DEADLY DILEMMA

by Dan Stratman

  Keeping his pistol aimed at Cyndi, Pierce kicked Lance in the ribs, sending him sprawling out on the grate. He grabbed Cyndi by the throat.

  She slammed her left knee into his groin.

  Pierce barely reacted to the normally debilitating strike.

  Cyndi didn’t know that operators wore cups when going into battle.

  He raised his gun, preparing to crush Cyndi’s skull with the downward blow.

  Before he could strike her, she head-butted Pierce. A sickening cracking sound told Cyndi she’d broken his nose.

  Blood gushed down his face. Tears flooded his eyes as Pierce stumbled backward.

  Cyndi took advantage of his momentum. She launched herself forward from the wall, jumped up, drew back her knee, and with every ounce of strength she had, slammed the soul of her boot into the center of Pierce’s chest.

  The strike catapulted Pierce backward into the catwalk railing. When he hit it, he flipped over the metal railing and tumbled into the flame pit.

  Cyndi bent over and rested her hands on her knees. “Damn, that hurt,” she said, wincing in pain. She closed her eyes and gently rubbed her bruised forehead. With no time to waste trying to sooth her self-inflicted headache, Cyndi went over to Lance and helped him to his feet. “Come on; we need to go. Can you swing the ax?”

  Lance lightly patted his side, assessing the damage done by Pierce. Searing pain shot through his rib cage. “I don’t think so. He broke a few ribs.” Lance looked around. “Where is Pierce?”

  Cyndi pointed toward the flame pit.

  Lance went over to the railing and peered into the pit. Pierce was sprawled out on the concrete. He snickered and said, “I warned you.” He went back to the junction box and tried to lift the ax. Lance groaned in pain as the ax slipped from his grip.

  “I got this.” The fight with Pierce had sent Cyndi’s adrenal glands into overdrive. Adrenaline coursed through her veins, giving her superhuman strength. She grabbed the ax, gave Lance a peck on the cheek, and landed a devastating blow on the junction box.

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Sparks shot out of the box as the wires shorted out.

  The heavy doors rocketed up their rails.

  Cyndi and Lance closed their eyes, clutched each other tightly, and waited for the inevitable.

  Seconds ticked away.

  They cracked opened their eyelids to sneak a peek at the missile.

  The fact that they were still alive took a few moments to register in their brains.

  When it finally did, they jumped up and down, still clutching each other.

  “You did it!” Lance shouted, ignoring his pain. He turned to look at the diverter tunnel.

  A six-foot-wide opening in the wall had appeared. Beautiful, golden beams of sunlight lit up their path to safety. The nightmare was over. Soon, they would be above ground again.

  They rushed to the opening.

  “You first,” Cyndi said, pointing up the tunnel.

  Lance shook his head. “No. I’ll follow you.”

  “You’re injured. If you need help, I’ll be right behind you.”

  Before Lance could object, Cyndi planted her hands on her hips and barked, “That’s an order.”

  After all that had happened that day, Lance knew better than to get into a contest of wills with Cyndi. “Okay, I’ll go first.”

  Before he started up the tunnel, they heard a loud moan coming from the direction of the flame pit.

  “He’s still alive,” Lance said.

  “I’ll see you in hell, sweet cheeks!” Pierce wailed from the pit.

  Gunfire erupted from below.

  Cyndi and Lance ducked down and pressed themselves into the opening.

  Oddly, the bullets weren’t hitting anywhere near them.

  Cyndi looked over at the missile. Pierce was firing at the first-stage fuel tank.

  “That lunatic is trying to detonate the solid rocket fuel!” she shrieked in horror. “Go! Go!”

  Rungs had been built into the wall of the diverter tunnel to allow maintenance crews to crawl through it when they inspected the concrete for cracks.

  Lance grabbed the first rung and scampered up the tunnel.

  Cyndi was right behind him. She couldn’t help having the dispiriting thought of making it this far only to be incinerated just as they reached the top of the tunnel. “Faster!”

  Lance got to the top of the tunnel and poked his head above ground. Bright sunlight forced him to shield his eyes and turn away. He took in a deep, satisfying breath of the fresh Wyoming air.

  The opening above the missile was to his left, only four feet away. Lance leaned over the opening. He could see the tip of the Minuteman missile. It was made from an exotic material that could survive the searing heat generated by traveling at hypersonic speeds through the thick atmosphere.

  Lance climbed out and reached back down into the tunnel to lend Cyndi a hand. Once she was topside, Lance cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled back down the tunnel. “Take that, Rambo! A couple of missileers just beat you at your own game. It’s over. You lost!”

  Lance planted his hands on his hips and surveyed the site with a triumphant smirk.

  His celebration of beating Pierce was short lived.

  A frown formed on his face. “Shit.”

  Thirty-mile-an-hour winds had dropped the windchill to a perilous minus twenty degrees. Bitterly cold air slapped Lance’s face like a scorned wife. His exhalations instantly crystalized after blowing past his chattering teeth.

  By design, the site was located miles from civilization. Gently rolling countryside, covered in deep snow, stretched out before him. Not one single building was in sight. Cows that normally roamed the verdant pasturelands had been safely tucked away in warm barns.

  The thin Nomex flight suits they were wearing were no match for a Wyoming winter. Their bodies shivered uncontrollably. Without parkas or gloves, severe hypothermia would set in long before they could reach the nearest farmhouse.

  The wide-open spaces prized by those hardy souls still infused with the pioneering spirit—and that Cyndi had grown to like—had now become a lethal enemy.

  What the skilled Delta Force team had failed to do, Mother Nature would accomplish in only fifteen minutes.

  Chapter Forty

  Cyndi briefly considered climbing back down into the warm silo to escape the deadly low temperature. Knowing that Pierce was still alive quickly eliminated that option. She looked over at the building they’d entered when they arrived at Alpha One. It was in shambles. The C-4 had blown out the front of the building and collapsed the roof. Taking shelter in the ruins of the building would shield them somewhat from the wind but not the subzero temperature.

  And they would still be nearby a malfunctioning Minuteman IV missile that might explode or launch at any moment.

  “We’ve got to find a way to get back to base and get a crisis response crew out here,” Cyndi said.

  “Maybe we could hitchhike.” Lance looked for the country road that ran parallel to the site. Two feet of undisturbed snow made it impossible to distinguish it from the grassland.

  Cyndi rotated around, searching for a solution. She froze.

  A pair of AH-6M Little Bird helicopters sat quietly on the helipad outside the perimeter fence.

  Without saying a word, she sprinted through the snow and toward the breach in the fence.

  Lance did his best to keep up with her.

  Cyndi lay on her back and pushed herself under the fence with the heels of her boots. Once her top half was outside the fence, she sat up and scooted backward until her feet cleared.

  Lance lay on his back and imitated her move. Halfway through the opening, his flight suit got caught on a jagged barb. He reached back over his head. “I’m stuck. Pull me.”

  Cyndi grabbed his hands and yanked.

  The barb ripped open his flight suit. He pulled the fabric free and got on his feet outside the fence.

  They raced over to the neare
st helicopter and climbed into the cockpit. Cyndi took the right seat while Lance took the left.

  Doors were a luxury most small military helicopters lacked. Weight saved by not having doors could be put into more bullets, rockets, and high-tech avionics.

  With only a partial reprieve from the howling wind, Lance asked, “Now what? I don’t know how to fly one of these.”

  “I do.” Cyndi felt the need to qualify her surprising statement. “Well, I used to. It’s been years since my dad taught me to fly helicopters at the flight school.”

  “It’ll come back to you. It’s just like riding a bicycle, right?” Lance said hopefully.

  Cyndi rolled her eyes at his naively optimistic comment. She scanned the instrument panel looking for anything familiar. “I’ve never flown something this modern.”

  Special Operation forces were always first in line at getting the latest technology upgrades before the rest of the grunts in the military.

  The center pedestal between the seats was loaded with radios and electronics. The pedestal extended forward then up, splitting the bubble canopy. Large glass cockpit displays, and a plethora of buttons and switches, filled the space. Everything a trained pilot needed to successfully carry out their mission was there.

  Cyndi had learned to fly helicopters in an antiquated trainer years ago. She had no idea where to start to get this bird flyable. She carefully scanned the cockpit, reading the labels next to each switch and button. Slowly, she began to make sense out of the futuristic cockpit.

  First, she turned on the battery. The screens flickered then displayed the flight instruments. Next, she engaged the starter, fuel, and ignition. The Rolls-Royce turboshaft engine coughed to life. The rotors began to spin. Thirty seconds later the helicopter was ready for flight.

  Cyndi didn’t even bother trying to figure out the complex navigation systems. All aircraft are required to have an old-fashioned magnetic compass installed, regardless of the fancy avionics on board. She knew the base was west of their location. Cyndi checked her watch. The afternoon sun in the southwest sky, combined with the trusty compass, would be enough to get them headed in the right direction. Hopefully, they would end up somewhere in the vicinity of Cheyenne. If Cyndi flew high enough, picking out the city from the snow-covered prairie should be easy. Using her knowledge of the roads in town, she could then steer the helicopter toward Warren AFB.

  She nudged Lance. “I’m going to have my hands full trying to fly this thing. I need you to be my copilot. Can you do it?”

  “Absolutely,” Lance shot back with a confident grin on his face. “I didn’t watch Top Gun twenty-seven times for volleyball tips. I’ve wanted to be a pilot ever since I joined the Air Force.” He looked like a kid eagerly waiting to open his first Christmas present. Lance couldn’t contain himself. He started pushing buttons and flipping switches.

  “Okay, Ice Man, take it easy. Put on your headset. I’ll tell you what I want you to do.”

  They donned their headsets and did a check of the intercom.

  Lance saluted Cyndi. “Ready for takeoff, Captain. Fly this thing like you stole it!”

  “Hang on to something,” Cyndi warned.

  She brought the engine up to full speed. Cyndi gradually pulled up on the collective. The weight on the skids lessened, then they broke ground. Strong winds caused the craft to drift perilously close to the other helicopter. Cyndi overreacted, yanking the cyclic left. The helicopter tilted sideways, bringing the tips of the rotors perilously close to the ground. She overcorrected again, this time causing the craft to bounce up and down on the helipad like a novice on a pogo stick.

  Lance latched on to the doorframe with a death grip to keep from being tossed out.

  Cyndi cut the power to settle the helicopter down on the pad—and the butterflies in her stomach.

  They both grabbed their seat belts and strapped in tightly.

  Cyndi increased power and lifted off again. The aircraft wobbled around in the sky but steadily gained altitude. Once they’d reached five hundred feet, she nudged the helicopter forward and headed west.

  They were so overjoyed to be going home, the frigid air swirling around in the open cockpit didn’t bother them in the least.

  “The nightmare is over. We did it,” Lance said jubilantly as he fist-bumped Cyndi. “If I never see another Minuteman missile again, it’ll be too soon.”

  Cyndi took one final look back at Alpha One. Her sterling record as a missileer had earned her the honor of being chosen the first commander of the new site by General McNeil. She had been expected to represent all missileers and the Global Strike Command in its mission to provide America with a safe, secure, and lethal nuclear option.

  She thought about her duty as a missileer, shook her head, and let out a heavy sigh. “We can’t leave.”

  Lance jerked back. “What?”

  “We have to go back.”

  “Are you crazy?”

  “Ten live nuclear warheads are sitting out in the open on an unsecured Minuteman missile. Anyone driving by could see that. If that gets out on social media, the whole world will know. Including the bad guys.”

  Lance nodded knowingly. “You’re right. Regardless of what happens next, we’re still missileers. We never compromise the security of a nuclear weapon.”

  “We have to destroy any possible access to the missile.”

  “How?”

  Cyndi pointed. “Look out your door.”

  Chapter Forty-One

  Two Hellfire missiles hung off the left pylon.

  “An intruder could easily get through the opening in the fence and take the elevator down or get to the warheads from above,” Cyndi said. “We have to eliminate both options before we leave.”

  Cyndi swung the helicopter around to the east. The sun was at her back, providing perfect conditions to attack the site.

  “I’ll get us set up for a shot, you figure out how to launch the missiles,” she instructed Lance.

  “Time out,” Lance said loudly. “You want me to shoot a missile…at a thermonuclear missile? In case you missed that part in missileer school, those things make one hell of a big bang.”

  “I’m not going to aim for the missile, I’m going to aim for the ground around the silo. The explosion should rain so much dirt down on the opening, it would be impossible to get to the warheads. I’ll take out the building next, cutting off access by the elevator.”

  Lance crossed his arms defiantly. “After that takeoff, you want me to believe you can steer this helicopter so precisely that the missile will hit the ground next to the silo?”

  Cyndi took her hands off the controls. “You want to do it?”

  “Touché,” Lance replied sheepishly, with his hands raised in surrender. “You fly. I’ll figure out how to fire the missiles.” He searched the instrument panel for the right switches.

  “I don’t have to aim the helicopter; the missiles are laser guided. Put the crosshairs next to the silo, and the missile will do the rest.”

  Lance turned on the laser designator. Then he powered up the forward-looking infrared camera under the chin of the helicopter. A black-and-white view of the site popped up on one of the cockpit screens. The infrared camera didn’t actually see the scene ahead. It translated minute differences in the temperature of objects into pictures.

  Through trial and error, Lance figured out how to move the crosshairs. He placed them ten feet away from the silo opening.

  Cyndi put the helicopter in a shallow dive, doing her best to keep it steady in the gusty winds. “Okay, get ready. When I say, squeeze the trigger on your stick.”

  Lance pointed at the screen. “There’s a problem.”

  A glowing white blob in the shape of a man, was running across the grounds.

  Cyndi shook her head in disgust. “Crap, it’s Pierce.”

  This unexpected news forced Cyndi and Lance to focus even more sharply on their tasks.

  “Cleared to arm the missile,” Cyndi said.
/>   “Master arm switch on.”

  He held the crosshairs right on target while Cyndi made final adjustments to their flight path.

  “Now!”

  Lance squeezed the trigger.

  The Hellfire missile roared off the rail.

  The white blob on the screen stopped moving, then immediately started running perpendicular to the path of the missile.

  The guidance system in the nose of the missile locked on to the spot where the laser reflected off the ground. It hit exactly where Lance had aimed it.

  Cyndi pulled up and passed over the silo. When she looked back, a small cloud of dust billowed up from the site, but the nose cone of the Minuteman IV was still clearly visible.

  The apron around the silo was covered in concrete that was four feet thick. It needed to be that deep to support the weight of the massive truck that had transported the new missile to the site.

  The aptly named Transporter Erector Loader truck weighed over 107,000 pounds with a missile inside its custom-built trailer. Every foot of the dirt road leading to the site, all the way back to the highway, had to be torn up and replaced with high-strength concrete to support the thirty-two wheels on the enormous truck. All courtesy of Uncle Sam.

  The TEL driver would back his truck up to the silo, raise the missile up vertically, then try to carefully lower the rocket into the silo without accidentally banging it into the wall. The job felt like playing the classic kid’s game Operation but with much graver consequences for failure than a red light and buzzer.

  The Hellfire missile had done a bang-up job splintering the thick concrete apron, but that’s all.

  “Only one missile left,” Lance said, stating the obvious.

  Cyndi faced a crucial decision: destroy the remainder of the building and access to the elevator with the last missile or take a second shot at the ground next to the silo, hoping to bury the missile in debris.

  Instead of concern, a confident look suddenly spread across her face. She hadn’t put in hundreds of hours studying for the weekly readiness tests for nothing.