Stacey paused in confusion and reread the message. Bombing run? What the hell kind of bombing run are they talking about? she thought. They couldn’t mean this command post. They don’t have this location—because I didn’t give them this location. She sent a text back.
INTERROGATIVE: WHAT BOMBING RUN?
The response took more than a minute. Her mind was racing. What the fuck are they doing back there? Are they suddenly starting to make decisions? She had gotten very accustomed to being able to outthink the higher-ups at both her American and Russian headquarters. Damn it! It was a hell of a time for her stupid headquarters to be growing some initiative. She heard the main door open, and a voice called out from behind her near the entrance to the room.
“Petty Officer Van A, you in here?” It was Gunny Dixon. “We need you back in the CP, the CO found us a perfect ambush spot for the train. Don’t forget those maps and timetables.”
“Oh.” She tried to calm her voice. “Be out in a minute.” After a pause, she called out, “Where’s it gonna go down?”
There was a second’s hesitation, then Gunny yelled back, “Just hustle. Can’t say it here—remember, OPSEC,” he said, using the military term for “operational security.”
God damn it, so now the Marines are finally following operations security counterintel protocol, she thought. Why can’t everyone just follow the fucking plans I’ve laid out for them?
“M’kay, be right out.” She listened for the click of the door so she knew Gunny had gone out, then whispered to the cell phone, “Come on, hurry the fuck up.” Finally, it buzzed, and a message popped up that looked like a cut-and-paste by the watch officer from a squadron attack time line. She knew their attacks were hardly ever on time, and she hoped that would be the case this time. It read:
UNITS: 6 SUKHOI SU-24
ACTIVITY: BOMBING RUN ON ENEMY COMMAND POST.
LOCATION: TUCKER COUNTY HIGH SCHOOL, VIC: THOMAS, WV.
TIME: 0752HRS
Stacey’s eyes grew at the last line of the message. An instant later another message came in:
REPEAT: GENERAL SAYS HE NEEDS NEW ENEMY AMBUSH SITE, NOW!
“Mat’ ublyudok!” she said out loud. “Motherfuckers!” She contemplated texting “fuck off,” then calmed herself with a few deep breaths. Her plan was going to pot, and in eight minutes there would be bombs blasting the school into bits, with her in it. She reached farther into the case and pulled out her father’s Soviet-era red handkerchief and held it against her cheek to try to calm herself further.
Then a voice came from behind her.
“So what’s all this now?”
Stacey turned to see Bartlett, the female Navy corpsman who had confronted her earlier. Stacey realized she’d probably come in with the Gunny and overheard everything. She pointed to the red hammer-and-sickle handkerchief and said, “Who the fuck are you?”
* * *
Victoria pulled out her badge and showed it to the Russians. They were the same two soldiers who had helped them at the entrance. Both men stared at her and the scene inside the room in stunned silence. One looked at Wynand’s kicking legs from under the crash cart and said something in Russian.
Victoria snapped her fingers in the two men’s faces and pointed to Wynand, shouting in her best angry, urgent doctor’s voice, “Avariynyy, damn you, avariynyy!”
The men stared a second more, trying to take it all in: the whoopie lights, the sirens, Wynand kicking, and the obviously angry doctor yelling at them. Victoria could see they were trying to decide what was going on. She decided to make up their minds for them. She jumped the few feet between them and shoved the badge on its zip string holder directly in front of their faces. She had been a military surgeon long enough to know how military men thought and acted. She was gambling that her knowledge of human nature was better than their understanding of hospital alarms.
She yelled, “Avariynyy! You bastard, avariynyy!” This time, her words contained a real note of stress as she pointed to Wynand’s prone form on the ground. Wynand had gotten the gist of what was going on and was busy flopping his arms and legs around again. As the soldiers rolled the cart out of the way, he even managed to whip up some foam from his mouth. He doubled down and rolled his eyes back a few times, barking out incoherent noises.
The Russians had seen enough. They grabbed him by the arms and legs and threw him back up onto the gurney, quickly strapping him down. Victoria indicated for one of them to pick up the pack still on the floor. Then she took the handles of the cart and started running down the hallway, all the while yelling, “Avariynyy! Avariynyy!”
With considerable effort, his heavy boots clacking on the polished floor, one of the soldiers jogged beside Victoria and gave her a thumbs-up. The other dropped behind them, and together they hastily made their way through the corridors and down the ramp to the ER, with Wynand now flailing and gurgling loudly. The soldiers waved their rifles and yelled, albeit in Russian, at the few hospital personnel who had started to trickle in and the sleepy looking night crew coming out of their offices to see what was going on. The hospital workers all stuck close to the side or gawked from doorways as they spotted the oncoming Russians brandishing their AKs, yelling and waving.
The alarm was still sounding at full blast when they made it to the ER. A different nurse from the one in the reception area stood up from her desk, looked at Wynand, the two armed Russians, and then to Victoria and her red-striped, all-access badge.
“No time. Gotta transfer him to . . .” Victoria tried desperately to remember the name of the other, higher-level trauma hospital in the region. “Uh, WVU Berkeley.”
The nurse nodded, pointed to the exit door, and said, “Just go, Doctor. An ambulance is waiting outside. No airlift available. I’ll take care of the transfer paperwork.”
“Great,” Victoria said, but she had already started running for the ER loading bay, where she burst through the flexible double doors. Two EMTs helped her load Wynand into the ambulance. In seconds, the driver indicated he was ready.
Victoria turned and shook both Russian soldiers’ hands, then kissed one of them on the cheek and smiled, giving him a look she hoped conveyed genuine relief and thanks. She added in Italian, “Ragazzi, siete degli stupidi,” then hopped aboard the ambulance and closed the door behind her. Neither of them understood Italian. She could see both soldiers high-five each other through the ambulance window as they pulled away, not realizing she had just called them idiots.
“Hey Doc, where to?” the ambulance diver yelled into the back compartment.
“The laundromat to grab a friend, then across the river to administer this”—she fished out a vial labeled levothyroxine—“to a little boy. Then over to Tucker County High School.”
The driver looked back at her face to see if she was serious. “Okay, you’re the boss. Lights and sirens on or off?”
“On,” she said, smiling and wondering how she was going to explain hijacking their ambulance to the EMTs in back who stared at her with shocked expressions.
CHAPTER 32
Tucker County High School
West Virginia
Tyce was on an unsecure line with the vice president when Stacey ran into the busy briefing room. Her hands and face were splattered with blood. “We have to get the fuck out of the command post!”
Everyone started at her in stunned silence.
“Right fucking now!” she screamed.
“Hey, what the hell is going on? We’re in the middle of something important,” Gunny said, holding up both hands for her to slow down. Then seeing the blood added, “What happened to you. Are you all right?”
Tyce hastened the end of the call, “Yes, send them. They will be a huge help today, but I’ll have to call you back, Mr. Vice President.” He hung up and stared at Stacey.
“No time to explain,” she said. “Get out of here, now! We have about five minutes before Russian bombers demolish the building.”
Tyce didn’t hesitate furt
her. “You heard her—everyone get out. Grab what you can. All free hands go immediately to the gym to assist the wounded.” He turned to Gunny. “Close down the CP. Grab the maps, and have the men get the radios and as many weapons from the armory as they can carry, then join me in the gym assisting the wounded.” Gunny nodded and started barking orders at the radiomen.
The room erupted as everyone raced out. Tyce grabbed Stacey, “Do I need to know how you figured this out?” He looked at her blood soaked uniform.
“I found our mole.” Stacey held up what looked like a small iPhone with a strobe light on top. “I caught her trying to set up a beacon for the aircraft.” She flipped it over and showed him Russian Cyrillic writing across the bottom.
“Holy crap. What did she say?” Tyce said.
“She told me about the attack.” Stacey looked at the blood on her hands and arms. “It took some persuading.”
Tyce gritted his teeth. He did not condone torture, but this didn’t seem like the time to mention it. It appeared that Stacey had again saved the lives of his entire command.
I guess we’ll find out soon enough, he thought.
He grabbed the school’s PA system microphone and thumbed the switch. “All hands, all hands. Be advised, Russian bombers are about to hit the building. Evacuate the building immediately. Assist the wounded. Grab what you can, toss it into the vehicles, and drive along the firebreak and into the woods to the west. Get as deep and as you can, as fast as you can. You have four minutes.” He turned to Stacey. “How sure are we of their attack time line?”
“We’re not. Could be earlier,” she said. “Russian aircraft attack time lines are unreliable, uh, but the information is solid.”
“Did you get your maps and notes?”
She patted the Pelican case. Tyce nodded and ran out to help his men.
Charleston, West Virginia
Blue zeroed his rifle in on the podium. There was a fair amount of commotion as three large SUVs pulled up onto the grass near the venue, escorted to the front and rear by state police cars. In moments, two Russian armored personnel carriers arrived. Machine gun turrets on top started scanning the area. Several squads of Russian soldiers got out of the armored vehicles and ran to set up a wide perimeter. A few soldiers pushed those in attendance tighter together and closer to the stage. Blue glanced at the sheriff, who was kneeling next to him, chewing on another piece of gum.
Sensing Blue’s eyes on him, the sheriff said, “Don’t worry, big guy, it’s all gonna go down just fine. Just stay focused on your target, he’ll be out in a minute.”
“I was wondering something.”
“Yeah?” said the sheriff, who was watching the activity below intently. “Shouldn’t do that. Just do what you’re told.”
“Respectfully, Sheriff, I’m just wondering about this mission?”
The sheriff stopped chewing and turned to Blue. His lip curled up, and he said, “Listen here, you punk. You agreed to this, don’t go getting cowardly on me now.”
Blue wasn’t scared or intimidated by the sheriff, but he’d arrived at an important thought, and he felt he deserved an answer. “It’s not that. I’ve killed men before, when they deserved it. I’m wondering how come Mayor Holly didn’t ask you to do this.”
“Now you listen closely. You’ve been given a job to do, mister. You agreed to it, and you’re gonna follow through. There’s no backing out now.”
Blue fell silent and looked back through his Leupold rifle sights to view the scene down below. The Russian perimeter had been established, and the state police went over and opened the door to one of the sedans. A few important-looking people got out, and a tallish man in a dark suit and grey overcoat walked confidently up to the podium. There was brief but muted applause from the people gathered around, and then he began to speak.
“My fellow West Virginians.” He spoke with an upbeat and confident tone. “We are facing difficult times, but we need not despair.”
Blue could see the TV cameras around the area sweeping over the crowd, filming both the governor’s speech and the people in attendance. He looked through his sights, panning across the crowd. As he did, he spotted someone sitting in the small VIP area behind the governor who he recognized immediately. It was Mayor Susanna Holly. She was in a light red suit with an elegant, fur-lined overcoat, and she sat with her legs crossed. He watched her for a moment while listening to the governor’s speech pounding out over the big speaker systems and across the central square. He couldn’t be certain, but it looked like she glanced their way a few times.
The governor continued. “Today I announce a new agreement that will make West Virginia the great state we were always meant to be. This pact is called the American New Deal. My fellow West Virginians, we are entering a new era, one in which we can finally trust that our government will do what’s right for us, the people. On behalf of you, the great people of West Virginia, I have forged a partnership between Russia and America that will provide for our needs better than ever before. In this modern day and age, I believe strongly that a wealthy society should not be one in which anyone is too poor to live. This new partnership will level the playing field and spread the wealth from those who have it to those who don’t.
“Moving forward, we will be a peaceful nation, with all guns eliminated. The new Russian-American policy is an initiative that will improve the safety of all Americans.”
Blue had an unconscious thought, which he accidentally said out loud: “Shall not be infringed . . .”
“What’s that? Stop mumbling, and get ready,” said the sheriff. Blue noticed he had placed his hand on his pistol.
“But perhaps most importantly, this agreement will eliminate the need for political parties. These same parties that have plagued us all these years since our founding fathers, forcing us to make devil’s bargains and preventing true equality. They will be dissolved and made into one. This new pact will do away with party bickering and replace it with solid and much more speedy decision-making. Finally, the American New Deal will consolidate the courts and include them directly in the executive branch.”
Another line jumped into Blue’s mind. “A government of laws and not men . . .” Blue said quietly.
“What’s that you say?” the sheriff said.
“The committee of five,” Blue said quietly.
“What the hell are you talking about, kid?”
“Um . . . nothing, sir. Something Mrs. Nevarez said.”
“You just shut your mouth and focus.”
The governor paused his speech and chuckled a little, telling what sounded like a pre-staged joke. “Think of it, folks. We can finally enact legislation with zero debate, and I know y’all will be thankful not to have a bunch of God-damned lawyers running the state.” A few laughs went up among the crowd. “Yes, folks, it was time we grabbed that broken document, the state constitution, and rewrote it to work for today’s citizen.” A small wave of applause broke out.
“Fire,” said the sheriff quietly. “Now, son. Fire your rifle and kill that man.”
Tucker County, West Virginia
Tyce and Gunny waved the last Humvee to turn off the firebreak and into the woods. The driver spotted them and turned hard, boxes of equipment and MREs spilling out the open back canvas flap. The vehicle skidded to a halt a few meters from where Tyce and Gunny were squatting and looking back toward the high school, which wasn’t visible through the tall trees even though the sun was up.
Gunny looked over at Tyce. Both men were panting heavily. “What if this is all BS?” said Gunny.
“I was thinking the opposite,” said Tyce. “What if we didn’t get the men far enough away?”
“Do you trust her, then? What if it’s some ruse to get us into the open? Make us better targets.”
Tyce frowned. “I don’t have any reason not to. Didn’t you see her? She was covered in blood, she must’ve tortured the info out of the other girl. Her data and intel have saved our bacon more than a few times alre
ady. I thought you trusted her too?”
“I don’t mean Petty Officer Van A. I mean, what if the other girl, the mole, played a final hand. You know, knew she was cornered. Get us in the open so they could strafe us.”
Tyce’s eyes widened, “Oh, shi—”
Smack-boom! Smack-boom!
The far side of the forest erupted in two giant balls of red flame. An enormous shock wave tossed Tyce and Gunny flat to the ground on their backs. Several nearby trees snapped in half, and branches rained down all around them and onto the Humvees. A huge cloud of pine needles and debris followed, blowing through the woods like a sandstorm and slamming a wave of heat into them.
Tyce sat up and looked over at Gunny, who was holding on to his chest and trying to catch his breath after getting the wind knocked out of him. Gunny took a few labored breaths and pointed at Tyce’s leg. The force of the blast had knocked the prosthetic at an odd angle. Tyce reached down and adjusted it, then started his routine for standing up.
Smack-boom! Smack-boom!
Another double blast, and everyone was knocked flat again. Both men lay there a second, then turned to each other before looking back at their troops. There were big clusters of men and vehicles spread out all through the woods. All of them seemed to have fared about the same—flattened but, for the most part, unhurt.
“You okay?” asked Gunny.
“Yeah, you?”
“Good, sir. I saw your leg, and for a second I thought it was your good leg, all fucked up and broken.” They both laughed and patted themselves to make sure they had all their other parts. Several troops looked on, puzzled that their leaders were laughing at a time like this.
First Sergeant Hull was the first to run up. He helped them both to their feet. “Hey gentlemen, you okay?”
“We’re good, do you have a count?” Tyce asked.
The Kill Box Page 23