“Alarm!”
7. Emergency
“Requesting permission to open fire!”
“Stand down, wait for the order!”
Sarah reprimanded the Bumblebee pilot, who was ready to shoot in all directions. She had a clear order not to shoot on the main hangar, where the messengers were located. Weapons could only be used if the car was attacked on streets or in suburbs. No one had considered an attack inside the warehouse.
The messenger’s personal sensors went out almost immediately after the SOS, but a new signal started instead, much more powerful, easily overcoming the concrete cocoon. An unregistered transmitter actively signaled its presence inside the warehouse, and then Sarah realized - it was for this transmitter that the messengers came, that's why they couldn’t shoot. That transmitter was what the messengers wanted to take.
“Request urgent instructions!”
She received the standard response - continue monitoring. The commanders continually requested new data, and she could only transmit pictures from cameras. Sarah didn’t know exactly what to call what was happening in the port. There was a fight, that was all she could say.
Mike couldn’t remember exactly how it all began. A minute ago, he was sat behind the wheel, looking at naked girls in the magazine and thinking about whether to buy some weed from a guard, and then resell it in the barracks. Let top brass makes its mysterious affairs, and in the meantime he made his little business, cash aren’t redundant. He had almost decided to call the guard, but then the guard’s radio set came to life.
The guard heard something, and Mike saw his face change. The guard raised his Uzi, and Mike felt hot; he knew what could happen if messenger’s mission failed. But the guard didn’t pay any attention to the driver. He went to the back door, where the passengers had gone, unlocked it and carefully looked into the corridor. And then fell on his back. Mike saw his head had been pierced by a bullet. He reached for his holster when a man in a bloodstained shirt appeared in the doorway, a small revolver in his hand. He saw Mike just as Mike saw him, and they both raised their guns. Then the lights went out, and a thundering roar could be heard.
Consciousness returned slowly and painfully, as Mike barely lifted his head from the bloody steering wheel. It was his blood from his nose and lips. The windshield was gone, and glass shards were strewn in the interior of the car. The garage was filled with yellow, iridescent light, in which he saw two dead bodies lying in the open door. The light became stronger, and then Mike finally saw its source in the rearview mirror. A puddle of burning gasoline was spreading from the broken cars, almost severed in half by a concrete slab fallen from the ceiling. The burning lake expanded, taking to the gasoline tank on the far wall.
With great difficulty, Mike opened the door and fell out. He didn’t attempt to try to start the truck: even if the engine came to life, he wouldn’t be able to leave the garage. It was necessary to go on foot through a small door in the gate, which was also locked, although the guard lying at the door has the keys.
Limping, Mike went to him, looking back at the lake of fire – he must hurry. From the hallway he heard screams, and the sound of shooting getting louder, but he doesn’t think about it. Where are the keys?
He turned the corpse over and, with trembling fingers, tried to remove a bunch of keys from his belt, not noticing as a second corpse in a blood-stained shirt began to stir.
“Fuck!”
The man in the white shirt wasn’t a corpse; he was alive and clings to Mike’s hand with a steel vise grip. A little more and he would break the driver's wrist, as he scratched Mike’s skin with his nails. He didn’t try to pull the gun out of the holster; instead Mike picked up the Uzi and shot the living dead at point blank range. Blood flew in all directions, some of it falling on Mike's face, but he didn’t think about it, as he was able to remove the keys. Bingo!
It was getting hotter, smoke burning his eyes, so with great difficulty Mike went to the far door, clutching his nose with a handkerchief. The door swung open, the midday sun striking his eyes, and he fell to the pavement, greedily gasping down fresh air. There was shooting from all sides, and over the neighboring warehouse raised a column of smoke. From speakers on poles something was shouted in the local lingo. He didn’t want to get up, so Mike rolled several times and fell into a drainage gutter, which went along the entire complex. There had been no rain for a couple of weeks, and the gutter was completely dry. The rough concrete scratched his hand, but the driver didn’t stop and promptly crept forward. Mike didn’t know exactly what had gone wrong, and he didn’t know what had happened to the passengers, but it was certain that if he held out a little longer, then rescuers would come. Help would come for his passengers, and would also save him if he managed to stay alive up until then.
Behind him there was once again the thundering roar, and a wave of hot air hit him in the back. Turning in fright, he saw the broken garage door and flames – the burning fuel had got to the gas station. Explosions continued one after the other, gasoline detonating in expensive cars. A fire swept all around, the explosions knocked out windows and blew the roof off. He couldn’t wait for rescue here, the temperature was rising rapidly, any more and he would be fried. It was necessary to leave.
Mike’s attention was drawn to the UAZ standing motionless, with a dead driver at the wheel, engine idling. Mike made a desperate leap forward, jumped up and ran to the car. Luck was on his side - someone shot at him several times, but missed.
The UAZ took off, Mike leaning forward, crouching low in the driving seat and trying to occupy as little space as he could. Ahead on the road popped up one of the local bandits. He saw the approaching car and raised his AK47; Mike put his foot on the gas. The windshield burst into pieces, and he felt a blow on his shoulder at the same moment as the UAZ threw the bandit off the road.
Mike rushed to the city border, not wanting to take any time to stop and inspect the wound. Breaking his shoulder, the bullet went right through; the pain isn’t too bad, probably because of the adrenaline. He can’t stop; he has to get to the base. The doctors there would help him.
Sarah saw Mike on the outskirts, having recognized the familiar form of the man behind the wheel of an unidentified SUV. From this distance she couldn’t distinguish faces, but Sarah remembered that a driver was with the messenger; someone who didn’t have a transmitter and whose fate remained unknown. She was sure it was him.
“Bumblebee, cover the SUV, it’s our man! Bring him to the base, and shoot anyone if they try to stop him!”
8. Call-2
“Status?”
“The situation is getting worse. Fire is covering a lot of buildings; and the scouts reported that there has been a fight at the harbor. We can confirm the messenger’s death.”
“What's happened to our cargo?”
“The transmitter is still working, and the lander is in a sealed hangar. The fire won’t get in there.”
“Who killed our people? Who is fighting in the port?”
“Unknown. We can’t communicate with any of our Cartel allies to clarify the situation – they might be dead.”
“Bronson’s team has taken over command of the base for the moment. We’ve ordered that they immediately remove the cargo and deliver it to the base. No witnesses.”
“Bronson’s team is not carrying combat biological defense suits, so I don’t know if we can send them to pick up the capsule.”
“The cargo will burn while we await the arrival of suits. They have to start the operation immediately, while the capsule is still intact. They will be threatened mostly by smoke, and gas masks provide protection. The cargo must be on the base in two hours; you are responsible for it personally!”
9. Combat mission
It was his first combat mission. He had long waited for this day, hoping to use the entire ammunition of Bumblebee, thinking about it during many hours of observation flights. The Bumblebee pilot had wanted to shoot from the moment that the messenger’s perso
nal sensors had disconnected, but nerdy Butterfly’s pilot had not allowed him to open fire and then requested support for the SUV.
He was keen to fulfill this mission and led the Bumblebee over the car, eager to shoot anyone who tried to stop the SUV. To some his frustration wasn’t these fools, and jeep drove out of the city and raced toward the base. The pilot was about to follow the UAZ when a new order set him free from this boring business. He received the order to destroy the target located within the city limits.
“Guidance!”
Butterfly flew slightly above the Bumblebee, its camera focused on a small two-storey building with a flat roof, from which rose a high steel mast. He had seen this building many times before. The high mast served as a reference during flights. It was a familiar area to him; there, at the turn, was his favorite brothel, and a popular wine shop. There was a civilian telephone and internet connection centre in this building, which was now the only one in the city, after the communications center in the port had been destroyed in the first seconds of battle.
Mounted on the Butterfly a laser pointer illuminated the two-story building, and a bright red dot appeared in his sight.
“Fire!”
Bumblebee swayed slightly as the missile fell and shot towards the target. The pilot counted the seconds.
“One, two, three…”
At the count of “four” the building with the flat roof burst apart in a powerful explosion. He could see the diverging hemisphere of the blast wave, like dry leaves blown away pedestrians on the pavement. It was a good shot. The missile had flown into a window on the second floor, and the pilot watched with satisfaction as the high mast fell on its side. The enemy communications center is destroyed with the first shot, he thinks about to put a victory mark on the fuselage after landing.
“The first group is on the way!”
The Bumblebee pilot saw four Black Hawks, flying low over the tin favela. Helicopters headed towards the burning warehouses, and Bumblebee and Butterfly follow the same direction. Half an hour ago the tough guys from the transport aircraft had left the plane and decisively taken the command on their small base, beginning a large-scale military operation with unknown task. Staff officers ran like rats with singed tails, and commandos were already loaded into helicopters and armored vehicles, rising in the air.
Apparently, it was going to be a serious clash, and he was well aware that the enemy communications would be jammed by precision strikes in the case of full-scale war.
“The fight in the warehouse continues!”
10. Surgery
It was easy to win fights in the movies. In the movies, the enemy was always stupid and cowardly, and even if not cowardly, would not be able to hit a barn door with short range AK47 shooting. In the movies, everything worked without problems.
The reality was always different and not for the better, and Bronson didn’t expect anything good coming from this job – hoping just to escape all the shit with as few losses as possible. They would seize the big burning warehouse, where the fight was occurring, although between whom was unknown. It was necessary to carry out this operation in the middle of a gangster city, where every second inhabitant had a gun. They had no information about the enemy, no information about the object, they were just ordered to go there and grab the cargo as soon as possible.
Their helicopters flew over the favela so low that they almost knocked down satellite dishes, with the gunners looking for possible threats, and powerful speakers broadcasting the voice of the local authorities. Taken into custody and forced to cooperate, the drug lord ordered citizens not to leave their houses and not to resist the military.
In the city this threat, backed by the roar of helicopters and the sirens of armored cars, worked well, and they didn’t have to open fire. But outside the port gates the fear of threat clearly lost its strength and Bronson’s group met with machine gun fire, initially inaccurate. Cartel fighters defended the main gate, and they didn’t dare to enter any further, so Bronson ordered his men to kill anyone inside. He remembered the instructions not to leave any witnesses.
Gunners laid down a hail of lead, for a short time crushing the resistance, but when the column of armored vehicles entered the territory, the shooting started again. The bandits were shot at out of the windows and roofs of burning buildings. One of them had an RPG and didn’t miss. The shooter was immediately killed, the but rocket-propelled grenade flew a hundred meters and stuck the second Humvee, giving no chance to the bulletproof armor or crew behind it. The armored car crashed into a pole at full speed.
Machine-guns weren’t enough, and Bronson used drones as well, destroying enemies with missile attacks. The final clearing out took about two minutes and then there was no resistance – Chief gave the order to land. Black Hawks landed on the unloading area, already occupied by the Marines. Fighters were leaving the helicopters, carrying bright red fire extinguishers, which had been requisitioned on the base. Fire-fighting equipment now would be more useful than rifles and machine guns, when it came to the hardest part of the operation.
“Chief, we’ve found a fire truck. It’s being driven over here!”
The city had only one fire truck, and Bronson’s men were searching for firefighters to force them to head to the port and begin to fulfill their duties.
“Can you stretch the fire hoses?!”
“There is no water; a pumping station was burned down. We’re carrying pumps from the base, and will get sea water!”
Covering his face with a hand from the unbearable heat, Bronson looked at the wall of rising fire. The target was somewhere in the central hall, and at this moment all sides were covered by fire.
“I didn’t hire for firefighter here!”
11. Surgery-2
Withstanding the elements, be it water or fire, is much harder than dealing with human beings. Fire can’t be forced to retreat and surrender, fire will fight to the last, blocking the path to the target and striving to devour the precious cargo. Bronson and his men weren’t professional firefighters, they didn’t have the relevant skills and equipment, and they only had an order telling them to get the cargo out of hell. The transmitter worked properly, so it was clear the cargo remained in the central hangar, a concrete sarcophagus shielding it from the fire, but because of this protection, they couldn’t get the cargo through the roof on the helicopter.
“We have to wait until the buildings around the hangar burn down, and then go!”
Bronson would have liked to go with this tempting plan, but he remembered the order, and knew who had given it, knew that these people would not forgive the loss of cargo due to his delay. He couldn’t wait until the fire extinguished by itself, they would have to break through.
The fire truck, with lights flashing and siren sounding, entered the port, an old tent truck moving behind it, followed by a luxury SUV.
“Chief, reinforcements have arrived!”
A bandit who was already familiar to Bronson got out of the jeep. He had arrived here as a representative of the local authorities, and was meant to provide all possible assistance to Gringo.
“Who is with him?”
Thugs open the tailgate and the old truck started to discharge excited people, men and women, with fire extinguishers, and some with axes or shovels.
“They will help you!”
“They aren’t firefighters and will not go into the fire.”
“They all owe me a lot of money and will go anywhere I order. Working hands aren’t redundant!”
These debtors, hired as firefighters against their will, could be useful for removing the debris, so Chief decided to accept the proposal. Less risk to his men. The pump would soon start bringing in sea water, and meanwhile the firefighters tried to chase the flames from the entrance, ready to go inside. The "voluntary" helpers poured water over their clothes with the hoses and handed out helmets, gloves and fire extinguishers.
The senior firefighter charged a couple of hoses with sea water, and then i
ndicated that he was ready. The wind increased, fanning the flames, the situation complicated by the fact that no one had a precise plan of the hangars. It was not clear where the entrance to the sarcophagus was located; they only knew the approximate direction. They would have to take the risk, playing with fire in a deadly Russian roulette.
Bronson sent four of his fighters with the civilians, they would retrieve the cargo. Each of them had a kit with a protective mask, fire extinguisher and machine gun, just in case the civilians tried to retreat.
“GO!”
12. Lines
He dreamed about lines all night long. During the day Walt tried not to think much about it, but at night, when his brain was absolutely calm, he couldn’t help returning to the lines. It was starting to annoy him, Walt didn’t enjoy insoluble problems.
Up until this point, he has had no insoluble problems in his life. He has successfully coped with everything, overcoming thousands of obstacles and barriers on his way to success. That way was very long.
For a start he hadn’t been lucky with his parents. He didn’t know his father at all; there were a lot of options, taking into account the fact that his mother was a whore who actively worked on a giant parking lot for truckers. She used to spend the money she earned on crack and methamphetamine, so it was a miracle that the chemicals had no devastating effect on his brain.
With the rest of his life he was even less lucky. His mother’s roommates changed one after another, and most of them hated Walt. The last one, when attempting to rape him, broke a couple of ribs and almost broke his neck, but Walt managed to escape and get to the phone. The roommate was sent to jail and his mother too. Since he had never seen her, and never regretted the fact.
Vampire's Day (Book 2): Zero Model Page 2