“Copy, Team Whiskey. Encryption key is Lima Seven X-ray Two Two, over.”
“HQ, key recorded is Lima Seven X-ray Two Two, over.”
“That is correct, Team Whisky.”
“Copy. Will hail on channel after key initiation, over.” Using the notebook, Phillip located the L7X22 entry and cross-referenced that to the key sequence to be used. After checking it twice, he wrote it down in the notepad, then used the notepad as reference as he began entering the sequence into the radio’s secure channel system.
Feeling a sense of unease, Serrano looked at the road ahead as Staff Sergeant Singletary worked. The road followed a long, steady curve before descending down, towards a long bridge that crossed over a wide river.
“I don’t like this,” he said aloud.
“What’s that?” Phillip asked, as he punched in the keys.
“Nothing, stay focused.”
The other man nodded.
Raising his voice, Serrano called out to Dennard, who sat up in the gun mount. “Stay alert, up there!”
“Copy that, Chili!” the man replied, his voice somewhat muffled by the wind.
For no reason other than a feeling in his gut, Serrano reached up and grabbed the level for the Humvees lights and flashed the high beams three times in an attempt to hail the Stryker.
The Stryker’s brake lights flashed twice, indicating the driver had noticed the signal.
As their small convoy began to descend towards the bridge, Serrano reduced the Humvee’s speed slightly. With Phillip currently using the radio, they had no way to hail the other vehicles.
Entering the final digit, Phillip waited until he saw the small padlock symbol on the radio’s LCD screen. The radio was now sharing a secure channel with the only other radio that had entered the same key, which was, in this case, Headquarters back at the San Francisco Protective Zone.
Phillip spoke into the mic once more. “HQ, this is Team Whiskey, over.”
“Team Whiskey, this is Major Kincaid. Be advised, parties are looking to take Isabella and Doctor Reed. They are looking to do so immediately. Recommend you close ranks and take all precautions available to ensure her safety.”
Hearing the warning, Serrano pulled the Humvee to the left, so that he was able to see the two vehicles spaced out in front of them. The lead Humvee was beginning to drive out onto the bridge as he heard Phillip speak again.
“Immediately?”
A black dot in the sky captured Serrano’s attention. It was directly in front of the Humvee Nicholson and the others were in, and appeared to be growing larger.
“Yes,” Kincaid responded. “We intercepted a transmission via mobile phone that we were able to decrypt.”
Glancing at Phillip, Serrano looked at the mic and jerked his chin up. The Marine keyed the mic and held it in the direction of the SEAL.
“Major, this is Serrano. Were the messages a series of two digit alphanumeric combinations?”
The black dot in the sky was bigger now, and clearly moving towards them.
“That’s correct, Chili,” Kincaid replied.
“Break off!” Serrano yelled, pulling the wheel further to the left and pressing down on the accelerator. He continued flashing his lights as he drove, adding in an occasional honking of the horn
“Major, Team Whiskey out!” Phillip yelled into the microphone.
Closing in on the Stryker, Serrano barked out commands. “Switch over to normal comms! Tell Nicholson to break off!” Turning his head, he shouted at Long, who was sitting in the back row. “Strap in!”
The young Vietnamese boy frowned. “Why?”
Serrano’s voice roared inside the Humvee, making it clear he had zero interest in explanations or debates. “Shut the fuck up and do what I said!!”
The boy did so immediately, his eyes wide with fear.
The short distraction of the boy’s question kept Serrano from seeing the initial origin of a white flash that emanated from near the black dot, which was considerably bigger at this point.
“What the fuck?!” Phillip shouted incredulously.
“Oh, shit…” Serrano added, watching in awe as black shape revealed itself to be a helicopter. ‘Is that a fucking Apache?’ he wondered, as a streaking object headed towards the lead Humvee, which was nearly a third of the way out onto the bridge at this point.
Time stood still as the streaking shape closed the distance, descending towards the lead Humvee at just under a thousand miles per hour. Having no information other than the sight of it, Serrano knew it was a Hellfire missile, equipped with a 20-pound warhead designed to destroy tanks.
The Humvee would have no chance.
Thirty seconds before…
“What the hell is he doing?” Staff Sergeant Nicholson asked, as he alternated between looking into his rear view and side mirror.
“Looks like he’s trying to get our attention,” Specialist Simmons replied, turning in her seat to look behind them.
“Staff Sergeant!” Rodriguez yelled.
“Oh, shit!!”
Nicholson saw the hyperfast approaching object and just reacted. He yanked the wheel hard to the left, trying to avoid the missile.
To say the move did nothing would be inaccurate, though it did nothing to save Rodriguez. The last-second maneuver allowed them to dodge the missile, but not by much, and the effect was still devastating.
The Hellfire missile struck the surface of the road mere inches from the vehicle’s passenger side, sending shrapnel outward in a massive spray of hot, jagged metal. Those pieces tore through Rodriguez’s body, shredding muscle and flesh, tearing through veins and arteries, though it wouldn’t be the blood loss that ultimately killed him. Turning instinctively to watch in awe as the missile struck the pavement, he was unable to turn his head quick enough to avoid the jagged piece of metal that struck him, slicing through his sunglasses, cutting through his right eye, and burying itself in his brain. Killed instantly, his body slumped, falling forward to land atop the .50 cal mount. His finger flinched as his brain sent random electric pulses down to his limbs, and the big gun fired, sending a handful of bullets into the wall and railing on the left side of the road before the man’s life completely left him.
The impact of the blast lifted the five thousand-pound armored vehicle completely off the ground, with the right side rising a full four feet off the ground, tilting the vehicle violently, threatening to tip it on its side. Nearly any other vehicle wouldn’t have recovered, but the Humvee’s wide base allowed it to, and a second later it crashed back down, its driver side landing a half-second before the passenger side. Both Nicholson and Simmons were slammed forward on impact, before being violently thrown backward, whipping their heads into the seats’ headrests, jarring their spines and stunning them.
Meanwhile, Zhang, who was seated directly behind Nicholson, was thrown forward as Rodriguez’s lifeless body fell back into the vehicle. His left boot collided with the side of her head, knocking her out cold. Unconscious, she slipped downward, the dual-buckle v-shaped seat belt failing to keep her secured as the seat itself buckled under the force of the blast warped the underside of the vehicle. She slid to the floor, only to be trapped under the weight of Rodriguez’s body as the man fell atop her.
The Humvee’s back end landed violently, buckling the vehicle's frame and snapping the rear axle. Both rear seats were thrown upward, the force snapping the metal brackets that held them in place. They essentially folded forward, trapping Zhang underneath the seat and Rodriguez’s corpse.
A mere two hundred feet above and approaching at just over a hundred miles an hour (much less than its top speed of 162 miles an hour), the Apache helicopter’s 30 mm Chain Gun spun up and began sending a deadly barrage of armor-piercing rounds towards the vehicle. The shells (a rather simplified description of the high-explosive, dual-purpose rounds) chewed up the pavement, sending debris into the air as the steady stream of bullets ripped its way towards and into the Humvee.
The
stream found the vehicle just as it crashed into the left wall coming to a hard, sudden stop. The bullets dug into it, and both metal and glass of the vehicle fared equally under the withering fire. Each gave way instantly, unable to protect those inside the vehicle.
Nicholson and Simmons were unable to do anything more than absorb the impacts of the bullets as their bodies were torn apart. Their body armor helped slow the bullets, but only some. The sheer volume was more than the armor could withstand, and they died painful, but mercifully quick, deaths. Behind them, the rounds ripped through the roof, then the folded seats, before hammering Rodriguez’s corpse.
Finally, the stream of shells worked its way through and past the Humvee, and the chain gun spun down as the helicopter moved on, leaving a smashed and shredded hull in its wake. Seconds later, the Humvee’s engine choked on last time before cutting out, as smoke began to flow from under the hood.
“Oh, shit!” Staff Sergeant A.J. Mason cried out, as he saw the missile leave the helicopter, heading for the Humvee thirty yards ahead of them. “Hold on back there!” he yelled to the passengers in the back as he gripped the steering wheel with both hands..
Understanding the likely outcome of the missile strike, he quickly considered his options.
Turning around wasn’t one; the east- and westbound lanes had been split due to the bridge, and the two-lane eastbound portion of the highway was far too narrow for the lumbering Stryker vehicle to execute a u-turn. The most likely outcome of attempting such a maneuver would be for them to end up stuck in a position parallel to the road, leaving them fully exposed to incoming fire.
Making a stand to fight back against the airborne tank-killer was a laughable option that would undeniably lead to their quick demise. Though the Stryker was designed to protect its occupants and heavily armored, it lacked the offensive capabilities needed to fight back, which meant they’d be simply taking fire as the Apache rained fury upon them.
The missile impacted on the road, narrowly missing the Humvee. A.J. felt the force of the explosion rock the 18-ton Stryker as he watched the other vehicle rise off the ground.
The Humvee hit the ground, its front end landing heavily and bouncing sideways and before the back end crashed down. Out of control, it crossed the remainder of the road and slammed into the left wall, coming to a violent stop. A second later heavy rounds began tearing up the road, heading for the crashed vehicle.
Seeing no other choice, Mason slammed his foot down on the accelerator, hoping to race by the helo before the pilot realized what was happening. If they could make it across the bridge, they could exit the road and maybe...who knows? Find somewhere to hide? Find cover? It wasn’t a great option, but it was the only one.
Looking up at the angry-looking aircraft, he felt his abdominal muscles tighten as he tensed up in preparation for inevitable missile strike or unrelenting rain of armor-piercing rounds.
As he watched, the 30 mm chain gun spun up again. As it did, a second missile burst forth from the launcher, accelerating as it descended, heading towards them.
“Fuck…”
A second later, the missile passed overhead.
Fighting the urge to watch its trajectory and ultimate impact point, Mason kept his foot pressed down on the gas, silently begging the heavy vehicle to move faster.
After watching the first missile send the lead Humvee airborne, Serrano pressed down on the gas pedal, pushing the vehicle harder. He watched helplessly as the vehicle carrying Nicholson, Zhang, Rodriguez, and Simmons, which had crashed into the wall, was pulverized by the Apache’s 30 mm chain gun, wishing they had some way to fight back against such a powerful assault, but they simply hadn’t anticipated the need to combat U.S. military weapons.
How could they?
Looking forward at the Stryker, he quickly ascertained that they were gaining on it, but not by much, as it had increased its speed as well. The move was understandable, as Staff Sergeant Mason would realize the urgency of the need to get off the bridge as soon as possible.
However, the Stryker’s increase in speed was making it hard for Serrano to overtake them in order to assume the lead, protective position. With his foot planted as far down on the pedal as it could press, he brought his hand down to check his seat belt.
“Strapped in?” he asked Phillip, before glancing over. When he did, he saw the Marine was verifying his M27 Automatic Rifle.
“Yep,” the man replied as he finished, looking up to gaze out the windshield once more.
Out of the corner of his eye, Serrano noticed that Dennard was down inside the Humvee, just aft of the front row and hanging onto the gun mount seat above with one hand.
“Get in the back seat and strap in!” Serrano ordered.
As he began to move, Aaron asked, “You won’t need me on the fifty?”
“Not gonna do a lot of good against that thing,” he replied, before nodding towards Phillip. “That won’t either, but keep it handy.”
“Copy.”
Serrano looked up just in time to see the Apache helicopter let loose a second Hellfire missile.
“Get down!!” he shouted.
With the missile screaming down towards them, Serrano had no time to think, only to act. Knowing the smoking hulk that was the lead Humvee was now just ahead and to the left, he took the tiniest pause, then swerved right just as the missile was about to strike. The hesitation he’d taken - a desperate attempt to confuse the weapon during its terminal phase - provided the slightest bit of space between the missile’s point of impact and the Humvee’s main cabin.
Instead of striking the Humvee broadside, killing everyone in the vehicle, it slammed into the rear cargo area aft of where Long sat, its small, shape-charged warhead obliterating everything behind the seats. The explosion threw the what remained of the Humvee’s back end upward, lifting it off the ground as the Humvee was carried forward and sideways by the blast.
For a split second, the occupants of the vehicle were looking almost straight down at the pavement, until the front end of the Humvee struck the right wall, jarring it to a stop. The motion of the rear of the vehicle wasn’t fully abated by the impact, though, and when it crashed downward, breaking loose the axle from its mounts, it came down on the railing itself.
Teetering, it rocked unsteadily, suspended forty feet above the river below.
Watching from his position on the hill, Steve Sommer smiled. The two Humvees that carried his men were rapidly closing in on the Stryker, and both of the ICV’s escorts had been neutralized.
Things were going perfectly.
Lowering the binoculars, he folded them and stuffed them back into his backpack, then climbed onto his motorcycle. Gunning the engine, he peeled out, sending gravel and dirt into the air.
Now he’d see which one of the vehicles held the man named Serrano.
If he wasn’t dead yet, Sommer would end him.
CHAPTER SEVENTY
San Francisco Protective Zone, California
Day 5
“Now, one more time, tell me who has the other phone.”
Staring back at the man holding the gun, Daniel opened his mouth to speak, then suddenly coughed. Unable to stop, he continued to cough loudly, his entire body heaving. He brought his left hand out in front of him, and showed his forefinger, signalling for the other man to wait, then made a loose fist and moved it in front of his mouth in an effort to stifle the cough.
“What the hell’s wrong with you?” Juarez asked, frowning.
Daniel lowered his torso slightly, bringing his right arm out to brace his hand against the floor for a second as his body spasmed. After a few coughs, he sat back up slowly, as the intensity of his coughing began to subside. Bringing his hand back, he moved it between his body and Serafina’s and pinched her calf.
“Sorry,” he said, between coughs.
Looking at the soldier, Serafina explained, “He’s had a recurring cough for the last week or so.”
Juarez recoiled involuntarily. The ris
k of the Rage virus was too great to ignore even the slightest of threat, no matter how unlikely it was that someone who’d been inside the Protective Zone for a week had gotten infected. “Not the virus, though,” he stated, waiting for confirmation.
“No,” she replied, slowly bringing her hand up to rub her husband’s back, looking at Juarez to make sure he knew she wasn’t trying to do anything more.
Daniel coughed once more, then stopped. Breathing carefully, he nodded slowly. “I’m okay.”
“Good,” the other man growled. “Now get to it,” he ordered, leaning forward so that the gun was a mere four feet from Serafina.
“Okay, okay,” Daniel said. “Look, I’ll tell you what you need to know, but can you not point that at her?”
“Start talking and I’ll think about it.”
“Alright, fine. Corporal Jenkins has the other phone. It was given to him by mistake, but he doesn’t know it.” he stated simply. “He only joined the Army a week ago, so he’s pretty new to all of this, and probably didn’t stop to question it. Now, please,” he said, looking pointedly at the gun.
Juarez grinned. “Alright, that’s a good start,” he said, lowering the weapon. “Now, keep talking.”
Daniel opened his mouth, then coughed again, doubling over. As he did, he shifted his right foot so that his toes and forefoot were pressed firmly against the floor.
“Jesus,” Juarez muttered impatiently. He needed to get done and get the hell out of there before someone came. Glaring down at Daniel, he urged the man to continue, leaning forward to smack the man in his head. “Can you stop? Let’s get this -”
Distracted by Daniel’s coughing, he didn’t hear the man approaching behind him until it was too late. A sudden explosion of pain rocked his body as the hot tip of a soldering iron tore and burned its way through the side of his neck.
If he hadn’t leaned forward, the blow would have been fatal, but the move had saved him. Even so, the intensity of the pain immediately sapped his strength, weakening him badly. At that moment, the soldier in him took over automatically as his body tried to respond. Shifting to the side in an effort to get away from the offending source of the pain, he tried to bring his gun around so that he could aim it at the culprit.
Surviving Rage | Book 5 Page 37
