by Dave Edlund
Peter’s back was to the Chinese soldier he had just shot, thinking he was dead.
“Dad, watch out!” Ethan yelled. Over his father’s shoulder he saw the man raising a pistol in a shaky hand, and pointing it at the two of them.
BOOM! BOOM! Todd and Gary had just caught up with Peter; both men fired at the wounded Chinese solder, the bullets striking home. The pistol fell to the ground as the parched earth soaked up the dead man’s blood.
“We have to get out of here. There’re more coming, and this place will become a death trap,” Peter shouted, his ears still ringing from the gunshots. He grabbed his rifle with his free hand to underscore his command.
With Ethan leaning on his father for support, they turned to retreat to the sniper position where Homer was still fighting off the frontal assault. Peter had selected this wide opening in the rock fissure because it offered shade and protection from rifle fire from below. But he had not anticipated that an attack would come downhill from behind their protected vantage point.
Now, the very features that had made this location attractive for protecting Ethan made it indefensible. They had to get out… and fast. It would not take the remaining enemy soldiers long to figure out the surest way to kill them was to begin lobbing grenades down the canyon-like opening in the sandstone.
With Peter in the lead, and Gary and Todd right behind, they emerged from the narrow confines of the crevice just as the first grenade bounced off the rock wall and rolled along the dirt, stopping inches from the rolled-up shirt that Ethan had rested his head upon only a short while earlier. This grenade was soon followed by another, then another.
“Grenades!” Gary roared. Everyone scattered out the open end of the fissure, diving into the hot dirt. Todd and Gary to one side, Peter and Ethan to the other.
The explosions were almost simultaneous… booming louder than the preceding gunfire. Debris erupted from the fissure’s open end and dust billowed up the sheer sandstone walls, finally spilling out the top of the crevice 20 feet above the floor.
Coughing from the dust that covered them, Todd and Gary rose first. Then, slowly, Peter stood and helped Ethan up. Dust had filled the fissure, making it impossible to see into it. But they had made it out… if only barely.
They needed to follow the finger ridgeline to their left and join up with Homer. They could still hear Homer firing, and so Peter knew he had not been overrun.
“Let’s go.”
Todd and Gary went first, rifles held ready. Peter, still helping Ethan, had not yet taken a step when two Homothals burst from the dust. Almost immediately a third man—a Chinese soldier—and a fourth man—wearing a PLA uniform with sergeant insignia—appeared behind the Homothals.
Todd and Gary had already covered about ten yards from the fissure opening and had their backs to the Homothals.
“Look out!” Peter yelled.
The four enemy soldiers, also surprised at running into their quarry so soon after exiting the dust-choked crevice, quickly recovered and turned toward Peter and Ethan, guns raised.
At the sound of Peter’s warning Todd and Gary had turned and opened fire, but missed. More shots exploded and Peter saw one Homothal slammed backwards into the Chinese soldier immediately behind him, two bullets having passed through the Homothal’s body and instantly killing the soldier. Another round struck the same Homothal, knocking it off its feet.
Peter fell to the ground with Ethan, covering his son with his body. The rough jarring crash sent new jolts of pain slicing through Ethan, the muffled moan emanating from beneath Peter.
Then Peter glanced toward his friends and saw Todd fumble and drop a full ammo magazine in the dirt. Gary was aiming down the barrel of his rifle. He fired his last shot and clipped the Chinese sergeant in the shoulder, causing his body to spin under the impact. He fell, his rifle out of reach.
The wound was hideous; the bullet smashed squarely into his right shoulder and, as it exited, took all the bone and most of the flesh as well, leaving the soldier’s right arm dangling. Bright red arterial blood began pooling in the dust and dirt, quickly soaking into the dry ground. His face was already ashen, and his eyes were glazed as shock set in. In less than two minutes the PLA sergeant would bleed to death.
Abruptly the gunfire ceased and Peter again rose to his feet, not sparing the second it would take to pick up his dust-coated rifle. Ethan placed an arm around Peter’s shoulder for support.
The remaining Homothal pointed its rifle at Peter and Ethan and pulled the trigger. But nothing happened; the magazine was empty. The beast dropped the useless weapon and charged its intended victims.
Todd was struggling with the rifle bolt and couldn’t shoot while Gary was fumbling for another magazine that he didn’t have. Helpless, he saw the Homothal crash into the two men, bowling them over and knocking Ethan to the ground. Still suffering from the earlier pounding, Ethan was in no shape to take the blow. He emitted a low groan, and lay still.
Peter was able to roll with the blow and twirled away. As he reached over his shoulder and retrieved Hamaad’s machete from its sheath, Peter stepped to the side to place himself between his son and the beast. The heft of the stout blade did little to bolster his confidence.
The Homothal quickly checked its forward momentum and turned. Peter faced the monster trying to figure out its next move, wishing he held a gun rather than the machete. If only my .45 was loaded, Peter thought.
The beast struck first with lightning speed, swinging a massive right fist to connect with Peter’s jaw. His head jerked back with an audible snap, but he didn’t fall. As the Homothal struck again, Peter reflexively swung the machete to block the swing. Somehow he managed to get the blade in the path of the muscular limb, slicing into the Homothal’s arm, but momentum carried the hard fist onward, barely checked. Peter’s head absorbed most of the blow, but he willed himself to remain standing.
Peter felt like the world was twirling around him, and at any moment he thought he was likely to fall over. The Homothal swung its rock-like fist again landing another solid blow to Peter’s face. He staggered, and fell to one knee. With his head drooped, blood dripping from a lacerated cheek and eye brow, Peter felt his strength ebbing away.
The Homothal raised its right arm, preparing to slam down on Peter’s exposed neck.
“Ahhhhhh!” The creature suddenly bellowed.
Peter shoved the machete into the Homothal’s knee, just behind the kneecap. It slumped to the ground, propping up its 300-pound body with its arms and trying to take the weight off its knee.
Peter and the Homothal were now face-to-face. Peter on one knee, the Homothal on hands and knees. With its left arm, the Homothal backhanded Peter, smacking him to the ground. The Homothal, seemed to draw a primitive fury from the pain. With Peter knocked down and out of immediate reach, it fixed its eyes on Ethan who was only four feet away.
“I’m out of ammo; you have to shoot!” Gary yelled at Todd.
“The bolt’s jammed! I can’t even drop the magazine!” Todd exclaimed, frustration rising with his voice.
While Todd continued to struggle with his weapon, trying desperately to clear the jam, Gary drew his Colt Python, aimed and pulled the trigger. Nothing. The pistol was also empty.
Gary charged the beast and slammed the steel gun on its back as he tried to wrap his other arm around the creature’s neck. It was a weak attack, and the Homothal easily shook its attacker off. Gary landed hard on his injured shoulder and rolled to the opposite side, trying to get back to his feet.
The Homothal crawled forward, intent on killing all of its enemies. Its reaction was primal—bestial. In its current state of mind, with adrenaline coursing through its body and ripped with pain, the Homothal was easily as vicious and dangerous as any wounded and cornered bear. But the Homothal had a measure of cunning that no other animal could ever possess… that was the major contribution of the human DNA.
Desperate, Todd charged the Homothal, abandoning his effort to clear
the jammed bolt.
Moving his grip to the barrel, Todd swung the rifle down across the monster’s muscular back. There was a deep thud as the rifle connected. The Homothal turned to face its nemesis. When Todd swung down a second time, the creature reached out and grabbed the rifle, yanking it from Todd’s grip.
The Homothal struggled to its feet, favoring the wounded leg. Swinging the rifle-club one handed, it aimed for Todd’s head. But Todd ducked and raised his arm to deflect most of the blow. The beast swung the rifle back and connected a solid blow to Todd’s side where his pistol was holstered, knocking him to the ground. He was alive but writhing in pain.
“Peter!” He heard his name and opened his eyes to see the Homothal grabbing Ethan’s ankle. Peter rose to his knees—and then to his feet. Rather than moving away, he charged the Homothal.
“Peter! No!” Gary yelled, as he stumbled to Todd’s side and retrieved his pistol, hoping it wasn’t empty like the others.
Raising the machete with both hands as he staggered forward, Peter swung down with all his strength. The blade slashed deep across the Homothal’s back. Again it roared in pain.
The creature released Ethan’s leg and arched its back, bringing its left hand around to shield against a further blow. Peter again raised the machete. The creature turned and faced Peter, the crazed, yellow eyes burning fiercely. It snarled and seemed to grunt out something, some message that Peter couldn’t comprehend. Is it trying to talk? Asking for mercy? In a moment of weakness, Peter hesitated.
The Beretta was there in Todd’s hip holster, and Gary quickly drew the gun. Immediately his hopes were dashed when he saw the slide was bent to one side, apparently damaged by the blow. He tried to cycle the action, but it was solidly jammed. So he threw the pistol at the Homothal and charged again, jumping on the back of the beast and wrapping his good arm around its throat.
With ease the monster pulled free of Gary’s grip and shrugged him off. Gary collided with Peter and both men went down. Then the beast resumed its attack on Ethan.
The Homothal reached forward and yanked Ethan off the ground. The creature could crush a man’s trachea, and it gripped Ethan tightly around the throat.
“No!” Peter yelled.
Chapter 47
Darfur
June 14 0915 hours
It was a standoff. Furious over losing Ming, Jim was not about to surrender to the camouflage-clad force. He assumed they were not soldiers under Ming’s command since their uniforms were entirely different. Chinese Airborne uniforms. Maybe these men were part of the attacking force that Homer reported, Jim thought. If that was true, maybe they were more ally than enemy.
“What are you doing? You’re letting Colonel Ming get away!” Jim shouted.
There was no reply from the opposing force. Jim tried again. “I don’t know who you are, but I’m here for Ming. We don’t have to shoot it out.”
Three seconds ticked by, then one of the soldiers stepped forward with his weapon lowered, closing the distance to Jim in swift, purposeful strides. His three companions kept their rifles leveled on the SGIT team.
“I am Captain Wu of the People’s Liberation Army… and you are?”
Jim kept his rifle aimed at Captain Wu while sizing him up. He was of similar height and weight, and obviously very fit. Jim also noticed the green and black sleeve patch. It was a vertical sword with a lightning bolt, indicating that Captain Wu was Special Forces.
“I am Commander James Nicolaou, Strategic Global Intervention Team. We had Colonel Ming in our sights, and you let him get away.”
“Yes. I heard you the first time Commander.” Wu stared into Jim’s eyes, trying to read the man’s character. The principle question burning in Wu’s mind was whether or not he could trust these men.
“You are Americans. It was your men who gave us covering fire outside?”
Jim nodded.
Captain Wu turned his head slightly and, speaking in Mandarin, ordered his men to lower their weapons. They were all dressed in fatigues similar to Wu’s, with black web belt and suspenders for distributing the load of spare ammunition magazines, grenades, and other gear they carried. Each man also had a pistol holstered low on the right thigh.
Two of the soldiers did as Wu ordered, but the third soldier—taller than the rest at an even six feet and with a long scar stretching across his right cheek from just below the eye to his chin—refused to yield. Wu diverted his eyes to the man.
“Lower your weapon!” he commanded.
“The Americans are our enemy!” The soldier responded. He was bordering on insubordination and continued to aim his assault rifle directly at Commander Nicolaou. Jim noted that unlike the other two soldiers, this man appeared consumed with hate.
Jim locked eyes with the man, ignoring Captain Wu for the moment. “Why would I have ordered my snipers to provide protection for you if I am your enemy? I could have just as easily had them shoot you and your entire team… but I didn’t.”
Captain Wu turned to squarely face the soldier, and then stepped between him and Commander Nicolaou.
“Corporal Zhao! I said to put down your weapon. That is a direct order, and you will comply!”
Wu was menacing and still completely in control. The other two soldiers stared on, a look of mild disbelief on their faces. No doubt they had never witnessed this type of show-down between an officer and an enlisted man before.
Reluctantly, Zhao lowered his rifle. Wu took in a deep breath and spoke in Mandarin, his voice lowered, “When we return to base you will immediately report this insubordination to the officer in charge, is that clear?”
“Yes, sir!”
Annoyed by the test of his command, especially in front of the American soldiers, Captain Wu turned back to Jim.
“Please accept my apologies, Commander. But I imagine you can understand that armed American soldiers present inside a top secret Chinese military facility presents a rather…” he seemed to be searching for the right word “…unusual circumstance. One in which our extensive training naturally takes over. No doubt your men would react similarly if this was an American base and you had just stumbled onto armed Chinese soldiers?”
Jim nodded but rather than answering Wu he turned his head slightly toward his team and ordered, “At ease.” The SGIT soldiers lowered their weapons, but not their guard.
Captain Wu continued. “I have been ordered to retrieve Colonel Ming and to ensure his return to Beijing to face his crimes. Perhaps we can, for the time being, ignore our ideological differences and cooperate since it is clear that we are hunting the same prey.”
Jim thought for a moment before answering. He could not let Ming be taken to Beijing—or for that matter anywhere he would be under Chinese military control. He also recognized that some plans are better kept to one’s self.
Jim nodded slightly. “Okay. Let’s say that we agree to work together and help you get Ming. Then what?”
Wu shrugged as if the question was irrelevant. “I will personally see him locked in chains and placed on a military cargo flight to China. There he will be imprisoned for a long time.”
The answer surprised Jim. “Imprisoned? Why?”
“Colonel Ming is a brilliant man; a hero to the Chinese people. He was entrusted to conduct scientific research for the PLA. Unfortunately, he became greedy and his desire for personal wealth overcame the good of the people. It is really quite an embarrassment to the Party.”
“Sure, I bet it is. Let me see if I can fill in the blanks. Ming was hired by one or more of your Generals to conduct genetic experimentation, and when he stopped reporting in, someone decided that he was a rogue, no longer to be trusted.”
Captain Wu didn’t answer Jim, and his face remained devoid of expression. Jim pushed further.
“We have all seen the results of his work—those half-man, half-animal creatures that you fought outside. We know he experimented on human test subjects, subjects that he kidnapped from villages throughout Darfur. He has i
nfected hundreds—perhaps thousands—of civilians with a virus that causes Neanderthal DNA to fuse with human DNA.”
Wu’s eyes widened. “How do you know this? This is top secret—you can’t possibly know!”
“I know because Ming told me so himself. Right before he was going to inject me with the virus.” There was a steel-hard edge in Jim’s voice and his eyes narrowed, glistening with renewed anger that this monstrous work had been officially sanctioned by any government.
“Fortunately, my men…” Jim nodded over his shoulder to indicate his comrades “…crashed the party just in time.”
Captain Wu’s mind raced. His orders had not contemplated the current turn of events.
“So why would the PLA be interested in Ming’s research?” Jim asked rhetorically. He studied Wu’s face for clues. The Captain remained silent.
“Could it be that the PLA wanted Ming to genetically engineer a super soldier?”
The flash in Wu’s eyes told Jim all he needed.
“That’s it, isn’t it? He was to develop a method for crossing human and Neanderthal DNA to make a genetically superior soldier. Only it didn’t go as planned. Ming decided he wanted more, so he refused to turn over his research. That’s the problem, isn’t it Captain?”
At first Wu only stared back in silence. After a long pause he finally spoke. “Yes.”
Jim was surprised by Wu’s admission.
“As Colonel Ming’s research met with success,” Wu continued with the story, “he grew ever more egotistical and arrogant. It was suspected that he was not fully disclosing his research results. Finally, he stopped sending any technical reports to Beijing.”
“Why not just cut off his funding?” Jim asked.
Wu turned up the corner of his mouth; not a smile, more of a grimace. “You don’t understand, do you?”
Now it was Jim’s turn to keep silent.
“By the time Beijing threatened to cut off all support, it was too late. Colonel Ming had already perfected the viral infusion process. But, most importantly, he had achieved cell replication. Do you have any idea how powerful that capability is? It represents a new weapon of mass destruction—a genetic weapon!”
