The Fate Of Nations: F.I.R.E. Team Alpha: Book One

Home > Other > The Fate Of Nations: F.I.R.E. Team Alpha: Book One > Page 12
The Fate Of Nations: F.I.R.E. Team Alpha: Book One Page 12

by Ray Chilensky


  Carter nodded his head and smiled. “Dave and I had agreed not to give you two the satisfaction.”

  “You were both hard headed,” Hicks said. “I could see you fighting the urge to cough. Neither of you did though. I thought your dad was going to burst he was so proud.”

  Carter took another long pull from his cigar. “You know, Sir. I never doubted that dad loved me, but I’ve always wondered if he was proud of me.”

  “Why would you have doubted that?” Hicks asked. “He never stopped talking about you. Shit Doug, you were everything to him.”

  “I’m not complaining Sir,” Carter said. “Like I said I never doubted his love, but he never told that he was proud. No matter what trophy I won, no matter what I achieved, he would always point another goal for me to go after. I thought I’d never do enough to satisfy him.”

  Hicks gestured at Carter; smoldering cigar in hand. “I remember when you and David won the Best Ranger competition. Your old man cheered you guys on until he lost his voice. When they announced the winners his was so proud he was shaking. I think he actually shed a tear. It was never that he thought you weren’t doing enough. He always gave you new goals because he had total confidence that you could accomplish them.”

  Carter smiled. “I remember that night too. Dave and I were so tired after the competition we could barely move. All that we wanted to do was sleep. But you and dad insisted we all go out and have a beer.”

  Hicks nodded. “If the two of you could win the toughest infantry competition the United States military could devise; then you could man up and have a beer or two with you fathers. We had to show off our boys,” Hicks added. “Shit, you just won Best Ranger for Christ’s sakes. Your old man bought drinks for everyone in the Officer’s club.”

  “That was the last time I ever saw him,” Carter said studying a column of cigar smoke as it drifted upward. “The Amazonian war broke out three weeks later. He was killed a few days after that.”

  Hicks looked intently at Carter. “Doug, pushing you they way he did was the way your old man showed his pride.”

  Carter thought for moment. “I get that now, Sir,” he said. “But, back then, it would have been nice to hear the words.”

  “Hear this Doug,” Hicks said. “Your dad was damn proud of you. I wish he and your mom were here see the soldier you are now. You’ve become the kind of man that they wanted you to be. Don’t ever doubt that.”

  “I never doubted mom’s pride,” Carter said. “She always told that she was proud of me. Hell, she went on for ten minutes the first time I tied my shoes by myself.”

  “It had to be a tough time for you: losing both your folks in the same year,” Hicks observed.

  “It was,” Carter admitted. “But mom’s passing wasn’t a surprise to me. I knew she wouldn’t last long once dad was gone. It sounds like a cliché but mom and dad really were part of each other. One really couldn’t live without the other. Like you and Mama Hicks.”

  There was a heavy silence for several moments. Both men retreated into themselves. “I couldn’t be prouder of you if you were my own son, Doug; and Mary loves you like you are her own.” Hicks said finally, “David was proud to have you as a friend.”

  Another period of silence followed.

  Hicks moved on to another topic. “Doug, have you thought about what you are going to do when the war is over?”

  “No Sir; not really,” Carter said. “I’ll be happy if Monica and I are both alive a month from now.”

  Hicks shook his head. “That’s not the way to think, Doug. You got to look for that light at the end of the tunnel.”

  “Don’t get me wrong, Sir.” Carter said. “I’ve day dreamed about growing old with Monica and having a houseful of kids, but I don’t see the point of actually making plans.”

  “Doug, Doctor Atkinson tells me that an active paranormal like you might live for as long as three hundred years; maybe even longer. That’s a long time to be soldier. With your ability you could be so much more than that.”

  Carter tensed in his seat. “I’ve never wanted to be anything but a soldier, Sir. I wouldn’t know how to be anything else.”

  “I know,” Hicks replied. “But three hundred years is a hell of long time. Think of what you might be able to learn during that time.”

  “Sir, I could intercept a bullet with my head on my next op,” Carter said. “Looking three hundred years ahead seems pointless. Besides, what else would I do besides soldiering?”

  Hicks raised his voice slightly. “Anything you damn well please,” he said, answering Carter’s question. “You’re tough minded, smart and you’re a natural leader. And you were all of that before your paragene was activated.”

  Hicks leaned toward Carter. “You don’t see it in yourself, but you have the seeds would greatness in you, Doug. I see it, Mary sees it, and so did David and your folks. I’m betting all the people in the teams see it too. I know Monica does. You inspire people Doug; you bring out their best and you do all of that without having to try.”

  Carter became still. “Thank you Sir,” he said finally.

  “You don’t believe any of what I just said do you?” Hicks asked, smiling slightly.

  Carter tilted his head. “Not really, Sir. I’m a good soldier; and I hope I’ve been a good leader, but I’m nothing special.”

  Hicks’ voice became harsh; almost angry. “Bullshit,” said. “Doug, modesty is a fine thing, but too much of it can hold you back. You’ve got to give yourself the credit you deserve. This war will end Doug, and we’re going to win it. When it is over, the United States will have to rebuild. There will have to be people who’ll step up and lead that rebuilding. The first thing those people will have to do is grab the politicians by the throat, force them to end the state of emergency, and restore Constitutional government. I’ve got news for you, Doug, you’re going to be one of those people; you won’t be able to help it.”

  “I’m not saying you’re wrong, Sir,” Carter said. “But right now I’m focused on the next mission. In the future, if I’m still alive, I’ll serve my country, as best I can; in any capacity that I can. But there are better people out there than me to bet the future on.”

  “Shit,” Hicks said. “Maybe your old man should have praised you more when you were a kid. If you would just get out of your own way you’d be one unstoppable motherfucker.”

  Carter had retreated back into silence. Hicks continued. “Doug, you have a responsibility to live up to your potential; you have a duty. You can only do so much with a rifle. But you have the gift of natural leadership; and that can change history. Good people like you have to be there to keep the country; hell, the whole damn human race, away from the Popes of the world.”

  “That’s a lot to live up to Sir,” Carter said.

  “Yes it is,” Hicks said. “But you will live up to it. You’ll do it because it just won’t occur to you to do anything else. That’s the thing about you, Doug; you always do the necessary things at the necessary times. You intuitively know the right thing to do. You’ll do the right thing when the time comes; it’s just who you are.”

  Carter smiled slightly. “I’ll try not to disappoint you Sir.”

  Chapter Four

  “Shit!” McNamara said as the holographic simulation ended. “Boss, this just isn’t working,” he added as inspected one of four robotic targets. “This guy would still be alive to hit that damn panic button.”

  The targets mimicked a human torso and were mounted on radio-controlled wheeled platforms. Covered with simulated flesh which was imbedded with holographic receptors and with fully articulated arms and hands capable of hold and firing weapons the robots made convincing simulated enemies when covered by ultra-realistic holographic projections.

  “It’s this damn armored box the guards are in,” the Canadian observed. “Our M-61s can penetrate the armor, but it slows down the rounds and deflects them so much that they’re not always lethal. At least one guard lived long enough to hi
t the button in twelve out of twenty sims; even when we use strait armor piercers and fire whole magazines.”

  “And when that button gets pressed three blast doors slam down in three different places in the tunnel, seal it off, and the whole assault comes to screeching halt,” Carter said, finishing McNamara’s thought.

  The guard station which presented such an obstacle was essentially a ten foot by ten foot box with walls comprised of polymer laminated steel layered with impact absorbing ceramic plates. It was flanked two turret-mounted, remotely operated heavy machine guns that were linked to motion sensors. Situated at the end of a one hundred and fifty foot corridor; it protected four guards that monitored access also a large concrete and steel vault door that allowed access to the tunnel that led from the officer’s quarters to one lower levels of the central complex’s main building. And identical arrangement lay at the tunnels opposite end.

  “We might be able to get some satchel charges close enough to blast holes that we could shoot through,” McNamara suggested.

  “The back-blast and over-pressure blow us to pieces along with the guards.” Carter said, shaking his head.

  “Perhaps an SPM-21 using diamond tipped armor piercing ammunition would be able to penetrate the armor and kill more reliably. Precision rifle fire from SPM-21 could destroy the guns turrets as well,” Williams said, referring to the preferred heavy caliber sniper rifle of the FIRE teams. “With the sights set for thermal imaging each guard could be targeted individually”

  “SPM-21s would definitely do the job,” Carter agreed. “But even Roth wouldn’t be able to hit all four guards fast enough so that none of them get to that button.”

  “What if we used two or three SPM-21s?” McNamara asked.

  “That would work,” Carter said. “We’ll keep that as an option, but I really don’t want us packing a lot of those big bastards around if we don’t have to.”

  Carter thought for moment. “What if used an IMS-7?” he asked.

  “Missiles,” McNamara asked; “indoors?”

  “Why not,” Carter replied. "We’ll already be carrying IMS-7s in case we run in to Mark-23 powered armor. We’ll just take a few more. The IMS-7 has no back blast and the warhead is directional. We can us armor piercing, secondary effect warheads. They will punch through the armor and detonate inside the booth; spraying shrapnel everywhere. The guards will be dead in less than a second. We can use IMS-7s on the turrets as well.”

  McNamara smiled. “I like it.”

  “Inelegant, but efficient,” Williams observed.

  Carter nodded. “My grandfather was a master carpenter. He used to warn me against over thinking everything. He used to say that ‘sometimes you just have to use bigger hammer.”

  “Wise man; your grandpa,” McNamara commented.

  “Go draw as many IMS-7s as you can from the armory.” Carter ordered. “We’ll start running more sims in an hour. Give the team a break until then. I have to go placate the brass.”

  He shook his head. “We’ve been rehearsing for a week after two weeks of planning. We go in twelve days and I have to waste time briefing a bunch of staff officers. Why the hell do they care about the tactical details? They aren’t coming with us.”

  “You have to brief them on the assault plan so they know what parts they can take credit for.” McNamara quipped.

  Carter chuckled. “And so they know who to blame if the whole operation goes to shit.”

  McNamara laughed as well. “Now you get the idea, Boss,”

  “Go get that ordinance,” Carter said. “I’ll go see how much sunshine I can blow up the combined asses of the powers-that-be.”

  [][][]

  General Hicks met Carter at entrance to the headquarter building. “So, you’re going to meet with the entire Joint Chiefs of Staff in full battle dress are you?” Hicks asked Carter as he approached.

  “I am unless you order me not to, Sir. I don’t have time to change and clean up, and then get back to battle dress again.” Carter answered. “This briefing is waste of time I don’t have.” The two men presented their credentials to the guards at the door and began the lengthy security screening.

  “The Chiefs want to be in the loop, no one’s going to second guess you’re planning,” Hicks assured Carter.

  “Then all they need was my written action plan,” Carter said.

  “They’ve all read it,” Hicks said. “They just want to hear it from you. Try not to look so annoyed.”

  After navigating the security gauntlet, the two officers arrived in the bases Strategic Operations Center. It was now even more crowded and active than it had been on Carter’s last visit. More work stations had been added and a there were two more large electronic map displays on the walls. The Joint Chiefs of Staff sat at the conference table while their sizable entourages buzzed around the room like crazed bees. Carter approached the officers at the table and reported formally.

  “Did we take you out of the field Colonel?” Admiral Collier asked, panning his eyes over Carter’s weapon and armor laden form and his camouflage painted face.

  “The teams were running missions simulations, Sir.” Carter replied.

  “How are they going?” The Admiral asked.

  Carter squared his shoulders. “We’re working out the kinks, Sir.”

  “You’ve met Generals, Simms, Casner, Billings and Khazanov?”

  “Yes, Sir,” Carter said.

  Carter had met Khazanov, in her capacity as commanding General of the Free Nationalist Forces on the day before Red Team’s paragenes had been activated. Casner and Billings were the Chiefs of staff for the Air Force and Marine Corps respectively, and had been present when he had been awarded his Distinguished Service Cross. Simms had once been Carter’s commanding officer during his early days in the Special Forces.

  Simms was wiry, grim-faced man in his late fifties. His eyes were bright, but had acquired a perpetually hard, pitiless look. His hair was thinning and gray but it was clear that he kept himself fit. He came around the table to greet Carter. His handshake was strong and sincere. “Good to see you again Colonel. We miss you back at Bragg.”

  “Thank you, Sir. Those were good times,” Carter said. “For the most part,” he added.

  Carter looked into a shadowed corner of the room. “Hello Colonel Pope; I see you brought a guest,” he said. Pope and another man, who would have been concealed from normal human eyes, came out of the shadows. Carter recognized the second man as Arthur Pope: Colonel Pope’s father and the Under Secretary of Defense for Personnel and Readiness.

  The elder Pope was shorter than his son, but had the same ‘mushy’ look about him. His eyes showed intelligence along with an attitude of superiority and malevolence. He wore an expensive, well-tailored suit, with a black silk tie. Apparently, Carter thought, Under Secretaries of Defense weren’t expected to sacrifice comfort like average citizens were. Carter locked eyes with the politician and, in that moment, the two men became enemies. A contest of wills had begun.

  “I think we should get started,” Hicks said. “Colonel Carter, you’ll find that the Sergeant has all of your visual aids ready.”

  Carter nodded to the young, female technical sergeant. “Yes, Sir,” he said.

  A map of the Belgium and French coasts appeared on the room’s largest monitor. “Four FIRE teams will be inserted into Europe over a period six days. Team Alpha will execute a High Altitude Low Opening parachute drop ten kilometers off of the Belgian coast and, using closed circuit diving gear, swim to shore near the port of Blankenberge. From there, we’ll proceed to a prearranged meeting with Captain Anthony Renner of the Seventh Special Forces Group and his team. Captain Renner has been training, and working with the Belgium underground for two years. His underground cell will provide us with shelter and support until its time hit the Central Command.”

  Admiral Collier interrupted Carter with a raised hand. “Colonel, I’ve looked at you written operations plan. You’ll be making this jump at zero-th
ree hundred on the morning of May the twelfth. Is that correct? “

  Carter was impassive. “Yes Sir, it is.”

  Collier tilted his head. “I’m and old sailor Colonel,” he said. “I looked at the tidal data for you operations area. If you jump as planned you’ll be swimming against a pretty strong tide. I know your people are paranormals, but can you really make a nighttime, HALO-SCUBA jump, swim ten kilometers against the tide, and then make a forced march to meet the underground?”

  “Yes, Sir,” Carter said. “We made a similar jump supporting the attack that retook Seattle. We’ve found that the enemy doesn’t patrol the shoreline as heavily when the tide is going out.”

  “Very well,” Collier relented.

  Carter continued. “Team Bravo will make a HALO insertion into the Arden Forest the night of May tenth. They will also make contact with a local underground cell.”

  “You have a team making a tree jump on purpose?” General Simms asked. “Tree jumping is a mega-bitch.”

  “Yes, Sir,” Carter said, “but, as the operation folder you were all provided with indicates, any fields or pastures large enough to accommodate a parachute drop are either regularly patrolled or are under constant electronic surveillance in order to prevent the underground from being resupplied or otherwise supported by air.”

  “O.K. Colonel,” Simms said. “Keep going.”

  “Team Echo will insert by small boasts launched from a submarine, land on the French coast near the port of Dieppe the night of May eleventh, and make contact with an underground cell. From there, they will go to a staging area near Brussels in vehicles provided by the underground.”

  “Team Foxtrot will be landed in submarine launched Mohawk stealth helicopters in the southern Netherlands, meet their underground hosts, and move into Brussels in locally appropriated vehicles. Teams Charlie and Delta have been tasked with destroying the secondary target in the Ural Mountains. I will cover that aspect of the operation later.”

 

‹ Prev