Temple of Fire

by Christopher Forrest

  Hawkeye cut the engine and was preparing to rise from his seat when the EFV tilted forward.

  “That can’t be good,” said Shooter.

  Hawkeye glanced at the tactical systems and camera array. “Damn. I think the ground is giving way under the weight of the vehicle.”

  The EFV tipped forward and descended into the crater at a thirty-five degree angle.

  “Hang on everybody,” said Hawkeye. “Gravity seems to be overriding my command decisions. We’re going in.”

  The front of the vehicle fell sharply, hit solid rock, and then continued its uncontrolled descent, rolling right and left as it fell.

  “Like a cheap carnival ride,” said Tank.

  “What if this thing reaches the bottom and starts to sink into the sand?” asked Dr. Madison.

  “Then we’re riding in the most expensive coffin ever made by man,” Hawkeye replied.

  The right-side EFV treads rose sharply off solid ground, lifted by an eruption of gas and flames. The vehicle hung in the air for several seconds, Titan Six collectively holding its breath. The tank leveled again with a bone-jarring thud.

  “We’re picking up speed!” Hawkeye said.

  The path downwards was smoother now, but steeper. The treads were literally gliding over rock and sand like sled runners on smooth ice.

  The engine roared back to life, gears growling, as the treads finally engaged and found traction on the desert grit.

  “We’re on level ground now,” Hawkeye announced. “I think we’re at the bottom of the crater, at least this portion of it. The visibility seems to have slightly improved.”

  “We dropped about one hundred and sixty meters,” Tank said. “One helluva ride.”

  “Let’s get out and take a look,” Hawkeye said. “The atmosphere reads breathable, but everyone make sure to adjust your helmets as needed.”

  Moments later, Titan Six stood on solid rock outside the EFV. Jaws agape, they stared in wonder at dozens of geometrical stone formations.

  “My God in heaven!” cried Madison, looking at the vista before him. “It’s an ancient city!”

  Southern Quadrant of U.S. Petroleum Blast Crater

  Great Basin Desert

  Will Langhorne wasn’t sure how long he’d been unconscious, but he was standing now. His muscles ached, but he was clear-headed.

  At least I didn’t break any bones . . . yet.

  His GPR surveys had not been conclusive, but he’d been fairly sure that radar indicated the presence of stone structures beneath the arid desert. U.S. Petroleum had surely seen the same thing, but if they’d reported the existence of an ancient city, the feds would have been under intense pressure to suspend drilling until local archaeologists and anthropologists had time to study the area. University teams might have taken decades to whisk their brushes across an entire city, and U.S. Pet had no intention of waiting that long. Their own scientists had indicated that success in finding oil from earth’s Deep Biosphere would be maximized in northeast Nevada. The city below the desert had obviously been considered expendable.

  Langhorne had landed hard on one of many stone and brick buildings. He now climbed down to the crater floor, which roughly corresponded to what he surmised was the original plateau upon which the city had existed.

  Like all geology majors, he had taken a smattering of anthropology courses as an undergraduate. The ruins before him were an enigma, however. The architecture was reminiscent of the later cultures of Mesoamerica, such as the Maya and Aztecs. But other aspects of the city appeared to reflect different cultures and time periods. The spiral domes and carved stone gods atop some temples resembled those in Cambodia. Most peculiar of all, some of the structures looked typical of the early Egyptian kingdoms.

  He walked down a path between two step pyramids. He wasn’t sure what kind of civilization had built the city, but he was certain of one thing: any ancient culture capable of constructing massive buildings would have had religious beliefs that called for adorning temples and shrines with gold, silver, and any number of precious gems.

  In short, they would have amassed considerable treasure. Langhorne knew that others would be coming — and soon — so he needed to scout the area as quickly as possible. The blast would most certainly have ripped open many temples and pyramids, making them ridiculously accessible. Secret chambers and tunnels might not be so secret any longer.

  He intended to become a rich man and move to South America, but he would have to work quickly. The ground continued to experience regular tremors, some violent and prolonged.

  Ops Center

  Aboard the Alamiranta

  “Repeat your last transmission, Titan Six,” said Touchdown urgently. “Did you say ‘ancient city’?”

  There was no response.

  Touchdown turned to Caine. “We’re in some pretty heavy weather now — very close to the innermost storms of Beatrice, where the winds and waves are strongest. The interference will be spotty a little while longer.”

  “ — ruins everywhere.” It was Hawkeye’s voice.

  Touchdown looked at Caine with sudden alarm. An ancient, ruined city? There would be a thousand places for enemies to hide.

  “The Chinese,” Touchdown said. “They could be anywhere.”

  “Are you there, Mr. Hawke?” asked Caine. “Did you hear Touchdown’s last statement?”

  Once again, there was no response.

  For Beatrice, the Alamiranta was a toy tossed about with abandon.

  Northeastern Quadrant of U.S. Petroleum Blast Crater

  Great Basin Desert

  “This is absolutely incredible!” Dr. Christian Madison said, running his hand over the stone base of a pyramid next to the EFV. The light-colored stones were rough and worn.

  “The winds from Beatrice are pretty light this far inland,” said Quiz, “but they’re enough to blow away some of the haze and give us slightly better visibility.”

  The team fanned out, their heads craned up to behold the wondrous city that lay before them.

  “When the COM link with the Alamiranta is reestablished,” said Madison, “the Ops Center will have to upload every possible image of this amazing find. Joshua will be especially interested.”

  The team members looked at each other and smiled. Titan Six had previously been on a particularly dangerous mission associated with the existence of an ancient, extinct culture.

  Ching! Ping!

  The head of a stone god in front of the pyramid shattered into dust.

  “Take cover!” Hawkeye shouted.

  Boots kicking sand into small clouds, Titan Six dove behind the EFV.

  “Who the hell knows we’re here?” Hawkeye said.

  “Maybe the United States government,” suggested Shooter.

  “Yeah,” said Tank. “Authorizing the use of deadly force to keep knowledge of the site from spreading.”

  Hawkeye looked at his brother. “Knowledge of the drilling site or of the ruins?”

  Tank shrugged. “The bigger question is whether or not we return fire on the American military.”

  “Wait, wait, wait!” said Hawkeye. “We’re getting ahead of ourselves. We need to find out who the enemy is. Shooter, circle round the pyramid and see if you can climb to the top and find some cover. Then report.”

  Shooter dropped to the ground and crawled to the rear of the massive stones, where an alley ran between two pyramids.

  “Drop your weapons, Titan Six!”

  Three Chinese commandos descended the slope created by the Expeditionary Fighting Vehicle.

  Titan Six dropped their assault rifles and machine guns.

  “Now face your vehicle and put your hands in the air,” said the lead commando. “Our commander wishes to interrogate you.”

  Hawkeye nodded to his team, indicating that all members should comply. As he did so, he also cocked his head slightly to the left. It was a signal.

  The commandos approached, gravel crunching under their boots as they finished their d
escent and stood directly behind Titan Six.

  Hawkeye, Tank, and Gator wheeled around, kicking the commandos with powerful leg thrusts. Stunned, all three Chinese soldiers fell to the ground. The first commando fired his rifle wildly, hitting the EFV.

  Hawkeye, Tank, and Gator were on top of the enemy immediately, raining blows on their assailants. The three pairs rolled sideways in the sand, exchanging punches. After five minutes, no one seemed to have an advantage.

  * * *

  Shooter surveyed the city from her vantage point on top of the pyramid. Whoever had fired on Titan Six had disappeared. Dozens of stone structures rose in front of her, and without help from the Ops Center, it would be impossible to locate the snipers.

  Ready to descend the temple, Shooter stopped abruptly. Below, Hawkeye, Tank, and Gator were engaged in hand-to-hand combat with three commandos. It had been a set-up. The snipers had not taken direct aim at Titan Six, hoping only to force them behind the EFV, where they could be confronted by the commandos.

  Quietly, Shooter lay flat on the step pyramid’s top tier. She cradled her Calico M960 semi-automatic carbine and aimed at the scuffle below. She was the finest sharpshooter in any of Titan’s combat units, but her next shots would have to be three of the best she ever made. Quiz and Madison had reclaimed their weapons, but even at close range, they dared not fire lest they hit their comrades. Shooter, however, was paid to make the kill-shot when circumstances dictated.

  Gator was being pummeled mercilessly. As for Hawkeye and Tank, each time they managed to get to their feet, they lost their footing in what was obviously a deep pit of sand.

  Shooter breathed slowly and evenly.

  One commando faced forward, Hawkeye just to his left. Gator’s attacker stood above him, his back to the EFV. Tank and his foe were standing sideways, facing each other.

  Shooter’s finger curled around the trigger. Her blood pressure slowed. She could spare no time to study the situation further. The combatants might change positions.

  In five seconds, Shooter squeezed off three rounds from right to left, aiming for the attackers of Gator, Tank, and Hawkeye respectively. Gator’s enemy was hit in the back. Hawkeye’s attacker was hit directly in the heart. The head of Tank’s assailant shattered in a shower of blood and brains.

  Shooter scurried down the rear of the temple and rejoined her team.

  “Nice work,” Hawkeye told her, wheezing from the exertion. “Everyone into the EFV.”

  Hawkeye sat again in the driver’s module as everyone else took their positions.

  “Let’s take a short drive,” Hawkeye said.

  The EFV slowly made its way down a centuries-old stone path as wide as a street. Temples and pyramids rose to the left and right of the path, their worn, eroded edifices displaying hundreds of glyphs, gods, and demons carved into the stone. Stairways, columns, and statues clearly indicated that at least some of the citizens of the city had been skilled craftsmen and architects.

  Steam and smoke rose from several cracks in the path. Thousands of years earlier, the inhabitants of the city would surely have believed that the gods were discontent.

  * * *

  Positioned on the ruins, Dragons fired from several angles at the EFV.

  Manning the M240 machine guns, Tank and Shooter quickly returned fire. Two Dragons tumbled from the high perches on a pyramid, landing beside the EFV.

  “Hold off on the 256 long gun,” Hawkeye warned. “It packs too much of a punch. We don’t want to start any tremors.”

  Tank and Shooter continued firing, the machine gun rounds turning stone into hazy clouds of dust.

  A Dragon appeared directly in front of the vehicle, reaching for something on his belt.

  “He’s going for a grenade!” Gator said.

  Shooter pivoted quickly and took down the commando.

  “Turning on stealth mode,” Hawkeye announced. “Let’s dial things down a bit.”

  The EFV continued on unchallenged.

  Aft Cargo Hold 6

  Aboard the Alamiranta

  Captain Papagantis joined Pyro and Lieutenant Bender in the cargo hold. The men steadied themselves by grabbing gray steel grips attached to a bulkhead as the ship continued to heave and roll.

  “Tell me some good news,” Papagantis said to Pyro.

  “I can stabilize the torpedo,” said Pyro, “but not in the way you’re thinking.”

  “Explain.”

  “Whether torpedoes are still on the manufacturing line or in the weapons hold of a sub, they’re more than just old-fashioned cylinders packed with explosives. Today more than ever, they’re complex electronic packages that are continually hooked up to computers monitoring their status.

  “These weapons can cost up to a million bucks, so manufacturers don’t just scrap one if a computer shows that the torpedo has a glitch. Engineers open them up if the computer readouts show a malfunction, regardless of its nature.

  “The problem is usually limited to one of two areas: guidance or detonation. If it’s the latter, the engineers usually activate the detonation sequence by pulling a certain wire. Only by watching the detonation sequence at a slowed pace can they know where the repair needs to be made. They usually need to swap out a faulty part — nothing more. If they can’t pinpoint the problem, they can simply shut down the sequence. After that, they disassemble the weapon and examine each part, sometimes recycling them into other torpedoes if they check out.”

  “So you’re proposing that we activate the detonation sequence,” said Bender.

  “It’s up to you and Mrs. Caine,” said Pyro, “but yes, I can activate the detonation sequence. The weapon will then initiate a slow countdown sequence.”

  “How slow?”

  “Could be an hour, could be twenty-four. No way of telling.”

  “Risky damn move,” remarked Bender.

  “The downside is that I’m an explosives expert, not a Chinese engineer. We’re buying time — nothing more — so that this thing doesn’t blow a sizeable hole in the ship. I can’t give you a guarantee that I’ll find the right way to disarm the torpedo during its countdown sequence.”

  Papagantis pushed a button on the nearest control panel. “Have you been receiving this, Ops?”

  “Yes, Captain,” said Caine. “Tell Pyro to proceed.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” said Papagantis.

  Pyro knelt by the torpedo, tethering himself to steel bracing along the hull. Carefully, eyes narrowed to pinpoint precision, he cut a green wire with a pair of small pliers.

  A digital box near the head of the torpedo flickered and came to life. Red numbers were displayed on its face.

  12:00

  The seconds ticked dispassionately.

  11:59

  11:58

  11:57

  “We have twelve hours for you to solve your conundrum,” said the Captain. “I’ll be on the Bridge. Give me updates every fifteen minutes.”

  Pyro nodded, not taking his gaze from the Chinese torpedo.

  Southwestern Quadrant of U.S. Petroleum Blast Crater

  Great Basin Desert

  Will Langhorne had found four silver coins in his trek through the ruins, but nothing more. A few worn, pentagonal pieces of ancient currency, if that’s what they were, wouldn’t allow him to sip tropical drinks with a senorita below the equator.

  Black smoke poured from what appeared to be a granary up ahead. Langhorne coughed, held his gas mask to his sunburned face, and headed in the opposite direction, settling in an area of one- and two-story mud brick buildings. The bricks were hard as stone, testimony to the skill of the builders. Only technically savvy cultures were able to combine water, ground up vegetation, and the right kind of soil to yield a brick that could be given square edges in order to mesh perfectly with others.

  He leaned against what had probably been a family dwelling. The crater was hot as hell, and Langhorne was perspiring profusely. He took a long swig of water from his canteen and wiped his brow with the long,
blue bandana tied around his neck.

  He took a deep breath, reflecting on the life journey that had brought him to a geological inferno in search of treasure.