by Payne, T. L.
“Did they make it?” Will asked.
“Yeah. They’re safe. We just need to hold these assholes off until Echo Team arrives.”
“I sure the hell hope they send more than a couple of soldiers this time and a ton of ammo,” Will said.
“Don’t worry. Lieutenant Sharp will come loaded down. He does shit right.”
For some reason, hearing a familiar name brought Will some measure of comfort. He didn’t know the man that well and certainly didn’t know how he was as a soldier, but his first impression of Sharp had been that he was a tough, no-nonsense type of guy. And he was aware of the importance of the information Stephens carried. He might be more motivated to rescue them, to retrieve it—at least he hoped that was the case.
Will and Hollingsworth dropped to a crouch as the firing stopped. He could no longer hear Betley and the .50 cal. The hostiles could be advancing on them from that position, and they wouldn’t know it, hunkered down as they were. Will considered crawling under one of the Humvees but feared getting trapped under there if they were overrun. No, he’d make his stand alongside Hollingsworth come what may.
His mind went in multiple directions as they waited. He kept telling himself that Cayden was safe and help was on its way. Soon this would be behind him, and he and his son would leave this wretched city. He had to believe they would. His son was all that had kept him going—that and his desire to protect Isabella. She’d had his back and helped him get Cayden to safety. He owed her. Neither of them had signed up for this. But somehow, here they were. So far, they’d survived—by pure luck and determination, they had survived. How long would that luck hold? Long enough for Sharp and his men to arrive? Will prayed so.
The insurgents to their south suddenly stopped returning fire. Will wasn’t sure why. He was reasonably sure that he and Hollingsworth hadn’t killed them all.
“Let’s try to make it inside,” Hollingsworth said.
“What about Betley?”
“There’s too many. We can’t get to him. Our best chance is to make it inside and secure the doors.”
Will hesitated, not willing to abandon the agent.
“Go. I’ll cover you,” Hollingsworth said.
Hollingsworth was right. There was nothing he could do for Betley. Will hoped the Humvee would provide him enough protection until Sharp could arrive and rescue him.
Will rose and stepped away from the safety of the vehicles, spotting two men running toward him from the end of the row near the front of the building. He raised his rifle to fire, but before he could get off a shot, the two men dropped to the ground. Will looked behind him and saw four soldiers quickly moving toward him in a crouch.
“Go, Will!” Hollingsworth yelled, tapping him on the shoulder.
Will took off toward the building right behind him but immediately came under heavy fire. The rounds struck the wall of the museum and kicked up pieces of dirt from the grass. Will and Hollingsworth once again fell back to the safety of the Humvees as the arriving soldiers ran past them, heading toward Betley’s position. A second later, Will heard Lieutenant Sharp barking orders.
“Owens. Barkley. Ten o’clock. Ten o’clock. Concentrate your fire toward the plane.”
Will rose just enough to see where he was talking about. He hadn’t even noticed the NASA plane on display fifty yards from them. There was a clump of trees maybe ten yards beyond that where insurgents had concealed themselves.
“Hollingsworth. Where’s Betley?” Sharp asked as he ran up.
“Second row. About the fourth Humvee in. He’s out of ammo. None of the others have any either. The nearest ammo resupply point is near those hangars,” Hollingsworth said, thrusting a thumb over his shoulder.
They’d need to cross several hundred yards of open field to reach it. There was no way to make it.
“We’ve got some fifties and a few mortars. Move on me. Let’s get to Betley and then take out those assholes firing at us from that cluster of shipping containers there,” Sharp said.
“You. Civilian. When I start firing, you’re going to run like hell toward the building. Don’t stop until you’re inside. Got it?” Sharp asked.
Will nodded.
“Got it?”
“Yes!” Will said. “I got it.”
Sharp chopped the air, and he and two other soldiers took off running north. They stopped about ten yards ahead and began firing before moving again.
“Go, Will,” Hollingsworth yelled as he took off to follow them.
Will stepped out then looked back south to make sure no one would shoot him in the back before taking off across the parking lot toward the museum. A loud boom sent him scrambling back for cover. When he poked his head up, Sharp and the others were running toward Betley’s direction. Gunfire was coming from everywhere, so much of it that Will had no choice but to keep his head down.
He spotted movement in the next row and pivoted. The man carried a rifle but wasn’t in uniform. Will raised his rifle in the man’s direction, and he stopped. It was then that Will could see his face. Rage. Pure hatred. Will squeezed the trigger but missed. The man jumped back out of view. Will waited, but he never reappeared. Should he go after him? He wasn’t trained for this. All he could do was stay there, hoping not to get shot or blown up.
Will once again heard the thudding sound of the .50 caliber machine gun. They’d made it to Betley. Next, he heard a thump and then witnessed a massive explosion of a building on the other side of the airplane. A thick cloud of smoke rose into the air, but the automatic gunfire persisted seemingly everywhere around Will. There was no doubt that more than a few insurgents were still alive. It felt more like a whole army had descended upon them. Was this an invasion? Were they too late leaving the city? He feared they’d be trapped and never get out if that was the case.
The next time Will saw movement, it was two soldiers moving south carrying Santos. His head was bandaged, as were his leg and arm. His head was lolling to the side, and he was barely conscious though he cried out as one of the soldiers shifted him to bring his rifle up. Out stepped the insurgent who’d fired upon Will. He raised his rifle and began firing.
The two soldiers scrambled backward, dragging Santos toward the row of vehicles while attempting to return fire on the shooter. Will ran toward them, firing at the man as well. Someone’s rounds hit their target, and the man crumpled to the ground. Will turned his attention to Santos. He was lifeless at the soldiers’ feet. One of them felt for a pulse, then shook his head. It was unlikely that he would have survived his wounds from what Will had seen, but he understood that they had to try. They dragged him between the vehicles and, without a word, took off running toward the front and the concentration of gunfire.
Will stood there, staring down at the dead soldier. He was sick of death. Sick of all the bloodshed. He feared that this was only the beginning. The enemy had initiated this fight. It was apparent to him that they wouldn’t stop until they reached their objective. Exactly what that was, Will was afraid to even guess. What would it mean for them if the Chinese won? It was unthinkable. They couldn’t let that happen even if every man, woman, and child had to take up arms and fight. They had to defend their country, or they would never be free again.
“Will!” Hollingsworth called. “Sharp told you to get to the museum.”
Will turned. “I tried. I nearly got my head shot off.”
“Shit. Go. I’ve got your back.”
Twenty-Seven
Will
Day Six
Will and Hollingsworth had barely made it five steps before having to drop to the ground. A massive explosion hit one of the shipping containers, and flames shot into the air. Will felt his bones rattle.
“They hit the genny,” Hollingsworth yelled.
Will could barely hear him. He worried that his hearing might be permanently damaged from all the noise.
Another explosion hit somewhere in the direction of Betley and Sharp. A few seconds later, soldiers began running pas
t Will. “We’re falling back. They’re hitting us with mortars.”
Sharp and Betley came into view. Betley was doing his best to keep up but was lagging behind. He tripped and fell. Will took off toward him. One of the soldiers ran past and scooped Betley up by the collar of his shirt. He was dragging him back towards cover when an explosion rocked the vehicle nearby them. Will dropped to the ground and crawled to cover, expecting the next one to hit his location. The air was thick with smoke.
“Two-three. Get Bluebird two and haul ass to Building F,” Sharp barked.
“Owens. Get those damn mortars on that container and stop those bastards.”
Hollingsworth ran into the smoke and disappeared. Will stood there for a moment just staring at the soldier, loading a mortar into the bipod supported firing tube. Seconds later, he heard a loud thunk, and the weapon launched a mortar into the air. Through all the smoke, Will couldn’t see if it hit its target.
Hollingsworth and Betley appeared, and Sharp gestured toward the museum. “Get him inside.”
Will followed Sharp and the three soldiers as they took off after them. Hollingsworth and Betley were within ten feet of the door when a mortar dropped on the building. Will was hit by something, and he fell to the ground. He was stunned. He could make out faint voices, but not what was being said. He searched through the smoke for Hollingsworth and Betley but saw nothing but twisted metal and debris. That was when he realized that the museum had been hit. Another explosion hit the building, and Will watched in horror as the southeast side of the museum collapsed in on itself.
Will opened his mouth and screamed Isabella’s name. He tried to get to his feet, but he was dizzy and disoriented. The voices and gunfire around him sounded muffled. Sharp was waving his arms and chopping the air with his hands, directing soldiers’ movements. His mouth was moving, but Will couldn’t hear anything he was saying.
The soldiers manning the mortars continued loading and firing while others took off after the enemy. Sharp pivoted and lifted his rifle. Will saw his arm fly up and his feet come out from under him. Will’s head spun to his right, and he spotted two men rushing toward them. He fired and continued firing until they were both down. He turned back to Sharp, who had pulled himself up to a seated position. Will ran over and grabbed his left arm, pulling him to his feet.
Sharp immediately ran to where they’d last seen Hollingsworth and Betley. Will followed, and the two begun pulling debris off the two men. They discovered Hollingsworth first. He was on his stomach. Underneath him, Betley lay lifeless. Sharp rolled Hollingsworth over. From his appearance, there was little doubt he was gone. The sight nauseated Will but he pulled Betley out from under him and turned him facing up. His eyes were open. From his chest protruded a four-inch piece of steel. Will felt his neck for a pulse only to confirm what he already knew, Betley too, was gone. For better or worse, the fight for him was over. He hadn’t lived to see their victory or defeat. At least if they failed, Betley wouldn’t suffer under a communist regime.
Sharp turned and ran toward the gaping hole in the side of the building. Fire smoldered within it. Somewhere inside were Isabella and Stephens. Maybe they’d moved away from the blast. They could still be alive. Alive and trapped.
“We need to get in there,” Will said. “We need to help them.”
The front of the building was gone. In its place was a pyramid of rubble. A ten-foot-wide hole in the ceiling, through which dangled broken pipes, electrical wires, and twisted metal, allowed light to flood in. Ignoring the sick feeling of dread in his gut, Will pulled on the enormous sheet of metal blocking his way and tossed it aside. Piece by piece, he continued.
“Isabella,” he called, tossing a slab of drywall aside. “I’m coming, Isabella. Hold on.”
Will climbed over the top of the pile when a space large enough for him to crawl through opened up. Isabella could be anywhere beneath him. How much time did she have? Could she find a pocket of air under all that debris? He held on to that hope as he continued clawing at chunks of ceiling tiles. His hands were bloody but Will didn’t stop. He kept digging, trying to reach her.
He fought back flashes of the worst day of his life as his wife slipped away from him, his grief as fresh as it had been that night. He hadn’t known Isabella long, but they’d gone through a lifetime of hell together already. Cayden adored her. How would he explain this? He couldn’t give up on her. He couldn’t walk away without knowing he’d done all he could to save her.
Will wasn’t aware of precisely when all the gunfire had stopped. His singular goal was to dig his way into the building and find Isabella. Minutes passed as metal and glass cut his hands and ripped at his clothes. Sharp and the soldiers joined him and began handing debris back one piece at a time to make entry into the heart of the building.
“Isabella!” Will yelled every few minutes. All work would stop for a moment as they listened for a reply. They were long agonizing seconds, and then work would begin again. He lost all sense of time. Had it been five minutes? An hour? Half the day? With every second that passed, his desperation rose. It was as if he’d entered a primal survivor mode. He felt almost detached from reality. It was too much to comprehend. At times, he found himself confused and thought he was searching for his wife. At one point, he’d stood and repeatedly called Melanie’s name, and Sharp grabbed his arm and pulled him aside.
“Take a break, man—just a minute. Get a drink of water. The heat is getting to you. We’ll keep digging. Don’t worry.”
Will stumbled back and took in the scene. Sweat was pouring off him. His breathing was rapid, and his tongue clung to the roof of his mouth. Someone shoved a bottle of water into his hand and his fingers relished the chill. He placed it against his forehead and rubbed it down his cheek. Tears stung his eyes. He turned and caught sight of Betley’s body, overwhelmed with the loss of life he’d witnessed.
It appeared that the soldiers had somehow taken out the insurgents in their area. Four soldiers were standing guard at each end row of vehicles. Soon more soldiers arrived and joined the others pulling debris from the building. Will wanted desperately to cling to some hope that Isabella would be removed from there alive. If not, how was he going to tell his son? Just as Cayden was opening up, now this devastating blow? How much more could the kid take? How much could he take?
“I think we have something,” someone called out.
Will pushed forward and stepped around people to move closer. His heart raced as he waited.
“It’s O'Reilly. He’s KIA.”
O'Reilly. Not Isabella. There was still hope. She could have been farther back in the building in the parts still standing. But why hadn’t she answered when he’d called her name? Why hadn't Stephens, Santos, and the other soldier answered them?
“Maybe they ran through the building and got out on the other side,” Will said, turning to Sharp. “Stephens was solely focused on getting to the hangar and getting that computer away from here. Maybe they’re at the hangar right now.”
Sharp’s expression said he disagreed.
“Baxter. Elmworth, take your team and go check out the hangar. See if Stephens made it out and ran there.”
“Thank you,” Will said softly. He was torn. He wanted to join the soldiers and look for them at the hangars but felt compelled to stay and be there if they found them in the rubble instead.
As the soldiers headed across the field toward the hangars, Will moved closer, climbing over a small debris pile trying to get near where the others were digging. He made his way past them and began clawing and grabbing at anything and everything that might be covering Isabella and Stephens. If she was there, he was going to find her.
“She has to be alive,” he repeated to himself. “Please, God. Let her be alive.”
As the minutes and hours ticked past, Will found it harder and harder to remain hopeful. In his mind, he knew the odds of finding anyone alive were slim. Everyone was tired and dehydrated from the relentless heat. Still, the soldiers
remained determined to pull Stephens and Isabella from the rubble.
His body was giving out. It was becoming increasingly difficult to keep going. He was in a crazy amount of pain, and every cell in his body said, ‘quit.’
“Here, drink,” Sharp said, handing Will a bottled water.
“They could still be alive under there,” Will said.
“Yeah. We’ll find them.”
A few times, Will considered asking if someone could bring his son to him, but Cayden didn’t need to see this. That would be selfish on his part.
Will returned to removing debris. This time even more desperate and hurried. The clock was ticking for Isabella and Stephens. He didn't have time to waste going easy.
Twenty-Eight
Will
Day Six
Will smeared blood across his forehead as he wiped the sweat from his brow. He held out his hands and inspected them. He was bleeding from dozens of cuts but didn’t feel them. He blocked out all pain and kept digging, sure he was getting close. Any second, he’d pull back a piece of metal or sheetrock, and her gorgeous face would be staring back at him. He couldn’t bear the thought of anything else. He pushed away images from the night of the accident. The ones that had haunted him for the last two years. That wouldn’t be the case here. He could save Isabella. He could find her in time.
“Here! I’ve got something here,” someone shouted.
Will stood tall, trying to see over the rubble. “Is it them?” he called back. “Is it Isabella?”
“I’ve got a leg,” someone called.
“Who is it?” Will asked, desperation growing in his gut. He had to know if it was her. He started moving in that direction. The pile shifted under him, and he stopped. “Are they alive?” he asked as he stretched his neck to see.