Legacy

by Bob Mauldin

  The younger man, possessed of an overabundance of energy, moved away from the introduction and quick appeal without waiting for a response, and went to the door he had entered by. “Captain Simon Hawke,” he said formally, waving an unseen figure forward, “I’d like you to meet Agent Jared Bench.”

  The man who entered the room next did so as a cat might, taking in everything in one sweep of his eyes. Simon stood up when his name was mentioned, so the new man had no trouble discerning who was who in the room. “The infamous Captain Hawke, I presume?” he asked shaking hands perfunctorily.

  “Infamous, is it?” Simon asked testily. “Is that how they teach you to think about people who won’t do what the ever-wise government tells them to?”

  “Actually, we’re not even supposed to refer to you as captain. You’re just mister to us. Those of us who follow the party line that is ... Captain.”

  “And why am I supposed to believe that you are on some side other than the one that follows the party line?” Simon asked.

  “Because,” the answer came subdued, still, “I don’t believe that our government should round up people like we did a few months back. I don’t believe that any American should be summarily arrested just because it serves somebody else’s purpose. We have laws about things like that, and that’s one of the things I thought I was standing up for when I took this job. Enemies, foreign and domestic, the oath says. I didn’t see any enemies in the people we rounded up. Just scared citizens.” Vindication made his voice ring.

  “And you were part of it?” he asked coldly.

  “Was then, still am,” was the subdued reply. “That’s how I know that some of your people are still being held. And where.” He looked at the elder Collier, directness in the blue eyes he trained on the older man. “I’m not proud of what happened, if that’s what you think. If I was, I wouldn’t be here now. But staying ‘loyal’ put me in a position to be able to pass this along.”

  Simon looked the other man over appraisingly. “I’m told that you said that you were the leak that got most of our people released. How did that work? I’d think that you’d be taking an awful chance with your bosses.”

  “If they find out, hell, yes!” The agent looked around the room. “I took some of the crucial data that came in and passed it along to a reporter I know. It was her call to make that satellite broadcast. Then, three days later, she went missing.” He clenched his hands in his lap. “That’s when I started going over the data myself. It just took computer time to sift through all the data and come up with known associates of the missing people. Up came the names of David Brandt, James Collier and four others. Statistically speaking, this group shouldn’t know as many of the missing as they appeared to. Your son wasn’t the first one I confronted, Mr. Collier,” Bench said, “but he was the first one to flinch. It wasn’t much of a leap to add David Brandt to the mix, seeing as how they were both friends of Robert and Michiko Greene, two of the missing. You people run a pretty tight ship.”

  Collier, Senior asked, “So, what’s keeping others from following the same trail that led you to my son?”

  The agent reached into an inner pocket of his suit coat and pulled out a sheaf of papers. “Because these are the original documents. The agents who submitted them have no idea what they had, and I’m the only one to have seen them since they came in.” He laid them on a table beside the older Collier. “I have no idea what happened to them. I certainly never saw them. And there is nothing left on the hard drive of the computer I used.”

  “That’s all well and good,” Robert said suspiciously, “but why come to us? You contacted us. You want something. What is it?”

  “Because I didn’t leak the location of the detainees to just any reporter,” Bench said. “Sarah Parker is my cousin. Who, by the way is missing, along with her cameraman.”

  “Let me get this right,” Kitty interjected. “Your cousin is the Sarah Parker who broke the story of the detainees? And you got the information, how? So far, all we’ve had the pleasure of coming in contact with is the DIA and FBI.”

  “Yes, Ma’am, she is,” the agent confirmed. “And I believe she’s being held where your people are. They want to find out how she got word of such a secret operation. And your existence isn’t that much of a secret, anyway. It’s not something you can cover up that easily, and you haven’t been exactly discreet about what you’re doing.”

  “And you’re worried she’ll spill her guts?” Robert asked acidly, looking for the hook.

  “Sarah? Hell, no!” the agent responded proudly. “She can keep a secret. And that’s what is going to keep her locked up until they get what they want out of her. Of course, if they go the Sodium Pentothal route, I’ll be toast before I have a chance to react.”

  “What do you want us to do, Agent?” Simon asked directly.

  “I tell you where your people are and you bring Sarah and Dwayne out with ‘em.” The agent looked around the packed room. “And I’m willing to stay here until you get ‘em out safely.”

  Simon looked around the room, getting shrugs and blank stares, all telling him that the decision was his. “We’ve already got a plan to get them out, Agent. I don’t see a problem adding two more to the roster. All we need is the location and someone to tell them that the cavalry is on the way.”

  “How are they housed and guarded?” Collier, Senior asked.

  “They’re in the same base they were before, living in one of the barracks. There are about two hundred personnel on the base. Armed guards patrol at regular intervals. That is what the main detachment is assigned to. The rest of the personnel are support. You know, clerks, cooks, engineers, and such.”

  Simon looked the agent squarely in the eye. “So far, you’ve been skirting around treason, Agent Bench. It’s time to fish or cut bait. “How many people are in the actual guard detail?” This time his voice left no room to squirm.

  “A full MP platoon from the Hundred and First Airborne, Sir,” the agent responded quickly. “Mostly equipped with riot gear, the officers and senior NCO’s are carrying nine millimeters. The ten to six shift is the least watched, one guard on each floor of the barracks, changed every four hours.”

  Collier, Senior finally waved the agent to a chair and ‘Chiko offered him a cup of tea. He took a sip and grimaced. “Would be better with sugar. So what’s your plan?”

  “The less you know, the less you can tell,” Simon said. “At the moment, we don’t believe that the government knows we’re back, we’ve asked our people to keep it low-key for a bit this time, so the first clue they’re gonna get is about two days from now when we make our presence known. Assuming you don’t give us away that is. I’m going to take a chance and trust you. Your job is to get word to the hostages, Agent Bench. Tell them to be ready to go at two AM two nights from now. And tell them to try to act normal. Just be ready to cut and run. You, of course, will be nowhere around when we get there. Maybe you can be leading the assault on the diversionary force or something. That way, you won’t be compromised, and we’ll kinda, sorta have someone on the inside.”

  “Kinda, sorta?” Bench mimicked. “Aren’t you the person calling the shots here?”

  Simon nodded slowly. “I seem to have inherited the position, so to speak, but yes, I’m the one in charge. As for kinda, sorta, all it means is that for this one instance, our interests coincide, and we won’t hold it over your head later.”

  The agent looked deep into his teacup, possibly wishing for leaves and the ability to read them. “Okay,” he said finally, “but go easy on the guards, will you? They have no idea who they’re guarding.”

  Simon, remembering his years in the Army, smiled at the thought of going easy on anybody in the One Hundred First oh-One and said, “That time of night, it will probably be a couple of corporals bored half to death. I don’t think we’ll have much trouble there. It’s going to be the diversion that will be the problem. He turned to Robert. “We can use all four
wings.”

  “Sir!” Robert said, nodding in the direction of the DIA agent. “Shouldn’t we let Agent Bench be about his business?”

  Simon turned his head and gazed over his shoulder at the agent. “Ah, yes. We will try to do this with a minimum of trauma, Agent Bench. We are, after all, mostly Americans, ourselves, you know.”

  The agent turned to leave, but turned back at the last second. “Captain, there is one way you can pay me back for this.” Simon merely looked at the agent and waited. “When the dust settles, and you have whatever it is you want, I want to join up.”

  Simon stared at the agent for a moment, thinking. “I believe we can always find a place for a man of conviction and compassion, Agent. Until then, I suggest that you walk carefully. You’re going to be on the front lines for a while, yet.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  Galileo’s new command shuttle was poised over the northern portion of the United States, waiting for a signal from the planet below. A gift from Dan Baylor, Captain of Orion, it had been the first official project completed by the new space dock. Specially modified to carry passengers as well as perform as a mobile command center, its role would be to carry the twenty specially selected members of the rescue team as well as coordinate the twenty Mambas making up the rest of the rescue fleet.

  The target, a closed down air refueling base named Burgess Air Force Base, rotated through the darkest portion of the night-shrouded side of the planet. Dark only to the naked eye that is. Galileo’s sensor suite was more than up to the task of laying bare the features on, and to some degree under, the surface twelve thousand miles below. Thermal imaging, as well as a form of ultra-sound, was all that was needed for Simon to start identifying the location of the people still being held by the U.S. government.

  It was his years as a soldier that provided the clues that pin-pointed the precise spot. Three different locations had the requisite number of warm bodies and two of them needed to be eliminated. Simon stared at the screen for a time then reached out and touched one of several spots. “This is Communications, or the computer center, or both in an outfit this small. This is probably Command,” he said, pointing at another spot. “Too many people coming and going for it to be anything else.”

  Not quite touching the screen, he pulled his finger back. “It’s possible that they could have the prisoners,” he couldn’t let himself think of them as family, “in the center of all their comings and goings, but their commander probably has them out of the way so that they can’t get a clear picture of how many there are to guard them or get any other ideas about the size of the operation. Lack of knowledge is what keeps people from forming escape plans, and I’m betting that they are as far away from the center of things as possible.”

  One spot stood out because it was so far from the others. Pressing several buttons caused the spot to enlarge, giving Simon a bird’s-eye view of a typical army barracks. Two stories tall, the building was designed to hold a total of forty-one men during wartime, four squads of ten men each, two squads on each floor, and a platoon sergeant. One end of the bottom floor held a small room for the sergeant opposite a supply room, the other end held the latrine.

  The squads lived in open bays with six to eight windows per side, and only two doors, one at each end of the building. One end opened onto a quadrangle where formations would be held when the base was fully operational, and the other, in this case, opened onto a narrow space, almost an alley, that ran the length of one of the airport service buildings.

  Simon’s attention was drawn from the static display to the tactical. Mambas from Heinlein and McCaffrey began to exit their launch bays and form up into their respective wings. Three more fighters emerged from Galileo and formed up a bit apart from the other ships. They were to make the first move in the rescue.

  Simon was betting as well that the commander of this operation was nowhere near the base, so his first move was going to be to cut off all communications with the outside world. The orders had to originate from Washington and be sent to the base in North Dakota. That would be two of the places he would target.

  Another gadget in Galileo’s arsenal of electronic devices was an electrical jammer. It effectively stopped any mechanical electron flow in a specific area for a specific amount of time. Encased in a force-field, these jammers would be dropped at certain locations and at the appropriate time, activated. The effect would be devastating. Care had to be taken that no aircraft were in flight in the target areas at the time of activation, or the consequences could be fatal. Otherwise, the simple cessation of the ability to communicate in any manner other than shouting would cripple any attempt to interfere with the rescue. It also rendered all electronic equipment on the base useless. No battery-powered enhanced night-vision, no weapons that needed anything electrical or electronic would operate at all. Digital watches, microwaves, everything in the vicinity of Burgess Air Force Base was going to suddenly stop for no apparent reason. By the time the operations officer could determine that it wasn’t a mechanical glitch and sounded the alarm the old-fashioned way, it was hoped that the entire rescue could be done and over with.

  Simon watched the operations clock as it turned over to two AM. He felt a moment of despair before a chime sounded in the confined space of the command center. Elation filled him for a second, and despair followed right behind it again. I left home because I could never please the son-of-a-bitch, he thought. Now, I’m going to save his worthless hide and he’ll probably ask what took so long. Swallowing the bile that rose in his throat, he touched a control and said, “Alpha Flight, this is Control. Commence your runs. Full cloak all the way and report as soon as you are clear of the target areas.”

  “Control, this is Alpha Leader. Roger, wilco.” Simon heard the same voice as it changed tactical frequencies. “Bozo, you’ve got the North Dakota target. Golddigger, you’ve got DC. I’ll be taking Cheyenne Mountain. On my mark, dive. Mark.”

  Simon smiled slightly as he heard one of the pilots ask petulantly, “So why do you get the Mountain, Reaper?”

  “Because I’m the flight leader, is why,” came the response. “And if that ain’t enough for you, Bozo, I’m a better pilot and a better shot. Plus, I can whup yore ass when we get back if you don’t like it. Besides, all you’ve got to do is hit North-fucking-Dakota. Now shut up and fly.”

  Not waiting for Alpha to complete its task, Simon ordered the four wings of Mambas down after a fifteen minute wait. He could tell by the banter that the pilots were getting restless, and, if the truth be known, so was he. As well as his personal flight crew. Only five minutes remained in Alpha Flight’s attack runs. Following at the same speed, the squadron would be ten minutes out when Alpha dropped their cargoes. Five more minutes to activation, then twenty minutes, hopefully, of non-interference from anything that relied on electrical power to function. That still left purely mechanical systems like rifles and light machine guns, not to mention actual physical assault, not an unlikely occurrence, considering the reputation of the unit they were facing. It was those last twenty minutes that would eat up human lives if the right precautions weren’t taken.

  Hence the jammers. And the eight Mambas attacking the base at the farthest point from the prisoners. The ten back-up Mambas would fly patrols around the area outside the jammed space, forcing any flights away if they should get curious about the loss of communications with the secret base.

  Simon, in the command shuttle, followed the first flight in, getting confirmation of all three missions accomplished. Five minutes later he activated the jammers, making certain that the DC one didn’t intersect the airport. Cheyenne Mountain would have gone down at the same time as Washington, DC, but Simon waited for two inbound choppers to set down, putting things in that area back by three minutes. Time enough, it seemed, for someone to notice when the link with Washington was broken, but not enough to change the DEFCON before Simon shut them down as well. Then and only then did he black out the system around
the base in North Dakota.

  At fifty thousand feet, Simon ordered flights one and two from Heinlein, to veer off and begin patrol duties in the outlying areas. “Remember, don’t kill anyone. Force them back or down. That is all. Copy?”

  “Roger that, Control. Turn ‘em back or force ‘em down. Squadron Leader, out.” Hearing the distinctive click as the flight leader changed tactical frequencies, he heard, “It’s our job to watch the boss’ back. No one gets through, got it?” Muttered answers came back, as all the pilots already had it drilled into them that there should be no loss of life to the down-siders. “On my mark, move to your assigned locations. Mark.”

  The shuttle reached the ten thousand foot level and slowed to a complete stop. The whine from the engines rose noticeably and the inertial compensators red-lined as they performed far outside their parameters. Designed to steady the vessel during landings and take-offs, the compensators acted like gyro-scopes, holding the ship in a particular attitude just prior to launch. Stopping cold at ten thousand feet was asking for a system failure that, while probably not fatal at this altitude, could have severe ramifications if performed much closer to ground. Depending on the level of competence of the pilot, of course. Simon ordered the remaining Mambas down into their attack patterns, holding two ships in reserve to guard the spaces the shuttle couldn’t cover once it landed.

  He looked over the assault team formed up at the rear of the compartment. They would be the first on the ground establishing a perimeter while Simon and a select few actually entered the building, in search of the prisoners. Equipped with laser pistols as well as the heavier gauge laser rifles, there wasn’t much that would be able to get through any fire laid down by the attackers. The jamming field that blanketed the area was tuned to the type of current used by humanity at large and totally ignored the power packs and systems of the Alliance personnel.