Eyes of the World (Gray Spear Society Book 10)

by Alex Siegel

  Two full helicopters squadrons were leading the charge, and they were carrying teams of Special Forces operatives. The plan was to land them on the roof of the hotel. The teams would attack from the top while the rest of the Army attacked from ground level. The helicopters were also armed with the usual guns and small missiles. After they unloaded the operatives, they would support the assault from the air.

  The aerial surveillance drone was still functioning perfectly. It was sending live video of the helicopters sailing through the sky above western Chicago. The Army was using UH-60 Black Hawks for this operation. The medium-size aircraft were painted green-brown.

  Walker smiled. The war was finally off to a proper start.

  Suddenly, one of the helicopters started wobbling in the air. Sparks and smoke shot from the turbine engines. It began to fall out of the sky, and he could tell it would have a very rough landing.

  A malfunction? Walker thought.

  A second helicopter lurched abruptly. It spun several times, and then nosedived. The rotors were slowing down.

  "What's going on?" he yelled.

  A third helicopter veered off in the wrong direction. It pulled up hard, stalled, and fell backwards. He caught a glimpse of fire inside the cockpit.

  "Some kind of long-range radiation weapon, sir," the air and space officer yelled. "It's frying the electronics."

  Walker grabbed his own hair in frustration. "Where the hell did the enemy get a weapon like that? Turn the choppers around! Get them out of there!"

  Helicopters were falling out of the sky left and right. He expected most of the people onboard would not survive the crash landing. He gritted his teeth.

  The surviving helicopters went back the way they had come. Only five managed to escape.

  Walker took a deep breath to calm himself. High blood pressure would not help him win this battle.

  "That wasn't the ideal outcome," Erika said.

  He looked at her. "Thank you for pointing out the obvious."

  "Don't get snippy with me. I'm still your boss. What's the next stage of your grand plan?"

  "Tanks and armored fighting vehicles. They'll clear the way for the ground troops."

  Walker turned back to the big screens.

  * * *

  Aaron gave Perry a high-five. The last of the helicopters was fleeing for its life.

  Aaron had watched the engagement on Perry's computer screens. Long-range cameras mounted on the roof of the hotel had captured the action beautifully. Aaron felt terrible for the men and women who had died, but he forced himself to remain upbeat. There would be a lot more killing before the day was out. He couldn't let it affect his judgment.

  He returned his attention to the map of Chicago. Moving icons represented military units.

  He pointed at one particular cluster. "What are those?"

  Perry typed on his keyboard, and that part of the map expanded. "M1 tanks, M2 Bradleys, Strykers, and M113's. About fifty vehicles total."

  Aaron studied the map. He mentally plotted the routes the enemy would take. There were choke points along the way that he could use to good advantage.

  "Jack!"

  "Commander?" Jack replied through overhead speakers.

  "Use the armor-piercing mortar rounds, but not quite yet. I want to create blockades at key intersections with wrecked vehicles. Hit them at Lawrence and North East River Road. Also, at 190 where it crosses Des Plaines River Trail..."

  "I understand the objective, sir. I already computed the ideal target locations."

  Aaron furrowed his brow. "OK. Go easy on the ammunition. We have a limited supply. Make your shots count. And don't forget the anti-tank mines. You don't have to kill them all with mortars."

  "Sir, I was built for the specific purpose of protecting this headquarters. I'm very familiar with all the defensive systems."

  "Apparently, being condescending is also part of your programming."

  "My apologies, sir," Jack said.

  "Forget it. Just do your job."

  * * *

  General Walker was watching a column of armored vehicles roll down Interstate 190. Three Abrams tanks were leading the procession. This column was one of four approaching the Rosemont Tower Hotel from different directions. He had split his forces to stretch out the enemy's defenses.

  He had never served in an armored unit, but he loved tanks anyway. The big guns and the wide treads looked very masculine. The Browning .50 caliber machine gun on top was a nice touch. There was no civilian application for a tank. It was unabashedly a machine of war.

  The highway was empty of traffic. The Army had blocked off an area covering three kilometers in all directions around the hotel. No civilians would get in the way of this fight.

  Some kind of bomb struck the top of the tank leading the convoy. The tank veered into a guard rail and stopped. Smoke was coming out of a hole in the armor.

  "That was an armor-piercing round!" Walker yelled. "Where did it come from? Show me the hotel."

  The image on the big projection screen panned across the western suburbs of Chicago until it stopped on the hotel. Ten tubes were sticking out of the snow-covered roof. They hadn't been there before. Two tubes belched flame and smoke as he watched.

  "Automatic mortars. Damn! Tell all our units to take evasive action and to move fast. Once they reach the hotel, they'll be too close for the mortars to target them."

  Walker also saw a big white ball on a cylindrical pedestal. It had seemed innocuous before, but now he suspected it was the source of the mysterious "radiation weapon." He wondered what other nasty surprises the Society had waiting for him.

  "We have an issue, sir!" an officer yelled. "Intersection of West Higgins and North River."

  "Show me on the screen," Walker replied.

  The surveillance shifted to an intersection between two streets which were at an acute angle to each other. Wreckage blocked the intersection completely. He recognized the smoking remains of some Bradley Fighting Vehicles and M113 APC's. The mortars had created the blockade with surgical precision. A line of other armored vehicles went back up the road. They were trying to turn around in tight spaces so they could find another route. A mortar shell killed a M113 while he watched.

  Walker had a feeling of helplessness as he watched the fiasco unfold. Prayer seemed an entirely inappropriate response.

  After fifteen minutes, the bombardment slowed to just an occasional mortar round. He hoped the enemy was running out of ammunition. Fourteen vehicles had survived the onslaught and were proceeding towards the hotel at the best pace they could manage. Wreckage had forced some to take roundabout routes.

  The feed from the aerial recon drone focused on two tanks closest to the target. They were rumbling along the road leading to the entrance of the hotel parking lot. The way ahead was clear.

  A bomb detonated beneath one tank, and fire and smoke shot out from all sides. It stopped dead in its tracks. More smoke came out of the barrel.

  A second later, the other tank suffered a similar fate.

  "Anti-tank mines!" Walker said. "Tell our vehicles to avoid the roads."

  He rubbed his hands together nervously.

  The occasional mortar round or well-placed mine continued to kill vehicles as they struggled to approach the hotel. Finally, two Strykers reached the parking lot. The armored fighting vehicles had eight rubber wheels instead of treads. All the surfaces were sloped to deflect incoming projectiles. The front windshield was just a slit.

  An enormous blast lifted a huge chunk of the parking lot. When the dust settled, Walker saw a deep trench blocking the way. The Strykers had been flipped onto their sides.

  He sighed with frustration.

  In the end, only four vehicles managed to reach the parking lot intact: two M113's and two Bradley's. It was a pitiful force, insufficient to do any good on its own.

  "Tell our troops to stay put until the infantry arrives," Walker said. "There's no point in exposing them to enemy fire yet. That time
will come soon enough."

  Chapter Twenty

  "We've run out of armor-piercing ammunition," Jack announced.

  Aaron looked up at the speakers in the ceiling. "But you still have other types, right?"

  "Two hundred and eighty high-explosive and incendiary rounds."

  "That should do some damage." Aaron nodded.

  A knock on his office door startled him. He opened the door and found Rosenblum standing there. The general manager of the hotel was wearing a black suit and a golden tie. A golden handkerchief was neatly folded in his pocket.

  "We've been hearing noises, sir. Some sounded like explosions. The staff is concerned."

  "Come in," Aaron said.

  After Rosenblum entered, Aaron closed the door.

  "The war has officially started," Aaron said. "Perry, show him."

  Perry typed on his keyboard. Images popped up on his computer showing scenes of destruction. There were crashed helicopters and wrecked tanks. The remains of some armored vehicles were tangled together. Dead bodies were visible in several pictures.

  "My God," Rosenblum whispered. "Are we safe up here?"

  "Safe is a relative term. I don't think we're in imminent danger. Don't worry. I have an escape plan if the situation gets too rough. Just tell the staff to be calm. I know what I'm doing."

  "Is that true, sir?"

  "I hope so," Aaron said. "Now leave. We're working."

  Rosenblum bowed slightly and left the office.

  Aaron looked at Perry. "Who will attack us next?"

  "The infantry."

  "How many?"

  "About twenty thousand," Perry said.

  Aaron frowned. "That's a lot."

  "Yes, sir. Maybe we should use that escape plan now?"

  "It's way too early to panic. Plenty of time for that later." Aaron squeezed Perry's shoulder. "How about if we make a little wager? I bet by the time the soldiers actually breach this headquarters, less than a thousand will still be alive, and we'll be long gone."

  "You think you can kill ninety-five percent of them, sir?"

  "At least."

  Perry smiled a little. "I'll take the other side of that bet. What are the stakes?"

  "Bragging rights. You can claim you beat the Lord of the Society."

  "Sounds like a deal."

  "Jack!" Aaron looked up at the ceiling. "Use the mortars to kill as many as you can. Don't save any ammunition."

  "Yes, sir," Jack said.

  * * *

  General Walker frowned at the image on the screen. The aerial recon drone had found the bodies of the second wave of soldiers from last night. Two thousand corpses were scattered across the parking lot north of the hotel. The high-resolution camera on the drone showed burn marks on their bodies. It appeared lightning from the thunderstorm had struck all of them at once.

  The image was a bitter reminder that this wasn't an ordinary battle. The usual constraints didn't apply.

  "What's our status?" he called out.

  The officer responsible for coordinating the infantry responded, "All units are on schedule, sir."

  Walker nodded. About two thousand Humvees and trucks of all sorts were rolling towards the Rosemont Tower Hotel. They were split into dozens of separate convoys on separate routes. The intention was to have all of them arrive at once. Coordinating the massive attack had taken a monumental effort by Walker and his senior officers.

  The big projection screen switched to live coverage of one of the convoys. It was led by several M939 trucks which could carry cargo or soldiers. In this case, the trucks were loaded with the latter. Green canvas covered the rear area and provided some protection from the cold for the occupants.

  A mortar exploded. The blast lifted up the truck at the head of the convoy and flipped it onto its side. Shrapnel shredded the canvas covering and probably killed most of the people inside. The engine was set on fire.

  "Stop the convoys!" Walker yelled. "Tell our men to dismount and approach on foot. Spread them out as much as possible. Don't let them become easy targets for those mortars."

  Another mortar demolished the second truck in the convoy.

  "Hurry!" Walker said.

  "General," Erika said.

  "What?" Walker turned to her.

  She had changed into Army fatigues, and they didn't look good on her rounded body. He wondered what she was trying to accomplish by dressing up like a soldier. Maybe it made her feel more secure and in control.

  "It will take a long time for our troops to reach the hotel on foot," she said. "This will delay the operation considerably."

  "I know," he said, "but at least they'll get there alive. Most of the approaches are blocked by wreckage or mines anyway. The delay shouldn't be more than an hour."

  She frowned but remained quiet.

  * * *

  The distant sound of a helicopter made Roy Haley look up. He allowed himself to smile a little. Maybe rescue had finally arrived.

  Slade was sitting at the table, reading comic books. He raised his head. He went to the door of the mountain cabin, opened it, and looked outside.

  Cold air rushed in. Haley was already very hungry and chilled, and the winter blast didn't help. He rubbed his arms and shivered.

  "See anything?"

  "A helicopter," Slade said as he continued to gaze out the door. "A Sea Stallion. Marine Corps colors."

  With his tall body, broad chest, and blond hair, he was the picture of a Nordic warrior. He was still wearing a white and tan hunting outfit. He hadn't changed since yesterday.

  "Is it coming this way?" Haley said.

  "No. It's just passing by. Quantico isn't too far away. It probably came from there."

  The sound of rotors faded into the distance. Haley sagged with disappointment. Slade closed the door.

  "Your girlfriend still isn't here," he said with a smirk.

  "I have faith in her."

  "Then you don't know women very well."

  Slade sat at the table and picked up his comic book.

  "How long are you going to hold me?" Haley said.

  "Until they tell me otherwise. Be happy I haven't killed you. I want to." Slade stroked the handle of a gun in his holster.

  Haley looked down at a bowl of dog food in front of him. No, he thought. I'm not that hungry yet.

  * * *

  "Ma'am! Come over here!"

  Ethel jumped up and ran over. One of the operators of the FAIDS camera system was pointing at his computer display. It showed a confusing mix of red, yellow, green, blue, and black blobs. She recognized the outline of a mountain, but the rest was just a mish-mash.

  "What?" she said.

  "I'm picking up dozens of clear heat signatures on the mountain we just passed," the operator said. "There are people all over it."

  Ethel ran to the window and looked out. The mountain was tall, steep, and covered with trees like so many others in this area. She spotted a tiny, log cabin near the top, but she didn't see any people.

  The pilot leaned out of the cockpit and said, "Should I turn around?"

  "No!" Ethel said. "Keep going straight. We don't want to spook them. We'll investigate on foot. Go another few miles and find a place to put this beast down."

  She smiled with genuine happiness for the first time since this adventure had begun. Her intuition told her she was getting close to rescuing her lover. A sharp tingling in her gut was God's way of agreeing with her.

  The helicopter continued forward for a while. The rugged land offered little in the way of good landing spots. Finally, they descended to a winding road that cut through the trees, and the Sea Stallion touched down with a thump. The rear ramp lowered.

  Everybody got out. The air outside was cold, but it didn't bother Ethel. She was too excited.

  Boreas was carrying two gray duffle bags. He set them down and unzipped them.

  Ethel was the first to dig through the contents. She pulled out her silver-plated machetes with their sheaths, and she strap
ped them to her back. She grabbed a set of night vision goggles next. The sun was still up, but night could fall before this mission was over.

  Atalanta and Tawni retrieved their swords from the other duffle bag.

  Lieutenant Towle, the leader of the helicopter crew, said, "What's going on? That's not standard gear."

  Ethel found some fragmentation grenades and flash-bangs. She clipped them to her utility belt.

  "That's right," she said.

  "Are you Special Forces?"

  "We're certainly very special."

  Towle frowned. "The four of you can't assault that mountain by yourselves. We should call the Secret Service."

  "No," Ethel said. "This is my operation, and we're doing it my way. The four of us should be more than sufficient. We're highly trained."

  The doubt on his face needed no words. She didn't blame him. Her team included three women, one of whom was old enough to be a grandmother. The only man in her party looked at least ten years past his prime. They hardly fit the profile of a fearsome commando unit.

  Ethel got the coordinates of the mountain from the FAIDS operator. She programmed the latitude and longitude into the navigation app in her phone. Towle gave her a portable radio in case she wanted to call for help.

  "Ready?" Ethel asked her team.

  "Yes, ma'am," they replied.

  "Then let's go. We have a long march ahead of us."

  They started walking.

  "What should I do?" Towle said.

  "Stick around," Ethel said. "After we save the President, we may need a ride back to the White House."

  His eyes widened.

  The Spears marched off.

  * * *

  General Walker's jaw was hurting. He realized he was grinding his teeth, and he forced himself to relax.

  For the last hour, he had watched his troops gradually make their way towards the hotel. The occasional mortar round was making life very interesting for them. Whoever was aiming those tubes was impossibly accurate. Normally, mortars were considered a clumsy weapon, but in this case, they were being fired with sniper-like precision.

  The circle of death extended three kilometers out from the hotel in all directions. That area was now littered with corpses and craters. According to the latest estimate, four thousand soldiers had died during the painstakingly slow approach. The number was large, but it was only a fifth of his forces. He wasn't too concerned.