbus lands in a raven sky, its wheels bouncing slightly only once as they absorb the impact of the rain-lashed runway. It’s only thirteen hundred hours but it looks like evening outside. We don’t leave until protocol’s been observed for our fallen fellow soldiers – their return marked by such funereal weather that airfield bird control is made redundant – there’s an honour party waiting but little else. It appears all other flights are cancelled in conditions our aircraft took in its stride.
Chapter Ten
I wait with Johnny, outside Colonel Brooke's office at Headquarters. Major Williams has already been debriefed - it's the turn of Captain Smith. We wait, according to rank but not necessarily importance, to tell the tale of how a strategically important mission could end with such a quick and disastrous outcome.
As I attempt to clear my head of unhelpful thoughts, I notice the rain has stopped, the sky improving, a gradual turn to a dull grey-blue, splitting from the great mass of foreboding black we flew into two hours earlier.
My fellow Lieutenant stares straight ahead - we both know this is a necessary formality and that we have other, pressing issues of a personal nature to deal with. Johnny's staying in Eastsea overnight as soon as we've had leave clearance. I'll see Alice before I head to the valley with Johnny - it'll be the hardest trip I've ever taken but nothing compared to the devastation of a young, pregnant wife.
Ten minutes after Captain Smith's departure, I'm called in to the Colonel's large, oak-panelled office. After saluting our Commanding Officer, I'm invited to sit the other side of the huge desk, its top covered in luxurious dark green leather. The tall, slim, moustachioed officer looks at me with sharp, alert, steel-blue eyes.
"I know you weren't present, thankfully, when the six troopers were killed, but tell me exactly what you saw before Captain Browne disappeared."