Engage at Dawn: First Contact

by Edward Hochsmann

  0730 EST, 19 January

  “Check fire, check fire, shift target right. Deffler, illuminate the other vehicle.” Sam struggled to keep his voice low and even.

  “Check fire, aye, shifting right,” said Williams, punching “Lock/Unlock” and moving the console’s trackball to the right until the reticle sited on the other glowing object and flashed green. The Puma’s illumination dot now appeared on the image.

  “Target illuminated,” Deffler said.

  “Target identified, target confirmed, on target and tracking,” Williams punched the “Lock/Unlock” button again. The artificial intelligence in the gun sight fixed on the signature of the selected “hot” object. It noted the need to realign and signaled the traversing system of the main gun, slewing it a few degrees to the right.

  “Incoming rocket!” Deffler shouted. The warhead flashed just clear of the cutter’s stern with a hiss and self-detonated a second later.

  “Commence fire!”

  Another series of loud bangs with the rattle of spent cartridges hitting the deck meant more quarter-pound 25mm rounds were on the way. The penetrators shed their sabot jackets on leaving the barrel, and their tracer tails made them look like glowing streaks as they vanished into the mist at almost four times the speed of sound. At slightly under 600 meters to target, flight time for each round was a little under half a second. The SUV driver started turning to return to the causeway immediately instead of building up speed first. It was his last mistake. The aspect change increased the image size, and the low speed allowed Williams to target it expertly. The brief flight time meant lead and windage were not a factor. He came on target at once. The first hit severed the right front wheel, the second punched through the door armor, spewing lethal fragments in the cabin. The last hit shattered the fuel tank, igniting the scattering gasoline with its tracer tail. Soon, the infrared picture on Williams’s gun sight was again washed out with heat from another wrecked and burning SUV.

  “Check fire. Standby.” Sam gazed at the UAV display. Two SUVs were burning, with three motionless human figures strewn between, and it appeared several more lay near the second vehicle. He waited impatiently while the Puma continued its orbit in slow flight, finally clearing the drifting smoke. “Zoom in on that.” Sam pointed at a figure crouching beside another near the hut and jammed the transmit button on his radio, “Shore-One, this is Kauai.” No response. “Shore-One, this is Kauai, respond!” Turning, he said, “Deffler, can you get his attention?”

  “Yes, sir,” While he slewed and zoomed the image, Deffler goosed the engine to full and switched off the Ghost system. The kneeling figure looked up and around. He fixed on the aircraft, exaggeratedly touched his ear, and gave a thumbs-down. He then held his right arm straight up with his left pointing horizontally into it, giving the “Send Litter” signal—a general call for medical aid. Deffler zoomed in on the scene, and it became clear Ben was the one signaling, Simmons was prostrate and not moving, and both were very bloody.

  “Ceasefire. Secure the 25.” Sam grabbed the PA microphone. “Stand Easy General Quarters, Away Rescue and Assistance Detail, Health Services Technician contact the Bridge.” Sam leaned down and gripped Williams’s and Deffler’s shoulders with each hand and gave them a soft shake. “Thank you, guys.” Williams and Deffler shook hands firmly as Sam crossed the Bridge. “OOD, in this calm, any course works for the boat launch. Let’s try minimum steerageway to the northwest, please.”

  “Very good, sir,” Hopkins replied, blinking away tears. She looked across at Deffler, nodding when he looked up at her and receiving a nod in return. The ship’s telephone buzzed, and she picked it up. “Bridge, OOD. Right, standby. Captain, it’s Doc.”

  Sam nodded and took the phone. “Doc, Captain. Yes, the UAV has eyes-on. The suspects are down, but the XO and Simmons both appear wounded. XO is ambulatory and hand-signaling for a litter. Comms are down, so I can’t tell the severity. Right. Good. Now listen carefully, Simmons’s people are on the way, and they’ll probably have EMTs along. However, unless you are convinced he really needs a hospital, you get the XO away from those people and back to the boat. I’ll back whatever decision you make. Right, good luck.” He hung up the phone and keyed his radio. “Boat Deck, Captain.”

  “Captain, Boat Deck, go ahead, sir,” Bondurant replied.

  “Boat Deck, how soon before you can launch?”

  “The boat’s at the rail and ready, sir. They’ll be off 30 seconds after Doc boards. Lee and the boat seaman have sidearms, and I put Jenkins in with a shotgun. Hold, sir. Doc’s here and onboard. Request permission to launch the boat.”

  Sam was going to order the boat crew to be armed; I should have known Bondurant would cover that. “Standby,” Sam said and turned to Hopkins. “OOD, the boat is ready, how’s our course?”

  “Steady on 290, bare steerageway, sir,” she replied.

  “Very well, hold that.” He keyed the radio again. “Boats, you’re cleared to launch. Good call on the weapons. Tell Lee to head 080 until she sees the shoreline, then continue to land as close to the scene as possible.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  Sam touched Hopkins gently on the shoulder and quietly said, “Thank you, Hoppy.” Then he stepped outside to wipe his own eyes. He tried to work a painful cramp out of his right hand while watching the RHIB dropping into the water for launch. When the RHIB was away, he stepped back inside. “Williams, start a secure chat with OPC, please.”

  “Yes, sir,” Williams replied, shifting over to the SeaWatch station.

  “Sir?” Hopkins asked Sam when he stepped behind Williams.

  “OOD, I’m about to put what my H65-flying brother-in-law calls the ‘Aviator Approach’ to the test.” Sam smiled sadly.

  “What’s that, sir?”

  “It’s easier to obtain forgiveness than permission.”

  21

  Aftermath

  Resolution Key, Florida

  0801 EST, 19 January

  Bryant had just finished initial treatment on Simmons’s arm wound when several agency SUVs arrived, and three well-equipped EMTs stepped out and ran over. “Through and through in the upper left arm, bone seems OK, no bleeds,” Bryant said to his counterpart.

  “Right, we’ve got it.”

  “OK, XO, that was a four-point-oh job with the first aid. Let’s have a look at you now.” Bryant pulled on fresh gloves.

  “I’m fine, Doc.” With an expressionless face, Bryant reached up and touched the right side of Ben’s head and showed him the blood on his glove. “OK, except for the hole in my head.”

  “You’ll live, XO. Just let me get this patch on to keep the rest of your brains from leaking out, and I’ll sew you up when we get back to the boat.” After cleaning and applying a bandage to the wound, Bryant took Ben’s arm. “OK, sir, let’s move along.”

  “Give me a few minutes, Doc.”

  Bryant started to protest, then pointed at his wristwatch. “I’ll give you 120 seconds, sir.”

  “For sure, thanks,” Ben kneeled back down beside Simmons. “It seems we’re shipmates no more.”

  Simmons smiled as the EMT worked to prepare him for the stretcher. “I’m sorry about that. You did real good today, and I’d like to keep you around.”

  “Bull. I was scared shitless and damn near blew the whole deal by getting myself speared.”

  Simmons frowned and grabbed Ben’s arm gently with his right hand. “Don’t kid yourself, everybody’s scared shitless in a gunfight, present company included. Do you think you ‘blew it’ by getting hit? Guess what? I took one too. I juiced up before the shooting started just in case, but I was hoping to spare you the hangover—it’s a bug we’re still working on with the antidote.

  “Think what would have happened had those goons gotten to our ‘friends’ before they could jump. No, you and your crew were really something today.” He smiled warmly. He noticed Ben staring at the two covered bodies. “You bothered by that?”

  “I don’t know.
It was righteous then, but I haven’t killed anyone before.”

  “That’s the downside. You might have issues later because you’re a good man. If it comes to that, just remember that if weren’t for the fog, those animals would have blown up Kauai and murdered any survivors. If you need something to keep you going beyond the fact that you saved your family out there, call me, we have people who’re good at that sort of thing.”

  “Sir, we need to get him to a hospital,” the EMT interjected.

  “Sorry, carry on, please.” Ben shook Simmons’s hand and then stood up. “Seeya spook.”

  “Sooner than you think.” He then looked past Ben and cried, “Art!”

  Ben turned to see Frankle trotting up to them. He kneeled down with a look of concern upon arriving and took Simmons’s right hand. “Pete! Damn glad to see you’re still with us.”

  “Yea, verily, brother. What the hell happened? Where’s Bell?”

  “They pulled another of their surprises. Suckered us into an assault and then activated some kind of EMP generator. Radios, cellphones, and vehicles all knocked out. Hell, they even brought down the overwatch UAV. It was back to ‘charge up the hill,’ but we got them. Bell took one in the arm and one in the vest that broke a couple of ribs. He’ll be OK, but he’ll be out of action awhile. He took down the Dragon Lady himself with an open-field tackle, though. That was after they had shot him, the tough bastard!”

  “She dead?”

  “Nope. She’s knocked out in the back of a CBP Blackhawk flying to Homestead.”

  “Nice one. They decide what they will do with her?”

  “The Frankle Plan would be either tell us everything you know and live out your life in the safety of a Supermax or don’t, and we’ll announce that you did and leave you to your fate in the system. Those making the call are unlikely to seek my keen insights.” The agent chuckled.

  “Gentlemen,” a clearly annoyed EMT said. “We need to move this man now!”

  “Sorry.” Frankle smiled. “Please go ahead. Pete, I’ll see you at the hospital.” While two of the EMTs carried off the litter, he turned to Ben and offered his hand. “Thanks for bringing him through this, Coast Guard.”

  Ben shook it readily. “It was more the other way around, but you’re welcome.”

  “No, we really owe you on this one. I hope we’ll have a chance to work with you guys again—I love folks who bring cannons to a gunfight!”

  They all turned when the other EMT standing by cleared his throat. “Your officer has been exposed to a classified nerve agent,” he said to Bryant. “He’s had the counteragent, and no further treatment is required. He needs to be kept under close observation for 48 hours and,” he glanced at Kauai offshore, glistening white in the emerging sun. “No operating motor vehicles.” He turned to Ben. “You’ll have a hell of a headache in about three hours. I recommend Acetaminophen—no aspirin—and plenty of water.” He turned to Bryant again. “You know, it wouldn’t hurt to let us take him to the hospital, just in case.”

  Bryant shook his head, remembering the direct order from his CO before he boarded the RHIB. “Thanks, but I’ve got this.”

  “That OK with you, Lieutenant?” the EMT asked, somewhat rudely.

  “Petty Officer Bryant’s medical judgment will always do for me,” Ben replied coldly.

  “Suit yourself.” The EMT walked off to catch up with his comrades and Simmons.

  Frankle flashed Ben a mock salute. “Be seein’ ya Coast Guard!” He then turned and followed the others.

  As Ben turned to Bryant, the latter’s face spread into an evil Grinch-like grin. “Looks like we’ll be roomies for the next couple days, sir.”

  “Yeah. You’re enjoying this, aren’t you, Doc?”

  Bryant took Ben’s arm to steady him, and they walked through the soft sand toward the RHIB. “XO, you have NO idea.”

  U.S. Coast Guard Cutter Kauai, Gulf of Mexico, 0.3 nautical miles north of Resolution Key, Florida

  0832 EST, 19 January

  Simmons’s compatriots had taken over the battle scene for cleanup. In a few hours, no evidence of the encounter would remain, not even the ersatz beachcomber shack. However, the scene of the first confirmed extraterrestrial contact could not be left unattended. That meant Kauai had to stay on security watch while other federal forces closed off access to the island on the land side. A flotilla of research vessels was en route for extensive surveys of the actual contact point.

  Lee threaded the needle between the need for speed and a smooth ride in the RHIB as she transported Ben and Bryant back to Kauai. She maintained a calm, professional exterior despite the shock of seeing her XO with his head bandaged and shirt and vest covered in blood. In a single swift maneuver, Lee smoothly slewed the boat alongside the cutter, grabbed the fall and slammed it in place on the lift frame. Looking up, she gave a thumbs-up to Bondurant. “Ready for pickup!”

  Seeing Ben was still a little shaky climbing out of the RHIB, Sam came down from the Bridge to meet him. He was concerned at the sight of all the blood, but relieved at the smile and mock salute from his young friend. He gripped Ben’s right hand and shoulder and feigned his best “angry dad” expression. “Mister, you scared the shit out of me back there!”

  Ben replied with mock solemnity, “No excuse, sir. Shall I retire to the captain’s cabin for the requisite flogging?”

  “No, too much paperwork. Say 15 ‘Hail Marys’ and contemplate your many inadequacies.”

  “About that, sir. I’m ready to give you a hand on the reports…”

  “Like hell,” Sam interrupted. “Doc gave me the picture on you. Your rack is your duty station until further notice.”

  “Sir, I can still…”

  “Enough. That’s an order, discussion over.”

  “Yes, sir. What are our orders, sir?”

  Sam smiled. “When the fireworks ended, I started a SIPRNET chat to report in. I got as far as reporting we had taken out two vehicles and a mess of bad guys when I got a ‘Shut the Hell Up!’ order. We’re holding on here for now. They’re establishing a maritime security zone and aviation Prohibited Area over the island and out to two miles offshore until further notice. They’ve diverted Mohawk from her Yucatan patrol, and she should be here to relieve us in about 24 hours. It’ll be close on the fuel, but we’re to head straight back to Miami when we’re relieved.”

  “How do they expect to keep this under wraps, sir? You can see that smoke plume down in Key West, and all the feds crawling over this place are bound to cause questions.”

  “Ah,” Sam smiled. “Haven’t you heard? It’s already on commercial radio that an F-22 out of Eglin crashed on Resolution during a training flight. Happily, the pilot ejected and is safe. But the island is closed to the public until the mishap investigation and cleanup is complete.”

  Ben nodded and turned to see Drake approaching. The big chief petty officer said nothing, just stepped up and gripped the young man’s shoulders firmly and gazed into his eyes, beaming. After a few seconds, he released Ben and turned to Sam. “Captain, I respectfully request that you throw this young man in hack until we get back to Miami. I’ve got plenty of shit on my hands without any more emergency power runs and crash stops.”

  “Already done, Chief. How do things look?” Sam smiled.

  “We’ll get home all right. I’m going to need a butt-load of parts when we get there, though. We overstressed, over-torqued, over-temped, and over-sped almost every damn thing in the hull. I would be obliged if we can limit her to 20 knots on the trip back. Also, for planning purposes, we’ll be hard down when the brow goes over.”

  “I hear ya, Chief; I need to hold down the fuel consumption, anyway. Should I worry about you finding the parts?”

  “Naw, I know some guys.” Drake saluted, then sauntered off.

  Sam pointed at Ben. “Rack, mister, now!”

  “Aye, aye, sir.” He glanced up at the Bridge to see Hopkins looking down with a slight smile. They exchanged nods, and Ben tu
rned and retired to his room.

  The prognosis from the agency medic was accurate—the headache that came on three hours later was blinding and debilitating. The Tylenol Bryant administered was only just enough to keep Ben from wanting to blow his brains out. Fortunately, after about four hours, the pain passed as quickly as it started, and he fell into a deep and sound sleep under Bryant’s watchful eye.

  Six hours later, rested but still slightly wobbly, Ben submitted to a going over by Bryant, who refused to sign him off for duty. He reluctantly consented to Ben walking accompanied up to talk to Sam. Seeing Ben walking unsteadily across the darkened Bridge, Sam stood up from his seat and motioned for him to sit down. “No, I’ll be all right, sir,” Ben said.

  “Do as you’re told, sir,” Ben sat down, and Sam leaned over and continued softly. “We got a follow-up SIPRNET message while you were out. We are officially quarantined until further notice—no one leaves the ship and no comms of any kind. When Mohawk arrives on station and assumes the watch, they will flash us their callsign, and we are to reply ‘Tango’ by signal light only and depart. We are to send the RHIB over to the island in about ten minutes to pick up a special medical crew. They’ll test all of us for pathogens on the way. When we arrive at Miami, the crew will be confined to the boat incommunicado. You and I are to report to the District Office at 0230.”

  “Zero-Two-Thirty? What’s happening at 0230 on a Wednesday, sir?”

  “Our interrogation, apparently. The orders are secure all logs and present ourselves at a conference room over there.”

  “Shit, Skipper!” Ben felt an icy ball forming in his stomach. “What can we do?”

  “Shave, put on a fresh tropical blue uniform and hope for best. Same as always. OK, you’ve put in an appearance, why not head below? I’ll be down in an hour or so, and we can chat about your little adventure.” Seeing Ben hesitate, Sam continued with a warm smile, “Number One, you’re in my seat. Kindly retire below to your own, please.”

  “Very good, sir,” Ben stood unsteadily. Bryant moved quickly from the opposite side of the Bridge to help and, taking Ben’s arm, helped him down the ladder to his room. About an hour and a half later, Sam appeared at Ben’s door, holding a chair.