“Elvis, can you pick up Marcus and Baxter and then meet us on the ramp for extraction?” Carpenter asked over the radio as he ran across the taxiway.
“Wilco, we’ll pick them up at the north LZ,” Elvis replied. “Heads up, Spectre, you’ve got multiple vehicles with troops approaching the hangar from the southeast road.”
“Copy that,” Spectre replied, his voice shaking over the radio as he ran across the large ramp with Carpenter.
Baxter grabbed the Toughbook that Carpenter had left with the Sat phone and shoved them into his backpack. He crouched next to Marcus and looked at his map as Marcus continued to pick off targets.
“The north LZ is 200 meters through that field,” he said, pointing at the sugar cane field to his left.
“Let’s go,” Marcus replied, slinging his rifle over his shoulder and unholstering his Kimber Custom 1911 .45 ACP as he stood.
Marcus led the way as they jogged down the levee of the rice field and crossed a dirt path into the nearby sugar cane field. The dawn light was enough that they could easily navigate without the help of Night Vision Goggles.
“I’ve got another vehicle approaching from the northwest, Marcus,” Elvis said over the radio. “Looks like a mounted patrol, what’s your ETA?”
“We’ll be there in three minutes,” Marcus replied as they ran through the sugar cane field.
“Make it two, they’re closing in pretty fast,” Elvis replied.
“I’m too old for this shit,” Marcus grumbled as he took off in full sprint.
Baxter followed closely, easily pacing the old Marine as they cleared the field and found the grassy opening they had designated as the north LZ. He looked up to see the Blackhawk swoop in and land fifty meters in front of them.
Bullets zipped by as they reached the clearing on the way to the waiting helicopter. Marcus turned back to see a jeep with a mounted gunner and two soldiers approaching their position. He fired two shots from his handgun and turned back, hoping to keep the enemy’s heads down long enough for them to reach the helicopter.
Reaching the side door of the helicopter, Marcus turned around to wait for Baxter who had stopped to return fire with his rifle.
“Let’s go, kid!” Marcus barked as he slid the side door open, revealing Chloe Moss strapped to the floor. She looked horrible. She didn’t have much time.
“I’m on my-””
Marcus watched in horror as Baxter stopped mid sentence and dropped to his knees just as he turned to run for the helicopter. He ran to Baxter’s aid while firing at the approaching jeep, hitting the standing gunner in the right shoulder.
“Baxter!” he screamed as he reached his fallen comrade. “Get up, goddammit, we have to go!”
Baxter had been hit in the chest by a rifle round and was gasping for air. The body armor had successfully stopped the round, but Marcus was sure Baxter at least had a rib or two broken.
“We don’t have time for you to lay here,” Marcus said as he grabbed the drag handle on the back of Baxter’s vest and pulled him to his feet. Using the handle as leverage, Marcus pulled Baxter as he stumbled toward the helicopter and pushed Baxter into the open door where he landed on his side, still trying to catch his breath.
As Marcus holstered his handgun and climbed into the helicopter, he suddenly felt a searing pain in his thigh. He looked down to see blood soaking his tactical pants.
“Goddammit, those fuckers shot me,” Marcus said as he made it into the helicopter. “Baxter, get on that minigun!”
Marcus pulled himself up onto the webbed seat as the helicopter lifted off. He grabbed his rifle and took aim at the men in the jeep speeding toward them. Using his left forearm for support, he steadied his rifle and pulled the trigger, hitting the driver. The jeep coasted to a stop as the panicked passenger stopped shooting and grabbed the steering wheel.
Baxter willed himself up and tried to tend to Marcus’s wound, only to be spun around and pushed toward the door-mounted minigun by Marcus.
“Shoot first, worry about me later,” Marcus ordered.
Baxter stumbled into the door gunner’s station and checked the six-barreled machine gun. It was loaded and ready to go. They had checked it before takeoff, and he was sure Elvis and Browning had pre-flighted it again during their downtime. He flicked off the safety and aimed for the jeep Marcus had just shot. Its occupants were now dismounted and shooting at the climbing Blackhawk.
Baxter squeezed the trigger, unleashing the fury of the M134 Minigun, shooting 7.62 x 51mm at two thousand rounds per minute. The two remaining men were obliterated as the rounds ripped through their bodies and the nearby jeep. It was both gruesome and strangely satisfying to Baxter.
Once it gained sufficient altitude, the Blackhawk circled back toward the airfield. Elvis again called out the convoy of vehicles approaching from a distance on the southeast hardball road leading into the hangar complex.
“Spectre, we’re going to have the whole Cuban Army here soon if we don’t get moving,” Elvis said over the tactical frequency.
“Copy that, just hold them off for a few more minutes,” Spectre replied over the radio.
The Blackhawk orbited over the main hangar as Baxter used the minigun to take out men approaching from all sides of the compound. Marcus was still firing using his rifle and scope to take out individuals, but Baxter could see he was starting to fade. He needed first aid soon.
“Can you get me closer to the lead vehicle? I might be able to buy them some time,” Baxter asked Elvis.
Elvis gave him a thumbs up and banked the Blackhawk toward the road. The vehicles were now only a few hundred meters away.
Baxter sprayed the lead jeep with rounds, causing it to catch fire and spin out of control in front of the two troop carriers. The entire convoy screeched to a stop as the jeep blocked the narrow road. The men from the troop carriers dismounted and ran toward the hangar as the trucks stopped.
“They’re on foot, Spectre, but you have to get out of there, maybe five minutes tops,” Baxter said over the radio.
“Come get Joe now, I’ll see you guys in Homestead,” Spectre replied over the radio.
Baxter gave a confused look to Marcus.
“What... the fuck?” Marcus said before dropping his rifle. He slouched over onto the webbed seat.
“Marcus!” Baxter screamed, leaving his station to give Marcus first aid.
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
As Carpenter and Spectre reached cover behind the vehicle outside the hangar, they took a second to inventory their gear. Spectre gave Carpenter two of his six remaining magazines since Carpenter had been doing most of the shooting that morning. They were both still catching their breath from the full sprint across the taxiway and ramp while Marcus provided sniper cover.
Spectre peered over into the open hangar. The technicians were all gone and the hangar bay seemed empty except for the F-16 sitting near the front.
“We’ll stack up on the edge of the door,” Carpenter said, pointing to the large hangar door. “I’ll lead in and you cover, then I’ll place the C4 charges in the cockpit and down the intake while you cover me.”
“Wait,” Spectre replied. “Let me do it.”
Carpenter pulled the C4 bricks out of his backpack. There were four of them, each about six inches in length. They were all wired to a transmitter to be used with a remote detonator.
“You sure?” Carpenter asked, holding them out to Spectre.
Spectre grabbed them and put them into his open bag. “I’ve got this.”
Carpenter nodded and visually cleared the north end of the building, while Spectre cleared the south side. Spectre fired off two shots, hitting a running guard who had just rounded the corner.
When they were satisfied that both flanks were clear, Spectre motioned for Carpenter to follow as he moved toward the hangar door. They both moved quickly, but smoothly, with their rifles up, sweeping left and right as they proceeded toward the hangar door. Carpenter stayed close by, covering the sid
es and rear.
Spectre motioned for them to stop as they formed a two-man column against the hangar door. He peered inside and cleared the room. There was a body still on the ground next to the ladder of the F-16, but aside from that, it was still completely empty.
Spectre gave the signal and the two men entered the hangar bay. Spectre turned right and cleared toward the F-16 while Carpenter turned left toward the empty space at the corner of the hangar bay.
Carpenter immediately took cover behind a large red tool cart as a lone technician wandered into the hangar. He was carrying a handgun, but didn’t appear to have seen them as Spectre took cover behind the external power cart.
Carpenter watched the man in his sights for a few seconds and then squeezed the trigger as the man turned toward the F-16. The man dropped instantly and Carpenter flashed a thumbs up to Spectre, indicating that his side of the hangar was clear.
Spectre returned the thumbs up and reached into his bag for the C4 while slinging his rifle across his back. The F-16 was beautiful. He hadn’t been this close to one since his last flight in Iraq. It was such a shame to have to destroy a perfectly good aircraft.
Spectre quickly climbed the ladder as Carpenter kept watch for any hostiles. He saw Chloe’s helmet on the canopy rail and her G-suit and harness on the opposite wing as he reached the top of the ladder. It was his first time in the new Block 70 F-16. The all glass cockpit was slick looking. It looked like a brand new airplane, unlike what he had flown before.
Shaking off the nostalgia, he placed two of the C4 bricks in the cockpit. He put the first one behind the seat and then leaned forward on the ladder to place the second brick by the rudder pedals. The Fuel Quantity indicator caught his eye. Besides the standby instruments, it was the only analog gauge in the cockpit. Spectre thought it was odd that they would spend so much money upgrading the cockpit with LCD displays and electronic engine instrument displays, but leave an analog fuel gauge.
Spectre placed the second C4 brick and then started down the ladder. As he reached the bottom rung, Spectre suddenly stopped and started back up.
“What are you doing? We’ve got to go!” Carpenter yelled across the hangar.
“Just one second!” Spectre replied as he hustled back up the ladder.
Spectre reached the top of the ladder and looked back in the cockpit. The analog fuel gauge read 7,600 pounds. The jet had plenty of fuel.
It was something they had never even considered in the planning. His goal had always been to save Chloe first. He figured the jet would have been out of gas anyway, since she had flown half the sortie before landing, but he had never considered the big conformal fuel tanks on the spine of the jet. They alone added 3,000 pounds. He had plenty of fuel to get in and fly it home.
Spectre knew what he had to do. He had been wrong about Chloe, but he reasoned he could at least do something for the good of his country, and the fighter pilot in him knew there was no one better suited to fly it out, even if it had been over five years since he had flown anything.
Spectre reached in, grabbed the C4 charges, and stuck them back in his backpack. He descended down the ladder and headed back toward Carpenter. He could hear the Blackhawk circling overhead and its minigun firing in short bursts.
“Spectre, we’re going to have the whole Cuban Army here soon if we don’t get moving,” Elvis said over the tactical frequency.
“Copy that, just hold them off for a few more minutes,” Spectre replied over the radio.
“Joe, come help me,” he said as he unplugged the long black power cable attached to the F-16’s external power receptacle.
“Help you do what? I thought you said you had this?” Carpenter said as he jogged toward the external power cart while clearing with his rifle.
“I do. I’m not going to blow it though,” Spectre replied as he finished and threw the cable onto the cart. “Help me push this thing out of the way. Hurry, we don’t have much time.”
“Dude, you’re going to get yourself killed,” Carpenter replied as he watched Spectre try to push the cart out of the way.
“I can think of worse ways to die,” Spectre replied. “Now fucking help me!”
Carpenter slung his rifle around his back and took his place next to Spectre. The two pushed the cart toward the back of the hangar and away from the F-16’s nose.
Spectre hustled around the airplane. As he reached the right side, he reached into a maintenance access panel with his right hand.
“What are you doing now?”
“Turning the rounds limiter off and setting the rounds counter to two hundred,” Spectre replied. The rounds limiter had been set to 999 and had been left on, allowing the jet to be flown in air-to-air training missions without fear of accidentally shooting the gun.
“Why two hundred?” Carpenter asked.
“Because that’s how many rounds they fly with in the jet when they’re not actually shooting the gun. It’s for weight in the nose when the conformal tanks are full,” he replied as he continued doing his hurried preflight around the jet.
“What are you going to do with two hundred rounds? Dude, this is a horrible idea,” Carpenter pleaded.
“Nothing, I hope. But I’d rather have it and not need it than need it and not have it. It’s better than no weapons at all,” Spectre replied as he threw the wheel chocks off to the side.
Spectre uninstalled the gun’s hold-back tool designed to keep the Vulcan M61A cannon from spinning as he reached the left side. He now had at least some capability for self-protection with a fully armed gun. With the jet ready to go, he walked over to the right wingtip and looked at Chloe’s G-suit and harness. He grabbed both and threw them to the side.
“You’re not going to wear those?” Carpenter asked.
“She’s five foot seven. Won’t fit. I’ll be fine,” Spectre replied as he ran back over to Ling’s body.
“Seriously man, I think you should reconsider this half-baked plan,” Carpenter said helping Spectre drag Ling’s lifeless body away from the airplane.
“They’re on foot, Spectre, but you have to get out of there, maybe five minutes tops,” Spectre heard Baxter say over the tactical radio.
“Come get Joe now, I’ll see you guys in Homestead,” Spectre replied over the radio.
“Say again?” Elvis asked over the radio.
Carpenter stood and watched Spectre as he finished pre-flighting the aircraft. He could see the look of determination on Spectre’s face. There was no convincing him that he had chosen the path to certain death.
“I’ll meet you for extract on the near ramp, I’ll explain onboard,” Carpenter replied over the radio.
“Copy that,” Elvis replied. “One minute.”
“Joe, it’s been a pleasure, thanks for everything you’ve done,” Spectre said holding out his hand.
“This is such a bad idea, but at least wear the harness so you’ll have the ejection seat, you can loosen the straps to make it fit,” Carpenter said as he shook Spectre’s hand. “I had to do the same thing when they gave me that incentive flight at Nellis.”
“Fine, help me get these doors open and then you get out of here,” Spectre replied.
The two ran for the partially opened hangar doors. They each backed against their respective side and started pushing the massive hangar doors open. As they finished opening the door, they saw the Blackhawk swoop in and land on the ramp just fifty feet away.
Spectre flashed a thumbs up to Carpenter as he started back toward the F-16. Carpenter reciprocated and ran to the open door on the Blackhawk as Baxter waved him in.
Spectre decided to give the harness a try and ran to where he had thrown it just a few feet away from the right wingtip. He hung his rifle on the Captive Carry AIM-9 training missile on the wingtip and picked up the harness.
As Spectre loosened the straps on the harness, he suddenly felt something wrap around his neck. Someone had managed to surprise him as he struggled with the harness. Spectre reached up to his thr
oat, feeling a rope against his neck. It burned as it dug into his neck and started to choke him.
Spectre twisted around as his attacker attempted to pull him back. The rope loosened under the leverage, and Spectre sent a knee directly into the man’s midsection, knocking him back.
The man stumbled back and pulled out a switchblade knife. Spectre tossed aside the rope from his neck and took a deep breath. Spectre prepared himself for the next attack as the man extended the blade of the knife. He was well inside of twenty-one feet- too close to draw his holstered sidearm before the man would close the distance and stab him.
As the man charged Spectre, he instantly recognized him from the pictures in Baxter’s office. It was the man that had sent his life into a tumbled chaos. It was Victor Alvarez.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
Climbing aboard, Carpenter edged past Chloe and Marcus as they both clung to life on the floor of the Blackhawk. He grabbed a headset hanging from the ceiling as Baxter closed the side door and the Blackhawk climbed away.
Baxter returned to tending Marcus’s wound. “What happened to him?” Carpenter asked, pointing to Marcus’s leg. It was heavily wrapped in bandages and Baxter was still applying pressure.
“Shot in the thigh,” Baxter replied.
“Femoral?” Carpenter asked as he grabbed the first aid kit and assisted.
“I don’t know,” said Baxter. “He’s bleeding pretty badly. We need to get them both to a hospital.”
Carpenter looked over at Chloe. She was unconscious but breathing. “How’s she doing?”
“She’s stable, but I think one of the bullets is still in there. If she doesn’t get to surgery soon she might go into shock.”
“I’ll start IVs on both of them,” Carpenter said, pulling open the helicopter’s large combat first aid kit.
“What happened to Spectre?” Elvis asked over the intercom as they cleared the perimeter fence of the airfield.
“He wants to fly the jet out of there,” Carpenter replied as he found a vein on Chloe’s left arm.
“What the fuck, over?” Elvis replied, swinging his head back to look at Carpenter.
Spectre Rising Page 25
