by Dirk Patton
Some people looked away in distress while others stared at the monitor with tears streaming down their faces. Jessica cried softly. The Admiral was stunned, rooted in place and unable to tear his eyes away from the crash that had become the Major’s funeral pyre.
He had been in the military for a very long time. More than four decades. He well knew that men and women died. That life was fragile. But over the past few months, he had begun to see the Major as one of those lucky few who led a charmed life. Despite setbacks, injuries and seemingly insurmountable odds stacked against them, they always found a way to survive. Found a way to cheat death and come back even stronger and more determined. The Major had been one of those, but his luck had finally run out.
Struggling to control his own emotions and sense of loss, the Admiral looked around the CIC. Several pairs of eyes stared back, reflecting the pain he was feeling. Jessica was wiping tears away, staring at the flaming wreckage on the display. He stepped forward and placed a hand on her shoulder.
“Turn it off,” he said gently.
After a long moment, she nodded and pressed a key on her console that blanked the display.
“May I be excused, sir?” she asked without looking up.
“Take as much time as you need, Chief,” Packard said.
He stepped back as Jessica leapt to her feet and fled the room.
“Do we have anything in motion at the moment?” he asked the duty officer in a quiet voice.
“Nothing imminent, sir,” the man said in a husky voice. “We’re monitoring Russian movement and tracking the progress of War Hammer flight. That’s about it.”
“Relieve anyone that feels they can’t focus. Call in replacements as needed,” Packard said. “No recriminations for anyone who leaves and I don’t want anything in their personnel jackets. Understand, Commander?”
“Aye, aye, sir,” he said.
He began circulating through the room, softly speaking to each of the men and women who were on duty. The Admiral watched as, one after another, they shook their heads when the Commander was through speaking. None of them left their seats.
“Everyone is staying put, sir,” he said after having talked to each person.
“Very well, Commander. Thank you,” Packard said. “War Hammer is now cleared to engage. Please contact the team on the ground in Australia and War Hammer flight. I’ll be back shortly.”
“War Hammer is cleared to engage. Yes, sir.”
The Commander moved away to begin issuing the orders to proceed with the bombing of Barinov’s residence in Sydney. The Admiral turned and quickly left the room, Captain Black staying close at his side.
“All hell’s about to break loose,” he said to the Marine as they rode an elevator to the surface. “Australia isn’t going to take this well.”
Black remained silent, recognizing that the old man was simply thinking out loud, not looking for his input.
“Am I doing the right thing, Captain?” the Admiral asked, surprising the Captain.
“Is there another option, sir?” Black asked as the elevator announced their arrival.
They exited the building in silence, the security detail forming a perimeter as Packard headed directly for the bench.
“If there is, Captain, I’m not seeing it. That’s what worries me. What am I not seeing?”
Black hesitated, considering what he should or shouldn’t say.
“Sir,” he finally spoke. “If you’re not seeing another way out of this, I don’t think anyone will. I’ve watched you for months. Couldn’t help but hear the questions you ask and the things you say when you’re trying to make a decision. I think I’ve probably gotten to know you pretty well in that time, sir. All that said, I’d rather have you making the decision than any other person I can think of. Sir.”
They walked in silence for another minute, then the Admiral turned to look at his guard.
“Thank you, Captain. Let’s just pray that your faith in me is well placed.”
“I do that every night, sir,” Black answered.
As they approached the bench, Packard saw Jessica seated with her head in her hands. He walked up quietly, looking down at the young woman. It took her a few seconds to realize someone was standing over her. Looking up with a tear stained face, she got to her feet and came to attention.
“Please. Sit,” the Admiral said, extending his hand towards the bench.
When Jessica resumed her seat, he sat next to her and pulled out his cigarettes, offering her one. She didn’t fail to notice his hand tremor slightly as he lit it for her.
“Are you alright, sir?” she asked, sniffing and wiping her eyes.
He nodded without saying anything, taking a long drag from his smoke.
“After everything…” he started to say.
His voice trailed off and was silent for nearly a minute.
“You thought he was indestructible,” Jessica said, finishing his thought.
“Not consciously,” he said. “But it just seemed like he’d always come through, no matter the odds.”
They sat quietly, smoking their cigarettes down to the butts. He had left the pack on the concrete surface of the bench between them and, without asking, Jessica took a fresh smoke out of the pack and lit up.
“My daughter was like that,” the Admiral said, surprising Jessica.
“I didn’t know you had family, sir,” she said, watching as he lit a fresh cigarette.
“She passed,” he said, blowing a plume of smoke towards the sky. “Brain cancer.”
“I’m sorry, sir.”
“She was one of the smartest people I’ve ever met,” Packard continued without acknowledging the condolence. “Brilliant, in fact. Graduated high school when she was thirteen, then went straight to MIT. Earned her PhD in particle physics in only four years. Had offers from Lawrence Livermore, Sandia Labs, even SpaceX. But do you know what she did?”
Jessica shook her head, watching the Admiral closely.
“She joined the Navy the day she turned eighteen. Refused a commission. Insisted she wanted to ‘work for a living’! Can you imagine that? Here’s this beautiful, brilliant young woman who has the world in the palm of her hand. Can go anywhere she wants, be anything she wants, but she chooses to be an enlisted sailor!”
Jessica smiled at the obvious fatherly pride.
“I was fortunate enough to preside over the delivery of her oath of enlistment. Here she was, having graduated from MIT, summa cum laude, and she was beaming like she never had before. It was one of the proudest days of my life.”
He stopped talking and they sat there smoking, staring at the beautiful harbor spread out beneath them. Finally, after lighting a third cigarette, he continued.
“Three weeks later, during basic at Great Lakes Naval Base, she had the first seizure. It took a few days and numerous specialists before we received the diagnosis. Glioblastoma multiforme. Brain cancer. Particularly aggressive. It was in both her frontal and temporal lobes. Inoperable, and didn’t respond to chemo. She passed two weeks before her nineteenth birthday.”
“I’m very sorry, sir.” Jessica wanted to reach out and touch the Admiral, to comfort him. But that would have been inappropriate on so many levels. She tightly clenched her hands in her lap, resisting the impulse. “What was her name?”
“Her name was Jessica,” Packard said, looking at Jessica and smiling. “Named after her grandmother.”
Jessica was stunned and couldn’t think of anything to say. She had wondered what the Admiral had seen in her, why he had seemingly adopted her. Not that he wasn’t demanding and expected as much from her as anyone else, but she’d always suspected there was more to it.
For a time, she’d worried that the man had a crush on her. But he’d never displayed even a hint of inappropriate behavior towards or about her. He had, if anything, treated her like a …daughter.
The Admiral stared at the cigarette in his hand for a beat, then took a final drag before stripping the che
rry. Standing with a sigh, he looked at Jessica who had leapt to her feet.
“If you’ll excuse me, Chief, I need to get back to the CIC.”
He turned and strode away, back stiff, before she could think of anything else to say. She watched the Admiral and his detail move across the lawn, glad for the momentary distraction from the pain of watching Major Chase die.
45
Nitro sat in the back seat of the Land Cruiser driven by Smyth. Commander Sherman was in the front passenger seat and Master Chief Baldwin shared the rear with him. A large van, stuffed full of SEALs and the rest of his team followed close behind. Smyth was the only one of Lucas’s men who was making the trip to Sydney. He knew the way and was very familiar with the city, so he’d volunteered to come along as their driver and guide.
Sherman had just gotten off a secure call with Pearl Harbor, relaying the news about John in a quiet voice. Nitro was stunned and saddened by the loss of his friend. After a few minutes, Baldwin had produced a battered flask, unscrewed the cap and handed it across.
Nitro stared at it for a moment, then held it in the air and spoke.
“To the most fearsome warrior I’ve had the privilege to stand beside. To the most loyal man I’ve had the honor to know. To all the rest who fell before, and are yet to fall. We shall meet again in Valhalla. To absent friends.”
Nitro took a healthy drink from the flask before passing it back to Baldwin. The Master Chief repeated the final three words of the toast and drank before handing it to Sherman. The SEAL Commander spoke the words, drank then gave it to Smyth.
“You bloody, Yank bastard,” he said, leaning forward and looking up at the sky. “May you have been in heaven a half hour before the devil knew you was dead!”
He gestured with the flask, then brought it to his lips and drained it dry before handing it to Baldwin over his shoulder. They drove in silence for a few miles, then Smyth began talking. He told the story of the operation he’d been on with John and Lucas in central Africa.
He was a natural story teller with a way of spinning humorous anecdotes that weren’t necessarily funny when they had happened. Soon, all the men were chuckling despite their heavy hearts. As they drew closer to the sprawling metropolis of Sydney, traffic picked up and Smyth fell silent as he concentrated on driving.
“What’s the plan, now?” Nitro asked.
“Can’t discuss it. Sorry,” Sherman said.
“Missile strike or maybe drop a bomb on the bastard’s head,” Nitro said, making an educated guess.
Sherman was quiet for a bit, then turned around to face the back seat.
“Something like that,” he said. “We’re linking up with Staff Sergeant Martin as soon as we get to town.”
Nitro nodded and didn’t press the issue. He was looking forward to seeing Lucas and asking why he wasn’t with John when he died.
Three hours later, Smyth stuck a Bluetooth headset into his ear and initiated a call from his cell. He spoke briefly to someone, then disconnected. They were deep into the city now, crawling along in early morning traffic on the M1. Going south, they crossed the Sydney Harbour Bridge and entered the downtown area.
Smyth expertly navigated the clogged streets and alleys, finally turning onto a narrow road that ended in a parking lot for the Royal Botanic Gardens. He crossed a broad expanse of asphalt, stopping next to Lucas when he stepped out of a non-descript sedan. His head was wrapped in a swaddling of bandages which he’d tried to cover with a broad brimmed Aussie bush hat.
Nitro was the first out, tempering his anger when he saw the purple bruising across half of Lucas’s face. The two men stared at each other for a moment before Nitro nodded and relaxed.
“What happened?” he asked.
Lucas glanced around, waiting for all the men from both vehicles to gather so he didn’t have to repeat himself.
“Someone betrayed us,” he said. “Goddamn Brigadier showed up with a fucking Russian and a bunch of troops surrounding the perimeter to shut us down. John, Rachel and I escaped, but there was a Russian sniper waiting for us. Guess the PM had given the bastards a heads up. I got creased by a bullet and knocked out cold. Woke up in an ambulance on the way to hospital. Slipped away before they figured out who I was.”
“How did John die?” Nitro asked.
“Car crash is all I know,” Lucas said, shaking his head. “Guess there was a hell of a gunfight before that happened. He got one of them and there were two dead cops at the scene. That’s how we know this was the Russians. Other than that, I can’t tell you. I’m cut off. My contacts are sitting in a military prison cell.”
“We’ve got orders to move forward,” Commander Sherman said, forestalling any other discussion that could wait for a more appropriate time.
“What does that mean?” Lucas asked, noting that the SEAL team had formed a neat perimeter around him and Smyth. “Going to fight your way in? It’s a bloody fortress, mate. You won’t get close to him, even with twice this many.”
“We’re solving this today,” Sherman said simply. “And I think it might be better if you and Sergeant Smyth waited in the van over there.”
Lucas glared at the SEAL, eyes boring into him. Smyth took a subtle step to the side, his hand slowly slipping beneath his shirt.
“Hold on,” Nitro said, staring at him. “Don’t draw that blade.”
He tilted his head to the side where a SEAL cradled a suppressed pistol against his body, the muzzle steady on Smyth’s heart. After a moment, he smiled and lowered his hand.
“Forgot you knew my tricks,” he said, shrugging.
“Everyone take a breath before this gets ugly,” Nitro said, stepping between Lucas and Sherman. “We all want the same thing.”
After a minute, both men nodded and Nitro turned to face Lucas.
“Do you have any doubts that everything John told you was true?”
“No,” Lucas said without hesitation.
“Then you know something must be done, and it has to be done now. Even if there are risks.”
After a long hesitation, Lucas nodded and looked down at the asphalt beneath his feet.
“How can I help?” he finally asked.
Commander Sherman looked at him for a moment, then glanced at Nitro.
“Look,” Nitro said. “I’ve fought with Lucas. John fought with Lucas. He doesn’t play games. If he did, John wouldn’t have trusted him. I wouldn’t trust him. If he’s offering to help, he’s sincere.”
Sherman stared at Nitro for a beat, then turned to look at Master Chief Baldwin. The grizzled SEAL didn’t hesitate to nod his agreement.
“Okay,” Sherman said with a sigh. “We need a location higher than the roof of Barinov’s building, at least half a klick away. I’ve got some buildings spotted on satellite imagery, but some local knowledge would help.”
“Laser designator?” Lucas asked. “You’re going to drop a JDAM?”
Sherman nodded.
“That’s right. Two thousand pounds, right on his fucking head.”
“Thought JDAMs were GPS guided,” Lucas said, frowning.
“They are, but also laser capable. The Admiral wants to make sure we hit the right target.” He looked up at the blue sky before continuing. “It’s a beautiful, clear day. Laser lock will be solid.”
Lucas glanced at Nitro who shrugged his massive shoulders.
“What about the nerve gas?” Lucas asked.
“That’s a risk we have to take,” Sherman answered, watching Lucas closely.
After nearly a minute, Lucas nodded agreement.
“I don’t like it, but I agree there’s no other option at this point. Show me that sat imagery you’ve got.”
Sherman retrieved a small case from the vehicle and placed it on the hood. From within, he pulled out a large piece of paper, folded four times so it would fit, and spread it out. Lucas and Smyth pressed in, looking at the crisp photo of a section of Sydney. Barinov’s building was already tagged with a red, adhesive dot. Three
other buildings had been flagged with a black felt marker.
“That’s Defence Bank,” Lucas said, thumping on one of the potential buildings. “No way to get to the roof without raising all kinds of alarms.”
“High security residential building. Same problem,” Smyth said, eliminating the second possibility.
“What about this one?” Sherman asked, tapping the third possibility.
The building in question was the tallest of the three and nearly two-thirds of a kilometer from the target. Definitely a safe distance to be when the bomb detonated.
“Standard office building,” Lucas said, having looked at it with Wellington when they briefly considered using a sniper. “Lawyers, accountants, that sort of thing. It should do the trick.”
Sherman turned and called over two of his SEALs, showing them the building.
“Recon,” he said. “But do not push it and draw any attention.”
“Got it, boss,” one of them said, then looked at Lucas. “Borrow your car, mate?”
“Go ahead,” Lucas said, grinning. “But I stole it. Might want to take the Rover instead.”
“Keys are in it,” Smyth said.
They nodded and hopped into what had been the lead vehicle during the drive from Lucas’s compound to Sydney. Most of two hours later, they returned.
The building didn’t have any security in the lobby. Anyone could just walk in and ride an elevator to any floor. They had walked the perimeter and checked the underground garage. Nothing was secured, nor were they challenged by any security. Finally, they’d ridden up to the top floor which housed a film production company.
At the end of the hall, they’d encountered their first locked door, but had defeated the cheap deadbolt within seconds. Behind was a set of dusty stairs that accessed the roof. Worrying about being spotted by security at the target building, they didn’t do anything more than confirm they could open the exterior door without triggering any alarms. Sherman asked a few questions which were answered to his satisfaction, then stepped away to make a secure call to the CIC in Pearl Harbor.