* * *
A few miles North
“Looks like the bad guys are faster than your Captain calculated,” Nick Park yelled. The two Jet-skies had pursued their course for more than ten minutes. It seemed longer in the rough Pacific.
Logan Tanner thought for a moment and yelled back. “They could have juiced up the Czilim crafts. If you think about it, every machine gets upgraded over time. Looks like we needed to have upgraded our arsenal way more.”
Great! Park sarcastically pondered. Recently, his enemies were always multiple steps ahead of him. Every step forward he had managed during this night had only pushed the traitors a step further. Now that McCain was dead, the traitors were heading to their contingency plan with McCain’s partner. Surely, Darius Cross and his team were just pawns. The former Life Support team had not amounted to any kind of greatness without Park. But they were trained by Park and that was enough danger.
“Red Wolf, this is Stealth Hound. I spotted the nearest hostile craft about half a mile ahead. Are we sticking to your plan and not waiting for Bloodhound? Over.” The voice of Will Lark boomed into Tanner’s ear. The short redhead had boosted the volume of his tactical headset.
“Red Wolf hears you loud and clear, Stealth Hound. I bet a hundred dollars that my plan works. Over.” Tanner replied.
“Don’t bother. I wouldn’t want to take your money this way again. Over.”
Tanner grunted. “Maybe for the next hovercraft, we could use Buck to kill them with all the fleas he’s got on his long high-maintenance fur coat. Over.”
Lark replied over the comms, “You’re just jealous ‘cause my dog is better groomed than you. Does your matchstick look ever work with the ladies? Over.”
A good thirty yards away, Logan Tanner growled at the joke directed at his red hair. He thought of a comeback. “Oh, now you’re jealous of me because all the fur and fleas you’ve got on you repels people away.” He laughed at his own joke and got serious. “All jokes aside, I’m sure Bloodhound would follow my plan if we could reach him. Over.”
“That’s good by me. I just hope he’s fine wherever he is. Now let’s get rocking. Over.”
That was exactly what Tanner needed to hear. They had lost comms with Damian - Bloodhound - Blood, a couple of minutes ago. That was the only reason Tanner was misusing a secure tactical communications line with Will Lark over petty jokes. The redhead sniper knew for sure that his best friend, Damian Blood, would be safe doing whatever he was doing.
Blood could handle himself in any fix and come out to tangle again. Before he joined COBALT, a year ago, he had another call sign. In MARSOC, he was known as the Wrecking Ball. Whoever had caught Blood’s attention had to worry about themselves and nobody needed to worry about him, thought Tanner and accelerated. He needed that hope to carry out this risky maneuver.
He relayed the distance of the nearest hovercraft to Park along with his game plan once again. The former Seal was worn out in the storm. He told himself that his plan had only a thirty percent chance of success. Yet, the odds did not bother his steady calm attitude.
Silently, Park nodded and cruised a good ten yards behind Lark’s vehicle. He did not like the plan either. But there was no time to come up with a better one. Now, everything depended on Quill’s steady hand and accuracy in this rugged storm.
The two of then spotted the nearest Czilim. By calculating the speeds of both - theirs and their target - Park could not help but respect the modified mechanism of the hovercraft. It floated and sped through the storm as smooth as ice-skating.
None of the Hounds had checked the satellite images on their tactical computing devices for some time due to the droplets of icy rain cutting through them like bullets. Their instincts would be proven wrong soon.
The storm was smoother by a tiny fraction and they spotted a large structure on the horizon. It could either be the coast or an island, a barge or a ship. None of them bothered to guess or worry about it. The Hounds and their allies were focused on catching the dark hostile vehicle mounted with a .50 cal cannon that could rip their Jet-skies to shreds. They maneuvered with steady steel nerves to get into a risky formation with little or no chances of success. The four brave men and one young dog were only hoping for maximum damage.
As they neared the dark craft, Lark turned his Yamaha hard to the right,and then instantly left, going around the hovercraft at full speed. During the turn, Dominic Quill lifted his silenced MP7A1 in his left hand and strafed the vehicle, peppering the silent amphibious craft in circles. The skirt and the fingers, below the craft caught a few rounds but were not damaged severely.
The black-clad traitors ducked and fired back blindly. They had forgotten to bring their Javelin missile launchers when escaping the villa on these hovercrafts. One former Ranger leaped behind the Browning M2 machine gun and began firing wildly.
At 800 rounds-per-minute, the huge .50 caliber rounds tore through the dark sea and sprayed geysers of salt water over the Jet-ski. Buck, who had no part in this deadly game so far, was soaking wet. With all his strength he avoided shaking off the water. He knew he had to stay on board to help later.
Will Lark, despite being aware of his dog’s struggle in this ravaging storm, snaked his Jet-ski left and right, as he raced towards the next hovercraft. Behind them, the shaken vehicle, reeled back with the recoil of the M2. Each round blindly thrashing the already stormy sea.
Nick Park was doing his part leveling the Yamaha right behind the hovercraft. He was sure that the M2 could not fire backwards, as the line of fire was obstructed by the fan-rotors.
Seated behind Park, Logan Tanner pulled out a small black cylindrical device from a pouch on his belt. It was a M84 stun grenade.
Biting onto the pin, he yanked it free and flung the grenade over the fan-rotors. In less than two seconds a bright flash of more than one million candela and a loud painful sound wave of over 175 decibels erupted over an effective distance of five feet inside the dark vehicle.
All five traitors who were on it suffered from extreme blindness, deafness, disorientation and confusion. The man on the M2 collapsed and the pilot lost co-ordination. But these were trained men and would recover very soon.
Park reacted quickly and rode his Yamaha by the hovercraft’s left. The Czilim-class craft, now driven by the storm banked hard left and sent the Jet-ski drifting wildly in a wide arc. He slowed down, focused toward the incapacitated hostile vehicle and turned. His attention was nowhere near the giant landmass hidden in darkness in front of him.
It was more than ten seconds before the Jet-ski was again near the traitors’ craft. Tanner cursed under his breath and swore again in his mind for his growing loss of cool.
Since Park was handling the vehicle, it was Tanner’s turn to rain hell. The distance was too close to use the sniper. So, he drew a M1911A1 pistol from his hip and sent a couple of .45 caliber rounds, wildly toward the hovercraft before he felt the forceful shock of sudden change in gravity.
The Yamaha struck rock and lurched high in the air. On the ground, the hostile vehicle smoothly glided over the rocks, where the water ended.
In an instant, Park realized that the trajectory of their vehicle would crash the Jet-ski into a copse of trees. With the kick of his legs, he flung his body away. Tanner sensed Park’s action and he too leaped away.
The Jet-ski struck into a thick copse and ignited instantly, due to a tear in the fuel tank from the crash. It had then caught a spark from friction of metal on metal. The Yamaha did not explode like it would in Hollywood but began burning steadily.
Tanner and Park crashed on the deck of the hovercraft. They rolled on their shoulders to reduce the impact. After taking a couple of seconds to steady themselves, they realized that the five traitors had recuperated. Tanner hit the pilot with a round-house punch, followed by a vicious chop to the traitor’s neck. He followed it by grabbing the Ruger SR40 pistol from the holster along with a magazine from a pouch and giving a bone crunching kick to the pilot’s
chest that tossed him overboard.
Park tried to strafe all the remaining hostiles with the MP7A1 sub-machine gun. But before he could aim, a pair of firm hands grabbed his weapon. The black-clad man kneed Park in the abdomen, which hurt even though the microbiologist had turned to avoid damage.
From behind the controls, the ex-Seal threw the Ruger and the magazine pouch to Park. Park snatched it from the air with his hand and sent a sub-sonic .40 caliber round through the traitor’s nose. Blood sprayed on Park’s face which was instantly washed away by the rain. The gory remains of the balaclava-covered head fell backwards.
Two other traitors in front tried to aim the P90 rifles that were slung on their backs. But Tanner turned hard right, jamming the craft into a large tree. The impact tossed the two traitors into the small island’s woods. Before they could get up, Tanner drove over their figures, crushing their skulls with the impact of the armored skirt of the vehicle.
Park and the M2 gunner were also jolted by what had just happened. Slowly, Nick Park lifted himself to hear the thundering shots of the .50 cal. It deafened him a bit as the muzzle was just over his head. He ducked, rolled over and fired three rounds from the Ruger into the gunner. The first two were caught by the Kevlar but the third tore through the target’s throat. A geyser of blood exploded out of it and he tumbled backwards between the fan-rotors and went overboard.
Before Park could sigh in relief, he fell on his back. The hovercraft lurched over a rock and splashed back into the ocean. Tanner relayed everything that had happened over the comms to Lark and howled. Park did not feel like celebrating. He was not young and fit like the Hounds. He had barely trained in the past five years and had already taken some damage. But the fire of retribution within him burned brightly, fueling energy into his heart as he raced to get back what he had made, before it was used for the wrong purpose.
13
Chapter 13
June 2nd
02:55a.m
Gulf of Alaska
Two lines of 30mm tracer fire illuminated the chaotic sky. With bullets of water striking the glass windows, the only way to not crash was with the 3-Dimentional live mapping system integrated into the HH-60. DARPA called it the Ultrasound Live Imaging System. Though it had been used in covert ops for a decade, the mechanism had not advanced a lot.
“The flares are wasted! I hope you’re not gonna lead those birds back to Anchorage.” The cockpit’s G-Forces were miles beyond any amusement park’s wildest rides. Jake Trevor eyed his colleague with a look that said that they had to act fast.
Dave Harper nodded coolly. “You know we can’t. Even our modified engines won’t outrun those Apaches for long. Our armor may hold but the other Hounds need backup.” He eyed the flank door behind him. “Hope you don’t mind getting wet.”
Jake unfastened his seat-belt, rushed back and strapped himself to the left flank door. “It’s too early for a shower. But I’m willing to make an exception.”
As he slid the door open, a gush of freezing wind along with a continuous force of a million piercing droplets rushed into the chopper. The Pave-Hawk banked hard right in an upward curve. Had it not been for the thick straps and firm footing, Jake would have been tossed out.
With toned hands, he readied the .50 caliber Gatling gun. The long three barreled monster-machine poked out of the door. This electrically operated GAU-19/B could fire around 2000 rounds-per-minute.
Due to the zero visibility, Jake switched his visor to thermal imaging mode. The problem he feared was that even the Apaches had thermal scanners.
In the cockpit, Dave saw two objects following at level speed, a couple of miles behind. In an attempt to avoid these forces, he turned the chopper sharply. Instantly the wrath of the storm was felt again. The raging winds threw the HH-60 high into the air and to the north.
A new and faster object blinked on the radar. “Incoming!” Dave yelled onto his headset.
The thundering roar of Gatling gun fired for a couple of seconds. Yet, it seemed like a hiss as the storm entered the metal bird.
Instantaneously, a Hellfire missile hit a .50 caliber round head-on and exploded a thousand yards behind them. The shock wave sent tremors through the Pave-Hawk. Every muscle fiber in Jake’s body reverberated as he directly faced the fireball.
“This sure is fun.” Jake chuckled.
The two AH-64 Apaches were less than a mile behind. Things were going to get bumpier.
A flurry of lights erupted behind them. Six Hellfire missiles, two from the first attack chopper, four from the second were fired.
“Holy shit!” Jake gasped.
A small smile lit up on Dave’s face. “Do you remember the Libyan op, two years ago?”
“That was in calm skies!”
“So you say.”
The Pave-Hawk ascended steeply and kept turning in a spiral, climbing motion. All six missiles rocketed skywards. Jake squeezed the trigger. In short, well aimed bursts, he kept on raining a storm of depleted uranium shells.
One missile came in contact with the .50 caliber rounds and that was all it took. That one Hellfire took the other five up in flames. A force wave of fire and shrapnel flung the chopper in a somersault. When the HH-60 came half circle, Dave used the weapons system to lock onto the two Apaches and fire a volley of next generation short range AIM missiles.
The hostile choppers banked away and tried to shake off the weapons lock. But they were obliterated in the air before they went far. The two fiery wrecks dropped with a huge splash that couldn’t be heard from above.
“All good over there?” Dave called out.
“Fuck this op! It’s just like Libya. I’ve been hit by shrapnel in my abdomen.” Jake cried.
Dave barely noticed a bogey on the radar in front of the chopper. He raised his head to see an AMRAAM missile cruising above him and hitting the Pave-Hawk’s tail-rotor.
“Why did you have to jinx it?” Dave sighed. “Hope we survive this just like Libya!”
The chopper dove right into the sea tremendous velocity. The mechanical bird sank underwater in less than ten seconds. Jake and Dave unstrapped themselves and began swimming to the surface.
The wreckage of their chopper surfaced slowly. They held onto it as a temporary flotation device. Jake gave a SITREP back to Linda Moore who was at the op-center in their Seattle bunker.
None of them knew that their military-issue chopper was shot down by an American MQ-25 Stingray UCAV. There were no witnesses in the storm who had spotted the drone.
* * *
Around fifty miles West
The surviving Zodiac had gone a long way off their initial destination. Its current journey was a matter of retracing its path it. Navigation systems in an ordinary weather are not completely accurate. In this storm, the journey was chaotic as hell. But Blood and Morgan had faced worse just minutes ago.
“Are we there yet?” asked Damian Blood from the Gatling gunner’s position.
“It’s the tenth time you’ve asked.” Sheriff Edna Morgan grabbed the controls of the cockpit to avoid bouncing. “Will you stop being a little kid?”
The hulking operative growled. He was certainly enjoying irritating her in this turbulent situation. “How much longer?”
“Less than a mile north.”
As if on cue, Blood grabbed a thermal imaging monocular from a belt pouch and scanned north. There was a large heat signature ahead. He knew what it was and immediately made a hasty plan.
“Cut the engines!” Blood yelled.
“Why? We’re almost there!” Morgan grew scared.
Despite the winds, hail and rain, Blood ran to the controls of the Zodiac and emptied a full magazine of explosive rounds from an M1911A1. The throttle, helm and other controls were wasted. Sparks and flames flew from the device.
“Why the hell did you just do that? Are you always this insane?” Morgan growled. She took a swing at Blood, barely missing. Usually the eccentric Damian Blood would be excited and sparked up. But now, he was
dead serious.
He grabbed her hands and gently tried to calm her down. “There’s a large thermal bogey at our destination. We’d be blown to bits if we arrived their Zodiac. There’s a better approach.”
“And that is?”
“Can you swim?”
“You’re joking, right?” Morgan grew offended.
Blood readied something from his gear. “I’m damn serious.”
“Look, Captain, I was raised on the coast. I’ve wreck dived many times.”
“Damn good.” Blood’s grin was booming. “I have a thermal wet-suit under my BDU. Can you stand the water’s temperature for a few minutes?”
“I can try.”
The operative nodded and bit the pony-bottle. It looked like a large hand-held steel cylindrical flask. The device contained an air mixture that could sustain one person for an hour.
“Stay with me. We switch sharing air every 30 seconds.” Morgan had no complaints. Blood keyed in the coordinates for the thermal signature on his PDA(Personal Digital Assistance) and gently slipped overboard. Soon Morgan did the same. She searched for Captain Blood underwater for more than 40 seconds. She was alone. The dark icy water stung her body. Thoughts of returning to the Zodiac RIB came to her.
Just then a strong hand grasped her ankle. It pulled her back and turned her quickly.At first the figure looked like a sea monster. But the beast placed an object to her face. Morgan swam back to get a clear view of the creature. Its hands tapped a square object on its forearm. The object illuminated to show a live feed of a satellite map.
Sheriff Morgan began to realize that the beast was none other than Damian Blood. She grabbed and bit the pony bottle. The warm air was the most refreshing gas she had inhaled in her life.
She swung an arm around his shoulder and Blood scissor-kicked hard. Morgan joined in and the duo were led by the PDA device’s GPS system. The ocean had never felt fiercer. Their combined strength barely moved them without hurting their limbs. On instinct, Blood let loose and allowed the current to propel them.
Alaskan Storm (Part 1 of Blood Stone Impact): A Taskforce COBALT Action-Adventure Technothriller Page 9