I Own the Dawn

by M. L. Buchman

  The hardened hangars… Once more she slid out the photo of the two happy couples, the men and the two pregnant women. The oddly-shaped hills in the background hadn’t been hills. They were the hardened hangars, dirt mounded over each structure to protect it from gunfire and smaller bombs. Scrub trees grew on them to stabilize the soil. The four of them had stood here at K2 air base for the photo. She propped the photo in the face of the trench. No doubt about it, her Two Dogs were here somewhere.

  The heart of the base lay at the west end of the field and the town of Khanabad to the north. Now all she needed were two crazy pilots and their plane.

  She checked her watch. One hour until the start of the breakfast meeting in Tashkent. Three hundred miles away, dignitaries, presidents, and premiers would all be rolling out of bed and showering, having no idea they could well be starting the last hour of their lives.

  “Is that them?” Archie had crawled up beside her one-handed, with his rifle scope clutched in his fist. His attention was directed far to the west end of the field.

  Kee swung her rifle, not too fast. She didn’t want to draw attention.

  There. Two men climbing up ladders on either side of a massive jet. Damn, the thing was huge. How was she supposed to take that down? It stood as tall as a two-story building. Its swept-back wings were longer than the Black Hawk’s rotor span.

  “She looks a hundred feet long.”

  “Only seventy-four,” Archie replied between gasps of breath.

  “That makes me feel so much better.” She wanted to check him. She wanted to drag him to the nearest hospital, Uzbekistani or otherwise. She wanted to shout and cry. None of which would help her find the calm zone necessary for a hard sniper shot. Hard? Hell! Impossible was more like it.

  “Can’t you get them now?”

  Kee gauged the seventy-four feet along the horizontal crosshair.

  “Not a chance. Over two thousand meters. We need to be under twelve hundred. If I want any real chance, under a thousand.”

  “And less would be better.”

  “And less would be better.” Kee agreed.

  “Too bad we didn’t bring along the 30 mm cannon.”

  “Too bad.” It weighed more than Kee did, and that was without the ammo or the electrical supply to run it. Kee watched the two helmeted men working over the plane. A couple of ground crew helped them. Probably with no idea they were helping prepare for the cataclysmic attack. Either they had men on the inside, or they’d presented convincing credentials. The same way Evans had pulled strings for the free ride from SOAR. It made sense that Arlov would have those connections after four years as the base commander. Able to pull in favors from a few other people who’d hated his fall from good fortune.

  They looked so calm from this distance as they inspected the bombs being underslung. The calm of knowing that they were so close to their goal. Certain death was the accepted end for these men. Perhaps it was a relief, knowing they’d soon be joining their wives. If Archie died, Kee couldn’t exactly see immolating herself. Though if she lost Archie and Dilya in the same instant, she might be pissed enough at the world to do it anyway.

  Kee knew to stop watching. She couldn’t stay on scope, fully alert for more than fifteen minutes. Snipers were trained to lie low for hours, days if necessary. But they were also trained that once the scope came to their eye, they were on full alert. Her body had been taught over and over what to expect when she finally sighted her weapon. That’s why it was best to have a spotter. Someone to keep out a detailed eye until she was ready to shoot. Then someone to watch her back while she did. The degree of concentration on her target necessary for a shot this hard would allow an elephant to trip on her before she noticed him.

  She slouched in the bottom of the ditch and drank from her water bottle. They would be ten minutes at least. She couldn’t trust Archie’s ability to spot for her now, so she’d have to risk a longer alert.

  Once more she stared at the photo perched on the ditch wall. She could remember most of the faces she’d ever taken down as a sniper, but she’d never before had a picture to study at length. Normally her assignments were in the heat of combat, like clearing the machine gun nest above Naopari. Unlike the Hostage Rescue Team or Black Ops, she rarely hunted an individual.

  Long ago, these two men had wives. With children on the way.

  She closed her eyes and pictured Archie and Dilya once more. But this time she saw them dead. Splattered on the floor of that tiny three-room farmhouse in the Uzbekistan desert.

  “They’re still checking their systems. The fuel truck is pulling up.”

  But Archie was here, here beside her.

  “They never had a chance.”

  “A chance for what?” Archie slid down beside her. “That should keep them busy for a few minutes.”

  Kee handed him the photo and the half-full bottle of water. He studied it while he drank. That thoughtful face frowning suddenly.

  “They were pregnant.”

  Kee nodded. “They never had their family. It was taken from them. And now I’m supposed to…” She couldn’t say it. If it were her, she’d bomb the living hell out of the SCO.

  “Did you notice the markings on the jet?” Kee shook her head.

  “Uzbekistan. They aren’t trying to start a world war with a Russian jet as we’d guessed. Russian design, yes, but Uzbek military. If the Uzbek military is seen killing the leaders of the organization’s members, the other five members of the SCO will shred Uzbekistan. Dismantle it one piece at a time until nothing is left. Until Afghanistan looks like a luxury vacation spot. It will never again be a legitimate country with its own government. Evans and Arlov are smart. Their vengeance is precisely targeted. They are using the SCO to kill those who killed their pregnant wives.”

  “We should let them.” Kee couldn’t believe the words as she spoke them, but it was true. It was right.

  “Kee.”

  Here it comes. The order from Captain Archibald Stevenson III. The command to honor country and flag. The command of the military.

  And from his perspective, he’d be right.

  53

  “It changes everything, doesn’t it?”

  Of course Archie wouldn’t hit her with the expected. But he was right. Kee kicked at the ditch wall.

  It did change everything. And that was the problem. She understood herself as Sergeant Kee Smith. She understood the woman who had climbed from the streets to SOAR. As much as she hated to admit it, she understood the girl who grew up fighting for survival on the streets, becoming hard and self-sufficient.

  The woman who curled up with the same man night after night was a mystery. One who enjoyed every second when a young girl clung to her side. One who begged to be told she was loved. That woman had come from another planet.

  “Alien abduction.”

  “What?” he said it with a laugh.

  A soft, friendly sound that surprised Kee. She couldn’t bring herself to explain it.

  “Okay, Sergeant Smith.” But it wasn’t the captain speaking, it was still Archie. “It is up to you. I couldn’t make that shot, even if my arm didn’t have a perforation running clear through it and hurt so much it keeps making my eyes cross. Yes, Evans and Arlov were shafted. A lousy, undeserved deal. And yes, Washington and the President’s orders are far away. We’re the team on the spot, and you’re the one with the ability. So, here’s my question to you, it’s the same one I ask myself each time I fly. If you let them go, let them continue the killing in the name of revenge, is that something you can live with?”

  Kee pictured Archie’s face if she didn’t at least try for the shot. He’d be furious.

  “They killed Dilya’s parents, and their plan will kill many, many more.”

  That hurt her heart so badly she was half afraid it would stop beating.

  “Either way,” he continued, “you will feel awful for them, because family is so important to you. But if you let them kill more families, I question if
you are strong enough to live with that.”

  He knew her too well. She had killed Anna’s killers. Immediate blood satisfaction. Instant vengeance. She still believed she’d had been right to do it. And the killing had stopped there. If she’d instead hunted them and their families, she’d have sparked a turf war that might still be killing people. This time it would be millions. The killing had to stop here.

  He must have read her face for he nodded. “Just because the choice sucks doesn’t make it wrong.”

  54

  Kee and Archie crawled back to the upper edge of the ditch. She checked on Dog One and Dog Two in the scope. The fuel truck had pulled away. They were climbing the ladders on either side of the plane. They sat side by side in their jet. A pair of crewmen pulled the ladders away.

  That cockpit worried her. She’d be trying to penetrate the canopy at an awfully long distance. The bullets might be so spent by the time they reached the jet that they’d bounce off the glass instead of punching through. But she had an image in her head and hoped that the desert heat was on her side.

  The area behind the jet shimmered as they started the engines. A wave of heat ripples rolled back from the jet’s twin exhaust cowlings. In moments they were rolling toward the far end of the runway.

  And they were rolling with the canopy hinged up to let the moving air brush aside the worst of the heat.

  Now the next question came: how long would they leave it up?

  Closed, the heat would pummel the men until they were moving at flight speed. She was banking on them leaving it open as long as possible, closing it only as they took off.

  They taxied to the far end of the runway and paused at the edge though no one else was around. Probably requesting clearance from the control tower. Making certain they were seen, but that they didn’t set off any alarms in the five hundred kilometers to Tashkent.

  Kee double-checked the seating of the ten-round magazine in the rifle. She ran the bolt closed by hand to keep it silent. She propped the spare five-round magazine beside the gun. She checked the flash suppressor. At least it would shroud any muzzle flash and most of the bang. The supersonic crack of the bullet itself… Well, hopefully it would be lost in the jet’s engine noise. With a flick, she swung down the bipod beneath the barrel but didn’t rest on it yet.

  “Here we go,” Archie whispered.

  Kee spared him a glance and saw that he was watching the guard tower intently through his scope and not the jet. Exactly as he should. Kee turned back to her target, but kept listening.

  “There’s no patrol along the inside of the wall. I see one guy asleep inside the tower in his chair. There’s another walking slowly around the balcony outside the upper story of the tower.”

  Kee concentrated on the jet; they were moving into position now—three thousand meters away. In the stillness of the morning air, the windup of the jet’s engines reverberated as a low roll of thunder across the field. A secondary echo sounded as a reflection off the perimeter wall.

  “Rolling,” she called to Archie. Safety off, she held the impossibly tiny dots of the two helmeted figures in her sights.

  “The outside guard has stopped on the far side of the tower to watch. Maybe he won’t hear us from there.”

  Kee couldn’t worry about that now. She was in the zone. Noise faded. The jet’s whine, which would be getting louder as it approached, also dissipated. The only sound she heard was the beating of her own heart. Steady, unwavering, one second apart. She could see the scope crosshairs pop up ever so slightly with each beat of her heart.

  She knew where her shot would have to be. Where they would cross into range. She only hoped the canopy was still open when they arrived.

  Lowering her lead hand, she planted the bipod solidly on the soil and clicked the scope down for maximum range. Eleven hundred meters, theoretically possible.

  The jet required a long takeoff roll. This was no American Hornet, but still they were gaining speed quickly. The canopy started coming down, slowly closing from the rear hinge like a giant clamshell.

  They were beside her now. Moving a hundred miles an hour and still accelerating. Her mind calculated how far to lead them, and her hands instinctively shifted to compensate for the answer.

  Through her scope she could see the face of the nearer one clearly. Colonel James Evans sat with his head up, looking directly down the runway. Picturing the last moment of his life, as they killed the SCO cabinet? Or picturing his dead wife?

  On the backside of the heartbeat, Kee fired. At this range, the round would take a second and a half to reach the plane.

  On the next heartbeat she shifted her aim, and with the next beat she fired at the second pilot. Then she swung farther ahead of them and began dropping a round per heartbeat. Up. Down. Slightly ahead. Slightly behind. Trying to set up a cloud of lead for them to run into, but she knew it wasn’t needed and stopped after six rounds were in flight. She’d done it solid the first time.

  Evans’ head whipped sideways as the round caught him in the helmet.

  Arlov turned to look as his round came in and caught him in the face. Not centered, but Kee wasn’t complaining. The jet veered as Arlov collapsed. Evans wasn’t dead. He clutched for the control and steadied the plane.

  Then he caught up with one of the other rounds Kee had placed in his path. This one hit him in the neck and he collapsed on Arlov as the canopy slid shut. She could see the last three rounds bouncing off the canopy’s glass.

  The jet continued to roar ahead at full throttle with no guiding hand. But she couldn’t trust it. If the jet merely ran off the runway and bogged down in the sand, too many people would recognize Evans from five years before. For this whole plan to work, no American could be found here. The rounds of NATO 7.62 mm ammunition she’d fired had to disappear, not be found during an autopsy of two merely dead corpses. This had to become an inexplicable accident.

  She fired her last four rounds at the bombs hanging under the wing. Barely conscious of the motion, she dropped the magazine into the dirt and rammed the five-round mag into the gun. As she did, she could see the earlier rounds bouncing off the bomb casings.

  “Archie. My left thigh pouch. Ten more rounds. Reload.” Kee could feel the probing fingers along her side as she unloaded five more rounds into the bombs. The jet was past them now, the shots were becoming longer again. Less powerful.

  She dropped that magazine and he slapped the refilled mag into her open palm. How far had he strained himself to do that so fast? Kee couldn’t spare the time to ask.

  She rammed the magazine home and pulled the bolt to load the first round into the chamber.

  Still no joy. No hit on the munitions that mattered.

  “Aim for the rocket motors.” Archie’s voice sounded soft. Strained. But his brain still worked.

  The jet would be starting to fly now if there’d been anyone at the controls. It was nearing the end of the runway. From her rearward angle on the massive jet, she could see the target Archie had picked out.

  Kee didn’t aim at the bombs, but at the drive motor of one of the missiles. She emptied the magazine, shooting on the down stroke and the up stroke of her heartbeat. The third round did it, but she kept firing. She was releasing round eight when number three struck. She sent the last two on their way and her magazine was empty, but it no longer mattered.

  The fuel for the missile’s drive motor exploded. In a cascade reaction, the missile went off, which triggered the bombs. They in turn blew off the wing, and a thundercloud of fire rolled upward as the wing tanks of jet fuel were breached.

  She slid back the moment she’d fired the last round, down into the ditch. Archie wasn’t lying beside her. She grabbed his boot and dragged him down to the bottom of the ditch with her.

  The ground shock hit them first, a basso thump that filled the ditch with dust so thick Kee could barely breathe. She covered her face with the long cotton sleeve of her native garb.

  Then the sharp “Krump!” of the pl
ane’s explosion. Seconds later a heat wave blasted over the trench and Kee half feared they’d catch on fire themselves. Her exposed hands stung with the heat. But the wave rolled over them and departed for the perimeter wall as quickly as it had arrived.

  When she dared uncover her face and open her eyes, Archie still lay at the bottom of the trench. She crawled up the south side of the trench. Her shield of fake wheat was gone. Scorched back to the earth. Thankfully, there were no fires on the fields, the crops hadn’t dried out for harvest yet.

  Kee swung her rifle over, then, remembering the ammunition was gone, tossed it aside and fished for the SCAR carbine. In the shock and dirt it took her a moment to find it and bring it to bear. She had to blow on the scope twice to clear it enough to use.

  The blast had blown all the glass out of the tower windows. Both men up and moving, but pointing at the jet, not at her ditch. Not reaching for their weapons. Okay. They hadn’t been seen.

  A glance in the other direction attested to the complete destruction of the jet. Bits of metal were scattered for hundreds of yards, none bigger than her hand. And a tornado of burning jet fuel swirled skyward from the few remains of the jet.

  She slid back to the bottom of the trench.

  “Hey.” Kee held up a dust-caked hand and inspected both sides. “I can barely see us.”

  Archie didn’t answer.

  She rolled him quickly onto his back, a puff of dust by his nostrils affirmed he was breathing before she bent down to listen.

  His eyes fluttered open. “How’d we do, Helen?” Helen. Damn the man.

  “We done good. Quiet now.” He tried to sit up, leaned on his bad elbow and groaned.

  “Sorry about this, Archie.” She dug around until she found the med kit. Pulling out the morphine ampule, she snapped off the cap and jammed it against his bare arm, close below the shoulder. In minutes, he settled into quiet sleep.