Four men exited, three armed. The fourth man approached, his eyes observing the bodies of the soldiers and agents lined up along the fence.
“Which one of you is Ryan Connors?”
Ryan stepped forward. “That’s me.”
“Sergeant John Snell. Captain Richmond is eager for you to get on board.”
“The bodies?”
“Another crew is coming to collect them.”
“We have three other people to pick up in Dutch Harbor.”
“We’ll make the stop.”
Ryan gave the signal to Allie that all was okay and waited until she was safely inside the chopper before jumping in after her.
Within seconds, the chopper lifted off and banked out over the Northern Pacific Ocean. Winds buffeted the fuselage, rocking the helicopter. Ryan shut out the noise and looked down at the scrub and snow-covered hills. The island was rugged with little vegetation. Hardly viable for human inhabitation. He doubted anyone would have settled here if it hadn’t been for the abundant seafood.
Radios squawked seconds before tracer rounds whizzed past the windows. A black hulk of a shape swooped down, narrowly avoiding a collision.
Cal whipped her head around. “What the fuck was that?”
Ryan didn’t have time to answer as the pilot took evasive action. Live rounds rattled against the fuselage, some punching through. One soldier was hit in the chest. His body convulsed before slumping, lifeless, to one side.
The Nameless reacted as one, slipping out of their harnesses and dropping to the floor. More rounds stitched the Black Hawk as the pilot accelerated and descended toward the scrub-choked hills, hugging the coast.
More bullets. Another soldier fell to the deck, blood pooling beneath him.
“Man the guns!” Sergeant Snell screamed. “I want eyes on the bogey.”
The two remaining soldiers slid behind the M240s, pulled back the charging handles and swung them back and forth.
“I can’t see shit!” one said.
Ryan crawled over and scanned the sky. The sun was weak, barely shining through the clouds. It was difficult to hear anything above the rumble of their helicopter. They were hugging the coast now, flying dangerously low. He figured this was to stop the other pilot from getting level with them. As they banked around a headland, dozens of rounds raked the front and right side of the Black Hawk.
Glass shattered.
Metal shrieked.
Soldiers screamed in pain.
The chopper lost altitude for a few seconds before the pilot regained control. Ryan could see the enemy now. Not just one helicopter, but two. Black Hawks, identical, but painted charcoal. More tracer rounds flew past them.
Snell stared at Ryan as if he was responsible for the attack. “Who the hell are these guys?”
“We call them Black Skulls. The enemy’s armed division.”
Snell appeared to think a bit, like he was mulling the information over. “I’m going to need a couple of you on the M240s.”
Ryan glanced at the two soldiers. One was dead, the other nursing a wound on his arm. Without being asked again, Booth slid behind one and checked to see if it was loaded. He looked at Ryan as the Black Skulls’ choppers broke formation.
That look said it all: here we go again.
Two
Near Dutch Harbor, Aleutian Islands
The metal floor shook violently as the helicopter swerved yet again, gained altitude and descended, twisted and turned. The pilot was doing everything he could to throw off the attack. Rounds peppered the side and pinged off the rotor blades and fuselage. Ryan planted his feet wide and tested the harness he was strapped into. The enemy choppers were darting in and out like a dog snipping at their heels. In. Bite. Out and away. Ryan hardly missed a target on the ground, but with the constant movement of the chopper, it was difficult to judge angles and distances.
“Hit anything yet?” Booth said over the comms.
“Nope. You?”
“Nada.”
The helicopter closest to Ryan darted in. It was what he had been waiting for. He pulled the trigger, aiming for where he predicted the chopper would fly. Rounds staggered along its fuselage as he adjusted his aim to hit the twin rotors. Sparks flew.
“Incoming!” Cal shouted.
Their helicopter jolted and shook violently. The engine whined and spluttered. Smoke poured from the tail.
“Grab something.” The pilot’s voice was calm despite the chaos of the battle. The chopper lurched again, groaning with the strain to remain airborne. “We’re nearly at the airport. Hang on. We’re coming in hot.”
So many noises rattled around Ryan’s brain; he was having difficulty picking out individual sounds. Soldiers shouting. Engines struggling. Curses from the pilots. The wind howling and whipping through the open doors. Above it all, octaves higher, was the sweetest sound. The scream of fighter jets. Two F/A-18 Hornets shrieked below the cloud cover, launching AIM-120 air-to-air missiles. Two each. The Black Skulls’ helicopters tried to evade the missiles, but they exploded into fireballs of bright orange and red. Debris rained down into the ocean below.
Ryan gripped the sides of the open door and clung on. Their chopper was spluttering, the ground rushing up. They slammed onto the concrete runway and spun around, skidding and turning. Metal tore and shrieked, snapping as something broke free. Ryan, using the harness, locked his legs into place to ride out the tumult. Pieces of the Black Hawk spun past his head. Equipment, and anything else not strapped down, smashed against the fuselage.
Then nothing. Silence. Time appeared to slow. His movements dragged, like walking through thick tar as he unclipped the harness and fell to his knees before crawling away.
Cal appeared in front of his face. Her mouth moved, but no sound came out. Pain throbbed in Ryan’s left leg and shoulder. Slowly his hearing returned, washing over him. He became aware of what was happening around him.
Fire crackling.
The noise of metal cooling and steam hissing.
Groans as the shattered Black Hawk settled on the ground.
Cal and Booth dragged Ryan away from the wreckage and lay him next to Sofia. Her eyes were closed, her chest moving in shallow breaths. Ryan was aware of everything, but for some reason his mind had frozen, like he had too many tabs open and no commands were responding.
Booth shook his shoulder. Ryan gasped with the searing pain, but it snapped him out of his stupor. He saw a jagged piece of metal protruding from an ugly gash on his left forearm. He blinked a few times, trying to refocus.
“Hold still while I yank this out,” Cal said, unzipping a medical kit.
Ryan blew out a breath. The physical and mental exertions of the last few days had finally caught up with him. Most likely shock as well. Nothing could prepare you for a dogfight in a helicopter, let alone crashing in one. Their pilot had done an exceptional job, gliding in and sliding along the runway to minimize the damage.
Cal whipped out the piece of metal and placed thick gauze over the still-bleeding wound. Ryan had the sense to put pressure on it until the nanites flooded into the area and healed it. He nodded at his wife and looked down at his broken leg. Cal had both her hands on his shin. She tested the break a few times. “This is going to hurt like a bitch.”
“No kidding. Just do it.”
Sharp pain, like someone jabbing hot needles into his eyeballs, erupted. As quick as a flash, it was gone, replaced by throbbing and the familiar weird tingling sensation. The nanites had begun their work. Cal broke tubing from a seat to make a splint and bandaged it tight.
Now that his senses had returned, Ryan frowned at the mayhem of the wreckage. The helicopter lay tilted over. One skid and the tail section had shorn off. The windshield was a shattered mess. The rotors were bent and twisted, but somehow still attached. It was a miracle, plain and simple. By rights, they should all be pulpy mush or burning to a cinder.
Sergeant Snell hobbled over, covered in soot and splashes of blood. “Any serious i
njuries?”
“A broken leg, a few cuts, but we’ll live. How’s the crew?” Ryan said.
“One pilot and three of my men deceased. The others need urgent medical attention. I’m struggling to understand how your team look fine.”
“It has to do with what happened last Wednesday.”
“There’s some weird shit going on. Sit tight. A rescue crew is on the way.”
Booth and Allie jogged over with their backpacks and Ryan’s satchel.
“Good to see you up and about finally. For a moment there, I thought I was going to have to do all the work.” Booth’s smile was lopsided as he looked at Ryan and Cal. “Never a dull moment, is there?”
“Well, you did say the desk job was boring,” Ryan said. The two old friends stared at each other for a few seconds. To an outsider, this kind of ribbing would come across as insensitive or inappropriate, but it was part of The Nameless. Always had been. Keep morale up. Rule number one.
Sofia finally stirred, her eyelids fluttering as she groaned. Allie and Cal helped her stand. Her eyes immediately searched out the terminal where they had left Keiko, Ebony, and Sam the golden labrador. She smiled and waved. Keiko was running toward them with Sam bounding alongside, his ears pushed back by the wind.
They embraced with tears, kisses and hugs. Ryan ruffled the dog’s ears and waited for Ebony to catch up. The sniper rifle was slung across her back.
“You guys like to make an entrance, don’t you?” she said. Like Booth, she had a sarcastic lilt.
“Any trouble?” Cal said.
“A few of those suckers – what do you call them?”
“Siphons.”
“Yeah, those. After the helicopters buzzed around, I thought it would be best if we moved. Then they came back and shot up the plane. Were you successful?”
“Yes,” Ryan said. “Mostly.”
“Mostly?”
“North America was spared a second wave; we’re still waiting on reports for the rest of the world.”
“Hawaii?”
“Safe.”
Ebony’s posture relaxed at the news that her home state had been spared more horror. She flashed Ryan a quick smile. “Where to now?”
As if to answer the red-haired woman, the deep resonance of another chopper’s rotors thumped in the sky.
“We carry on as planned. Home to our daughter. I’ll do my best to get you home.”
Ebony knelt beside Sam and patted his neck. “I’m coming with you guys. If this Offenheim joker was responsible for what Ando and Yamada did to me, then he and I need to chat.”
“It’ll get messy.”
Ebony gestured to the wrecked chopper. “Like that?”
“And some,” Ryan said as Snell ushered them to one side, well clear of the wreckage. The Navy Seahawk bumped to the ground. Doors were flung open. Ryan was a little hesitant to get into another helicopter so soon, but he knew it was only a short flight. The enormous bulk of the USS Nimitz, easily visible in the harbor, was swinging around to head back out to sea.
***
As predicted, the flight only took five minutes. After landing, The Nameless were guided through the ship, passing door after door. Even here, there was evidence of close-quarter battles. Smears of blood recently cleaned. Discoloration, in human form, where ash remains had been. They passed passageways filled with pipes and crew bustling around. Everything was painted battleship gray. Snell led them deeper into the island and up a ladder.
The Ready Room was empty apart from a man standing at the front, hands clasped behind his back. Ryan glanced at his insignia and realized it was Captain Richmond. His uniform was slightly ruffled. His eyes were puffy and red from lack of sleep, but focused. One look and you knew you were dealing with an astute, competent man. Anyone who made captain of a ship as historic as the Nimitz would have to be so. Ryan shook his hand.
“Ryan Connors. LK3,” he said. He gestured to each of The Nameless, and Ebony, introducing them all in turn.
Richmond indicated they should sit and waited until they had done so.
“Munroe and I go back a long way,” he said. “Even though he played for Army, grumpy old bugger. But I trust him with my life. I’m giving him the courtesy of hearing you out, not only because of that, but we saw those helicopters attack. Hornets are patrolling as we speak, keeping an eye on the ships. We’re meeting in here because I want absolute privacy, away from my officers.”
“Ships?” Ryan asked, eyebrows raised. “We only spotted one. A research vessel.”
“There’s three out there. We’re trying to figure out who they are. Not American, I can tell you that much. Probably Russian.”
“Don’t you guys normally travel with an escort?”
“After last Wednesday, we had to downsize. One destroyer and a corvette are nearby. We’re heading to them now.” Richmond rubbed the stubble on his chin. He had the same haunted look Ryan had seen in his own reflection. “First off, you’re going to tell me what happened to Dudek and my men.”
“He and his men attacked us, revealing that they’re part of the organization responsible for the mass combusting. We defended ourselves,” Ryan said.
“Do you have any evidence of the fact?”
“Only our word.”
“Tell me what you know. I want to know why I have an engine room filled with my men. Men who have become crazed, filled with bloodlust. And who the hell are LK3?” Richmond said.
Ryan shifted in his seat and pushed a hand through his hair. He took a few moments to center his thoughts. The time for diplomacy was over. If they were going to have any chance at defeating OPIS, they needed men like Richmond, and ships like the Nimitz. He lifted his eyes and looked at his team. They each showed signs of fatigue. It was the way Sofia picked at the fabric of her seat. The way Cal kept crossing and uncrossing her legs. The way Booth watched him, lopsided grin in place.
Cal, Sofia and Booth gave him slight nods. Allie and Ebony had quizzical eyebrows raised.
Ryan turned his attention back to Captain Richmond. “LK3 is an independent agency. We operate apart from any one government department. Instead, we work for each of them as and when needed. Our primary function is to protect the interests of the United States. Both democratic and economic. My team’s expertise is extraction and espionage.”
Richmond nodded for him to continue.
“A few months ago, a NASA scientist died in a bordello. He had on his person some sensitive information. Codes for satellites. Codes that he was selling, as it turned out, to a company called ReinCorp. They have, slowly, over the last decade purchased, launched, or illegally obtained over two hundred satellites. Enough to cover seventy percent of the Earth. After Wednesday, we learned that ReinCorp is a front for an organization called OPIS. YamTech from Japan, and Zizer Pharmaceuticals are also involved. They used the satellites and cellular infrastructure to broadcast the signal.” Ryan paused. Partly to recollect his thoughts, and partly to see the reaction from Richmond. His face remained still. No tics. Nothing. No indication that he was surprised at this revelation or even listening.
“Go on. What caused a third of my personnel to crumble to ash? And the rest turn into crazies?” Richmond said.
“Nanites.”
“You’re serious?”
“I am. OPIS developed them. Figured out a way to make them self-destruct and used it to do what you saw.”
“Why. To what end?”
“From the intel we have, they wanted to reset the world. Cut the population down by eighty percent and rebuild civilization to their blueprint.”
Richmond pushed back his chair, stood, and rubbed his temples with his thumbs. “I joined the Navy to educate myself while at the same time serve my country, and I’ve been proud to do so. I worked my way up the officer ranks and eventually ended up on this beautiful ship. Fought in two wars. Endured the horrors of nine-eleven. But never in a million years could I ever dream up something like this happening.” He plonked back down in his chair
and laced his fingers together under his chin.
“President Ward ordered all military home a few hours after it happened. We were deployed to patrol off the coast of Alaska. Keep an eye out for Russian, Chinese or Japanese. Then, out of the blue, I get a call from Munroe. He tells me this outlandish tale of what has been happening in Oregon and Washington states. He played me this.” Richmond leaned back and pressed the button on an open laptop. It took a few seconds for the recording to begin.
“I thought you said your boss wants us alive. President Ward is a close friend of mine. I don’t think he would be pleased with this treatment of us.”
“Ward works for us, you fool. Just another puppet.”
Ryan had spent years working for Director Lisa Omstead. He knew her voice without a doubt. The second voice was odd. Being a polyglot, he had an ear for accents. This one had a hint of German. Perhaps Austrian or Swiss. From that area of Europe anyway. The speaker had worked hard on removing any traces of it, but to the trained ear it was still detectable. German; there it was again. Like in Tokyo, Koyasan, and Tomari. Offenheim’s reach went far indeed.
“Munroe informs me this is Director Lisa Omstead of LK3.”
“Correct. All of us here can confirm.”
“Dammit.” Richmond jumped up and took a couple of steps, shaking his head. “I didn’t want to believe it. Munroe also sent me this.”
Richmond clicked a button on the laptop, bringing up a video file. A projector hummed to life, flashing an image on the screen behind him. The footage was jumpy at first, but clear for all to see. Commandos dressed in black fatigues, their skull insignia on their right shoulders. The camera zoomed in, showing the Black Skulls herding civilians into trucks and gunning down Siphons in the street. Next, it showed the FEMA camps with people receiving food, water and medicine. And finally, footage of Siphons congregating around cell phone towers, heads pointing up to the stars. Bodies still, unmoving.
“What do you make of that?” Richmond asked.
“It fits what we already know. Those armed men and women are who we call Black Skulls. They’re the armed division of OPIS. We ran into them in Japan. The camps are set up to infect the survivors with nanites so they can hit the remaining population in the second wave.”
Masks of Ash Page 3
