As Astral stopped its crazily spinning momentum, loose papers and debris were swept out of the compartment. The electrical system was failing, as sparks and smoke started flowing from the environmental control system. To Major Marceau all seemed to be happening in slow motion.
“All crewmen out now. The environmental controls are completely off-line. We have no air. She’s bleeding to death and we’re on fire,” a voice shouted from a strange and cockeyed angle far to their left.
The men started reacting after the shock of the crash. Safety harnesses were released and hands grabbed those too injured to assist in their own egress. Marceau felt hands on him and thought he was finally going to feel the pain of his broken back, but nothing happened as he was finally pulled from his upright seat. He knew then that he was paralyzed from at least the chest down. He turned his head and was relieved he could do even that.
“Survival packs—get the survival packs,” he managed to say as he was pulled toward a large breach in Astral’s hull.
“We have them, Major, extra oxygen also,” one of the French commandos said. He looked shaken but he was in control as he pulled Marceau along by the arm. “The pilot is dead and the copilot has two broken legs.”
Marceau felt himself pulled free of the wreckage and he immediately saw the star-filled sky overhead as he was laid next to one of the broken landing struts of Astral. As he listened to the rescue of his crew, he knew the ESA mission to the Moon was now officially dead. He only hoped they would be alive long enough to tell someone.
As the surviving men of Astral scrambled free and took cover behind the small rim of a crater, they felt as well as saw the bright flash of her tanks as the electrical short ignited the fumes inside. At the same moment, sparks struck the damaged oxygen cylinders bundled underneath the main engine housing. In complete and utter silence, the men of ESA Moon Mission 01 watched Astral rise into the airless sky and come apart, peppering the area with debris. It was as though a bomb had exploded. All of their supplies and weapons were gone in a flash of brilliant brightness.
The men of the Astral sat for what seemed like an hour, coming to terms with the possibly gruesome fate that awaited them.
“Once everyone is assembled, we start for Shackleton Crater, and hope the Americans have better luck than us,” Marceau said, as he felt the coolness of his oxygen flow for the first time. That was when he realized it was the air hitting blood flowing freely from a head wound.
With the survival packs and extra oxygen, they had a total of fifteen hours of life remaining to them.
OVAL OFFICE, THE WHITE HOUSE, WASHINGTON, D.C.
The president of the United States slowly placed the phone in its cradle.
The French president had just reported loss of contact with their Astral lander. Catastrophic failure was assumed. With the Russians so far behind, that meant possible hostile fire from the Chinese without backup.
His back was still bruised from the attempt on his own life just four days before. He thought about reaching for the intercom once more but pulled his hand back. His eagerness to know what was happening in the People’s Republic was gnawing at him but he knew it would be a mistake to push the chairman further.
The intercom gave out a soft tone.
“Yes,” he said softly, hoping it wasn’t one of the Joint Chiefs calling to tell him what he already knew about the disaster to the ESA mission.
“Mr. President, Wang Zhaoguo, vice chairman of National People’s Congress, is on the line from Beijing.”
The president sat up, but hesitated before reaching for the phone. He knew this was it, either they had an ally in the overall cause facing the planet or the Chinese mission to the Moon would continue as a hostile force. It all depended on the men Wang represented in the Politburo of the People’s Republic.
“Thank you. Please put the vice chairman through.” He sighed.
“Mr. Vice Chairman, how are you this evening?” he said when prompted.
“Mr. President, it is indeed good to hear your voice after such a dastardly plot against you,” the vice chairman said in very good English.
“Thank you, Mr. Vice Chairman.”
“You will excuse me if I make this call as brief as possible.”
“I understand,” the president said.
“As of this moment, the Politburo is split as to the question of the monumental action of the matter before us. Our generals are also split. As to our action, I am afraid the chairman has become overly suspicious of his closest advisors.”
The president knew without asking that the vice chairman was the youngest and most trusted of these advisors to the eighty-one-year-old chairman. If they didn’t act, the vice chairman would be caught and executed for treasonous acts against the People’s Republic. That would also include every one of the Chinese politicos and military men that had anything to do with going against the authority of the ruling body politic of that country.
“I sincerely hope—”
“Excuse me, Mr. President—as I said, I do not have much time. Our military leaders, while sympathetic to the decision of our best scientists, are still on the fence as far as action against the government is concerned. We will have to take a wait-and-see attitude for the next ten to twelve hours while they decide whether to assist us. Until that time, I am afraid the momentous choice of action or inaction is one that lay with our generals.”
“Are you all right, Mr. Vice Chairman?” the president asked.
“No, Mr. President, I am not. I will be arrested in a matter of moments. Thus at this time I wish us all luck. Please pass on to the French president our sincere condolences in regards to their spacecraft. It is always such a hard thing when men of bravery and honor die in the name of our future, is it not?”
“Indeed, sir, it is.”
“Mr. President, I hear my escort at this very moment coming to make sure I face my very backward superiors in the next hour. Good luck to us all.”
“Mr. Vice Chairman, I wish you—”
“The call is terminated, Mr. President,” said a voice over the line.
The president held the phone away from his ear for the longest time. Then he took a deep breath and placed the phone back to his ear.
“Get me an analysis of that conversation as soon as you can. I want background noises and levels of voice stress, ASAP.”
“Yes, sir,” came the same flat voice.
The president hung and stood to take a look out of the window. As he pulled the drapes back, he saw that the protesters on Pennsylvania Avenue had dwindled to only the most ardent religious fanatics. He shook his head as he watched a few men and women with their signs decrying the race to the Moon. Rain was falling in Washington and that fit his mood to a T as his eyes focused on the damp street outside beyond the steel gate. The mission to the Moon was still a priority and he could not change the parameters of that mission. He could not request that Altair change landing areas to assist the ESA crewmen if they were still alive and he was bothered by it. He only hoped any survivors could somehow make their way to the landing zone. For the French president to not even ask about rescue was to his credit. He understood the priorities as they were made clear by the Case Blue scenario.
As he allowed the curtain to fall back into place, blocking his view of the few protesters who braved the rains, he thought about Colonel Jack Collins and his team in Ecuador. He knew he had done all that he could on the political end of things, getting President DeSilva to stand down, but he also knew Jack had an uphill climb ahead of him in securing the mine shaft with the few international soldiers they could get at the last minute. The last call he received from the Event Group in Nevada was that the Ecuador team had company coming their way and there was nothing the national military of Ecuador could do about them other than defend them as a blocking force.
As these thoughts occurred to him, the president got angry. He turned and slammed his hand down on the intercom one more time.
“Get me General Caulfield,” he said wi
thout preamble into the intercom.
“The chairman of the Joint Chiefs in on the line, sir,” a female voice said less than a minute later.
The president picked up the phone and heard the voice of General Maxwell Caulfield, who spoke a small greeting that the president didn’t really hear at all.
“General, I want to know what you’ve come up with to get Colonel Collins and his team some help down in Ecuador.”
“Sir, as you know, both the 101st and 82nd Airborne are on their rotation to Afghanistan. The 10th Mountain has just recently returned and is in no shape to go back out. Thus far we have rounded up SEAL teams five and eight, and another unit that was just finishing NATO jump training at Fort Bragg.”
“Who are they?” the president asked, while rubbing his temple with his bandaged left hand.
As he heard the general explain, the president’s face grew concerned and his eyes closed.
“Is that all we have?”
“I’m afraid so, sir. We are spread out all over the world and this is the fastest group we could get together on such short notice. If we had another twenty-four hours we could get an entire division in there, as that would be the most expedient way to get Collins the help he needs. Believe me, sir, these boys can fight, and they’re ready to go.”
“Tell me I have a choice.”
“Jack will know what to do with them when they arrive, sir. Don’t worry about that.”
“Get them there as fast as you can, Max.”
“They’re already in the air with the SEAL teams, sir.”
“Okay, Max, I better make a phone call and explain to their president why I’m sending his boys to war without asking permission first. Goddamn it, what a mess.”
13
MÜELLER AND SANTIAGO MINING CONCERN, 100 MILES EAST OF QUITO
Jack and Carl ambled along the road toward the front gate as if they were just taking the night air. Collins forced himself to clasp his hands behind his back, like a man on a leisurely stroll.
“Well, I guess this is where I find out if the training we gave the Germans took hold,” Collins said, remembering Sebastian’s training and how he was easily one of the best he had ever taught.
As they neared the gate, one man, a large fellow in a gray uniform, stepped outside the small shack. Jack was relieved to see anyone there at all, as they obviously hadn’t been alerted that the Ecuadorian army had pulled up stakes only forty minutes before.
“Alto,” said the lone guard as he stepped in front of the gate. Jack could tell that the Spanish word for stop was laced with a thick German accent. It was one of the same guards from five days before.
“Oh, boy,” Everett whispered through the side of his face. “That’s one of the guys who escorted us into the mine. We’re had.”
Jack was tempted to raise his fingers in the gesture that would signal the designated sniper to take the guard out, but held off. He wanted the other guard from the shack visible before any action was taken. Jack stopped walking and waved a greeting.
“Hi,” he said, his face filling with the largest smile he could ever remember faking.
The large guard didn’t say anything as he clicked on a large flashlight and pointed it at Jack and Carl, who averted their eyes from the harsh light.
“Who is it? Those damn Ecuadorian army people again?” The voice came from the guard shack high above. Jack could see a light flash on and a lone figure come to the doorway. The guard was perfectly silhouetted against the light in the shack.
“I know you,” the guard said, and reached for his sidearm.
Just as Collins started to raise his right hand into the air, a sound like a bee’s buzz passed overhead. A curious look appeared on the guard’s face and his hand froze just over the holster carrying his sidearm. The man tensed and slowly fell to his knees, the flashlight rolling free. Everett saw the perfectly round hole in the man’s forehead as he tumbled over. The second guard, in the tower above, was standing as if curious why his partner was doing what he was doing. At that moment two silenced sniper rounds caught him in the neck and head. The man fell backward into the guard shack. “Jesus, whoever Krell picked as a sniper is damn good,” Carl said as he recovered the AK-47 from the dirt roadway next to the guard’s body.
“Yes, they are,” Jack said, raising his right hand into the air and pumping his fist twice.
As they moved toward the gate, Jack saw the camouflaged men exit the tree line above the mine. They quietly ran through the open fence and toward the guard housing unit. Jack grimaced as he remembered the kill orders he had given the assault team and he knew Sebastian would be as ruthless a soldier as he had been taught to be. Collins knew he couldn’t afford the manpower to watch over any prisoners. The sleeping men should have chosen a better employer than the Reverend Samuel Rawlins and Faith Ministries.
Jack and Carl entered the guard shack, where they saw the large radio. Collins gestured toward the radio and removed the back panel it. He pulled the motherboard for the transmitter. He couldn’t destroy the powerful radio; their own communications capabilities were sorely lacking and they might need it. Then Jack pulled two M-16s and several magazines from the wall-mounted rack inside the door. Everett placed the circuit board in his pocket and lay the AK-47 down just as Jack tossed him one of the M-16s. Everett pulled the charging handle back and then chambered a round. He looked at his boss and nodded.
“Shall we get in that mine and see what the hoopla’s all about?”
“You bet,” Jack said as he stepped from the guard shack.
They both hurried forward as Sebastian appeared from the larger barracks where the guards were housed. He shook his head as Collins and Everett approached.
“Six hostiles accounted for. I think we can safely assume the others are inside the mine or were out preparing a welcome for us.”
“Let’s assume they’re waiting for us in the mine. That way we’ll be covered in both cases.” Jack turned and made another gesture into the darkness. He waited a moment as the second element came out of the woods with Niles, Pete, Charlie, Appleby, and Franklyn Dubois, the MIT engineer. Jack used a hand signal telling the group to slow their approach. The civilians were closely guarded by the two Air Force pilots from the 727 jet.
“Okay, Sebastian, bring in your snipers and spotters, place them in position to cover us and let’s get the first element inside the mine.”
Almost as if on cue, the sounds of a firefight were heard from somewhere down the mountain. Collins shook his head at their bad luck. He had hoped the Ecuadorians would have waited before engaging the assault element tracking them. He knew the government men couldn’t be blamed for going early, just as he would have been tempted to attack anyone in his country with orders to murder his people.
“Okay, it sounds like our friendly troops have company down the mountain, and by the sound of the heavier caliber weapons, they’re most definitely outgunned. Let’s move! Sebastian, get elements of our second line in defensive positions outside the entrance to the mine and then join us at the main doors. Place your claymores accordingly and make kill zones for the rest of your front. We have very little to make a stand, so let’s make them hesitate before they come on strong. We have to give the president time to play hero. Go, go,” Jack said as his onetime student saluted him.
“Yes, sir,” Sebastian said, lowering the salute and pointing to three of his men. Then he silently disappeared into the darkness.
“Mr. Everett, let’s get the lights in the compound down to a more mood-oriented level, shall we? Let’s use the darkness while we have it. And make sure Sebastian and his men have the extra ammo from the guards for the outer defense. They’re going to need it.”
“You got it, Jack.”
Collins watched his friend hurry to do what he was ordered to do. Then he turned to look at Niles Compton, who had joined them from the tree line.
“Director, keep these people in between the assault element and the defensive line. And remind them
that there are only good guys in between, so no shooting.”
“Right,” Niles said as he realized he had never really seen Jack in his element before. He admired the calm way Collins made everyone feel confident in what he was telling them. He turned and made the civilians follow him up the slope where Sebastian had disappeared.
Jack turned just as several bright flashes illuminated the night sky further down the steep slope of the mountain. He didn’t flinch as the sound finally reached him. The explosions were large and loud, and he knew that they were antipersonnel missiles. He also knew the Ecuadorian army didn’t have any of those when they left the mine. He only hoped the promised Cobra gunships arrived in time to help the poor bastards.
* * *
Everett and a three-man team slowly made their way into the mine opening. The gleaming concrete of the gallery had just recently been cleaned after the removal of the stored weaponry that had so thoroughly destroyed much of the world’s hope for the Moon shots. The former Navy SEAL knew there were eyes on them as they slipped into the main gallery and took cover. With the lights out, the three men—the Australian and Vietnamese snipers and Carl—used one of the night scopes. Both of his riflemen had ambient-light scopes attached to their rifles. Even with time a factor, Everett knew taking out the remaining guard element was going to take patience.
He placed his two men at opposite ends of the gallery behind old and hardened bagged cement labeled with German markings. The pallets of material had collapsed over time and had been left to rot in the expanse of the main chamber entrance.
Everett clicked the transmit button on the small radio they had confiscated from the guard shack, letting Jack know they were in place. The dangerous part was coming. Even though he was aware that the remaining guards had obviously seen them enter the mine’s main doors, he also knew they would take the obvious targets first, meaning the bait that was about to be laid before them—Jack and Sebastian. His two-man sniper teams had to react fast at the first sign of movement from the spiderweb of gridwork above them. He knew this because that’s where he would be if he were the ambushing guards.
Legacy: An Event Group Thriller Page 41
