The 307s were essentially grenade firing machine guns with smart ammunition capable of air busting at a programmed range. If Alex’s assault team were pinned down behind a big boulder that could stop the mini guns, then the sentries could fire grenades over the rock. Grenades that were programmed to detonate in the air over the team’s head. This essentially gave the defenders the ability to reach around corners and over obstacles.
The weapons were mounted behind clear ballistic shields that would stop pretty much all small arms fire, and the guards were equipped with FLIR—forward looking infrared optics that made advancing at night more dangerous than during the day. Approach from behind, over the mountain, was impractical without equipment they did not have, and the sides were just as open as the front. The closest they could get was one hundred meters away, straight on, approaching behind some rock formations at the base of a steep cliff. The cliff itself had been considered, but there was no practical way down and no cover at the summit.
The attackers had two things going for them. The first advantage was the relaxed attitude of the guards, who thought the only thing they had to fear were a few scattered survivors. They spent most of their time talking amongst themselves, smoking cigarettes and occasionally scanning the surroundings with binoculars. The second advantage was that there was effectively no barrier. The facility had one, but Tom confirmed that it was always kept on the lowest setting. That made perfect sense. Considering the formidable defenses, running the barrier at full strength was an unnecessary power drain.
Alex watched the guards from behind a rock, afraid to stick his head out too far. One of them laughed and swiped at another’s head. The second one ducked and poked the first one’s belly with a finger. All four chuckled, and Alex knew that he would never sleep peacefully again. These were American soldiers, and he and his team were about to murder them. He couldn’t know how complicit they were in what happened to the world, but knowing how the people on top operated, it was almost certain that they were ignorant and innocent. They were most likely just like him, soldiers, plucked from their lives and deposited there, making the most of it. Maybe some of them had found love, and were waiting to get off shift to see their girl. Or their guy. One of them was a woman.
They were victims, but whether due to ignorance or a willful decision, they were working for the enemy, and they would give their lives to protect that enemy. They had to die, and a part of Alex and the others would die with them.
Surviving a war doesn’t make you stronger. It makes you weaker. So weak, that you can barely stand to be alive sometimes. Medlock had told him that in a rare moment of humanity when he had run into him in a bar in Barstow, the shithole town closest to Fort Irwin. He’d been alone until Alex showed up. They drank together, and then never spoke of it again. Alex hadn’t seen much in Afghanistan, but it had been enough to understand that people can never erase their memories, no matter how much they may want to.
“Sir?” Bundy said. She had mistaken his introspection for radio communication.
Alex turned and looked at her. She had a stern face and worn eyes, with about ten more years on them than he had. She and seven others had been assigned to his team, which was tasked with approaching from the west side of the clearing. Eleven others, led by Terkeurst, would approach from the east side. If their snipers couldn’t get the job done in time, at least there would be a chance for one of the teams to get through. That was the idea, anyway. Looking at the defenders’ weapons, Alex wasn’t so sure.
“Stand by,” he said. “We’ll be on our way soon.”
“I just wanted to say,” Bundy said. “Whatever happens, thank you for what you did. Getting us the truth.” Her hard eyes glistened for the briefest of moments, then dulled once more. “I wanted to tell you that now, in case I don’t make it.”
The others murmured assents. He didn’t even try to remember their names. In fact, he tried not to, and succeeded. Bundy was the exception because she was the only woman on his team. He had assigned them call signs based on his first impression of their faces. Smiley, Baby Face, Pirate, Hero, Hardass, Moustache and Pimp. Bundy was just Bundy. He hoped that she didn’t feel left out.
“We’re all going to make it,” Alex said. “The plan is sound.”
The plan was desperate. He was scared, because he knew the likelihood of failure was high, but he was determined. One way or another, it would all be over in a matter of hours, maybe less. Then he would either be dead, or on his way home.
“Alex,” the major’s voice said through his radio earpiece. “Ready?” He was about to answer, but hesitated, momentarily balked by a sudden wave of panic. Someone who can do the job if I can’t. Could he actually fire on the president? He had been sure before, but now he was anything but.
“Meyer?” the major asked.
Alex turned to the others and said, “Ready?” They all nodded, almost together.
“Ready,” Alex said. Only one way to find out.
“Go!” the major said.
“Go!” Alex echoed.
They jumped to their feet and circled the edge of the cliff, then started running across the relatively flat clearing right at the sentry posts and their mounted, unbelievably lethal weapons. Alex felt exposed, vulnerable. He cringed, foolishly trying to hide his face behind the brim of his Kevlar helmet. His equipment weighed him down—Dragon Skin, twenty spare magazines, sidearm, grenades and more—but he moved quickly, fuelled by desperation. They could have opened fire first, or fired as they moved, but either of those would slow them down, and they had to close the gap before those guns opened up on them.
The sentries saw them almost immediately. Eighty meters to go. They stared at the rushing attackers stupidly for several seconds before one of them started screaming. Seventy meters.
They scrambled for their mounted death machines. Fifty five meters. Alex felt a slight twinge in his stomach as they passed through the facility’s barrier.
The first man made it to a mini gun and Alex watched with horror as the weapon’s six barrels oriented on his team.
The aluminum oxynitride shields protecting the tripod mounted guns buckled as 50 caliber sabot rounds struck them. The distant cracks of the Barrett rifles echoed across the hollows between craggy cliff sides. The transparent ALON shields were capable of stopping a standard 50 caliber armor piercing round, but one of the men had been smart enough to bring sabots, smaller, denser projectiles enclosed in plastic shells that fell away as the bullet left the barrel. That man, Captain Meloy, was their only trained sniper. The other shooter was doing well, but not well enough.
The M134’s barrel began to spin and belch fire. A buzzing noise like giant angry wasps passed over them and Bundy’s torso came apart as she ran. Her blood splattered all over Alex’s exposed face. The buzzing stopped. The snipers had done their job, but not in time to save her. Alex looked back. Not just her. Smiley, with his ginger beard, was gone as well.
“Keep moving!” Alex shouted, not daring to spare even a moment. He had told her that they would all make it. He had lied.
They were now thirty meters from the big titanium doors, which were starting to close, sliding slowly. The two teams split into four as some of them took control of the mounted weapons, which they started turning around to face the doorway as the remaining attackers fell into two columns on either side of the approach, clearing a direct firing line into the facility.
Muzzle flashes burst to life in the blackness beyond the slowly moving doors as the pop of small arms fire accompanied the rumble of supersonic rounds flying inches from the approaching team. A man next to Alex screamed and fell, spraying warm blood across his cheeks. Baby Face, hit in his namesake.
Another one on the opposite column collapsed as the men in the lead returned fire with their M4s, though they couldn’t see what they were shooting at. Something hit Alex dead center in the chest hard enough to knock all the wind out of him, then again in his stomach, even harder. He continued running. His lucky ar
mor had saved him again.
He fired a few token shots before the roar of mini gun fire drowned out all sound as a fireworks display of sparks erupted inside the entrance tunnel. The thump of the 307s and the resulting thunder of the 25mm air burst grenades soon joined in a cacophony of carnage. Nothing inside could survive such devastation.
The team made it to the entrance before the doors closed half way, and as their supporting fire cut off they rushed inside, weapon lights painting a grim picture of men torn to shreds. Blood was everywhere, forming crisscrossing patterns on the dimpled walls. Alex stepped on something squishy as he ran and felt so queasy that he momentarily wondered if Tom had been wrong about the barrier before remembering that they had already passed through it.
Taking up positions behind what little cover they could find in the large entrance bay, they waited while the four outside abandoned the mounted weapons and raced to join them. There was no time for the snipers to make it. They would remain outside to cover the team’s retreat, if it came to that. Ideally, their task would be to take care of anyone who tried to escape.
“Fourteen dead,” the major announced. Alex wasn’t sure how he could count the shredded corpses accurately, but he wasn’t about to ask. “Let’s move out.” As far as Alex could tell, they had lost five of theirs. If he was right, there were now fifteen of them to thirty six of the enemy, not counting the snipers, which were now out of play.
Fourteen American soldiers. Dead by their hand. Fourteen of a precious few survivors of the greatest catastrophe in history. How would he be able to cope with what they had just done? At least he hadn’t seen any of their faces. That would help.
Past this point, none of them had any idea what lay within the complex. There had been no floor plans on the servers, and getting inside was possible only after the type of direct assault they had just completed. From here on in, it was all snap judgments and seat of the pants flying.
They were in a large bay with fifty foot high ceilings and a massive cargo elevator on the far end. An elevated catwalk circled the upper half of the chamber and led to two doorways, but there was no access from the floor below. The lights were out, but fifteen high powered weapon lights provided sufficient illumination to make out most details. They shared the bay with two M3 Bradley fighting vehicles, sitting menacingly still, 25mm cannons pointed straight at the closed outer door.
“There are personnel elevators there!” someone shouted, and the major motioned them onwards. They fanned out into two elements, circling the Bradleys.
Out of the corner of his eye Alex caught movement on the catwalk and raised his weapon in time to see two men taking aim. He fired quickly, no time to acquire a target, and the men ducked inside one of the doorways. The thump of an M203 made him cringe as he anticipated the blast of the grenade in enclosed quarters. An impossibly loud crack sent sharp pain shooting up his ear canals, but his helmet provided some measure of shielding. Dust and smoke drifted from the doorway, and nothing moved beyond.
The team split in two and advanced to the passenger elevators, one on each side of the cargo lift.
“One man in each lift, hit the button then get the hell out,” Terkeurst said. He turned to Alex. “You were OPFOR, right? Mechanized infantry?”
“Yes sir.” He wondered how the major knew that. Had Tom accessed his service record?
“Good. Get in one of those Bradleys and start that fucker up. We’re taking it down the cargo lift. Winters, Collins, watch his six.”
A part of Alex wanted to correct the major, since OPFOR did not use Bradleys, but he had driven one in Afghanistan during a brief stint as mechanized infantry and so he kept silent. He also didn’t appreciate Terkeurst overriding his call signs. Collins was Hardass, not Collins. He didn’t need the confusion, but he kept silent about that too. He climbed inside and got into the driver’s seat. The diesel engine started right away, and Alex turned to the others.
“Anyone else know how to drive this thing?”
“I drove one once,” Collins said.
“Good, you drive,” Alex said as Major Terkeurst and three others climbed into the back of the vehicle. “I was the gunner, and that’s where I need to be right now.”
“Got it,” Collins said, and replaced Alex in the driver’s seat.
“What kind of armament do we have?” Terkeurst asked.
“Full load in the main gun,” Alex said, taking a quick inventory. “Including HE.” High explosive ammunition would be devastating at close range indoors, but only against dismounted hostiles and lightly armored vehicles. “We’ve got TOW missiles too, but they won’t be any good in here.”
“Excellent,” the major said, then turned to the men outside. “Stay behind this thing until we’re done shooting. Okay, let’s move!”
The driver turned the vehicle around and moved it onto the cargo lift platform. One of the men taking cover behind ran out and activated the lift controls. Nothing happened.
“They’ve locked out the lift,” Terkeurst said. “Bastards! Linnard, get out there!”
“Yes sir!” Linnard jumped out of the vehicle and headed towards the lift’s control panel.
“He’s a tech guy,” the major explained. “Electrical engineer. Maybe he can jury rig the panel.” They waited nervously for several minutes until Linnard returned to the Bradley.
“I’ve got control of the panel, but they’ve cut power to the lift,” he explained. “There’s no way to activate it.”
“Fuck!” the major cursed. “We’ll have to blow it and rappel down, or use the elevator shafts. Alright, back this thing off.” The engine thrummed as the Bradley slowly moved backwards off of the lift. Alex was disappointed. He had hoped to be able to use the vehicle’s cannon.
“Sir!” Someone shouted. “The lift!”
Alex heard it almost immediately, the lift was moving.
“Get us back on it!” the major shouted.
“Too late!” one of the men outside screamed. “Stop! Stop! You’ll fall in!”
“Fuck!” the major cursed again. “Okay, get those elevator doors open, let me know where the cars are. Winters, get the C4 ready to blow the cables.”
“Yes sir!”
“We’ll wait in here,” Terkeurst said. “Alex, keep that gun ready in case they try to come in from above.” He ducked his head outside the vehicle. “Anyone not working, get in the other Bradley.”
Several minutes passed slowly as Alex turned the turret from one catwalk doorway to the other, using FLIR to try to spot any sign of enemy movement.
“The lift is moving again!” Winters shouted from the elevator doorway. “It’s coming back up!”
“What the hell?” the major demanded. “Take a look. Be careful!”
“Holy shit!” Winters shouted. “It’s an Abrams! There’s an Abrams on its way up! One hundred meters down and rising fast!”
Alex swallowed nervously. An M1 Abrams main battle tank was just about the nastiest thing on the ground. It could turn the Bradley into a smoldering pile of garbage with a single shot from its 120mm cannon.
Terkeurst stuck his head into the gunner’s capsule. He glared at Alex for a moment, looked him up and down as though sizing him up, then said, “Meyer, you miserable towel headed opposing force bastard…there’s an evil capitalist American tank on its way up here to reign fire and death down upon us. Can you take out that tank for me, son?”
Alex thought about it. “I don’t think so, sir. The TOW missile could take it out, but its minimum range is sixty five meters, we don’t have that here so it probably won’t even arm itself. All I’ve got is the 25mm cannon, and that won’t take out a tank.”
“That’s not good enough, son. When I had the misfortune of being in that hell hole Ft. Irwin, you god damned OPFOR camel jockeys took out our Abrams tanks like flies in July. Think, god damn you!”
“Those were just war games,” Alex protested. And war games don’t make you a real soldier. The marine sergeant’s face was clear in hi
s mind’s eye, as was Haag’s bloody stump. Alex could almost hear him scream. The he remembered something Lieutenant Campbell had said in the hospital.
I saw a guy burn his leg to shit trying to get a missile simulator out of a bent launch tube.
“Out of the way, sir!” Alex yelled as he climbed out of the gunner’s capsule.
Terkeurst moved. “What are you doing, son?”
“No time!” Alex cried as he practically pulled Captain Collins out of the driver’s seat. “Make way! Someone man the gun!”
“I got it,” one of the men said and Alex heard him climbing into the gunner’s roost.
“I need someone out there!” Alex shouted through the open hatch. “Tell me when that fucking tank is ten seconds from the top. Then get the hell out of there and get in one of the Bradleys if you can make it! Everyone else, get inside! Now!”
“On it!” Winters shouted as he crawled to the edge of the lift cavity to look down at the approaching tank. “Thirty seconds! It’s got the turret pointed right at you! They must be able to see us. Cameras, probably.” The few men left outside climbed into the APCs.
“Fuck them,” Alex shouted. “Remember, ten seconds, then get the hell out of there.” Alex backed the Bradley up as far as he could and adjusted its position, then reached up and closed the driver’s hatch. “Everyone, shut the hatches! Leave one open for Winters in the other Bradley…he’ll have time to make it.”
“What are you planning?” Terkeurst demanded.
“If I tell you, I won’t have the balls to do it.”
“Twenty!” Winters shouted. The last of the hatches closed shut, and Alex felt trapped in what was about to become a burning aluminum coffin, unless his insane plan worked.
“Fifteen!” Almost time. He could see Winters getting ready to climb to his feet through the small view hole. If he messed the angle up, even a little…
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