HARRIS (Detonation)

by Eldon Kellogg

  5,000 feet above Harris

  0348 hours EST

  The C-130 was bouncing through the air like a ping pong ball. The rear ramp was still secured. The pilots had refused to lower the ramp until one minute before the jump. The roar of the aircraft engines was drowned out by the fury of the storm that surrounded the plane.

  "Nice of you to come along, Colonel, but we're used to operating without adult supervision," yelled SFC Ancellis York, as his stomach lurched for the tenth time, as the aircraft dropped a few hundred feet.

  "I figured I'd come along to make sure you guys jumped over the right target. Left to your own devices you'd wind up landing on some bar, and assault that rather than a nuke plant filled with Chinese Special Forces," Colonel Jankens replied, as they both started laughing.

  Kate Williams stared at both men sitting across from her. She was focused on not throwing up on her feet. She had been on some wild flights in her life, but this was like being inside a washing machine.

  "Two minutes to drop," came the announcement from the cockpit.

  "Remember, winds gusting at 40 mph from the southwest. We're jumping lower, only 5000 feet, but we're still opening at 500 feet, so this could be a rough landing," said SFC Mays, over the comm link.

  "Could be? I'll wind up with my ass around my shoulders," SSG Clay said, while slapping Kate on the knee and laughing.

  She felt too sick to come up with a response. She just wrapped her arms around the satchel that was strapped across her chest. Everything that she needed to disarm the device was packed into the satchel. They had no reserve chutes. There wasn't a reason to carry one. If the main chute failed to open at 500, feet you were dead. She kept going through the disarming sequence for the nuclear weapon to take her mind off her stomach.

  "Ms. Williams, you still with us?" Colonel Jankens yelled.

  "No problem, I've jumped in worse," Kate lied, as she put on her best fake smile.

  SSG Clay leaned close to Kate, stuck out his right hand and said, "Lady, I'll bet you $1000 that when the pilot lowers that ramp, and you see what's waiting for us outside, that you chicken out."

  "One minute to drop, lowering the ramp," came the announcement from the cockpit.

  "You just lost $1000, SSG Clay," Kate said, and shook his hand.

  "Verify auto-opening settings at 500 feet," Colonel Jankens said, over the comm link.

  Kate verified the setting with a glance, and then lifted the flap on her glove to check the time . . . 0355 hours.

  "Charlie Squadron, Teams 1 Alpha and 4 Alpha . . . on your feet," Colonel Jankens ordered, as the rear ramp began to descend.

  He stood with the teams, holding onto a bin welded onto the side of the aircraft.

  The red light on the right side of the opening began to flash. Team 1A formed a stick, ran toward the ramp, and jumped into the howling tempest. Team 4A, including Kate Williams, was three seconds behind them.

  Kate fought for control, as she felt her body whipped one way, then the other. She felt herself slam into another body and stick.

  She glanced to her right as a voice said over the comm link, "Relax! Arch your back, legs together, feet together. I've got us at the right descent angle. I'm letting you go in 3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . . released," the voice said, as they separated.

  Kate struggled as the free fall continued, but then recovered. The turbulence required constant, subtle adjustments. She struggled to remember every trick of executing a controlled free fall that she had learned over the years. The sky above her flashed, and she saw the first team 1000 feet below her. They were all within 50 feet of each other in a V formation, angling downward. She was last in her group, but could see the others grouped tightly just below her in a similar V formation. She was the outlier, trailing behind them all.

  The lightning flashed again, and she looked past the two teams. She could see the brightly lit plant below. They were coming in from the southwest.

  "It's too far, we're too low. We'll land outside the fence," she said, over the comm link.

  "Negative, stay the course. The wind will carry us onto the target once the chutes open," a voice said.

  The order was garbled with static. She would never learn whose voice it was.

  Intersection of State Road 1134 and Shearon Harris Road

  0355 hours EST

  "Move, move, move . . . get in the damn vehicle and sit down!" Sergeant Major Jones yelled, as the three civilians scrambled through the downpour, up the ramp, and into the back of the Command Stryker.

  "Sit down and shut up. This is a military operation and you are baggage," SGM Jones yelled, while hitting the button to raise the ramp.

  Nathan O'Malley and Alan Parkins were both soaked as they settled into the hard bench on the left side of the Stryker's spartan interior. Both were loaded down with bagged equipment. Amanda sat across from them, wiping her sodden hair away from her eyes.

  "Sir, civilians on board. We're ready to move," SGM Jones yelled.

  LTC Anthony Thompson didn't look up at the additional passengers. He only nodded, and spoke into his comm link, "Captain Harker, move your four MGS forward and execute Phase 1."

  "Roger that, Sir! Execute Phase 1," said Captain Jermaine Harker.

  Four M1128 Mobile Gun System Strykers leapt from the intersection and headed down Shearon Harris Road. They separated and formed line abreast as the road widened into a parking lot around the Security Shack.

  As each vehicle came into position, the order to fire was given. The four 105mm guns opened fire as one. The guard shack disappeared. At 0400 hours, the assault on Harris had begun . . .

  CHAPTER 57

  The Assault on Harris

  August 3, 2017

  0400 hours EST

  The Apaches

  The last Apache AH-64D Longbow pulled away from the stick and settled into a firing position 300 meters from Security Tower No. 6. One by one, the other five aircraft duplicated the maneuver and hovered. Each pilot had to fight the shifting winds and the pounding rain to hold their positions.

  "Longbow flight, confirm positions and readiness to fire," Major Bouchard said.

  The first three confirmations came in when Major Bouchard heard, "Missile . . . missile . . . missile . . ."

  Then he saw the flash of an explosion on the other side of the formation, as Longbow 3 was struck by a Stinger missile. The airframe buckle as the craft surged inwards toward the plant, the rotors aiming toward the long building on the western side of the plant.

  "He was too close, 100 meters . . . what the hell was he doing?" he thought, as chatter exploded over the comm link.

  "Longbow flight, proceed with the mission. I repeat, proceed with the mission," Major Bouchard ordered, as he stared at the launch of a missile from the No. 1 Security Tower, directly in front of him.

  He switched his weapons systems to live and began firing his Mark 230 chain gun at the tower. The missile drew closer. He jinked left, then right, in an effort to draw the missile off target. The chain gun continued to rattle as it threw explosive rounds at the guard tower. He knew he had seconds to live.

  "One chance," he told himself, as he fired the Hellfire missile.

  The two missiles impacted each other 100 feet from his Apache. The concussion and the shrapnel tore into his aircraft. The airframe shuddered as one rotor was struck. He knew that he was going to crash.

  Delta

  0400 hours EST

  The two Delta teams were at 3000 feet, and plummeting downward, when the shooting began. Explosions lit the eastern side of the plant, indicating that the ground troops had begun their assault on the plant entrance. Flashes of light, and small explosions on the perimeter, indicated that the Apaches were taking down the guard towers.

  SFC Ancellis York glanced at his altimeter, and braced himself as his MS-260 M4 chute opened at 500 feet. He was 100 yards outside the plant perimeter fence, and moving almost horizontally in the howling winds.

  "We'll make it, but the landing is going to
be rough," he told himself.

  He was steering for the south end of the Fuel Handling Building roof, when he was cut in half by the rotor blade of Longbow 3.

  Kate was still plummeting toward the ground. A glance at her altimeter showed 1500 feet. She watched in horror as the damaged helicopter spun toward the plant from the west. The chutes of Delta Team 1A and 4A had just opened. The men were steering toward the Fuel Handling Building when the helicopter swept through them from behind. She saw at least eight men disappear as the helicopter crashed into the south end of the huge building and explode.

  Outside the Fuel Handling Building

  South End

  0402 hours EST

  Tommy had struggled while climbing down the ladder from the containment building walkway. The rain had made the rungs slick. He had slipped more than once. His wounded arm was throbbing, as were several abrasions from his slide down the concrete dome. The impact of hitting the walkway hadn't helped his ribs and right shoulder.

  "Dude, I'm hurting. The only thing that doesn't hurt is the bottom of my feet," Tommy said, as he leaned against the handrails on the stairs leading up to the Fuel Handling Building south entrance.

  He and Chris looked at each other as the storm above them seemed to intensify. The sounds were different, even more chaotic than before.

  "I know you're hurting, but we have to get this done," Chris said, then jumped as the sky above them exploded into a fireball.

  "Move, move, move . . . into the building!" Chris yelled, as fire and debris began to rain down on them.

  As they slammed the door shut behind them, they felt a sharp bang, as if something large had just struck the heavy steel security door on the outside.

  "That wasn't anything from this site. I looked up and saw a fuselage, or something mechanical, like a helicopter," Tommy said, as they both leaned against the steel door.

  "Was it landing on the roof?" Chris asked.

  "Yeah, but it was in pieces," Tommy said.

  They could hear the dull echo of thunder or explosions, as they rested in the vestibule leading onto the refuel floor.

  "I think the military's here. They're attacking the plant. Maybe we can just sit this one out," Chris said, while removing his slung rifle from around his shoulders, and sagging to the floor.

  "Dude, if I sit down, I won't get back up. It may take a while before anyone else gets this far. The Chinese will try to set off the bomb now . . . maybe right now. We have to stop them or we're dead, no matter what anyone else does," Tommy said, while staring down at Chris, and unslinging his own weapon.

  "Hey, if you can keep going, so can I. It's just like hanging lead shielding during an outage. You just have to keep on going until the job's done," Chris said, as he pushed himself up off the concrete floor.

  The two friends stood together in front of the door leading to the refuel floor, and stared at each other. They both knew that another shootout was inevitable.

  "You know, we'll probably be dead in the next five minutes," Chris said, as Tommy grabbed the handle to pull open the heavy security door.

  "Fuck it . . . gotta go some time," Tommy said, as he yanked on the door and groaned.

  "Should have let you open the door," Tommy said, as they both stepped through the doorway.

  "Nub!" Chris said, and laughed.

  The Strykers

  0402 hours EST

  Two MGS Strykers charged past the remains of the guard shack and roared up the road toward the second objective. As they rounded the crest of the hill, they stopped side-by-side and lowered the muzzles of the 105mm rifled tank guns mounted in turrets on top of their vehicles.

  The concrete and steel road barrier was raised. It was designed to stop any bomb-laden truck filled with explosives that was intended for the plant. It was not designed to resist a full frontal military assault.

  Both gunners fired at the same time. The auto-loaders were able to insert a fresh round every two seconds. After five cycles, they ceased fire. The massive barrier had been reduced to debris scattered over 500 square yards. The two vehicles drove over the rubble, separated, and drove into the parking lots on either side of the road. They were followed by the other two MGS Strykers and the remainder of Alpha Company. The rest of the battalion followed close behind. They all headed for the Security Building and the main entrance into the Protected Area.

  Security Command Center

  Overwatch

  0404 hours EST

  Jonathan began pounding the table in glee as he watched multiple camera views light up with the sight of numerous explosions. The vehicle barrier had been blown apart. Armored vehicles were storming up Shearon Harris Road, past the cooling tower, and toward the Security Building.

  "Your happiness will be short lived, Sergeant Davies," Aiguo said, as he placed the muzzle of his 9mm pistol against the back of Jonathan's skull.

  "Looks like you found the Stingers," Jonathan said, as the image of an Apache helicopter being struck by a surface-to-air missile appeared on one screen.

  "Yes, you neglected to tell us about the heavy munitions in the armory. They were a nice addition to our inventory. As you can see, we're putting them to good use," Aiguo said.

  "Just get it over with, asshole," Jonathan said.

  "Ohh, Sergeant Davies, I know you were hoping for a happy ending to all this. Isn't that the way all American action movies end? The hero battles against terrible odds, kills the villain, and goes home to his adoring wife and children. Isn't that what you hoped for, Sergeant Davies?" Aiguo said.

  Jonathan felt each breath, each beat of his heart. His eyes were filled with the faces of his two daughters and his wife, as Aiguo shot him in the back of the head. His blood and brain matter scattered across multiple screens, as he slumped forward onto the desk.

  "Fitting end for a traitor," Aiguo said, while flicking a piece of skull off his sleeve, and holstering his pistol.

  He stared once more at the images of the ongoing battle, turned, and ran toward the stairwell.

  "They better have the bomb in position," he said, while running down the stairs.

  The Strykers

  0410 hours EST

  LTC Anthony Thompson stood in the open hatch of his Command Stryker. The heads-up display on his visor showed him the location of every vehicle as they streamed up Shearon Harris Road and onto the plant site.

  He switched to the vehicle comm channel, and said, "Sgt. Gomez, pull off to the right side and halt."

  They pulled off the paved road, even with the mid-section of the massive cooling tower on their right. Anthony glanced upward at the 50-story structure, just as the sky above erupted in nature's light show.

  He switched back to the command channel to monitor chatter, as Alpha Company continued down the road past him and toward the Security Building. Bravo Company had turned left, and was circling the Switchyard. They would emerge on the south side of the plant, and ensure that the three guard towers on that side were down. If not, they would complete that part of the mission, and then breach the fence line. Charlie Company was circling the cooling tower on the north side to ensure that the two guard towers on that side were no longer in service. The third breach of the Protected Area fence would occur there.

  Anthony glanced over his left shoulder at the burning wreckage of an Apache helicopter. He could see a man staggering away as onboard munitions began detonating.

  "Captain Rigsbee, bring up a Medical EVAC Stryker. There's an injured pilot on the left side of the access road, just past the barrier," LTC Thompson ordered.

  "Roger that, Sir! On the way," Captain Rigsbee replied.

  LTC Thompson turned back toward the battle just as a rocket was fired from the roof of the Security Building.

  "Shit! . . . Gomez, hard left . . . accelerate," Anthony yelled, and ducked down in the vehicle as the missile streaked toward them.

  The Stryker lurched, its wheels spinning in the sodden grass, and then spun to the left as the missile detonated on the road ju
st in front of the vehicle. The 20-ton Stryker was hurled into the air, and spun 180 degrees before crashing onto its side on the asphalt road.

  "Command down . . . command down! AT gunner on security building roof . . . engage, engage! Medivac Stryker needed left of the cooling tower," came the command over the comm net.

  Alpha Company CO, Captain Blake Jackson, was the ranking Captain in the battalion, and took over command when he saw the battalion commander's vehicle flip over. His Stryker had been 50 yards in front of the Command Stryker. The missile had streaked by his vehicle at the height of his head.

  Three MGS Strykers turned their 105mm guns and began obliterating the security building and the nearby guard tower. Another 20 vehicles began pouring 50 cal rounds into any building in front of them. The Admin Building on the left front of the plant was torn to pieces by high caliber rounds and explosive projectiles.

  Soldiers began stumbling out of the damaged Command Stryker. LTC Thompson was carrying SGT Gomez, who was unconscious and bleeding heavily from facial lacerations. Anthony stared at two male civilians and a female who were standing beside SGM Jones. The SGM and the woman were yelling at each other as another Stryker pulled up beside the wrecked vehicle.

  "Listen, lady, I don't give a damn. I've got injured men. The first thing I'm going to do is get them help. Then I'll see to your needs," SGM Jones said, as he knelt down and inspected the injuries of an unconscious soldier.

  "You don't understand. These men have got to get to the back of the Fuel Handling Building!" the woman yelled, as LTC Thompson walked up, and laid SGT Gomez beside the other wounded soldier.

  As he stood up, Anthony stared down at the young woman standing in front of him. Her hair was sodden and plastered to her head. She had a scrape on her forehead that was bleeding down the side of her face, but she looked familiar.