The Lazarus Moment

by J. Robert Kennedy

  Spock stood there. “Do you gentlemen have an appointment?”

  “In Hell if we don’t hurry up,” replied Dawson, tossing the door aside and stepping into the small security room. One entire wall was some sort of reinforced cabinet, a keypad in the center. He quickly entered his code.

  Carter. San Francisco. Dice. Enter.

  The panel beeped then the doors slid apart at the center, revealing an impressive array of weapons and one metal case.

  The plane shifted again.

  Dawson pointed at a duffel bag hanging at the far end of the cabinet. “Spock, grab guns, ammo, whatever you think we might need if we run into rebels, then tie it to the rope. Niner, three sets of body armor for the first family. I’ve got the case.”

  Spock quickly began to fill the bag, Niner grabbing the body armor hanging on the far wall. Dawson headed out of the room with the case, returning to where the rope was tied off. Almost all the slack was out of it, one more shift and it was liable to break. He put the case down and quickly untied the rope.

  Suddenly the plane shifted again, hard, knocking him off his feet. He reached out as the case tumbled down the aisle toward the front, the floor beginning to tilt.

  “We’re going over! Let’s go!” he shouted, Niner regaining his feet as he stumbled forward. He grabbed the rope from Dawson and shoved it through the neck holes of the body armor. Spock blocked the tumbling satellite gear and grabbed it, pushing toward his comrades as the plane tilted further. He handed the duffel bag to Dawson who passed it to Niner. Niner quickly fed the rope through the straps and stepped into the doorframe.

  “We’ve gotta go!” he shouted.

  “Go!” shouted Dawson and Niner nodded, tossing the duffel bag and body armor out first before wrapping his wrist around the rope and jumping out after the equipment.

  The plane tilted even further. They were at an almost 45-degree angle now. Spock reached out and Dawson grabbed his hand, pulling him toward the opening he gripped with his other hand, the rope wrapped around his wrist biting into his flesh.

  “Grab the rope!”

  Spock pulled forward, Dawson yanking hard. Spock let go and quickly grabbed the rope, looping it around his wrist, giving Dawson a look of relief. “Christ, I thought I was—”

  The plane suddenly groaned painfully then tore open at the roof, the front two-thirds of the fuselage ripping apart. Their end of the plane slammed into the riverbed, levelling off but sending them both to the floor. Dawson scrambled to his feet and positioned himself at the door when he felt the entire structure begin to be pulled over the edge of the waterfall by the still attached front.

  He looked for Spock.

  Spock was crawling quickly toward the case, knocked loose by the collapse. He grabbed it then turned back toward Dawson, pushing to his feet, charging forward as the plane continued to slide. Dawson reached out, stretching into the cabin as far as he could, the rope growing taught in his other hand.

  “Give me your hand!”

  Spock surged forward, swinging the case toward Dawson’s outstretched hand. “No, take this!”

  Dawson grabbed it, Spock letting go as he grasped for the rope. He got a hand on it just as the entire plane tipped back up, knocking Dawson up and out of the plane, the case still gripped in one hand, the rope in the other. He hit the water, the wind knocked out of him for a moment, but held on, kicking his feet to get to the surface.

  The plane was gone.

  And so was Spock.

  Air Force One Crash Site, Mozambique

  Dawson stepped into what now was almost a clearing, a central area freed of brush and debris, a fire roaring nicely in the center, stones from the river ringing it, starting to radiate heat. The wounded were resting on beds of large leaves near the fire and a very small pile of food, mostly candy bars, sat nearby along with half a dozen bottles of water. A group of industrious volunteers was weaving baskets out of long thin leaves, presumably to gather water.

  But all activity stopped when the three of them arrived.

  President Starling glanced up then rose from tending to his wife.

  “Weren’t there four of you?”

  Dawson nodded, there no conversation since they had made it out of the water. “We lost a man. He went over the falls with the plane.”

  A few sobs, a lot of gasps, and the concerned hand of his President on his shoulder brought little comfort. “I’m truly sorry to hear that. When we have time, you can tell me about him.”

  Dawson looked at the man, it an interesting thing to say. Most politicians or non-combat veterans merely expressed condolences, but few expressed an interest in getting to know the departed. “Thank you, Mr. President.” He held up the case that Spock had paid so dearly for. “We retrieved the satellite gear plus some weapons, just in case.” Niner stepped forward with the body armor. “I want you and your family to put these on. We don’t want to take a chance that somebody takes a pot shot at you.”

  Dawson could see in Starling’s face that he didn’t want to, but the man probably sensed that to refuse would be an insult to the memory of Spock. “Thank you, son.” He took the vests then nodded toward the case. “How long before you can get that to work.”

  Dawson handed the case to Niner who immediately got busy. “If it’s functional, minutes.”

  “Excellent.” Starling shook each of their hands. “Excellent work, all of you.”

  “Thank you, Mr. President.” Starling returned to his family, helping his daughter put the vest on, the doctor waving off the one for the First Lady, she apparently in too fragile a state to risk moving her. Dawson turned to the crowd. “Can I get all Secret Service and Air Force personnel to come over here for a moment, please?”

  The too few, scattered among the group of survivors, joined him at the edge of the clearing. “We’ve got weapons and ammo, just in case,” said Dawson, his voice slightly lowered. “This area has a known rebel problem, so it’s best to be prepared.” Atlas began handing out the handguns and magazines, the experienced personal quickly checking their weapons. “I want a perimeter set up, fifty yards out. I don’t want anything sneaking up on us.” He motioned toward Atlas. “Mr. Silver will coordinate it. We should have comms—”

  “BD, I’ve got them!”

  Everyone turned toward Niner, sitting cross-legged against a tree with the case in his lap, earphones with a mike on his head. Dawson rushed over, dropping down beside Niner as he handed him the headpiece. “Who’d you get?”

  “I figured I’d go for the Colonel.”

  Dawson smiled. “Good thinking.” The Colonel would have all the necessary contacts and wouldn’t let politics or ass covering get in the way of the truth, and the truth was what they needed right now.”

  “This is Bravo Zero-One, come in, over.”

  “Zero-One, Control Actual, good to hear your voice!”

  “Yours too, sir.”

  “What’s your status?”

  “Fifty one survived the crash including the President and his family. We lost Spock trying to retrieve this comm gear. We’re secure at the moment. We’ve got several severely wounded including the First Lady. There may be survivors farther down the river, below the falls, but we have no way of knowing, it’s quite the drop.”

  “How did you survive? Your fighter escort reported a fireball.”

  “Colonel Lacroix landed us on a river. The fireball was probably from when the wings ripped off, so that would have been behind us.” Dawson paused. “We got damned lucky, sir.”

  “You did. Rescue teams are inbound but there’s no place for them to land near your last known position. We’re triangulating your signal now—wait—okay, we’ve got your position, it’s exactly where we thought. The nearest LZ is five miles south of you. They’ll be landing there then hoofing it in to evac you. How’s the cover?”

  Dawson looked up. “You can barely see daylight. It’s thick.”

  “That’s what I’m being told on this end as well. It’s just not saf
e for the SAR team to drop in. It’s going to be quite a few hours before they can reach you, but that’s not your biggest problem.”

  Dawson felt his stomach flutter. “What is our biggest problem?”

  “Within minutes of your crash a large rebel force started moving south toward your position, about seventy men, lightly armed. Satellite shows they’re about four miles from your position. They’ll reach you before sundown. They also sent a boat upriver toward your position. They know you’re there and if they have any type of access to the news, they know who you are.”

  “I guess we’re world news.”

  “And then some. Until this moment, you were all presumed dead. Hell, they even swore in a new president.”

  Dawson looked over at Starling. “Sir, if I’m hearing you correctly, our rescue team won’t reach us before the rebels.”

  “It’s a footrace, Zero-One.”

  “Then we’re going to have to try and improve the odds. We’ll start hiking south at best speed immediately. It’ll be slow though, we’ve got wounded that aren’t mobile and the underbrush is thick.”

  “Understood. Do the best you can. I’ve been asked to inquire about the status of the football.”

  “We believe it’s at the bottom of the falls, sir. It is not secure, I repeat, it is not secure.”

  “Understood. The codes have already been deactivated, so let the President know if he wants to nuke anyone he’s shit out of luck.”

  Dawson chuckled. “I’ll be sure to tell him.”

  “Okay Zero-One, get your people moving and keep these comms open. I’ll try to get the Pentagon to agree to having everything coordinated through us. Shouldn’t be a problem, no one wants to be left holding the bag if this goes bad.”

  “Good to hear, sir. I’d rather be dealing with people I can trust.” He paused a moment, lowering his voice slightly. “Did you notify the families yet?”

  “Unfortunately the news showed some video with some of your team so the spouses thought you were all dead. I let Maggie know who was actually on board”—Dawson’s stomach flipped at the thought of what she must be going through, thinking he was dead—“but I’ll make sure they know the full truth ASAP. I shouldn’t have told her anything, I guess I’m getting soft in my old age. I should have known plane crashes don’t kill men like you.”

  “Spock—”

  “Is dead when I say he’s dead.”

  Dawson nodded. “Understood.”

  “Okay, get your people moving and call back in thirty mikes with a status update. I’m going to try to arrange a surprise for the rebel scum. Control Actual, out.”

  Dawson smiled, wondering if Clancy knew he had just used a term from Return of the Jedi. He handed the headset to Niner then rose, walking over to the President. He was about to brief him when Starling held up his hand. “Unless it’s classified, let everyone hear.”

  “Yes, Mr. President.” Everyone gathered closer and Dawson raised his voice. “We’ve established communications with home.” There was relief and clapping from the tired survivors, hugs exchanged, though he feared the jubilation would be short lived. “A rescue team is already on its way, but the nearest LZ—landing zone—is almost five miles south of here, and the tree cover is too thick to get anyone through safely.” He paused. “That’s the good news.” Groans. “The bad news is there is a rebel encampment four miles north of here, and a group of nearly seventy is heading to the crash site. That means we can’t be here when they arrive. We need to break camp and start moving south at best speed.”

  “But what about the wounded?” asked the doctor. “Some of them can’t be moved safely.”

  Dawson pressed his lips together, breathing deeply as he looked at the First Lady then at McNeely. “Unfortunately we have no choice. We’ll have to carry them.” He pointed at the people that had been weaving baskets. “Can you fashion some stretchers?” He pointed to a stand of bamboo, noticing some of them were stripped, the bark apparently the long leaves he had seen used earlier.

  One of them nodded. “Absolutely.”

  “Great, then get to work. Atlas, Niner, help them cut down some of those. The rest of you, grab all of our supplies and be ready to head out as soon as the stretchers are finished.” He could see by the worried expressions on the faces of the civilians, even the Air Force One staff—combat not their primary role—that they needed reassurance. “Now, there’s nothing to worry about, this is just a precaution. We’ll move south as best we can, and now that the rescue team knows we’re alive, they’re going to redouble their efforts to get here quickly. As well, the Pentagon is arranging a surprise for the rebels which I’m sure will have them turning tail before you know it. Once we get word they’ve turned back, we’ll sit tight and wait for the rescue team. But for now just focus on your assignments, help those who need help, and we’ll all come out of this on the other end. Personally, I’m looking forward to steaks and ice cold beer without a damned tree in sight. So let’s get to work so I can get my steak!”

  There were some laughs and he heard several other meal suggestions being swapped as the group broke up.

  “You should go into politics.”

  Dawson smiled at President Starling. “I’m afraid I’d shoot too many of my colleagues for idiocy, sir.”

  Starling laughed, tossing his head back. “Sergeant Major, if you ever enter politics, I pray to God you’re on my side.”

  Over Mozambique

  Red jumped up in excitement, slapping Jagger’s back. “They’re alive!”

  Jubilation erupted in the hold of the C-17, Red holding up a hand to quiet the noise. “Can you repeat that, Colonel? I didn’t get the last part.”

  “We lost Spock.”

  Red dropped back into his seat, cursing. He turned to the rest of his team, covering the mike. “Spock’s dead.”

  Jagger hugged Wings, the two pressing their foreheads together in remembrance, Jimmy wrapping his arms over their shoulders and joining them. Red felt as if a little bit of his soul had been torn from him. Spock was one of his best friends, they were all best friends, the Unit tight. But Spock had been with him from almost the beginning of his assignment. The bond formed under combat, relying so heavily on your teammates, was deep, something most civilians never experienced.

  They had lost a brother.

  “What about the President?”

  “The First Family is safe, but the First Lady is badly injured. It looks like they lost about forty in the crash.”

  “Jesus. How can we help?”

  “Is that offer to jump still on the table?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “There’s a rebel force about seventy strong heading for the crash site from the north. They’re about four hours out. The SAR team is about five or six out, coming in from the south. We can’t let those rebels reach the survivors first.”

  “So you need a little delaying action.”

  “I can’t ask you to do this, it’s seventy against four.”

  Red smiled at the Colonel’s concern. “It hardly seems fair, but I promise we’ll take it easy on them.”

  He could almost hear the Colonel smile.

  “Good hunting, Sergeant.”

  Maggie Harris Residence

  Lake in the Pines Apartments, Fayetteville, North Carolina

  Maggie sat curled up on her couch, sobbing, Shirley holding her as everyone sat in shock. Niner was single and Atlas had a girlfriend who hadn’t been read in yet, so was oblivious to the fact she had lost the man in her life. Spock’s wife Joanne was being consoled by Wings’ wife Robyn, everyone in the room whose husbands hadn’t just been killed feeling a mix of relief and guilt.

  Maggie was fortunate. She felt horrible for the other girlfriends who were blissfully unaware of what had just happened. She especially felt bad for Atlas’ girlfriend Vanessa. They had been dating for some time now and it was clearly serious. Atlas loved that girl to death and she clearly felt the same, BD mentioning only recently that he thought
there might be wedding bells in the near future, the big man head over heels.

  Maggie was the exception. Because of her job, she knew what her boyfriend did for a living, just like the wives. She desperately wanted to reach out to Vanessa though knew she couldn’t. None of them were supposed to know what they knew, the Colonel breaking the rules only because it was her.

  There was a knock at the door, Jagger’s wife Angela opening it.

  Maggie cried out as she saw the Colonel standing there with the Chaplain. They stepped inside as sobs filled the room, the fact he was there making their privileged information real.

  He nodded at her, yet to her surprise turned to Spock’s wife Joanne. “Mrs. Lightman. I want you to know that I have not given up hope, and the only reason I am here at this time is because I made the foolish mistake of jumping to conclusions earlier, and sending that message. We received a message a short while ago. BD, Niner and Atlas are okay”—Maggie yelped in relief, clasping her hands over her mouth in shame as she realized there was a name missing from that list. “Unfortunately, at this time we believe your husband was killed. We haven’t confirmed this yet, and I don’t want you to give up hope, but I felt you deserved to know what was going on.” He looked at Maggie. “All of you.”

  Maggie smiled her thanks, tears of relief pouring down her cheeks, mixed with the sorrow she felt for Joanne, the woman collapsing onto a chair, the Chaplain immediately at her side.

  Clancy looked at the gathered wives. “This is a rapidly evolving situation. There will be no more communications from me on this matter, I shouldn’t have done what I did already. Just know that everything that can be done is being done. Now I have to get back to the Unit.” He turned back to Joanne. “Ma’am, you have my deepest sympathies, and I will see you again as soon as I can.”

  Clancy left, the Chaplain and Angela helping Joanne to her feet as everyone expressed their condolences as the stunned woman left the apartment. When the door closed, everyone looked at each other, it clear they felt just as Maggie did.