by Joe Nobody
The Texan didn’t hesitate, “This message is for General Owens and Diana Brown. Sacagawea requires extract at HQ. Repeat, Sacagawea requires extract at HQ. Come heavy.”
The officer on the other end read Bishop the message back, and then the call was disconnected.
Three minutes later, Bishop and Grissom were rushing out the door.
Diana was at the base hospital, nervously speculating over Bishop and Terri’s progress. A knock on the doorframe caused both patient and visitor to glance up, a bright faced young man in uniform standing in the threshold.
“I have an urgent message for Miss Diana Brown,” he said, producing a sealed envelope.
After thanking the messenger, Diana tore open the package and pulled out a single sheet of paper. She read it aloud to Nick, unsure of the meaning.
The big man tried to sit up, a grimace of pain stopping that maneuver cold. “They’re asking for someone to come and get them,” he said. “General Owens needs to know about this right away.”
Diana scanned the paper again, “It says here the general was copied on the message.”
On cue, the base’s commander appeared in the doorway, getting right down to business. “I’ve been on the radio with the Pentagon. It was one of their original team members who called this in. He said that their PJ made the call, but then a strange voice sounded the message. What do you make of that?”
“Can we listen to a recording of their call?”
“Yes, it’s on the way over here. Sorry to interrupt your rest, Nick, but there’s something on this transmission that wasn’t included in the original message.”
“Oh?”
“You’ll see... or rather hear it for yourself in just a moment.”
A few moments later, another soldier knocked on the door, carrying a laptop computer under his arm. With the general’s permission, he opened the lid, and the room was filled with a voice identifying himself as Rat-pack 3.
And then Grissom’s statement about the 90 pounds of Cobalt-60 played, the two Alliance leaders both growing pale at the same moment.
Diana and Nick continued to listen intently, some relief filling the room when Bishop’s voice streamed through the speakers. “They’re still alive!” Diana reacted happily.
Owens quickly put a damper on any celebration. “My friend at the Pentagon warned me not to send in troops. They are hopping mad about the radiation release, and even more pissed that we have people inside New Mexico. What are your orders?”
Nick and Diana exchanged a glance, Nick knowing exactly what the Alliance leader had in mind. “If we can get a couple of Blackhawks ready, I think we have a reasonable solution to the political side of the problem,” Diana said.
“My birds are your birds,” Owens replied. “What’s the plan?”
Grim was just retiring for the evening, bored with his book, and having already cleaned his weapon twice. His wife had made a grand dinner, sensing her husband needed a pick-me-up. As usual, the contractor didn’t volunteer any information about what was troubling him so.
The small bungalow in Alpha had been a gift from the Alliance, allowing Grim to relocate his wife and daughter away from Memphis and The Circus. Everyone seemed to be happier in the small Texas town.
Normally, when at home between missions with the SAINT teams, Grim was all about spending time with his family. He’d learned long ago that time was precious, and he might not be coming home from the next deployment.
Every minute he could spend with his girls was priceless and to be relished.
But not this time. Grim had returned from New Mexico sullen and withdrawn. His wife had seen the same pattern of behavior a few times before, some female instinct apprising her that her husband had suffered the loss of someone near and dear. She’d found quiet, unconditional love was the best therapy.
Peeking in on his sleeping daughter, Grim heard the car engine. Even in Alpha, with the supply of fuel increasing every day, a motor at this time of night was unusual.
The knock on the front door was really weird.
With a pistol in his belt, Grim answered, surprised to see a soldier in uniform standing on his porch. The first thing that went through the contractor’s mind was the ruckus he’d caused at Bliss. Had some asshat officer decided to press additional charges?
“Yes,” Grim answered, trying to decide if he was going to cooperate with the young man.
“Sir, there’s been a message received from New Mexico. Councilwoman Brown has requested your presence at Fort Bliss. She further added that you should come ready to deploy, sir.”
A smile stretched across Grim’s face when his wife appeared from the bedroom in her robe. “What’s wrong, hun?” she asked with a sleepy voice.
“They need me at Bliss,” he answered, kissing her cheek as he went by. “Sorry… but I have to run.”
Grim’s kit was all packed and ready in the corner. Hefting his weapon and ruck, the contractor turned and dashed back to his wife. “Tell my little girl her daddy loves her. And the same goes for you. I shouldn’t be gone long. Just going out for some milk.”
That last statement caused his wife to smile. “Going out for some milk,” was their secret code phrase meaning, “I’m all right. I’ll be back soon. I love you. I have to do this.”
After a quick hug and kiss, Grim was eagerly bounding down the front steps, hefting his pack toward the waiting Humvee.
“I’m coming, Kevin,” he whispered. “I’m on my way, kid. We’re walking out together this time.”
It didn’t take Bishop long to find the balloon launchers.
The first hint was one of the silver colored units reflecting a glowing silver as its height caught the last of the sun’s rays. It was nearly impossible to miss against the backdrop of the dark sky.
“Aren’t you going to shoot it?” Grissom asked, pointing toward the still low balloon.
“If I do, they’ll know we’re coming. I want to get as many as I can in the first salvo. That thing’s not moving very fast. I don’t think it will escape.”
The next clue regarding the location of the launchpad was the sighting of several beams from at least a dozen flashlights moving in every imaginable direction.
“Shit… looks like there are a lot of guys down there,” Bishop noted.
They continued stalking through the woods, coming close enough that they could make out the distant sound of human voices.
Grissom motioned with his hand, indicating a nearby hill. “The high ground,” whispered the PJ.
Nodding, Bishop headed toward what he hoped would be a good position to snipe the balloons. They climbed briefly, Grissom moving as well as any man Bishop had ever worked with. This guy knows his shit, Bishop thought. I’m glad Terri made me bring him along.
They advanced to an overlook, gazing down on a meadow bustling with activity. There were at least 20 people below, scrambling back and forth between the old mine and an open grassland.
Bishop counted four balloons in various stages of being inflated, one in the final preparations of being launched.
“How many holes do I have to punch in one of those things before they plummet back to the ground?”
“No idea. Like you said back at the house, who shoots down balloons?” Grissom responded.
“So there are three in the air,” Bishop said, turning to examine the one that had just floated overhead.
“I can see two of them,” the Texan whispered, clearly excited. “One is just a speck, but the other two… I think I’ve got a shot. They sure don’t move very fast.”
“I bet all that nuclear junk is heavy. Hell, that guy back there might have it all wrong. Maybe they won’t climb so high.”
Scanning the sky with the big rifle’s optic, Bishop found the third. “I’ve got all three of them. One is way, way out of my range. But the other two… maybe.”
“Do it,” Grissom replied, readying his carbine to protect their position.
Bishop chambered a round in the
.338’s massive breech and began prioritizing his targets. “When I open up on the balloons that are already aloft, you start poking holes in the ones down there.”
“Got it,” the sergeant replied, taking aim.
The Texan first examined the closer targets, bringing the nearly inflated unit into the rifle’s powerful optic. He judged the size between two of the hash marks in the scope’s glass, and then looked back to see if he could estimate an accurate range to the furthest airborne target.
Judging the significant bullet drop, Bishop centered above the floating target and squeezed the trigger.
Kevin’s blaster kicked a lot more than Bishop’s .308 or carbines, the impact against his shoulder surprising the Texan. It was a lot louder, too.
He watched eagerly, waiting to see if his bullet did any damage. After three full seconds, it dawned on Bishop that he had no idea if he was hitting the target – or not. It was frustrating, ramping up the already high levels of stress.
Sergeant Grissom soon offered a solution.
After waiting to see if Bishop’s attempt provided any results, the PJ opened up on the valley below, picking the balloon nearest departure. With one shot, the entire thing exploded in a brilliant flash of light and flame that sent shadows across the entire mountain.
Bishop pivoted, wondering what the hell had just happened.
“They’re using hydrogen to fill them. You’ll know if you hit one,” Grissom reported. “Remember the Hindenburg!” he shouted, firing another round into the next target. It too erupted in a brilliant flash of flame and thunder.
That was all Bishop needed to know.
Now he wasn’t so concerned about bullet drop, spin, and wind.
Shouldering Kevin’s mega-blaster, the Texan cut loose, rapidly working the bolt and walking his rounds into the drifting prey.
Three shots later, a micro-sized yellow and red sun appeared in the New Mexico sky, the sphere of light indicating the Texan had found the mark.
The closer balloon exploded with only two attempts.
Just when Bishop was beginning to feel better about the whole thing, bullets started whacking and thumping into their hide.
“I think they found us,” Grissom reported as he nailed the last balloon.
“I think they’re pissed that we shot their toys,” Bishop responded, bringing his rifle around.
He scanned the valley, able to pick out only vague shadows and glimpses of rushing bodies. “They’ll be coming this way soon,” warned the PJ. “I’d prefer not to be here when they get their shit together.”
And then something different came into the Texan’s optic. For less than a second, he thought there were hot water heaters down below. “I’ve got the hydrogen tanks,” he announced to Grissom. “This ought to slow them down a bit.”
Centering the cross-hairs, Bishop fired. The result was spectacular.
With an ear-splitting clap, the entire area was bathed in a white-hot flash of heat and light. Both of the snipers were temporarily blinded as the thunderous report rolled and echoed over the mountains.
The return fire from below ceased.
“Let’s get the hell out of here,” Bishop directed, taking a last, long look at the balloon that got away.
Chapter 15
The two men hustled back to the cabin, finding Terri anxiously waiting by the door. “What happened? I saw and heard explosions and gunfire.”
“I got six out of seven,” Bishop answered. “The last one was out of range.”
Hack, lying on the floor, was obviously high on the morphine. With glazed eyes, he slurred, “S-s-s-o you couldn’t get them all, huh? There’s no stopping the balloons,” his words blending slightly. “Even my best drone would have trouble bringing one down.”
Hack’s statement caused Bishop to tilt his head in thought. Ambling over and taking a knee beside the prone inventor, he goaded the tipsy fellow. “Oh, now don’t be telling stories. There’s no way your drone could catch one of those balloons. That thing must be 10 miles away and four or five miles high by now.”
“My latest one could,” Hack bragged. “It has a 30,000 foot ceiling and a 30-mile range.”
“Bullshit,” Bishop challenged. “Those little pipsqueak toys? No way.”
The Texan watched Hack’s dilated eyes, trying to judge if the medicated man was going to take the bait. And Terri didn’t think I could fish, he thought.
Finally, Hack dismissed Bishop’s unbelieving attitude with a wave of his hand. “You know nothing of aeronautical design, young man. You’re nothing more than a hired gunman for a group of thugs. My Big Red can climb that high… maybe more, if the air is right.”
“Oh, yeah. And which one of your toys is this supposed Big Red?” Bishop asked.
“Well, that’s obvious…. It’s the biggest one in the garage. Thus the name, dunderhead.”
After exchanging looks with Terri, Bishop exited the door and scurried to the garage. Heaving up the bay door, he found a drone that was impressibly larger than all the others. It was painted fire engine red.
He retrieved the device, as well as a tablet computer lying next to the flyer on the workbench.
Hack became distraught when he spied Bishop carrying his pride and joy. “What are you doing, you… you… you Neanderthal? Put that down this instant. That is a sophisticated scientific instrument, not some toy for you to break.”
“This thing?” Bishop mocked. “I don’t even think this unit will fly, let along track down a balloon. You’re pulling my leg.”
“I’ll prove it to you,” Hack said, trying to upright himself.
Between his injured foot and the narcotic surging through his system, Hack had no chance of standing. With Grissom under one arm and Bishop under the other, they assisted the wounded man to the front porch.
“You there!” the old inventor ordered Terri, “go s-s-sit Big Red in the driveway,” Hack slurred. “Let me show you a thing or two about aerodynamic design.”
Terri, following with the drone, did as the toymaker instructed.
Taking the tablet, Hack fumbled with the unit, his unsure fingers having trouble with the controls. “My apologies,” he offered to his audience. “I seem to be having trouble controlling my hands.”
“Let me help you,” Terri offered with the sweetest of smiles.
With Hack’s instruction, Terri soon had the rotors spinning with a powerful hum. Like a grandfather boasting in front of his granddaughter, the toymaker wanted to show Terri everything. “Touch this,” he said with pride, “and watch Big Red blast off.”
Terri did exactly that, pretending to be so excited when the drone shot skyward with impressive thrust. “How do I make it go really high?” she beamed.
Again, Hack provided the necessary instructions, pointing to the tablet’s controls.
After Bishop whispered the direction in her ear, Terri continued her charade, “I want it to fly northeast. Can it do that?”
And then she wanted to turn on the camera, control the gimbal, and go higher.
Hack seemed to be enjoying it all, happy to have a pretty girl so excited with his creation.
“What’s that?” she asked, looking at the camera’s point of view on the tablet’s screen. “It looks like a really big star.”
“I don’t know,” Hack said, obviously having forgotten about the balloon. “Let’s go see what it is.”
With Bishop and Grissom looking over their shoulders, Hack instructed Terri on how to manipulate the drone’s controls and in a short time, the image of the balloon became clear.
“Ram it,” Bishop told Terri. “Kamikaze that damn thing and knock it down.”
“What? Wait… what are you talking about?” Hack began to protest. He started to reach for the tablet, but Bishop stopped him cold, gripping the toymaker’s wrist before he could interfere with Terri’s piloting.
“No… Please don’t hurt Big Red,” Hack pleaded, enough of his neural pathways functioning to grasp what the strangers aroun
d him intended.
Grissom was there to help, Bishop nodding with his head that they needed to get the ever more belligerent man back inside.
As the two men lifted Hack by the arms and legs, Terri turned and sneered, “Watch this. Nearly the entire display on the computer was filled with the silver outline of the balloon, the drone obviously closing the distance rapidly.
Then the screen flashed white, and the transmission stopped sending video.
“I think you got it,” Bishop said, relief dominating his voice.
“Is this finally over?” Terri wondered.
“Maybe,” Bishop answered. “Now we wait and see if Diana got the message and can get us out of here. We’re still trapped miles behind enemy lines.”
The tarmac at Fort Bliss was a riot of activity, men rushing in every direction, shouted orders trying to override the growing howl of two Blackhawk helicopters spinning up their turbine power plants.
Grim arrived via speeding Humvee, the contractor badgering his driver the entire trip from Alpha to hurry, worried the copters would leave without him.
Exiting the transport and retrieving his gear, Grim scanned the hustle and bustle, quickly identifying a group of armed men gathering to the side.
Trotting up to what appeared to be a rifle squad, Grim easily identified the man in charge. “Which bird do you want me in?” he asked, having to shout over the din.
“Who the fuck are you?” came a hard reply. “We’ve already got enough volunteers.”
The rebuttal took the contractor by surprise, but only for a moment. “I’m the guy ordered by the Alliance to go along and keep your ass from being shot off,” Grim snapped back. “Stand down that attitude, trooper, before you go someplace you don’t want to be.”
Grim’s counter took the leader by surprise, the man looking the contractor up and down, unsure what to make of the stranger.
No one was wearing any badges, insignias, or rank, a fact that tended to confuse military units. The men surrounding Grim were accustomed to a hierarchy and chain of command. Without a clear indication of rank, the young soldier didn’t know if the new arrival was a colonel or a private.