Strike Force Black

by C T Glatte

  Rex felt the air behind him change slightly, the same way it did when Mr. Black opened the door. He didn’t hear anything, but knew another person had entered the room right behind him. He watched Mr. Black’s eyes but he gave him no indicator there was another person in the room.

  Rex saw the slight movement in the reflection of Mr. Black’s eyes. The sense of someone close behind him was strong. Rex’s legs and feet were tied to the chair. He had just enough leverage to lunge backward. He put everything into the move and he tipped backwards hard. He felt the back of his head slam into something relatively soft and thrust his head backwards with as much force as he could muster and was rewarded with the man grunting as he took the thrust to his crotch.

  Rex spun left, pulling the chair with him and balanced on the balls of his feet. The scrunched position was awkward and painful but he was able to hop and spin, thrusting the rear chair legs into the man’s shins.

  Rex hopped and spun again until he was facing a man dressed identical to Mr. Black. Rex’s feeble attack had done little damage. The man stepped back and scowled at Rex, then reared his right fist back and punched him in the face. He was ready for it and moved with punch a fraction of an instant before it landed, softening the blow and making the man overextend and bring his head too close. Rex lunged his head forward and his forehead smashed into the side of his head, knocking him to the ground.

  Rex hopped and spun a half turn and landed chair-first onto the man’s back. He felt the wooden chair crack and break. His left leg was suddenly free as the chair leg detached from the base. He got his free leg beneath him and sprang upward intending to put the other three chair legs into the man’s back, hoping to puncture his muscled body, but a sudden force knocked into his chest and he was flung into the wall. He hit his head and saw stars.

  Mr. Black was suddenly above him aiming the same odd pistol which had delivered the shocking pain earlier. It was aimed at his face and Rex could see the arcing blue of electricity in the gaping barrel. “Stop,” barked Mr. Black. “Now.” Rex let his tensed body relax into the floor. He was beat for the moment. He nodded slightly. Mr. Black didn’t take his eyes or the barrel off Rex as he spoke to the other man. “Like I said, he’s ready.”

  The other man lifted himself from the floor and strode over to him. Rex expected to be beaten mercilessly, but instead the man grinned, felt the blood running from the side of his head and grinned. “Yes. I agree. With the invasion, it’ll be easier to insert him. We’ll do it this week.”

  Rex knew better than to ask questions. They’d tell him what he needed to know, nothing more, but the word ‘invasion’ focused his gaze. Mr. Black noticed and nodded. “That’s right, the East Coast is under attack as we speak. Our country’s at risk of being annihilated. You can make a difference but only if you do exactly as we instruct. Understand?”

  The news shocked Rex and his mind reeled with questions, mostly concerning the safety of his wife and son. He knew not to ask. Such an inquiry would only put them at risk. He’d been told if he tried to contact them, or find out anything about them, they’d simply be executed. It was The Branch’s way of taking his mind off them, by simply removing them from the equation. Rex nodded. “I understand completely.”

  Three weeks later, Rex was flying at wave top level in an innocuous, unidentifiable four-seater airplane, over the choppy waves of the South Atlantic Ocean.

  The plane had been catapulted off a small ship, whose designation papers marked it as African, but in actuality, was owned by the Brazilian Navy. It had left port from the tiny island of St. Helena, halfway between Brazil and the African coast and flown northeast.

  The war raging along the East Coast of the United States hadn’t leaked this far south, although no one had any illusions that it was only a matter of time. Brazil, along with every other South American country was at war with the countries allied with the Korth. Although they hadn’t been attacked directly, they’d sent troops and supplies north to help defend their reeling allies. Africa, thousands of miles to the East was the nearest threat, but, like the rest of Korth controlled countries, had been silent for the past decade.

  As the small plane skimmed the wave tops, Rex felt the dull ache from the implanted Korth translator embedded in his neck. He reached up and felt the small knob sticking from the right side of his neck. The doctors told him the dull pain would go away within a week, but he still felt it after three weeks and wondered if it was infected.

  The man beside him, who’s unlikely name was, Joe, leaned over and yelled over the din of the engines. “Touching it only makes it worse.”

  Rex jolted from his thoughts and realized the translator had vibrated and translated Joe’s Spanish for him. He dropped his hand and smiled at the man, whose large body barely fit into the confines of the aircraft. Rex spoke Spanish back at him, but knew Joe’s translator helped as he butchered the language. “It still burns a little. Wondering if it’s infected.”

  Joe’s bright teeth seemed to glow, juxtaposed against his ebony skin. Rex had met many black men, but never one as dark as Joe. “Speak English. Your Spanish is an insult.”

  Rex smiled and shook his head. He’d met the man a week before and figured his purpose was to watch him. “You mean that tiny shit-hole island you hail from?”

  Joe shook his head. “You are a terrible man, Five-twenty.”

  Rex shook his head, “Now we’re finally on our way, call me…“ he considered as though making up a name. “Call me, Rex.”

  “Rex? Ha. You don’t look like a Rex. How bout something more believable, like…”

  Rex interrupted him, “Joe? Something like that? You look as much like a Joe as I do a Jose.”

  Joe’s smile broadened and he nodded his head. “Okay, Rex,” he said it as though tasting something exotic. “Rex it is.” He looked at his wrist watch. “We’ve another two hours until we exit the aircraft. You should get some rest, Rex.”

  Rex gulped at the flippancy of ‘exiting’ the aircraft. The insertion promised to be a harrowing experience. The plan was, when they were just outside the envelope of African radar, about ten miles, the aircraft would slow, ascend to five hundred feet and they’d hurl themselves from the side door along with a raft and four paddles.

  Assuming they and the raft landed intact, they’d paddle the rest of the way through shark infested waters to the hostile coastline of a continent which had gone dark a decade before. They weren’t the first operatives to be sent to Africa, but Rex intended to be the first to make it out alive.

  Despite the fear building in his gut, he managed to sleep. He jolted awake when Joe slapped his shoulder and he felt the translator buzz slightly. He instinctively reached for it and Joe frowned and slapped his hand away then wagged a long finger in his face. “You must stop doing that. It’s a sure giveaway. No one will even notice their devices anymore and if you continue to touch it, they’ll be suspicious.”

  Rex wiped his eyes and nodded. “You’re right. How far out are we?”

  Joe held up two fingers, “Two minutes, my friend.”

  Rex nodded and cinched his parachute tighter. He watched Joe do the same. He didn’t know much about Joe and he wasn’t happy to be saddled with someone he knew almost nothing about.

  Rex had been assured Joe would be helpful once they made it to the African continent. Once he heard about the insertion method, he was glad he wouldn’t have to go through it alone and understood Joe would blend in much better than he would. There were plenty of white-skinned people in Africa before the Korth invasion and there was no reason to believe that wasn’t still the case, but having a black man beside him would make him less obvious. But I still don’t trust him.

  Rex felt the aircraft slow and tilt upward into a slight right turn. He looked out the window and saw the wave tops getting further away. The green and blue of the sea was beautiful and looked warm and inviting, but he knew this region was famous for sharks and thought of encountering one or several, made him shiver inv
oluntarily.

  Joe noticed and touched his shoulder and leaned close to his ear. “Don’t worry. This is no problem.”

  Rex shook his head. “Not worried about the jump but the sharks.”

  Joe pursed his lips and looked serious. “Yes, get to the raft quickly. Quicker the better.”

  The plane leveled off at five-hundred feet and Rex stood and stepped to the open door. He looked out, then back at Joe. He smiled.

  Rex gripped the front of the rolled raft and Joe gripped the back. They’d go out at the same time, release the boat, pull their rip cords and float down. The boat would sense when it hit water and a burst of CO2 would erupt and rapidly inflate it. The method had been thoroughly tested, but at five-hundred feet, there was very little time to pull their ripcords before hitting the water. Any more elevation, however, could make them visible to a lucky aircraft or nearby boat and their mission would be over before it even started.

  Rex yelled the countdown, “One, two, three —.” He yanked the raft through the door and felt the slipstream slam into him. He immediately released the raft and saw Joe’s large body falling alongside, only feet away. Rex clutched his chest and found the ripcord. He steadied, let himself drift a few feet from the boat and pulled. He heard and felt the satisfying snap as the chute deployed. He felt his balls tighten into his gut as the straps yanked hard, but he was happy for the pain. It was much better than spinning into the sea at terminal velocity.

  He spotted the raft splash down to his right and shifted his body weight, trying to angle toward it. There was a slight breeze and he felt himself drifting further and further away.

  Suddenly the sea was only feet away and he clutched the quick release tabs of his chute. When his boots touched water, he pulled hard and felt the chute’s pull vanish. He dropped into the warm South Atlantic and went deep. He spread his arms and legs trying to arrest his descent. The small Mae West-style life jacket around his neck inflated and he felt his descent slow, stop, then he rocketed toward the surface. Fifteen seconds after hitting the water, he was on the surface, panting. He took in large lungfuls of air and lay on his back.

  He recovered and searched for the black raft. He caught sight of it when he went up on a swell. It was far away and there was no sign of Joe. He turned onto his side and started using the slow, side-stroke crawl the cadre had taught incessantly.

  He’d resented their insistence on perfecting the stroke, after all, he was a decent swimmer and thought he’d be much faster if he just did the normal freestyle stroke. But they’d insisted on the side-crawl and Rex had to admit it was the superior stroke in the open ocean. It wasn’t as fast, nor as sexy, but it moved him in the right direction and didn’t sap his strength.

  He finally reached the raft and pulled himself inside. He untied the ropes securing the paddles, stood and looked for Joe. He squinted in the evening sun, searching sections of ocean by degrees. He’d nearly gone around the compass when he finally spotted him twenty-yards away. Rex went to the bow and used the paddle in a forward draw stroke, which allowed him to pull the boat closer to Joe.

  When he was ten yards away, he realized Joe wasn’t swimming but treading water, staring downward. He yelled, “Joe, over here.”

  Joe ignored him and pushed himself underwater with a smooth strong motion. Rex continued paddling, sharks very much on his mind. He got to the spot where Joe went under and leaned over the side, searching the clear water. He saw a huge shape which made him shiver. Shark!

  Behind him there was a sudden flurry of splashing and Rex yelled. He whirled around in time to see Joe coming out of the water as though he could fly, and landed in the center of the boat. He held a knife in his right hand. He lay on his back in the bottom of the raft, panting. “What the hell’s going on? Where’d the shark go? Are you bit?”

  Joe’s chest rose and fell as he caught his breath. Finally, he smiled and shook his head. “I’m okay. Did you know you scream like a woman?”

  Rex ignored the jibe. “What happened? I saw a shark.”

  Joe put himself in a sitting position and sheathed the knife inside his pants pocket. Rex hadn’t noticed it before. “There was a shark and there will probably be more.” He grasped a paddle and went to the opposite side of the raft.

  Rex looked at his compass and pointed, “That way.” He pulled the paddle through the water and Joe matched him stroke for stroke. “You gonna tell me what happened?”

  Joe answered, “I stabbed it in the nose as he approached. They have sensitive noses. He won’t be back soon, but he’ll be back.”

  Rex shook his head, “Damn, you’ve got balls of steel.”

  Joe giggled, “That would be a burden my woman would not enjoy nor put up with.”

  The evening turned to darkness and Rex had to constantly check the compass to keep them on an easterly course. Their paddle strokes were slow and smooth and they switched sides often to keep fatigue at bay. They guessed they’d hit land in the middle of the night, which was the plan.

  The operation to get him to the island of St. Helena, onto the ship and into the airplane to the proper drop site, had been meticulously planned. However, this part of the operation, paddling to mainland Africa, was a crapshoot. They had no specific idea where they’d actually end up. Heading east at a steady two miles an hour, would put them on the coast, but the various ocean currents were unpredictable.

  Rex glanced at the luminescent dials on his wrist watch. “Should be getting close.”

  Joe grunted, “Assuming you know how to read a compass, yes.”

  Rex stopped paddling and Joe followed suit to keep them from spinning. “Water break.” He untied the supply compartment and lifted a large cylindrical canteen. He took a long drink and handed it to Joe, who took a smaller drink. “Beautiful sky out here.” The stars were bright and reached from horizon to horizon. “Glad the weather’s held.” Joe nodded but didn’t answer. Rex murmured, “Man of few words.”

  Joe screwed the lid on the canteen and placed it back inside the compartment, taking care to retie the laces. He pointed. “That looks like land. You see it?”

  Rex looked over the bow and could just make out the outline on the horizon. “I’ll be damned, I think you’re right.”

  They resumed paddling. The land didn’t seem to be getting any closer. Rex knew they were making headway, but it was slow and tedious. Finally the white outline of waves breaking along the coast were visible. They stopped paddling and listened to the welcome sounds of waves breaking on sand.

  Rex whispered, “See any signs of life?”

  Joe shook his head and whispered back, “No. But the towns might be on light restriction. For all we know, there may be no one left on the continent.”

  Rex shrugged. “You’re right, but we have to assume there are. Let’s get closer.”

  They paddled, making as little noise as possible. They were in a black raft in the middle of a dark night. Even if someone was looking for them, and there was no reason to think they would be, they’d be nearly impossible to spot, but the fact that no operatives had returned from the dark continent made them careful.

  They paddled until they were just outside the breakers. The swell lifted and dropped them gently. They lay on the rubber sides and watched the shore. It was utterly empty. Rex moved to a sitting position and whispered, “Let’s get to shore.”

  They paddled and the raft was soon inside the breaking waves. Rex moved to the stern while Joe stayed on the side and continued paddling. A peaking wave rushed up behind them like a black wall and started to break. Rex whispered, “Hold on.” The raft’s forward momentum kept them in front of the moderately sized wave and the stern lifted. Rex held his paddle firmly in the rudder position, keeping the raft straight. The raft suddenly rushed forward down the face of the wave and the feeling of speed brought a smile to his face.

  Joe looked back and Rex saw his white teeth beaming at him. The raft bounced along and soon lost speed as the wave’s energy dissipated and finally ended
on the shore of a sandy beach. Joe launched from the side and waded in calf deep water, pulling the raft along. Rex jumped out and they struggled to lift the raft and move it up the beach, trying not to leave drag marks.

  Rex felt the strain on his shoulders as he tried to keep up with Joe’s long strides. Rex’s breathing was coming in gasps, but Joe barely seemed to be working. They finally reached a large pile of driftwood and stopped.

  Rex felt his pulse returning to normal. “We’ll bury it here. I’ll get the packs.” He untied the laced compartment, took out two light packs filled with food, water and small radios and placed them to the side, while Joe moved driftwood and dug in the sand until he’d scraped out a suitable depression.

  They stuffed the raft inside and released the valves. There was a loud gush of air as the tubes deflated. Rex looked around nervously. If there was anyone close, the sound would attract attention. Joe said, “Don’t worry. We’re alone.”

  They didn’t move for a full five minutes, but the night noises didn’t change and he was comfortable that no one was nearby. They placed large rocks onto the raft floor, then rolled it as best they could and buried it under sand and driftwood.

  If they hoped to find it again, they needed to figure out where they were. The operational planning was suspiciously thin when it came to the details of returning from the mission. Indeed it was barely talked about at all. Their mission was to blend in and report back using the radios, which were powerful enough to reach St. Helena Island. However, using the radios was considered a last resort as it was assumed the Korth technology could intercept, or even jam the signal.

  Rex went to the packs and pulled out his radio. He placed it on a flat rock and picked up another nearby rock. Joe was watching him closely. “What are you doing?” he asked.

  Rex didn’t answer but lifted the rock over his head as if about to crash it down upon the radio. Joe moved like a striking snake to stop him, but Rex was ready. Expecting Rex to be focused on the radio, Joe moved to save it. Instead of crushing the radio, however, Rex shifted his arc and crashed the rock onto Joe’s exposed head.