“That’s a lot more than the two hostages the CIA briefed us on.”
“Hey, the more the merrier. Good thing we brought the second Osprey.”
Captain Dore whistled from the top of the staircase. “Quit your palavering and let’s go. We’re extracting right fucking now. Kat, stop playing Ramboina and get back to your overwatch position!”
Michaels rolled his eyes. “No casualties among us or the civvies, and that guy’s still not satisfied.”
Kat flicked her white light off and brought the night vision eyepiece back down.
“Don’t break out the Jaegermeister yet. The night’s still young.” She bounded up the dark stairs, two at a time, just ahead of the flood of freed hostages. A tornado of wind and sand met her on the roof.
Both Osprey’s hovered on opposite ledges of the building and dropped their rear ramps only a foot above the rooftop. Each bird’s twin rotors raked up a blistering dust cloud that low, but there was no faster way to get everyone the hell out of there. Kat relaxed and ran to the nearest chopper. Thank God for the crazy “Night Stalker” Special Forces pilots. No other aviation crews would have even attempted such a dangerous stunt.
Captain Dore snagged Kat’s arm as she dashed past. He leaned in close, but still had to yell over the whooping blades. “Is your GPS working?”
“No, sir. Lost the drone and intranet as well.”
He idly slapped a satellite phone against his thigh, studying the pitch-black city around them. Kat raised an eyebrow. The captain might be a hard-charging son of a bitch, quite often a straight-up asshole, but he was a true professional warrior. In Kat’s two years attached to his team, she’d seen the boss at his best and worst, but never once confused.
She’d also never seen him afraid before.
“Sir? What the hell is it?”
He popped his night vision scope out of the way and took in the night sky. “All GPS and satellite coms are down. For everyone. Equipment is working fine, but it’s like there’s nothing up there to connect to.”
Kat followed his gaze and admired some shooting stars high above with her naked eye. It was kind of moving, out here in the desert with no lights on. Even romantic… if they weren’t in the middle of a stronghold full of bloodthirsty insurgents.
Driving home that point, several Hellfire missiles lanced out from the circling Apaches and raced down the road. “Looks like the enemy’s on the move.” Her commander jumped out of his funk.
“Let’s just get back to the carrier.” Dore clicked on his mike, fear gone and bravado back.
“Move people! Assholes and elbows! We’re wheels up in 15 seconds.”
Kat ran aboard and wedged in between the civvies. Like the other soldiers, she chalked the massive flashes on the horizon up to just more random fighting in this Godforsaken land.
Reformed Baptist Medical Center
Jacksonville Beach, Florida
“Peter, come on. They’re calling me in to work on my day off, but let you head out early? Talk about horseshit!”
Peter Dixon tossed his green scrubs into a take home bag. Employees had to provide their own uniforms and do their own laundry in this penny-pinching private hospital. Dixon snickered at his whinny pal and zipped up his jeans.
“Tell you what, Dave. I’ll swap with you. You go pick up Rachel and spend the day with her and I’ll cover down on the emergency room.”
His buddy grimaced. “Oh hell no. Your kid scares the crap out of me.”
“Well, she isn’t technically my kid, but she does hate me as much as any teenager hates a father. So I guess I’m stuck with her.”
David shed his street clothes and donned his own scrubs, scoffing the whole time. “Come on, Dix. Why you frontin’ with me? Your stepdaughter has got you wrapped around her little finger. Face it; you love playing house. Well, at least when you can.” David gave Dixon a lecherous grin.
“When’s her fine-looking mama coming home, anyway? Betcha you got an all-night-long homecoming planned, eh?”
“You know, if you settled down yourself, maybe you wouldn’t be so goddamn nosy all the time.” Dixon grunted and pulled out his sneakers.
David plopped down on the bench and threw an arm around Dixon. “Uh huh, and maybe if you got some action every now and again you wouldn’t be so uptight. How long’s your lady been away? Two months? Man, I get jittery after only a dry weekend. Why don’t you come hunting with me tonight? I found this great club by the beach. It’s not just a hangout for college kids like all the others.”
Dixon shrugged him away. “Kat has only been deployed six weeks and two days. I don’t think my dick is going to rust off yet. I can wait another six weeks.” He punched David’s arm.
“It’s what the grownups call a ‘relationship.’ If you ever called a girl back, maybe you’d understand.”
The tall guy made a whipping motion with his hand and tsked. Dixon flipped him the bird. He laced up his street shoes, but then stopped and waved his smartphone.
“Speaking of which, does your phone work? I lost service as soon as the power went out.”
“Nah, mine can’t find a network either. The landline internet and phones are mostly okay, but they’re slow as molasses today. Must be overloaded with the cell network down. It’s starting to piss me off. I spend so much on unlimited data service yet reception is so shitty…”
Dixon scratched at a small scar on his neck. The damn thing, courtesy of some Jihadi’s IED in Afghanistan years ago, always itched when a storm was coming.
“Wait, isn’t there a cell tower on the roof? I’m sure they would have connected the backup generators to it. Why’s that the one thing in the hospital that doesn’t work?”
David slumped his shoulders. “It’s not the only thing that power surge killed. I heard the MRI machines are also down. A bunch of other expensive gear too. Surge protectors overwhelmed and the circuits just fried. Man, it’s going to be a long shift. Hey, maybe Uncle Dave will take you up on that swap!”
“Hell no.” Dixon slammed his locker shut. “I’m sick of this place already. I need to get going. We’ll hang out this weekend, bro, but not at some club. Maybe we can grill.”
He darted for the changing room door, but it flung open ahead of him. A clipboard-armed monster blocked the doorway. The perpetual frown on the middle-aged woman’s face was as much a part of her uniform as her immaculate pants suit.
“Nurse Dixon, just where do you think you’re going? The governor declared a state of emergency. That means mandatory overtime for everyone. Didn’t you hear the announcement?”
Dixon yawned and stared down the nursing manager. “Of course I heard. That’s why I have to pick up my stepdaughter. Thanks to this terror attack alert thing, those geniuses in Tallahassee closed all the schools early.”
He tried stepping past the manager, but she didn’t budge. “Have the kid take the bus home, but we need you.”
“It’s a private school. They don’t have any buses. Look, I cleared this with Melissa an hour ago. Just ask her.”
The businesswoman with a nursing license tapped her foot and twirled her clipboard. “Melissa was recalled to active military duty a few minutes ago. I’m taking over as ward nurse. That’s the downside of hiring so many weekend warriors. The Pentagon’s sudden call-up of the National Guard and Reserves took 10% of my staff right when we need them the most. Not worth the tax credit, if you ask me. Anyway, I’m sorry, but you can’t go anywhere.”
Dixon suppressed a grin. Melissa wasn’t in the National Guard. She was only in the Army’s unpaid, inactive ready reserve. Just like he’d been until a few months ago. The military wouldn’t recall those ex-soldiers except during the direst of wartime conditions. World War Three type stuff. Not that he’d say anything. Melissa was a good boss and a fellow vet. He wouldn’t rat her out if she wanted to take advantage of the situation and score some bonus vacation time. Strange though. It wasn’t like her to lie.
Whatever. He needed a way to get this
pencil pusher’s attention. “Ok, well let’s put it this way. I’ve pulled eighteen-hour shifts for three days in a row, but per your instructions, logged only sixteen every day. What would happen if someone dropped an anonymous tip to OSHA about how your staff is routinely coerced into working past the legal limit for healthcare staff, and all off the clock?”
The manager’s permanent scowl somehow deepened. “Are you threatening me? Who do you think you are? You’re just an independent contractor, on a limited contract, I might add.” She jabbed her clipboard in his chest like a bayonet. Dixon squinted and ground his teeth.
“Yeah, a six-month contract that you’ve renewed four times, just to avoid paying for my health insurance. That’s enough. I don’t have time for this. You can fire me or let me start my weekend early, but either way, get out of my face. I’m going home.”
Dixon hefted his gym bag over his shoulder and shoved past her without another word. She muttered something about a negative evaluation, but he wasn’t concerned. As desperate as this for-profit hospital hurt for experienced nurses that actually spoke English, he knew his job was secure.
He headed to the elevators and tossed his coworkers a wave in passing. Only one of the on-duty staff noticed Dixon. The rest had their eyes glued to an ancient desktop computer at the nurse’s station.
“Holy shit. Dix, have you seen this? It’s like straight out of a movie or something!”
Dixon glanced over at the screen as he stepped inside the lift. Was that the president? He looked so serious. Eh, didn’t he always?
“Tim, I gotta roll. Besides, I don’t care much about politics.”
“What are you talking about? No, the attacks!”
Dixon grunted as he pressed the down button. Another terrorist attack. Always with the flippin’ terrorists. The War on Terror was going on a good decade before he enlisted as a medic. It only got worse during the five years he served in the Army. Even now, three years as a civilian, not a damn thing had changed. The random violence was just the background noise of life.
“Let me guess. ISIS again? Well, I hope they catch the bastards this time. See ya’ Monday!”
“Terrorists? No, we’re under attack by…” Tim turned and yelled at Dixon, but he was shouting at a closed elevator door.
Gulf of Aden
75 miles east of Yemen
“Sir!”
Kat played hopscotch over the troops sprawled out on the cargo bay’s floor. With far more civilians on board than planned, there weren’t any free seats left. Not that any of the soldiers complained. After months of enduring God knows what type of misery, the least they could offer the former hostages was a semi-comfortable ride to freedom.
One of the operators, laying on the deck and chilling on a rucksack, playfully slapped Kat’s butt as she wiggled past.
“Kat, have a seat already!” He patted his beefy thigh. “You know I’ve always got a warm space for you, even if it’s a little hard…”
Kat didn’t have a problem with the old harassment game. She’d been in this ultra-macho Special Forces community long enough to give as rough as she received. The endless hazing and teasing were just part of being “one of the boys.” She even enjoyed playing with her brothers-in-arms most of the time. These dudes were still easier to get along with than most other women, after all, but now sure as hell wasn’t the right time. Couldn’t these overgrown kids take anything seriously?
“Back the hell off, Atkins.”
Kat snickered as the amateur body builder blushed. “Just bustin’ your balls. I know you’re married. Sorry.”
She patted the black guy’s shaved skull. It was hard to stay pissed at someone you’ve fought side by side with and ate, showered and lived with for almost two years. “Quit being so sensitive. We have a situation, that’s all. Keep your game face on.”
When Kat made it to the captain, he was hunched in the Osprey’s cabin between the pilot and copilot. All three whispered and gawked out the windshield, completely oblivious to her. Kat cleared her throat.
“Sir, satellite communications are still down, but now that we’re airborne, I’ve made radio contact over the fires net with a Navy destroyer nearby. They received a DEFCON 3 alert and recall order for all forces in theater an hour ago. They haven’t heard a peep from Central Command since then…”
Captain Dore twisted back her way. Over his shoulder, she caught sight of the most gorgeous meteor shower she’d ever seen.
A meteor shower that branched out into a dozen groups.
Crazier still, each pack of meteoroids banked in formation and soared off in different directions.
“What. The. Hell! What’s going on, sir?”
Unlike everyone else, Captain Dore still wore his Advanced Combat Helmet. He stuck his radio mike underneath and scratched his forehead with the handset.
“We can’t make radio contact with anyone outside of our line of sight. There’s only one scenario I can imagine where the ionosphere is so screwed up.”
Kat punched the Kevlar-lined deck above her head. “No, no, no! Nuclear war? Sir, that makes no sense! Iran doesn’t have enough nukes to do much damage and Russia and China know they could never hit all our ICBM’s before we retaliated. That’s the whole point behind Mutually Assured Destruction. They call our deterrence plan M.A.D for a damn reason!”
Dore leaned back and closed his eyes. “Do you have a better theory? Don’t you see all those missiles? The only question is whether this is just regional or worldwide.”
The pilot whistled and adjusted the gain on the helicopter’s radio. “Hey! I picked up an AWACS over the Persian Gulf. They’re broadcasting on most frequencies. Both civilian and military.”
Kat fumbled to plug her radio into the internal Combat Vehicle Crew intercom. She finally got it connected on the third try.
“…I say again, negative on the NUCFLASH event. No nuclear weapons are in play, by any nation. The Tel Aviv blast was out of radar range, but we can confirm that Tehran and Riyadh were destroyed by falling objects. Likely meteorites. We tracked both trajectories for two minutes. The damn rocks were the size of a bus and had a terminal velocity more than 20,000 mph. Break… all US, NATO and other allied military forces in range: the American president has ordered a DEFCON 1 alert. This is no exercise. We are at war. We’re tracking thousands of small, unidentified—”
Kat jumped back from the reality-splitting squelch. “Shit. That’s not jamming. The line was open when they were taken down…”
Through the ringing in her ears, a faint voice faded in and out over the intercom.
“This is Admiral Miller, Fifth Fleet…on board the Ford. We’re engaging…hundreds of hostile aircraft…” An explosion in the background drowned him out. “…closed for recovery operations.”
The admiral seemed to yell at someone else in the same room, forgetting to switch off the mike.
“Fine, abandon ship then, but I’m not going anywhere!” The weak connection flickered out.
The helicopter pilot’s flat voice filled the net and cut through the cabin’s complete silence. “Captain, if we turn now, we’ll have just enough fuel to make it to Thumrait Air Base in Oman. It’s the closest friendly airfield. With luck, it’s also too small to be a prime target for… well, whatever the hell is going on.”
“Fine. Just get us on the ground as fast as you can.”
As both Ospreys banked to the northwest, now with propellers down in airplane flight mode, Kat noticed the Apaches continuing ahead. All alone.
“Dragon, this is Butterfly. Where do you guys think you’re going, over?”
“Sorry, but we don’t have such long legs as ya’ll. Without a refueling tanker, we’ll never make it back to shore. I’d sooner take my chances in that mess with the fleet than ditch off the coast of Deathtoamerica-stan. Good luck, Butterfly. Kick some ass for us!”
Kat didn’t have anything to say. She just clutched her handset until her knuckles burned white. Out the side window, both gunships sli
pped deeper into the darkness. Much farther out in the inky blackness, hundreds of surface-to-air missile plumes danced across the sky.
Somewhere over the horizon, their carrier battle group wasn’t going down quietly. As silly as it sounded, Kat ached to join the battle.
“At least we’re putting up a hell of a fight.”
Captain Dore studied the small carbine in his hands. “Yeah, but isn’t hell where all the demons come from?”
Ponte Vedra, Florida
10 miles south of Jacksonville Beach
“Hey, Rachel! Sorry it took so long. This darn power outage knocked out every traffic light in town. Must have been an accident every mile.”
The skinny blonde girl on the curb stabbed Dixon with her eyes while he waved like a fool. Rachel hopped in the passenger side of his SUV without a word and buried her face in her phone.
Dixon smiled. So far, it was a perfectly normal day.
He glanced around the ghost parking lot. “I guess none of your friends need a ride.”
Rachel powered off her service-less phone, but didn’t look his way. “Everyone’s parents came by already. I told Claire’s dad that you’d ‘be here any minute.’ That was about forty-five minutes ago!”
Dixon pulled up to the lightless, eight-lane intersection and scanned carefully. Traffic was slim, but those still on the road drove like wet cats escaping a bath.
“Again, I’m sorry. At least your old man’s here now. What do you say we grab a pizza and…” He swallowed his mistake too late. Rachel cut him deep with another icy glare.
“Listen, Dick.” She loved calling him by that odd nickname for Peter, even if no one else had since high school. “Do you really think you’re my father? I’m fifteen-years old and you’ve been with my mother for less than three of them. There’s a reason mom didn’t take your last name when you married. So no matter how much you fantasize, we’ll never be that—”
The Caliphate Invasion Page 2
