Holding Their Own VII: Phoenix Star

by Nobody, Joe

  Spider opened the door next, pausing in the threshold when he saw the darkness beyond. He instinctively took a step backward, and it saved his life. An arm flashed through the doorway, clearly holding a weapon that the ex-contractor believed was a knife. His training kicked in, and he grasped at the wrist, twisting with all of his significant strength.

  There was enough light on Spider’s side of the door that he realized it wasn’t a knife, but some sort of electrical device, a blue arch of electricity sizzling across the business end of the weapon. The man holding the stun gun was strong, very strong, and not unskilled.

  Just as Spider was gaining the upper hand, the door was pulled wide open and another blue arch was thrust at his face. He barely avoided the jab, but had to let go of his hold on the first attacker. “Ambush!” he warned the Colonel, and then reached for the door’s push-bar handle, hoping to put a barrier between himself and the shock-weapons.

  As Spider’s hand closed on the metal bar, one of the operatives on the other side touched the mechanism with his stun gun. The locking mechanism wasn’t a perfect conduit for the electrical charge, dissipating some of the surge. Tingling fire shot up Spider’s arm, the sensation causing him to growl in pain and stagger back.

  As the door flew open, the silhouette of two men crossing the threshold filled the stunned man’s vision. Before he could command his body to move, a blur rushed past, and then the Colonel was there.

  Sidestepping the initial thrust of an electrified weapon, the older man exercised long-practiced skills in hand-to-hand combat. He didn’t possess Spider’s raw strength, couldn’t equal Nick’s knowledge of the fighting arts. He no longer possessed the speed and reflexes of Moses. But the Colonel was iron stout and unintimidated by confrontation. He was crafty, aggressive, and wise.

  One hand grabbed the forearm of a thrusting weapon, pulling the attacker forward. His free palm slammed into the man’s extended arm a few inches above the elbow. A sickening pop sounded, followed by a howl of pain. The plastic gun tumbled across the concrete floor, its neon shimmer going cold.

  The old warrior didn’t release his grip, but pulled down on the limp arm and rammed his shoulder into his foe’s torso, shoving him back into the second attacker’s path.

  Again, a stun gun stabbed through the doorway, the glowing blue tip missing the Colonel’s body by less than an inch. Timing it perfectly, he shoved the helpless man he still controlled with all his might, knocking the second attacker off balance. A boot caught on Nick’s prone body caused them both to fall.

  The Colonel didn’t see the third attacker, nor was that assailant armed with the same weapon. A snap-pop sounded in the darkened hall as the Taser fired into the older man’s chest.

  A pitchfork-shaped projectile pierced the Colonel’s shirt, two silk-thin copper wires trailing back to the pistol-shaped device. The current surged, knocking him down instantly.

  Now back on his feet, the stun gun-equipped attacker shoved his injured teammate out of the way, stepping through the doorway and reaching down to roll the Colonel over. The third attacker then appeared, bending to help his partner search the helpless victim.

  Spider, now holding the MP’s 9mm service pistol, began shooting. The enclosed space and hard-surface walls echoed thunder as the ex-contractor kept pulling the trigger time and again. When the Beretta locked back empty at battery, Mr. White’s plan-B was bleeding out on the floor.

  Not wasting any time, Spider tucked the pistol in his belt and moved to check on his old boss. The Colonel was out, but breathing. His heartbeat felt strong.

  Next, he moved to Moses, again finding the man alive, his pulse rapid, but acceptable. Nick wasn’t breathing, nor could Spider detect any pulse. The stun gun’s shock had stopped his heart.

  Praying the gunshots would bring help, Spider rolled the big man over and tried to recall the CPR techniques he’d been taught so long ago. He found Nick’s sternum, placed the palm of his hand in the correct spot, and began compressions.

  “Stay with me, dude,” Spider said in a commanding voice. “You’re not going anywhere.”

  Thumping, rushing boots sounded on the stairwell, evidence that someone had heard the gunshots. Spider sensed the presence of men around him in the darkness. “Get a medic down here – right now!” he shouted. “Multiple injuries, electrical shock, and gunshot wounds. Go! Get help now! Lots of fucking help!”

  The Colonel sat with his back to the wall, drinking from a cup of water. He watched the medics pump air into Nick’s chest, his gaze never leaving the rise and fall of the big man’s ribs despite the whirlwind of activity filling the hall. He couldn’t look anywhere else – he had a man down.

  Two MPs were grilling Spider, his former employee flexing a bandage-wrapped hand while Army cops fired question after question. Spider seemed to be holding his ground, slightly annoyed and mainly concerned with the treatment being supplied to Nick.

  Moses was still unconscious, but breathing on his own. Four men were struggling to carry his stretcher up the stairs while a medic monitored his condition and got in the way.

  “Clear!” one of the men huddled over Nick yelled just before his prone body jerked.

  He’s not going to make it, thought the Colonel. It was going to be bad enough breaking the news of Bishop’s innocence to the Alliance leaders. If their top military man happened to die while in a US Army facility… well… not a single one of them would believe the story. Not after what had been done to Bishop.

  Someone moved a stethoscope around on Nick’s chest. A voice commanded, “Again.”

  “Clear!”

  And again, Nick’s body vibrated.

  They’re not going to get him back, thought the Colonel. I’m going to kill Mr. White with my bare hands.

  “Got him!” the man with the stethoscope announced, “it’s weak, but beating.” Relieved smiles filled the medical personnel’s faces, their primary role fulfilled.

  Well, you bullheaded son of a bitch, the Colonel observed smiling. You’re too damn stubborn to die, aren’t ya? No wonder they accepted you down at Bragg.

  General Husk knelt beside the Colonel, his voice surprisingly calm. “What the fuck is going on here, Colonel? I’ve got my HQ on lockdown. There are three dead men wearing the uniform, but no one knows who they are. I’ve got two more bodies in my brig, each apparently suffering from a single gunshot to the head. And to top it all off, I’m blessed with a bunch of cowboys lying around on my floor.”

  The Colonel looked up at his old friend, a slight smirk crossing his lips. “And just a few minutes ago you were complaining about being bored.”

  “The entire episode reeks of cloak-funk and dagger-piss. I don’t know what you’ve dropped in the middle of my lap here, Colonel, but the odor isn’t appetizing.”

  “General,” the Colonel started, nodding toward the three dead bodies, “You’ll find those men aren’t soldiers. I think the only place their fingerprints are known would be at Langley. The two prisoners in the brig tasted the barrel on their own accord. You’ll have to trust me on this, but they actually saved us all a lot of time and trouble. I would have done the same in their shoes. You can open your building back up – the people who sponsored this operation were long gone before the show ever got started.”

  The Colonel lifted his hand, the staff officer helping him stand on wobbly legs. After confirming he wasn’t going to fall, he smiled at Husk and said, “Is that offer for a cigar still open?”

  “If that’s what it takes for you to peel back a few more layers of this mystery-onion, then yes. If you are going to consume my vices and not offer anything in return, then the answer is no.”

  “Throw in some bourbon?”

  “Deal.”

  Chapter 15

  North Central New Mexico

  August 3

  Despite being known as a region full of wide open spaces, scenic vistas, and National Parks the size of small countries, Bishop found it difficult to avoid civilization.

/>   After escaping Camp Pinion, they mostly traveled north – a path necessary to bypass the population centers of Albuquerque and Santa Fe. North it was, but not too far. Taos and the popular ski resort areas of the southern Rockies were littered with small towns, villages, and pueblos.

  They traveled almost 100 miles north before it was time to make the cut back west. Bishop had plotted a small, two-lane highway that appeared to shoot the gap between the larger metropolitan areas. The map showed no towns on the route, the truck’s navigation system agreeing wholeheartedly.

  Within an hour, he realized it was a mistake.

  New Mexico 518 wasn’t so bad, but the number of small towns dotting the throughway required the selection of a secondary state road, and that proved to be a nightmare. If it hadn’t been for the camper, driving at night, and being completely unfamiliar with the territory, it might have been doable.

  Steep grades and constant hairpin switchbacks provided Bishop with a white-knuckle adventure rivaling any amusement park. More than once he was sure the camper’s wheels were going to fall off a steep edge. Even when the road was relatively wide, the experience was constantly highlighted with mental images of the frail, makeshift trailer hitch.

  The adventure in frustration was further enhanced by the truck’s fuel gauge. Towing their home across flat desert had consumed fuel at an uncomfortable rate. The mileage reported by the truck’s onboard computer while hauling the same package up and down mountainsides nearly caused him panic. And they weren’t getting anywhere.

  The torture finally piqued, not by mechanical failure or a spectacular fall from a roadside cliff, but due to the local wildlife. It was a cast of three adult elk that ended the evening’s drive.

  When the headlights had shown on the massive animals, Bishop initially thought they were small horses. Unfettered by the approaching vehicle, they remained standing in the road. He managed to swerve, the soft soil along the edge of the road providing additional braking. The emergency maneuver woke Terri from her backseat snooze.

  “What’s happening?” she asked, the sudden jerk and sharp turn making her wide-eyed.

  “I just missed killing a herd of the biggest deer I’ve ever seen,” Bishop replied.

  “Are they all okay?”

  “Oh, they’re just fine. So am I by the way. Thanks for asking.”

  “My, my, aren’t we grumpy all of a sudden,” she responded.

  Bishop sighed, “I can’t do this at night when I’m this tired. I am going to fuck-up and kill us all. I need to find a place to camp for a bit.”

  “I’ll help you keep an eye out,” Terri promised.

  They drove a few more miles, winding their way around and negotiating sharp turns. “I see why this is exhausting. I’m not driving, and yet I’m about to squeeze this door handle to death back here.”

  Bishop was about to respond when he noticed a group of high-tension power lines crossing the road ahead. “I think I might have just found our campgrounds,” he declared.

  Long ago, he’d watched a utility crew installing similar equipment on a remote stretch of the ranch. It had been fascinating for the young Texan, proof of either a strong, natural sense of curiosity or a boring life. In reality, it was a mixture of both.

  He remembered the surprising amount of work that had been required to build the supporting towers and lay the cable. The first task executed by the electric company was to build a road. That lane was critical, eventually used by everything from cement mixers to lunch trucks. He assumed these mountain lines were the same. He was right.

  Shortly before crossing under the thick grey wires, Bishop detected a narrow path leading off the road. “I’m going to leave you two here for a few minutes and scout this out on foot,” he declared.

  Exiting the truck, he immediately scanned the surroundings with the night vision and then the thermal scope. It looked perfect.

  It was obvious no one had traveled the path in some time. Limbs had fallen across the road, some partially blocking the route. There was a young layer of overgrowth and even a few waist high patches of weeds. Knee-high saplings were also competing for the barren space.

  While the trail led up from where he’d left the truck, the utility crews had chosen to take the path of least resistance. The power lines ran along a narrow valley, winding between two higher peaks. There was even a shallow, rocky stream running past the trail.

  About 300 yards in, Bishop spied the perfect spot. The workmen had drilled and blasted a path through a high mound of solid rock. Such construction techniques were typical on the local roadways. The narrow gorge was very defendable and would conceal them from over 300 degrees of view. There was running water nearby, and a flat, smooth stone floor to park both the truck and camper.

  He hustled back, excited over the discovery. After briefly describing their new home for Terri, Bishop put the truck in gear and turned onto the lane. His mood was better than it had been in days.

  It was slow going up the trail. Twice he had to stop and use the truck to pull a fallen limb out of the way. Another spot required ten minutes of hacking with his machete.

  It was almost dawn by the time they reached the campsite. Terri was leaning forward, scoping it all and obviously pleased with the location. “Bishop, this is beautiful!”

  He hadn’t thought about it that way, but was happy she approved.

  “I’ve got one concern though,” she said. “Don’t those high power lines cause cancer?”

  Bishop grunted. “Only if they have electricity going through them.”

  “Oh. I guess we’ll know when electricity is restored, huh?”

  “I guess I’m not the only one who is tired, huh?”

  The first few hours of light were spent unhitching and setting up the trailer. Terri, between tending to Hunter’s feeding and diapering needs, helped configure the residence, wandering a bit to explore their new neighborhood.

  “How do we know the water’s okay to drink?” she questioned at one point.

  Bishop looked up at the adjoining mountain, her question making him curious of the source. “For now, we’ll assume it’s not. We’ll filter or boil any we need for cooking or drinking until I can trace it back to its beginning. If it looks like a natural spring, then I’ll test it. If I don’t die, then we’ll know it’s okay.”

  After their mobile home was ready, Terri went about fixing brunch while Bishop wandered off to set up a series of early warning trip wires. “I hope those big deer I saw are smart enough to detect fishing line,” he commented before leaving. “If not, I’m not going to get much sleep.”

  An hour later, he returned, happy with his efforts and hungry for a hot meal. After eating eggs and flatbread slathered with honey, he played with Hunter and then did the dishes. The warm food combined with the calm of finally being off the road began to have an effect. Terri yawned first, and the act was contagious, Bishop soon following suit.

  “I feel pretty secure here,” Bishop said. “I think we can both sleep at the same time.”

  “Okay, you go ahead and hit the hay. Hunter should need a nap shortly, and I’ll join you once he’s out.”

  Memphis Regional Headquarters

  August 4

  General Owen’s voice sounded crystal clear over the sat-com radio. “I’ve examined the evidence you sent, Colonel. I am experiencing outrage and embarrassment all at the same moment. Do you think the Commander in Chief knew about this scheme?”

  “No. I think our friend, Mr. White, misinformed Moreland. I believe he slimed his away around the real intent of the mission, exposing just enough to get the required authorizations. The president is guilty of subterfuge, but not murder.”

  There was a pause, the Colonel utilizing the gap to gaze over his shoulder, making sure no one in the Memphis communications center was eavesdropping on his conversation.

  Owens finally continued, “I hope you’re right. I believe this all needs to be handled in a very delicate manner. I was talking with Westfield
this morning, and he’s having morale and discipline issues out at Bliss. They’re low on resources, and frankly, things aren’t that much better here at Hood.”

  Scratching his chin, the Colonel worded his response carefully. “Word is going to get out, General. As you know, Nick and another man from the Alliance are here. I say honesty is the best policy, and we take our lumps. Job one is to get Mr. White away from the president before the man causes more of a shit storm.”

  “I will be in Washington in a few days. I suggest we take the matter up with the president then. In the meantime, we have to figure out a way to feed our troops, or the US Army is going to get very small, very quickly.”

  The Colonel sighed, “I think that’s only the beginning of our problems once all this comes to light. I’ll put some brain cycles into your primary issue, General. Nick is supposed to be released from the infirmary in a few hours. I’ll get a read on how he feels the Alliance will react to all of this.”

  “He’s a good man, Colonel. I’m sure he’ll understand the predicament that spook has put the entire country in.”

  “You need to lift the reward for Bishop, and drop all charges. Nick will be traveling home tonight if at all possible. The Alliance has communications, too. Word will spread quickly. Get out in front of this.”

  “Will do. I’ll see you in Washington, Colonel.”

  After securing the equipment, the Colonel rose and made for the infirmary. He found Moses in the chair beside Nick, the big man sitting up in bed and drinking orange juice. “Hello, Colonel. How goes it?” the patient greeted.

  “Good. How are you feeling, son?”

  “Fit as a fiddle, sir. It’s been months since I tasted orange juice. I’d almost say it was worth the whole ordeal.”

  The older man nodded, a slight smile forming on his lips. “I just spoke with General Owens out at Hood. All charges against Bishop are being dropped immediately. He and I are both concerned over the Alliance’s reaction to this new revelation.”