Legacy: An Event Group Thriller

by David L. Golemon

  “I don’t understand how the power is converted to light,” Appleby said while examining the receiver where the magazine was inserted.

  “You know, hanging out with Colonel Collins and Captain Everett of late, I have had a chance on several occasions to examine our own weaponry. The receiver for the M-16 rifle is basically a port. The real magic is in the ammunition. The gun itself is nothing more than the dumbest of tools. In this case,” Ellenshaw said, as he lowered his tall frame to look down the barrel past the smashed crystal, “I would say that this weapon is just as simple as an M-16. It’s the power that makes it special. Introduce a heat source or electrical source to the element inside the receiver and allow the material to be trapped inside, and this trigger releases the built-up energy that’s dying to get out.”

  “I’m not following, Charlie,” Pete said. He pushed his glasses back up his nose and followed Ellenshaw’s example, looking down the barrel.

  “Pete, the crystal that you are looking at is nothing but an amplifier and a lens. Together, they create light. Inside the receiver, once you break it down—which, from the shavings on the tabletop, it appears someone actually did—I believe you will find nothing more than a cooling port, and possibly a small light emitter. That is, you will find a lightbulb. A strong one, to be sure, but basically just a long-life lightbulb. Send power to this light source, a lot of power, and then release it to the only open port available, the barrel end of the weapon. It passes through this crystal, where it is amplified in strength just like the reflector plate on an old-fashioned oil lamp, and pow! You have a handheld laser device capable of doing that,” he said, pointing to the steel plate hanging from the ceiling.

  As Ellenshaw straightened, he felt eyes on him. He looked at Niles, who was shaking his head.

  “Can I ask you what the hell hanging out with Jack has done to you?” said Niles. “That’s amazing for just a five-minute examination.”

  Ellenshaw looked embarrassed, not really knowing if Niles was pulling his leg or trying to make a point about concocting a theory without the least bit of proof.

  “Actually, I think along the lines of forensic evaluation, as in my field of work there is very rarely any evidence to examine. I guess I have to use my imagination far more than my colleagues here.”

  “Well, I for one think it’s one hell of an accurate theory,” Appleby said, looking closely at Niles. “Just who the hell are you people?”

  * * *

  Jack walked up to the area at the base of the cave-in. Several soldiers were removing the last pile of rocks from its base. As the top row was removed, Collins couldn’t believe his eyes. Underneath the uppermost portion, about fourteen feet off the gallery floor, was what looked like a lighted sign, long dead, its face smashed by the explosion that had sent the ceiling crashing down. Jack could guess the meaning of the bright red letters, but turned to Sebastian anyway.

  “Galerie—zwei Gar keine Elektronik,” Sebastian read aloud.

  “Well, don’t keep us in suspense, Major Krell. What does it say?” Everett asked.

  “Gallery Two—absolutely NO electronics,” the German said, his own words giving him the chills.

  Jack remembered the strange vibrations he and the others felt every time they used their radios.

  “Well, then, if that’s what it says, I believe we’ll heed the warning,” Collins said as the men removed the rest of the blockage.

  Soon they were staring at a set of double steel doors. Jack examined them closely and became uneasy at the sight.

  “Well, the explosions really warped these things. They’re battered all to hell,” Everett said, running a hand over the steel plate of what looked to be a portal large enough to accommodate a small truck.

  “This is worrisome,” Jack said, stepping back to take in the full length and width of the doors. Then he stepped forward and ran his hand over the battered material. “All of this damage is from the other side of the doors. Look,” he said. His hand rose as his fingers passed over a large indentation.

  “Maybe rocks battered it from the other side,” Sebastian offered.

  “I agree. Whoever handled the detonation to seal this off couldn’t control the fall of the ceiling on this side alone,” Captain Mark-Patton said.

  Collins looked at Everett, who was seeing the same thing as Jack.

  “If that’s the case, why didn’t the detonation cause the same damage to this side of the doors? Just as much rock from the cave-in battered this side, but the steel is so thick that not one single dent in this steel is evident.”

  Sebastian and several others played their large flashlights over the double doors. Indeed, there weren’t any indentations pushed inward from this side—all of the bulges were from gallery number two’s side.

  “I hate to be the first wimp to point this out,” Everett said while shining his light on the large indentations protruding from the steel doors. “But it really looks like something on that side wanted through that door, maybe after the Germans brought down the roof.” He looked at Jack. “Call it a hunch.”

  Jack and Everett had seen things in their time at the Event Group that would have sent your everyday soldiers to a mental ward. They had seen things that went beyond strange, so they had come to respect their hunches about certain discoveries.

  Jack studied the dents in the door for the longest time and then turned to Sebastian.

  “Major, you have the most complete team here besides the fifteen Polish troops that we brought down into the mine. You and your men will follow me through the doors.”

  “Uh, no way, Jack,” Everett said, stepping up to this boss. “Sebastian will take his men in with me tagging along. You’re the leader of this makeshift bunch of pirates. You don’t go in first.”

  “Mr. Everett, I think—”

  “I agree with the captain, Jack. you stay behind until the all clear is given,” Sebastian said. “That’s Assault 101. Remember what you said in your training sessions with us?”

  Collins was pinned down by his own words. He just nodded.

  “Captain Mark-Patton will form a fast reaction team for backup.” Jack turned to the British SAS captain, who agreed. He pointed to his SAS team and to the ten Marines that would back up Sebastian’s assault element.

  “Okay, don’t wait too long. If the gallery is clear, give the call and we’ll follow up with the reaction team. We’ll wait until both teams are inside before we start the examination of the gallery.”

  Sebastian and Carl charged their weapons and assembled the German commandos who would make the initial incursion into the second gallery.

  “Colonel, the doors are wedged pretty good, but I think if we cut through at the center latch, we can get them to slide open,” a Marine combat engineer said. “If there’s no major blockage on the far side, I mean.”

  “Well, Corporal, I think whatever battered the hell out of that door cleared away whatever blockage there might have been,” Everett said, and checked his web gear and the extra ammo he was carrying for his M-16.

  “Cut through,” Jack said. He moved out of the way as they brought in one of the cutting torches they had found in McCabe’s warehoused goods.

  Collins was joined by Everett as they watched the cutting torch start doing its work on the giant latch holding together the two halves of the steel-plated doors.

  “It’s obvious McCabe didn’t make it into the second gallery. With the treasure that was waiting for him over there, you have to wonder why. Do you think maybe he had a little more complete information than we do about what happened here in 1945?”

  Collins watched the cutting torch burn through the steel and chanced a look at Everett. His face told Carl everything.

  They heard the latch fall through onto the far side of the doors with a loud clang, and then watched as a group of Marines and Polish soldiers started to tug at opposite ends of the double doors. They parted gradually with a loud screech and grumble. The echo from the far side told Jack and the others
that they were facing a vast open space. The men tensed as the doorway opened into a dark chamber beyond. At the base of the doors, a large pile of rocks had been pushed out of the way. Sebastian’s assault team was placed strategically to cover the width of the door. Captain Mark-Patton eased Jack out of the way so that his second team had a clear field to cover the German commandos.

  “Mr. Everett, you watch your ass,” Jack said, as he turned to a Polish lieutenant. “I want a demo team to place charges above the doorway and I want at least three claymores covering that opening.”

  The Polish lieutenant saluted and walked away to get the equipment. Collins was taking no chances in case the German SS had the right idea in the first place.

  “Night vision,” Sebastian called out. His remaining six men and Captain Everett lowered night vision goggles over their eyes and then two men at a time entered the darkness beyond the doors.

  Jack was champing at the bit as he tensed, waiting for the first signs of trouble. He hated not leading the first team into the second gallery.

  “Captain Mark-Patton, take your team in, no night vision.”

  “Yes, sir,” Mark-Patton called out as he made his follow-up team ready at the doors. Then, with a silent wave of his hand, the second element moved in.

  As Collins watched he felt someone step up to him. He looked over and saw Private Tram standing there. He nodded toward the opening of the second gallery. Jack shook his head negatively.

  “No, we’ll wait for the all clear.”

  “I believe a commander should be in the lead of his troops at all times,” Tram said. “Meaning no disrespect, of course.”

  Jack smiled as he watched the last of the SAS men and Polish soldiers disappear into the blackness of the doorway.

  “None taken, Private,” he said. “Believe me, I think the same thing. My military philosophy isn’t that different from your own.”

  “Then we shall wait,” Tram said cradling the American-made M-14.

  “You know, when this is over, I want that weapon back. You’re too damn good with it.”

  SHACKLETON CRATER, LUNAR SURFACE

  Sarah allowed the Green Beret sergeant to ease over the small rise before her. The column of Americans kept silent, not allowing any talking that could lead to a transmission alerting someone unfriendly. As the sergeant peeked over the top of the small ridge only five hundred feet from the crater, he quickly ducked back down and removed the M-39 from his shoulder. He made sure the kinetic energy round was charged and held a hand up to Sarah and the others, indicating they should wait where they were. He crawled back up the small incline and looked over the side once more. He ducked back and waved Sarah up the slope. When she arrived the sergeant slid back down, careful not to snag his white environment suit on a stone. The bulletproof vest on the front and back of his torso made moving that much more difficult. He pointed at his wrist, eying Sarah through the clear visor. He was indicating that she should switch frequencies to suit-to-suit mode. She punched the small LED terminal on her wrist.

  “What’s up?” she asked.

  “We have seven people down there. They look like they’re just sitting around. I see at least five expended oxygen bottles and hoses for refilling the environmental tanks on their backs. I think they’re ESA, but I can’t be sure.”

  “Our briefing said their suits are white and blue.”

  “Yes, but maybe the Chinese knew that and changed from red to what the ESA was wearing?”

  Sarah bit her lower lip and shook her head inside her helmet. “We have to draw the line somewhere. I mean, that’s too damn devious. The Chinese haven’t done anything yet to warrant that kind of thinking.” Sarah looked at the sergeant. “No, I say we make contact. They may be desperate for help. And we have plenty of air on our sleds.” She looked back down the slope at the four large sleds filled with extra bottles of oxygen.

  “You’re the boss,” the sergeant said, nodding.

  Sarah eased herself up, switching her COM system to the open frequency used by all nations during spaceflight. She stood momentarily on the top of the ridge and looked down at the seven people below, who seemed to be sitting and resting. She saw two of them move, so they were alive.

  “Do you require assistance?” Sarah called from the ridge top.

  All seven heads turned at once. They were looking in all directions and a few weapons were raised as most tried to get to their feet.

  “Easy, easy. Lieutenant McIntire, U.S. Army. Are you ESA?”

  The men below started laughing and patting each other on the backs when they finally spied Sarah and the sergeant looking down on them.

  “Oui. Captain Philippe Jarneux. I have six men and we are very low on O2. Are you carrying extra?”

  “Yes, we have plenty.” Sarah bounded easily down the slope. Not wanting to fall and embarrass herself in front of the French, she slid part of the way. She was surrounded by the ESA astronauts as her men came over the ridge with the sleds of supplies. She was being pounded on the back by some very grateful ESA men when Mendenhall stepped up to her.

  “I see you’ve made some new friends,” he said as he watched Sarah be the hero. Then, before he knew it, he was being pounded on the pack holding his oxygen. “Hey, hey,” he cried, as he was hit so hard he felt his feet lift from the lunar surface. As he watched, the entire U.S. team was being congratulated. The scene was a good one. They had just gained a partner in the exploration of the crater.

  Sarah pointed out the four sleds and the containers of oxygen lying on them. Every one of the seven ESA astronauts was down to two hours of O2 in their tanks.

  Sarah stepped away and tried to reach Altair.

  “Altair 1, this is Lewis and Clark, do you copy, over,” she said, as she checked to make sure she was still on the open frequency.

  All she heard was static. She was joined once more by Mendenhall, who looked at his own frequency setting and then at Sarah, with worry on his face.

  The French air force captain stepped up and listened in as Sarah tried again.

  “Altair 1, this is Lewis and Clark, do you copy, over?” Sarah said, trying to keep any worry out of her voice. Upon exiting the Altair, their communications had been crystal clear. Now there was nothing but static.

  “If I didn’t know better, this sounds like the jamming we ran into in Iraq in the first few days of the war,” Green Beret Sergeant Martinez said as he tapped his own radio display on his wrist.

  “Lieutenant, you were right about the Chinese not being devious enough, but this is more in their line of operation,” the sergeant said as he broke away from the smiling and happy ESA men.

  Sarah, Mendenhall, and the French commander turned toward the sergeant as they saw him looking up and back at the place where the Americans had just been.

  “Oh, shit,” Sarah said as she saw a sight that froze her blood.

  “Well, I guess the Moon’s becoming a very crowded place,” Will said. He slowly brought up his weapon, but knew if he made it look too obvious the twelve trained guns would make short work of them.

  Lining the top of the ridge were twelve red-clad Chinese soldiers and they had very lethal weapons. They were aimed at the sixteen ESA and NASA personnel, who had just lost their enthusiasm about joining forces.

  “This could get real ugly,” Sarah said as she raised her hands into the air, the group now surrounded by soldiers of the People’s Republic of China.

  The Moon was indeed becoming a very crowded place.

  GALLERY NUMBER TWO, MÜELLER AND SANTIAGO MINING CONCERN, 100 MILES EAST OF QUITO NUMBER TWO

  Collins and eighty-five men remaining of the Columbus team waited for any indication of trouble. Jack was standing silently fifteen feet from the double doors. Every few minutes he would see movement in the darkness beyond, but it was nothing more than fleeting glimpses of the men. Because of his order, which he had given on a hunch that really made no sense, Collins knew information making its way back to him could take a while. His hu
nch may be right, or it may be just paranoia, but they hadn’t heard or felt any of the mysterious vibrations since the order not to use the radios or anything else electronic. He also knew that the German SS had left this place without emptying it of its technological riches for a reason, and all of this at a time when their armed forces could have used the miracle weapons that were obviously buried in the second gallery.

  Jack turned when he felt someone step up behind him and saw the faint lighting from above shining off the glasses of Niles Compton. Collins turned back to the doorway in front of him.

  “I wish you would stay back until I get the all clear from Mr. Everett and Sebastian.”

  “I need to be here, Jack. I—”

  “Just when are you going to tell me what the hell is going on, Niles?” Jack turned and faced the director.

  Niles took a deep breath and looked around him at the young faces of the soldiers. There were Poles, U.S. Marines, Japanese, Australians, and others who were no more than babies. He felt responsible for bringing them to this awful hole in the ground.

  “Jack, there was a time when I wouldn’t give a military man the time of day. Not that I didn’t respect them. I just didn’t think about them.” Niles leaned against a large stone and removed his glasses as he spoke low so no one else could hear his words. “Now look at these kids. They never ask why, or what for. They go where their countries say to go and do what their countries say to do.”

  Jack turned fully and watched Niles stare at the ground. The dim lights hanging from the top of the first gallery cast eerie shadows that made Compton look gaunt and sallow.

  “Since I became involved with the Event Group and became responsible for these boys, it’s come full circle. I am intimidated to a point that I hate ordering dangerous field missions because I can’t stand to lose anyone. These kids expect that their leaders are doing what’s right, and that makes them obligated to obey an order, no matter how crazy that order may sound.”