Event (event group thrillers)

by David L. Golemon

  "What about containment?" the president inquired.

  "There we are committing a number of F-15 Strike Eagles and F-16 Fighting Falcons for use in ground assault. They will be loaded with type-N Bunker Busters and standard cluster munitions that should give the burrowing bastards something to write home about. If we have to, we can ring the entire valley with bombs. We are scraping anything we can package, Mr. President, and will have more as soon as we can get them online. We are also airlifting a squadron of Paladin tanks for cover if and when the tunnel teams go in."

  "What about the special troops Mr. Compton has asked for?"

  "They just landed outside of the town and are being airlifted to the site by Blackhawk. The best we have, sir. Major Collins will have a strong element of Delta and Third Rangers to add to the Group's tunnel and mine teams."

  The president turned and looked into the camera. "Mr. Compton, I know this is a lot to throw at you, but what have we learned from the crewman of that saucer?"

  Niles pushed his glasses back up on his nose and looked into the camera.

  "With maybe only two or three of the offspring killed or wounded, that leaves approximately ninety-plus healthy ones, not counting the adult, which hadn't been present at the attack that we know of. The surviving crewman assures us if we can kill all the young and then get to the mother in another"--he looked at the clock on the wall--"nine hours, we can avoid having to deal with another, even larger hatching cycle, as each surviving animal will give birth to another hundred young."

  "And if even one of the offspring survives?" the director, CIA, asked.

  "It starts all over again," Niles said.

  The president looked from each of his highest advisers, then back into the camera. "Mr. Compton, you are to take complete control of the visitor, and Major Collins and your Group are still in charge of everything underneath the soil of that valley. Tell Major Collins to kill the bastards, Niles."

  Chato's Crawl, Arizona

  July 9, 14.10 Hours

  Julie watched as the giant MH-53J Pave Low Ills of the Third Special Operations Squadron circled the town. She felt somewhat safer after she noticed the large rotary cannons sweeping the desert below from the side doors and rear ramps. Also crisscrossing the town were ten AH-64D Apache Longbow attack helicopters with their lethal load of sixteen Hellfire missiles, and seeing the chin-mounted M230 thirty-millimeter chain guns moving and covering the area around the buildings at least gave the survivors the illusion of safety. Above even them were hordes of streaking fighter aircraft. Upon their arrival, the few surviving townspeople and news crews gave a loud cheer.

  But Julie's mind was somewhere else. She looked at the injured soldiers and civilians spread out over the rooftop of her once quiet and out-of-the-way bar and grill, their awful wounds being tended to by army medics, and bit her lower lip as she made a fateful decision.

  "Mom, what are you doing?" Billy asked, trying to catch up with her retreating form. "Lieutenant Ryan said to stay put."

  She quickly walked to the small trapdoor that some of the fleeing patrons had used to access the roof. She looked around to see if anyone was watching, but they were still staring skyward as the giant twin-turbocharged helicopters started making their run for the rooftops.

  "You stay here, I've got to find out if Hal and Tony are alright," she yelled over the rotor noise. "I just can't leave without knowing."

  "Mom, that's nuts. Ryan said he would be right back, and that major guy will be seriously pissed," Billy pleaded, tugging at her shirt. "Let them check, Mom, they won't leave anyone."

  "They're our family, Billy. We have to be sure. I'm only going in for a minute." Then she opened the trapdoor and disappeared down the darkened staircase.

  Billy looked around nervously and wished Gus were here, but he and Matchstick had been lifted off with Ryan, the colonel, and the major twenty minutes before. He was guessing they were at the crash site. He bit his lip as he too made a decision, then followed his mother.

  TWENTY-NINE

  Superstition Mountains, Arizona

  July 9, 14.40 Hours

  You're going to what?" Lisa asked a little too loudly.

  Sarah checked her pack one more time, then she looked around at the preparing Delta and Ranger teams as they checked their equipment. Only a few of them looked their way when Lisa raised her voice. Sarah looked at her friend and nodded toward the commandos sitting around them at tables. Then she withdrew the nine-millimeter automatic from the shoulder holster and chambered a round, checked the safety, then replaced it. She checked for the fifth time the small oxygen tank that was lying on the cot and saw the needle well into the green. Then she turned and faced her friend.

  "I'm leading the main excursion into the first excavation made by the parent, right here at the crash site," she finally answered as nonchalantly as she could.

  "That's nuts, sister of mine. Did you hear what those things are capable of? Did you see the wounds on some of those airborne guys?" Lisa looked around her and stepped closer to Sarah. "Does Major Terrific know about this?"

  A few more of the Delta and one or two of the Rangers looked up at the two women, who stood toward the front of the huge tent. Lisa eyed them until they looked away.

  Sarah held the night-vision goggles to her eyes and adjusted the width of the eyepieces. "Lisa, it's my job, and, yes, it's the major's plan. He chose me. The geology teams are split up among the other tunnel teams." She lowered the ambient-light device and looked at her taller friend. "Look, we have to find these things in less than nine hours, and if the air force is cut loose on them, we won't be able to piece together enough bodies to tell how many we bagged. It's not like I won't have company. Other members of the mine and geology teams, plus the zoology members, are leading groups into over fifty holes. Besides, since those Delta guys and Rangers arrived, our odds of surviving have gone up substantially."

  Lisa walked over and closed the tent flap, cutting off some of the sunlight and noise from the helicopters coming and going.

  "That's those things' turf down there, and now you're volunteering to go into those holes? Has the major lost his fucking mind?"

  Sarah turned and looked at her roommate while inserting a thirty-round magazine into her XM8 light assault rifle. "Why aren't you that concerned about Carl or the commandos going down there? Why me?" she asked, looking her friend directly in her eyes.

  Lisa didn't back down. "Because, goddamn you, they're macho schmucks with not one fucking ounce of brains, which I used to believe you had, but I guess not."

  "It's my fucking job, Lisa," Sarah said in a harsh whisper. "What do I say on my first mission, 'Oh, can't do it... a little too dangerous'?"

  Lisa lowered her head and bit her lip, cutting off more of her argument because she knew her friend was right.

  "I'll be okay. If I have to, I'll toss a few of those Delta Force guys in front of me and run like hell, alright?" Sarah looked over and smiled at the few of the elite troops who were still watching them. They nodded.

  Lisa smiled for the first time since her friend's arrival. "Just watch out for Carl, he thinks he's the hero type."

  "I would, but he's not on my team. But he's with Jack, that spunky little navy guy, and Will Mendenhall, so he'll come back, I promise," Sarah said, taking her friend's hand into her own. "I've got to go, Lisa. We have a briefing in five. Those things don't know it yet, but it's our turn to start hunting them."

  Chatos Crawl, Arizona

  July 9,14.20 Hours.

  Julie slowly stepped off the bottom rung of the ladder, afraid the noise of her tennis shoe coming into contact with the broken floor would be enough to bring one of those things up through the broken tile and grab her away. But all was quiet in the kitchen. She saw a hole that had been made during the attack and stared into the dark and forbidding pit and shivered. Blood lined the mouth of the hole, and she silently prayed it hadn't been Hal or Tony who had been pulled down to their death. As she moved forward, she hea
rd the hiss and pop of the jukebox as the needle was stuck and kept hitting the stop and sliding back.

  Overhead she heard the powerful turbines whining from the large helicopters settling just above the rooftops. Things in the kitchen began to rattle loudly as the down blast from the powerful five-bladed rotors hit the Broken Cactus. She jumped when one of the hanging frying pans fell from its hook over the stove and clanged to the floor. Then her heart fell to the floor as she was touched on the shoulder from behind. She gave out a yelp and quickly covered her mouth. Billy placed his small hand over his mother's and held up a finger to his lips.

  "Shhh," he hissed. "Come on, Mom, what're you doing?" he whispered, removing his hand.

  "Goddammit, Billy, get your ass back up those stairs, now," she half whispered, thanking God for the loudness of the turbine-driven engines of the Pave Lows.

  "No way, not without you," Billy said, looking around for any sign of the animals that had so ravaged everyone in the town. He had yet to see one of them and didn't ever want to. He was putting up the best look of bravery and defiance he could muster; he just didn't feel either of those at the moment.

  Julie pursed her lips, trying hard to' hold her temper. Then she consciously counted out loud to ten, angrily forcing out each number as she did. She calmed a little and opened her eyes.

  "Alright, it doesn't look like anyone's here anyway, so let's get back upstairs and the hell out of here."

  They were just starting to turn when, over the rumbling sound of the settling Pave Lows, they heard the sound of voices. They weren't traveling down the stairwell from the rooftop, but were coming from the dining area just around the corner out of their vision. Julie raised an eyebrow.

  "There must still be people in here," she whispered a tad nervously, as she knew that everyone was supposed to be on the roof.

  She took Billy's right hand in her own and gently pulled him out of the kitchen and around the bar. They crept as quietly as they could, stepping lightly over fallen barstools and broken tables, and as they moved, the voices grew louder.

  "Whoever they are, they don't speak English. It sounds like French, I think," Julie said in a whisper.

  They finally reached the corner of the bar and looked around it. Julie quickly counted sixteen men. They all wore black suits like Ryan and the others who had come into the bar earlier, not the brown desert fatigues of the other soldiers of the 101st. These soldiers were different somehow from the black-clad men of Lieutenant Ryan's outfit. Their uniforms were a different make, and some of these men had beards. They looked, in Julie's unprofessional opinion, lethal.

  As Julie started to pull Billy back, a hand fell on her shoulder. She couldn't help it; she hated being this scared and tried not to, but she screamed anyway.

  "Hey, can I pay you later for this?" Tony's slurred voice asked loudly.

  The men that had been sitting around loading weapons suddenly stood, and the ones who had already been standing brought their weapons up and ran to a better angle inside the dining area and aimed at the intruders. A dozen pinpoints of laser-red light hit the intruders' chests and didn't waver an inch. All Julie could do was raise her hands to show she wasn't armed.

  "I'm glad you're okay, Tony, but you couldn't have picked a worse time to wake up," Julie whispered out of the corner of her mouth, taking a deep breath.

  "Miss Dawes, what a surprise. I was sure you had vacated the premises with the others," the blond-haired man from the Interior Department said, as he stepped away from his companions.

  Gone were his casual clothes, and in their place was this military, black jumpsuit. He had a large pistol strapped to his side and the most lethal-looking knife Julie had ever seen on the black belt across his chest.

  "Mr.... uh...?" Julie stuttered.

  The man just smiled and stepped up to the three intruders. He placed his hand on Billy's head and rubbed his hair. The smile, all three noticed, didn't touch his now cold eyes.

  "We'll leave my name out of it for now, Miss Dawes. And this must be the man of the house. I'm glad you located him. Today isn't one to be roaming around outside."

  "My son, Billy," Julie said, looking worried.

  "As I said, Miss Dawes, you really should have left on the evacuation helicopters with the others. But as it stands, I'm afraid you'll be accompanying us. I am sorry."

  "Okay, okay, what'd I miss?" Tony said, taking the cap off the bottle of Jack Daniel's.

  The four F-15 Strike Eagles out of Nellis streaked through the blue sky at twelve hundred feet off the desert floor. Lieutenant Colonel Frank Jessup led the flight of air force jets, who were on temporary duty from Japan, here to take part in Red Flag, a rigorous course to train pilots to fight foreign aircraft and their tactics. And now they had been summoned on the most unusual CAP mission he had ever been in command of. He scanned the ground, watching for any kind of activity out of the norm. He was trying to figure out just what the norm should be when his wingman, Major Terry Miller, called over the radio:

  "Drover lead, this is Drover Two, they said unusual activity, correct?"

  Jessup thumbed the transmit button on his joystick. "That's what they said. What have you got, Drover Two?"

  "Look to your nine o'clock and tell me what you see."

  Colonel Jessup looked to his left and down, but his weapons officer in the backseat saw it first.

  "What in the hell is that, Colonel?" he asked.

  Jessup stared in wonder as the ground below rippled as if a small speedboat were traveling across the sand. Just behind the advancing wave, the ground was caving in as if whatever was causing the wake was traveling close to the surface, weakening the tunnel it was making and causing the ground to fall in just as it passed.

  "All right, Drover flight, we have a target of opportunity as per orders. Our ROE are still the same." Jessup didn't have to remind his flight that the rules of engagement were simple: sight the enemy and attack. "Drover Three and Four, sight on target and attack" was Jessup's brief command. "Drover lead will ride high cover."

  "Drover Three and Four, sighted and locked."

  In all three locations, ears listened anxiously to the radio conversation between the air force pilots as they rolled in and dived on what must be the leading element of the animals as they were exploring the valley. The president's attention went from the live feed in the desert valley to the monitor hooked into the Event Center for a reaction from Niles Compton. But Niles was busy listening to the radio transmission and watching the live feed himself. Then the president looked at the Joint Chiefs in the room, then to another monitor showing the crash site, where the largest audience by far, made up of Event Group technicians, were gathering to hear the exchange between the attacking fighter bombers.

  The F-15E Strike Eagle is an amazing aircraft, capable of dogfighting with the best fighters in world, belying that it also has a bomb load capacity almost equal to that of the venerable old B-17 bomber from World War II. The bombs on this flight had been researched and specially chosen. If the animals were traveling close to the surface, the pilots were to use the general-munitions cluster bombs. They didn't have the shaped charge or the weight of the Bunker Busters that the F-16 Fighting Falcons were carrying above the larger fighters at ten thousand feet, but they were accurate, and they exploded with a large bang and killed well for their size. Before the human element went below to fight the creatures, the air force had been given the green light. Now they would see what air power could do to help right the situation in the valley.

  The two fighter-bombers streaked in low, maintaining their height at three hundred feet, a dangerous altitude for the large fighter, even in the relatively flat terrain of the desert. Then, at three miles out, the fighter-bombers nosed up and climbed, water vapor pouring off their wingtips as the Eagles fought for altitude. At a thousand feet they leveled off, and Colonel Jessup watched as both Drover Three and Four dropped their munitions wing abreast. This tactic would expand the area of impact and make their killing
zone wider, rather than longer, for the best chance of taking out the lead elements of the animals. The colonel watched as four small wing-brakes popped out from the back of the eight six-foot-long bombs, retarding their speed and rate of drop to give the fighters time to get out of Dodge before they impacted. At 175 feet of altitude, a pressure-sensing device activated and blew the outer casing off the eight bombs, loosing two hundred softball-sized bomblets. They struck the ground just two feet in front of the wave of dirt and sand that was caused by at least two of the moving animals, causing what looked like a fireworks display gone awry and exploding on the ground. To the men and women at the crash site it was if someone had set off two hundred grenades at once.

  "Direct hit," Jessup said in a businesslike manner into his oxygen mask.

  As Drover Three and Four banked hard to come around for an assessment pass, they didn't see another two waves approaching the first set until they were almost on top of the strike zone. Jessup saw the twin waves breaking fast from above his pilots, who were too busy to notice the approach. In horror, he watched an animal they thought had been stopped in the cluster munitions strike rise from the dirt and sand and shake itself.

  "Drover Three and Four, pull up, abort pass! Bandits are approaching the strike area, and the active target is now aboveground!"

  The call came three seconds too late. As the colonel watched in horror, two of the animals approaching the first exploded out of the sand and dirt of the desert. Bunching up their muscled legs and using their powerful tails as a natural catapult, they sprang into the air at incredible speed. The first one caught Drover Three in the left air intake, smashing into the fuselage and being sucked in, exploding through the Pratt & Whitney engine, causing a catastrophic failure and explosions that ripped through the cockpit and fuselage of the heavy fighter, tearing it apart. The second animal ricocheted harmlessly off the remains of the disintegrating jet, falling onto the desert floor, along with the mile-long stretch of settling wreckage of Drover Three. To the amazement of all watching, the animal rose and stumbled, fell to the ground, then rose again. This time it shook its massive bulk, jumped into the air, and dove into the desert soil. Drover Four banked hard and climbed, pushing the big fighter to afterburner in its attempted escape, taxing the huge jet's air-frame as it did so. The first beast was on the surface of the desert floor below and was watching the F-15 Eagle trying to make her escape. The beast timed its jump perfectly and leaped just as Drover Four went to afterburner and started climbing. But before the full effect of the powerful twin engines could provide enough thrust to propel the heavy fighter forward and up, the animal struck hard. It hit the Strike Eagle's left wing and punctured straight through it, tearing out control surfaces and bending and weakening the struts until the wing creased and folded inward toward the cockpit with a pop that sounded as if a bomb had exploded. The wing then slammed hard into the glass-enclosed canopy, crushing the life from the two men inside instantaneously, seconds before the aircraft slammed into the desert floor and disappeared in an expanding fireball. The Talkhan that had embedded itself in the fighter's wing rolled free of the wreckage. It was burning as it gained its feet, stumbled three steps, then collapsed dead to the sand.