The Lazarus Moment

by J. Robert Kennedy

  “We know that, but does he?” asked Wings.

  “Good point. He probably doesn’t. We’ve bought BD another fifteen minutes, and if these guys move a little slower, maybe another fifteen, but that’s about it. Let’s get our asses to BD’s position and try to help evac those civilians across the river. Five more guns will make more of a difference there than here.”

  He glanced at Jimmy, still rotating his shoulder to loosen things up.

  We got damned lucky.

  South of Air Force One Crash Site, Mozambique

  Dawson watched as Niner fed the rope out, another civilian sliding across the river. The cable had held so far, not that that was a surprise, it designed to lift heavy cargo. The jury-rigged trolley was working fabulously and it was saving them so much time he was beginning to become optimistic that they might actually succeed.

  Which was usually when things fell apart.

  He glanced over at the President, the man sending the next passenger over to Niner. Starling had refused to go across, insisting that every civilian go across first. It was admirable but stupid. They were all risking their lives to save him, and if the rebels arrived first and he was killed or captured, it would have all been for nothing.

  Spock would have died for nothing.

  He pushed the thought of his fallen comrade out of his mind. Red’s team was out there somewhere, trying to slow things down, the Colonel relaying updates. He’d kill to be with them right now, thinning out the bastards, but it wasn’t an option no matter how close they probably were.

  He had to get these civilians across so he could get the damned President across.

  Another slid down the cable. If they weren’t in a race for their lives, it actually looked kind of fun.

  Maybe Maggie and I’ll go zip lining when I get back.

  He frowned. Maggie was in no condition for zip lining. In fact, she was in no condition for much. She was in such good spirits it was hard to remember sometimes that she was still recovering from her gunshot wound to the head, she always so happy to see him, the wives and girlfriends of the Unit helping her out in a near constant vigil. She had been discharged from the hospital some time ago, she needing plenty of bed rest in as stress free an environment as possible, but she was still weak.

  The doctor had actually said it was good that her boyfriend was in logistics since he probably wouldn’t be deployed.

  He and Maggie had exchanged a knowing glance on that one.

  He knew his job was causing her stress, and he hated that it did, but there was no choice. She didn’t blame him, and he hoped after all this time she was used to it, and if she were healthy, it wouldn’t be a concern.

  And now, at least for a brief time, she had thought he was dead.

  That poor woman!

  He watched another slide across, only one more civilian left before he was throwing the President across if he had to.

  Remind me to recommend that mechanic for a medal.

  President Starling walked up beside him, hands on his hips, staring across the river, everyone’s eyes adjusted to the point where they could see the other side. The SEALs were sending the civilians deeper into the jungle, away from the riverbank, in anticipation of what was to come.

  This entire effort was just another delaying tactic.

  It was ballsy, though so far it seemed like it was going to work.

  “Good work, Sergeant Major.”

  “It was a team effort, sir.”

  “You and your men might have just saved all our lives.”

  Dawson walked toward Niner as the last of the civilians crossed. “Your turn, Mr. President.”

  Starling nodded. It was obvious the man was troubled. His wife was in rough shape. Dawson was almost regretting sending McNeely up in the chopper first, though it was the right call at the time. McNeely was worse than the First Lady, but now, after hours more of suffering, that couldn’t be said.

  She was dying.

  The doctor had confirmed she wouldn’t see the morning if she didn’t get help. Dawson wasn’t sure if that information had been shared with the President, and he wasn’t sure if he himself would want to know if the roles were reversed. He thought back on how tortured he had felt when he thought Maggie was dead, then equally tortured when he thought she wasn’t going to survive.

  He never wanted to experience that again.

  And he never wanted to contemplate life without her.

  I wonder if I proposed would that be considered stressful.

  He grunted.

  “Something on your mind?” asked Starling as Niner helped him into the harness.

  “Domestic matters.”

  Starling nodded. “Sometimes the best kind, sometimes the worst.”

  Dawson’s head bobbed in agreement. “I’m beginning to realize that.”

  “Okay, Mr. President, off you go.” Niner gently pulled on the rope as Starling stepped off the edge, slowly sliding across. He held his breath as Niner continued to feed the rope, a little slower than with the others, this cargo particularly precious.

  Three flashes.

  “He’s across.”

  Smiles all around as the two Secret Service and eight Air Force personnel congratulated each other. Dawson turned to Jane. “Ladies first.”

  Jane smiled. “This is one time I’m happy to take advantage of being a woman!”

  Dawson laughed, Niner hauling in the harness and helping her into it. Within seconds she was sliding across and Dawson found himself breathing a sigh of relief. The woman had been a rock since they had evacuated the aircraft, seeing to young Nancy’s needs and keeping the civilians in line, making sure they were busy and focused.

  She definitely deserves a medal.

  Gunfire erupted behind them, the distinct sounds of AKs initially, then the familiar reply of MP5s and a Glock.

  He looked at Atlas and Niner. “That’s got to be Red. They’re close.”

  “Too damned close,” said Niner as the other side signaled Jane’s successful arrival.”

  “How far do you figure?” asked Atlas. “Half a mile?”

  “Hard to tell with all these damned trees, but half a mile at most. Red wasn’t supposed to engage, he was supposed to join us. Something must have gone wrong.”

  Niner helped one of the Secret Service agents into the harness. “No time for a slow ride, okay?”

  “Let ’er rip.”

  Niner pushed the man off and he slid rapidly to the other side, less than a minute later the harness on its return. The gunfire intensified, the sound of the enemy fire almost overwhelming, the friendly fire more sporadic.

  God, I hope they’re okay!

  The last surviving Secret Service agent began his trip, all that remained his team and seven of the Air Force crew that had manned the doomed flight. He watched as the agent reached the other shore.

  Ten minutes. That’s all we need. Ten minutes.

  North of Air Force One Crash Site, Mozambique

  Red fell back, firing a short burst at the enemy then taking cover behind the next tree. Shit had hit the fan when they found themselves between an advance party and the main rebel force, a group having scattered after their last delaying tactic.

  They had made quick work of the half dozen men, but it had drawn the others, 150 men now hell bent on getting past them, Red and the others now between the rebels and the survivors.

  What was working against them however was also working against the rebels.

  The trees.

  They were so thick that it was almost impossible to hit anything on purpose, and because they were so many, not many of the rebels could actually get a clean shot without risking hitting their own men.

  It was the only reason they were alive.

  If they were in the desert with 150 weapons firing at them, they’d be dead by now, but thanks to hundreds of thick tree trunks, he and the others were beating an orderly retreat to the southwest, slowly moving away from Dawson’s position and out of the forw
ard path of the main force.

  There was no way they were going to be stopping them.

  If only we had air support.

  Earlier when they were well away from the survivors, it had been a bullshit decision made by the brass too concerned with covering their asses. Now that it was too late, it wasn’t an option. They were just too close.

  His comm squawked as he dove behind another tree.

  “Bravo Zero-Two, Control Actual. The survivors are clear, I repeat, the survivors are clear, do you copy?”

  More gunfire tore apart the trees around them as the others returned fire, continuing the withdrawal. He activated his comm. “Bravo Team, cease fire and continue to fall back!”

  The gunfire immediately halted, Spock’s Glock squeezing off a couple of rounds before he realized what was going on, he without comm equipment. Red pushed himself to his feet and sprinted through the trees like he was deking around pylons, the gunfire behind them noticeably dying with the returning fire that had spurred them on ceased.

  He could hear boots pounding on the jungle floor on both sides of him so at least two had survived, the Colonel’s message repeated. He switched channels. “Zero-Two, acknowledged, stand by.” The gunfire behind them dwindled to nothing and he eased up, the others joining him, he breathing a sigh of relief as he counted off a full complement.

  “Let’s get to BD’s position ahead of these bastards. They’re going to need every gun available.”

  North of Air Force One Crash Site, Mozambique

  Domingos listened but heard nothing, the enemy fire having stopped. Whoever they were, they were good. If they were the same soldiers that had eliminated most of Nyusi’s men, then they were extremely good.

  “Did we get them?” asked one of his men.

  Domingos shook his head, not saying anything.

  I doubt it.

  “I saw two people running away,” said another.

  “Two? Only two? You mean two people did all this?” cried his nephew, Domingos immediately regretting bringing him along, the murmuring started, fear setting in. He had to act.

  “It wasn’t two men, he just saw two men. Smarten up, you’re soldiers, act like it. They’re obviously scared of us otherwise they’d stand and fight. We know we’re close, we saw their fire pit and that downed helicopter a few minutes ago. From all the footprints, we know there’s a lot of them, which means an even bigger payday for us all. Now man up and move!”

  His men reluctantly turned, the slow progress continuing as they hacked through the underbrush. He moved forward on autopilot, his mind processing what had just happened. If they were getting close to the President, wouldn’t these Americans be fighting to the death? Why would they be content to shoot just a few of his men then run away? He could understand why they did that with Nyusi and his men. They had time. Lots of it. But here? Now? He was pretty sure they were almost on top of the survivors. Why wouldn’t the Americans be hitting them with everything they had?

  Something had changed.

  What it was, he wasn’t sure, though he had a feeling he wasn’t going to like it.

  And with so many of his men dead, if he didn’t deliver their payday, he might not make it out alive.

  South of Air Force One Crash Site, Mozambique

  Red broke into a small clearing, the area showing a lot of recent human activity, shoeprints, trampled grass and plants, the underbrush hacked away. Abandoned supplies were scattered about, it clear the survivors had taken only what they could carry. Something long and thin glowed in the dark and he pointed.

  “That’s the cable.”

  Jagger stepped over and grabbed a rope made of vines, attached to the same tree as the cable. “Do you think we have time?”

  Red listened, the hacking of machetes approaching quickly. “Negative.” He activated his comm. “Control, Bravo Zero-Two. Patch me through to Zero-One, over.”

  It only took a few moments for the patch to be made.

  “Zero-Two, Zero-One, come in, over.”

  He smiled at the sound of Dawson’s voice and stepped over to the edge of the high embankment, peering through his night vision goggles at the other side. He spotted Dawson and the unmistakable forms of the shorter Niner and massive Atlas.

  He waved, the wave returned. “Everyone across?”

  “Affirmative. Use the rope to pull the trolley across and get your asses over her now.”

  “Negative, they’re almost on us. Want us to cut the line so they don’t know where you went?”

  “Negative. We want them to know.”

  Red smiled. “Ahh, I see what you’ve got planned. We’ll stay out of your way and open up a second front if needed.”

  “Roger that.” Dawson paused. “You heard about Spock?”

  Red grinned, Spock having insisted the Colonel not inform the others, he wanting to surprise them. “Yeah, bastard owes me money.” He motioned for Spock to step forward and their comrade walked up to the edge and waved. “I guess I’ll just have to collect it out of his ass when we get home.”

  “Jesus Christ, is that who I think it is?” The excitement in Dawson’s voice was clear and he could see the others pumping their fists in the air in quiet celebration.

  “Yup, found him wandering the forest, cryin’ for his mommy.”

  Spock motioned for Jagger to give him his earpiece and he quickly fit it into place. “Actually, I found these guys running through the jungle like a bunch of pansies and helped calm them down. And I’ll have you know, I’ll be paying out all debts owed next week. With interest.”

  Niner’s voice cut in. “Last time that interest was a sloppy kiss. You can keep your interest.”

  Red laughed, stepping back and listening to the approaching force, then cut short the reunion. “They’re almost here. We’re going to go upriver a couple of hundred yards and monitor. Good luck.”

  “Good luck, Zero-Two. Zero-One, out.”

  Red motioned for the others to haul ass. “Let’s get ahead of this group, see if we can get a good firing position on the river. This entire day ends in the next few minutes.”

  Domingos rushed forward, several of his men calling out in excitement. He entered a clearing at the river’s edge and smiled. Supplies were scattered about, several significant piles nearby, it clear this was where the survivors had been very recently. Yet something didn’t make sense. They had obviously left in a hurry; he could see no other reason why they’d abandon precious supplies including food and water and some medical supplies.

  Why would you leave this stuff?

  All of it could be carried, and even if they were in a hurry, he couldn’t understand leaving so much.

  “Sir, look!”

  He looked over and saw one of his men pulling on a rope tied to a tree, it extending down toward the river. He walked over and grabbed it.

  A steel cable!

  His head slowly turned as he followed the line across the river and down to the other side about three meters below. He cursed, shaking his head. Now he knew what had changed. Now he knew why they had abandoned their supplies.

  They had crossed the river.

  The attacks on his men had been to slow them down, to give the survivors a chance to escape to the safety of the other side. The supplies were abandoned because they couldn’t carry them over with them.

  Unbelievable!

  He had to admit his respect for his adversary had just gone up, the courage it must have taken to cross using just this cable, astounding.

  “Do you think they crossed?” asked the man who had discovered the cable.

  Domingos nodded. “Clearly.”

  “I’ll try it,” said the man. “Make sure it’s safe.”

  Domingos frowned as he tried to enter the mind of his adversary. If the roles were reversed, and he had crossed the river, he’d be hiding in the trees on the other side, waiting to shoot anyone who tried to come across that line. He shook his head. “No, they’ll pick you off.” He looked down the embankme
nt then stepped off, sliding expertly down to the river’s edge, this something he had been doing since he was a child. Listening to the water, he took a tentative step forward then nodded.

  He waved to his men above. “We’ll cross here like we always do. These Americans are soft and have no idea how to handle themselves in the jungle. They use rope because they are afraid to get wet. We are men! We’ll cross this river and capture them, just like we’ve planned from the start. The river will not stand in our way like it did theirs!”

  His men roared and dropped over the edge, half sliding, half tumbling, the first bunch wading into the river, eager to get to the other side and closer to their reward.

  “Let’s go! Let’s go!” he shouted, urging the company of men over the embankment and into the water, the first group already half way across, hands clasped together at the wrists to help each other across the slippery bottom.

  He stopped the last group of about twenty men before they descended. “Stay up there. I want you to lay steady fire on the other side so they don’t get a chance to shoot our men.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  Gunfire erupted from the men, the effect on the other side heard but not seen. He stepped forward, his eyes glued to the other embankment, wondering when the enemy might return fire.

  Maybe they fled into the jungle like the cowards they are.

  Either way it made no difference. He had 150 guns and there was no way they had anything close. The harassment campaign waged against his men was like any other he had waged against his own enemies. It was effective and annoying, but it was too little, too late. They were here and there was no more room for delaying tactics. The President would be his, and anyone who got in his way was forfeit.

  I will have my just rewards.

  Dawson watched the river from about thirty yards back, slightly upriver of the cable. The civilians had been moved several hundred yards back so they’d be out of the field of fire, Jane and the other Air Force personnel leading them south just in case this battle was lost.