Harbinger (The Janus Harbinger Book 1)

by Olan Thorensen

  When the RPG rocket hit the second floor of Jill’s dorm building, she had just finished covering Bobby with his blanket—he habitually kicked it off when sleeping. The blast shook the building and knocked her off her feet. She fell onto her son’s bed, her hands stopping her from collapsing on him, one hand clutching the pistol. She suppressed a scream, then listened for another blast. The firing had started several minutes previously . . . she didn’t know how long ago. There were other explosions but not at her dorm building; they were more distant, elsewhere on the site.

  What was happening? Were the attackers winning? Being driven off? Were people she knew dead or dying? Kathy? Bre? Zach?

  All she could do was protect Bobby. She gently moved him close to the wall, then lay down facing the hallway door, her back to him, the pistol in both hands, shaking.

  Zach ran up the stairwell connecting the tunnel system to the recreation building and cautiously peered out a window toward the main building’s rear. Two Chinese soldiers were on their knees next to the building’s wall. Another nine or ten men crouched within thirty feet of his window.

  He ducked back inside and radioed. “Harry! They’re at your west wall. I think they’re planting charges!”

  He needed to distract the Chinese, but how? No windows in the recreation building opened. He was too close to the attackers to open the building’s main door. He’d be immediately shot without stopping them.

  A “shit, shit, shit!” mantra rumbled subvocally through his head as he considered actions, none of them good. To reach the Chinese with his one grenade would require him to exit the building to throw it—they were too far away for him to open the door only enough for an underhanded toss. Finally, he settled on the least bad option. He had to wait until they set the charges off. They would be focused on the explosion and its results. He would have only a moment when he could open the recreation building’s door and fire before they recovered.

  Sinclair checked the galley where most of the unarmed staff members had gathered. The metal freezers, stoves, and cabinets provided the most interior protection in the building.

  “General!” shouted a voice audible even over the cacophony of panicked staff voices or people asking what was happening. Sinclair whirled as Harry Houdin rushed up to him, one hand over an ear.

  “It’s Zach. The four of us on the covert security team have separate communications. He didn’t see any reason to let you in on everything we do and have. And don’t give me that look—see him about it.” When Houdin lowered his hand, Sinclair could see the earpiece. “He says the west defensive positions have collapsed, and the Chinese will be at this building any moment! He says to get everyone away from the outer walls. He thinks he saw some of the bastards carrying what look like satchel charges.”

  Captain Min Wang motioned for his men to take cover around the corner of the main and adjacent buildings. If the wall were breached, he and his men would pour through the opening. Major Peng radioed for all mobile central-positioned men to join him, with the east flank group to keep up constant fire at enemy positions as soon as the charges went off. Peng would take the other men with him to reinforce the main building’s breach. The remaining machine gunner and the east flankers would keep other defenders from entering the battle within the main building.

  Peng also reminded Captain Wang to put down the resistance without killing more Americans and Canadians than necessary. They needed prisoners. All thoughts were gone of leaving no one alive at the site and having time to question prisoners for their important records. He was down to half of his original force. The only way to salvage something from the mission was if he could grab papers, computer drives, and prisoners.

  Richard Lindskold experienced only a fractional second of life after a double satchel charge blew a six-foot hole through all layers of the main building’s outer wall. A 72-inch TV placed against the outer wall flew inward to crush his skull and chest. Sinclair had ordered him to make a last check that everyone was out of the building’s western end. Lindskold had finished his sweep and had turned to run back to the defensive position when time ran out.

  Zach waited until he heard the explosion, then heaved open the door, M4 pointed to his left. To his dismay and disbelief, most of the Chinese were already through the breach. He saw one Chinese soldier’s back disappear into a smoking hole, with only three more waiting their turn. He flicked to full auto and traversed the entire 27-round magazine right to left across their midsections. Two of the men were hit multiple times and fell lifeless. He was about to race toward the breach when movement out of the corner of his eye made him reflexively drop, then duck back inside the door. Gunfire erupted. Bullets tore through the space he had occupied a millisecond earlier. He managed only the briefest glimpse of more soldiers running in his direction between the medical and storage buildings.

  Reinforcements, Zach thought. The Chinese commander is trying to exploit the breach. There was no way Zach could help the main building from his current position. There were no door locks, except for the building that housed Levels 2 and 3. If they came after him into the recreation building, he’d be trapped and unable to help elsewhere. So far, they seemed unaware of the tunnel system. He pulled a grenade off his webbing, pulled the pin, and jammed it between the inner door and the door’s opening handle. It fit snugly, but he carefully released his grip until he was assured the grenade wouldn’t spin and the handle spring out, setting off the fuse. One second after releasing his grip, he ran to the stairwell leading to the tunnel. All stairwells had an unmarked door. Even if the Chinese got in the building and searched quickly, there would be a delay in their finding the tunnels.

  “Everyone!” he called into the combination mic/earpiece after pressing its small activator button. “They’re in the main building! They know I’m in the rec building, and they still don’t seem to know about the tunnels. I’m headed back to the med building. I’ll see if I can get behind them and stop any more from getting into the main building.

  “Willie, even if your position is stable, you’ll have to stay where you are in case the charges have to be set off. I’m not getting through to Sinclair or Jefferson, so that connection is lost somehow. If you can, get Jefferson’s attention, update him and see if he can spare a person or two to help Houdini.

  “Harry, you’re on your own. Do your best.”

  Zach didn’t know Houdini’s and Sinclair’s situation or what was happening with Jefferson. As he ran, he castigated himself for not including Sinclair and Jefferson in the separate security net, in case the site-wide net went down.

  Although Houdin heard Zach, he didn’t respond, being fully occupied with shooting the first Chinese soldier who came through the door from the dining room into the galley. Then he ducked when two grenades sailed through the same door that had been flung open.

  “Grenades!” Houdin shouted as he hit the floor. He heard screams of panicked staff members, then twin concussions two seconds later. As he raised his head to look around the galley’s metal food line, the room erupted in sounds of M4s, several Mossberg shotguns, and what he recognized as Russian Kalashnikov assault rifles. He shook his head to clear the blood running into one eye from somewhere. Shaking his head improved his vision enough for him to look for the M4 he’d dropped when the grenade went off. His left hand didn’t want to move, so his right hand flailed across the floor until it hit a rifle barrel.

  Smoke filled the room. A cacophony assaulted his ears: calls for help, screams of pain or fear, gunshots from different firearms, words in English, Chinese, and a loud voice in Spanish.

  His half-obscured eyes caught movement to his left. Holding the M4 grip with his right hand, he rested the hand guard and barrel over his left forearm and avoided looking at what remained of the hand.

  A form materialized. His finger tensed to the threshold of pressure needed to fire when he recognized Sandra Chu. Swirling smoke suddenly thinned to reveal two Chinese bursting through the galley door behind Sandra. The firs
t man started firing at targets, presumably staffers. Houdin lurched to his feet and, in a desperate burst of energy, shouldered Sandra aside and engaged the Chinese in single-shot mode, not remembering how many rounds were left in the magazine.

  Peng could not get a clear picture of what was happening. Despite having ingrained in his men the need to maintain radio discipline, the fighting on too many fronts, the too quickly changing situations, and the rate of casualties causing minute-by-minute command changes nullified the training. Multiple reports and conversations overlaid one another, making it difficult to separate who was saying what. Three captains were dead, including his second in command, Lin, who had quickly bled to death from a single round severing a femoral artery. Five of his eight lieutenants were dead or incapacitated. Peng led reinforcements to the breach in the main building.

  Inside, Peng clambered over debris, passed vacant rooms, and came to a large room with more evidence of fierce fighting. Bodies—dead, wounded, silent, or screaming—were scattered on the floor. His quick estimate was five of his men down and six enemy bodies.

  “Report!” he barked at a senior sergeant, apparently the highest surviving active rank before Peng’s arrival.

  “They’re too protected within and beyond a food preparation area here on the first floor. Metal cabinets, freezers, stoves, are blocking our fire. In other halls and rooms, they used furniture to block off half the building. I thought we weren’t expecting much resistance, Major! It seems like every one of them is armed with assault rifles, shotguns, or pistols.” The noncom waved toward two civilian-dressed bodies, an Asiatic man and a woman wearing military fatigues. A shotgun lay next to the man and the woman still had a pistol in her left hand.

  “How many actives do you have left?” Peng asked the noncom.

  “Five of us here before you came, and we were just hanging on with no chance to keep attacking. I have one man watching a cluster of stunned civilians we found in one of the small rooms. There is also an office on the first part of the second floor that I think belongs to the American commander. We loaded a bag with papers and computer drives, but that’s all we could find that looked of interest. The rest of that floor is blocked off with furniture stacked along at least ten meters of the central hall. We couldn’t get past the block with grenades. There is too much furniture, and the Americans duck into rooms to avoid explosions in the hall.”

  Peng took precious seconds to review his options. They had more satchel charges. He briefly considered sending men to open another breach in the building’s section under defender control or in the building that held secrets. The problem was he was running out of men as the defenders whittled down his force. Of the 54 who had launched the attack, he estimated 18 to 20 mobile men left, and the enemy held strong positions in part of this building and the east flank.

  He took a half-minute to evaluate the odds of taking what they already had versus continuing the assault and risking the loss of the entire unit. Oblivious to the firing, a hand grenade explosion, and yelling in two languages, he was on the verge of ordering the assault to continue when the commander of the men engaged with the defenders on the east side of the base broke in on the radio.

  “Major Peng, Chief Sergeant Chu here! We are taking occasional fire from our rear! We think it is one person on the slope southwest of here. Two men are down, one dead.”

  The sniper! Peng thought. He must have evaded or killed the two men I left to keep him contained.

  He made a decision and keyed his radio to the frequency for all his men. “We will withdraw! Lay down smoke and head back to the rendezvous point a kilometer southeast. All leaders are to carry out operational orders for men incapable of keeping up.”

  All the men listening understood the last words. No wounded were to be left behind. Those not fully mobile were to be killed.

  Major Andrew Jefferson was the first defender to recognize that something had changed. He and the other men and women remaining active in the east side of the site had kept up a steady and measured fire at the Chinese squad attempting to flank them. Sergeant Harris was limited to one arm—a Chinese bullet had hit his left shoulder. It missed bone but tore through muscle. Neither he nor any of the other defenders treated the wound. There was no time. His rifle was light enough to be handled by one arm, though accuracy was gone. Suddenly, the Chinese threw objects trailing smoke halfway between their positions.

  “Smoke grenades!” Andrew exclaimed. Only Alice Marstyn heard him, and she was resting her head on a forearm against the side of Storage Building 1. Her face was ashen, and her blood-soaked shirt served as a makeshift bandage for the bullet hole through the outer fleshy part of her left thigh. The wound wasn’t fatal, but the pain was intense. Andrew worried she might pass out. Jeremy Wingate, the Canadian spy and the third member of their team, was lying forty yards away, behind the storage building where he had been positioned. Four minutes earlier, Andrew had heard a cry from that direction and turned his head to see Wingate lying face-up, arterial blood gushing from the right side of his neck. Wingate reflexively clamped both hands to the wound. Andrew turned back to the Chinese, knowing there was nothing anyone could do for the Canadian.

  “What’s happening?” yelled Marstyn, cautiously peering around the corner. She wasn’t confident that Chinese commandos’ cessation of firing at their position was anything but a ruse.

  “If I wasn’t afraid I’m hoping too much, I’d suspect they’re pulling out,” said Andrew. “They’ve set off smoke grenades right in front of their positions. I can’t see shit, but you wouldn’t pop smoke unless you wanted to hide either an attack or a retreat. Since they’re not coming forward, it’s got to be back—I think.”

  “I hope it’s back,” said Marstyn. “I was about to go pee when all this started, and I really have to go now.” She laughed, then winced when she shifted her leg.

  “Hang in there, Alice,” called out Andrew, who tried connecting to Lieutenant Montero in the main building. “Montero! What’s happening in there? Tell Sinclair that the Chinese facing us are withdrawing. Can you see them?”

  Andrew was about to repeat the call after several seconds of silence, when suddenly Montero’s voice came through. “I can catch glimpses of them. They’re already about fifty yards away from where they were and beating feet fast to the southeast. Things seem to have quieted down in here.”

  “I’ve got wounded. How about you?”

  “I have no fucking idea!” exclaimed Montero. “There’s dead and wounded everywhere. There’s also smoke, and we’re putting out small fires. Here . . . hold on. No, I thought I saw Sinclair, but it wasn’t him. Maybe you should hold your position, and I’ll call you back when I know more.”

  Andrew knelt by Marstyn. “I’ll go to see what’s happening in the main building. I’ll get Yolanda to stay with you. Are you okay with that? I’ll turn around if I hear firing in this direction.”

  “Go ahead, but leave Yolanda where she is,” said Marstyn. “Sounds like Harris needs looking after more than me.” She rose to her knees and peered south from around the snowcat they’d used for protection. “Better yet, get your ass out of here so I can pee in private.”

  Andrew patted her on the shoulder and ran crouching between the storage sheds and the open garage door of a vehicle building. If he wasn’t shot at, from there he would decide whether to stay above ground or use the tunnel system to get to the main building.

  Zach switched on his microphone. “Willie, Harry, what can you see? Their firing has slackened to almost nothing, and the last look I got after switching buildings was a couple of backs going hard between Storage Building 1 and the medical building.”

  “I think the Chinese on this side have withdrawn,” radioed Willie. “They popped smoke and are headed south. I checked the tunnel to see if it was clear. McLaughlin yelled down about the smoke and Chinese movement.”

  The maintenance worker was Willie’s backup in Level 3. He had been sent by Sinclair to help secure the tunnel sy
stem. He was armed with only a shotgun, which he hadn’t fired, and was the first Level 1 staffer to enter the building’s restricted section with precautions to protect the secrets. Willie figured they’d worry about security clearances later.

  “As soon as he yelled, I came back up. I’m now looking south. There are buildings blocking some of what I can see, but there’s no sign of the Chinese.”

  “Harry, are you there?” radioed Zach. “What’s the status in the main building? Harry?”

  Zach radioed several more times with the same lack of response.

  ”Shit,” said Zach. “Willie, I don’t know what’s going on in the main building. No one’s come back out of the breach they blasted in the wall. If they’re really pulling out, they must’ve used the main door on the south side. I’ll get in there and see what’s happening. If the Chinese really are pulling out, I’ll let you know.”

  He looked at his watch. Twenty-nine minutes since he’d heard the whistle.

  Major Peng got a complete assessment of his unit’s remaining men only when they were half a kilometer from the objective: sixteen men out of the fifty-four making the attack. Giving the order to withdraw had not meant an end to casualties. Disengagement was easier to order than to achieve. It had been a fighting withdrawal at first. Some of his men moved, while others fired to suppress enemy fire, then they switched roles. The reduced fire and the fact that they inevitably exposed themselves had led to three more men being lost before they were out of range of the defenders. Peng had paused once to dispatch a wounded man who could not keep up.

  Now it was a race to the pickup spot on the coast, though they were slowed by what they had taken from the American base. Their radio man was sending the pickup signal to the submarine, but so far there had been no clear response. Several times he had gotten partial contact, indicating the solar interference was ebbing. The radio man believed several partial attempts at contact had conveyed both their pickup signal and the submarine’s acknowledgment, though he could not be positive. They would keep sending. It would be several hours before they reached the coast. Peng doubted the Americans or the Canadians had gotten word out in time for any relief force to arrive before he and his remaining men were on the submarine and on the way out of Canadian waters.