by Joe Buff
"Four, Three," the chief called, "the guards are milling around. They're starting to gather near the tree. The ones on the roof are leaning over the parapet."
"Naturally, Chief," Jeffrey said. "How often do they get to see something struck by lightning?" Over the noise of the rain, Jeffrey heard shouting between the guards, since their radios were fried, but their voices sounded curious more than alarmed.
"All numbers, Six," Clayton said. "Status check, sound off quickly." No one had equipment damage, and
radio reception was clearing. "All numbers, Six, prepare to commence the assault."
"Okay," the SEAL chief called, "they're starting to calm down, going their separate ways now. The rain's put out the fire in the tree, and one of the basement's backup diesel generators just came on-line."
Jeffrey looked at Clayton and smiled. "Now we get to have our perfect L-shaped ambush. Any return fire'll be backstopped by the ridge uphill or the buildings at the dead airstrip. May I do the honors, Lieutenant?"
"By all means, Commander Fuller. I see old habits die hard."
"Seven and Nine, Four," Jeffrey said. "On my mark, shoot your flash-bang grenades onto the roof. All numbers, choose your targets by azimuth zones like we practiced. You'll be weapons free when you see the explosions on top of the building." Jeffrey waited for another lightning bolt, then the rumble of thunder. "Mark." He didn't hear the rifle grenades being launched since the rifles were silenced. He did hear and see the grenades going off, like another direct hit from the storm. The SEALs lying in the underbrush on both sides of Jeffrey and Ilse commenced firing. So did the rest of the team, uphill, from over the lip of the amphitheater. The guards began to stagger and drop, caught in a merciless cross fire. Jeffrey added his own contribution, aiming carefully with his reticle. Every time he fired while the imager was on infrared he could see the track of the bullet, made even hotter by friction with air. It was like watching tracer rounds. He could also see the effects as each round struck home, the spreading and spraying of blood coded red-hot on his visor, then cooling as the body instantly went into shock, and the kaleidoscope of colors on the face of his target from pain and awareness of death. "This gives me the creeps," Jeffrey said.
"Huh?" Ilse said as she changed clips on her pistol. "A full-auto fire fight," Jeffrey said, " but we can talk
in normal tones and there isn't any hot brass."
"You know," Clayton said as he reloaded his rifle,
"you're right."
Jeffrey picked off two more guards who came around the front of the building. The range was thirty-five yards, long for a pistol shot, but the 3-D visor hologram reticle was better than a sniperscope.
"These electric guns are weird," Jeffrey said.
"Ground-level troops are all dead," the SEAL chief called from the rear of the Sharks Board. "Roof guards are still reeling, and the inside ones are confused. The electrified fence is deenergized—the diesel must not be rated for it."
"Grenadiers hit the roof again," Jeffrey ordered. "Fence breachers move in." SEAL Seven launched another flash-bang. SEAL One grabbed the mine probe. SEAL
Two rose and rushed forward, wielding a compressed-air-powered bolt cutter. He quickly sliced a gash through the chain link and high-voltage wires. Jeffrey, Ilse, Clayton, and the three SEALs ran through the gap, then headed right.
"Climbing-rope team starting up," the chief reported from the uphill side. He sounded breathless.
"Okay, Ilse, good luck," Jeffrey said. He left her with Two and Seven, crouching at one corner of the main building near the entrance. Jeffrey and Clayton and SEAL One made for the side door of the missile bunker. SEAL One scanned for booby traps, then went down the poured-concrete steps.
"Door's locked," he said. "Shielding's too good, can't tell if anyone's in there." He pulled out a length of detcord and a timer and fastened some in a circle around the electronic lock in the door. He ran back up the steps. "Fire in the hole," he said. The three of them hit the deck. There was a sharp crack and the stink of spent explosives. SEAL One was on his feet. He kicked in the door and threw in a flash-bang grenade while Jeffrey and Clayton covered him. SEAL One dashed inside.
Jeffrey saw One roll to the ground and start shooting. The bunker wasn't unoccupied. One kept firing, bright muzzle flashes, ricochets pinging and whining. Then he was hit, low down, under his flak jacket. Jeffrey lunged into the bunker. He saw a Boer soldier dead, another taking cover behind the missile, firing at it on purpose. The Boer saw Jeffrey and brought his rifle to bear. Jeffrey aimed at floor level, between the missile launcher struts, and shattered both the man's ankles. As the soldier collapsed, screaming, Jeffrey fired into his abdomen, his neck, his face.
SEAL One was moaning, clutching a bad pelvic wound.
"He got my spine," One said. "I can't feel my legs." Clayton bent down to help him. The room was filled with smoke.
"The missile!" Jeffrey shouted. "Check out the missile!" Clayton approached it, carrying the detonator box and a heavy bag of equipment. Jeffrey pulled a field dressing from his load-bearing vest. He urged One not to move.
"Warhead's intact," Clayton said. "The bastard shot up the arming section, not that we care. . . . Rocket motor's a mess. Good thing it's solid fuel—the stuff landed all over the place. . . . Physics package gamma and neutron emission spectrum checks out."
"Confirmed it's not a dummy?" Jeffrey said. "We've got live U-235?" Clayton nodded.
"All numbers, Three," Jeffrey heard. "Roof level secured. Four more enemy dead, no friendly losses."
"Three, Four," Jeffrey said, "SEAL One's hit, bad. Missile secured." Jeffrey turned to Clayton, who seemed distraught over his man.
"Leave me," One said. "I'll be okay."
"Do you want some morphine?" Clayton said.
"No," One said, "I have to hold down the bunker. Bandage the exit wound and give me a local. Hook up a plasma drip and give me back my weapon." The smell of blood was thick.
"Shaj," Jeffrey said, "take care of him. I'm going over to Ilse's team to lead the main attack. We have to keep up the pressure—we can't let the Boers regroup." Jeffrey grabbed a South African assault rifle and all the ammo he could find on both of the bodies. He noticed the one he'd killed was a lieutenant.
"I'll catch up with you in a minute," Clayton said. He held a spray can of antihemorrhage wound-fill foam.
Jeffrey saw Clayton's jaw and eyes set tight as he treated SEAL One with ruthless efficiency. Jeffrey knew that feeling all too well.
Outside the bunker Jeffrey grabbed SEAL One's mine-detecting scanner. He ran through the rain for the front steps into the Sharks Board, then threw himself to the ground. There were no targets, no return fire.
"Three, Four, status?" Jeffrey called.
"We've breached the roof-level stairway bulkhead," the SEAL chief said. "We're starting down to the second deck."
"Three, Four, okay, Chief. We're assaulting the front entrance now." Jeffrey got up and waved to Ilse and the two SEALs with her. The four of them charged up the tile-covered steps, between the aluminum handrails, firing at the glassed-in entryway. By their muzzle flashes Jeffrey glimpsed the stickers to the right of the doors. The admissions fee was ten rand for adults, six for kids and oldsters, and they took Visa and MasterCard. Then all the glass shattered and the team ran through, maintaining a volume of fire.
Two guards were visible inside, behind an armored see-through partition that was stopping Jeffrey's rounds. A transceiver sat on a table, its outer casing charred. The guards were heading for the back of the building, where Jeffrey could hear frag grenades and
screaming from upstairs. The guards turned when Jeffrey's group came in by the front door. They fired instinctively, but their rifle bullets grazed the partition without going through.
"Blow it down!" Jeffrey shouted. He and Ilse took cover behind two big concrete planters in the lobby. SEALs Two and Seven placed a small satchel charge against the base of the partition, then joined Jeffrey and Ilse. Both gu
ards fled to the rear after popping chemical smoke grenades that blocked IR. The satchel charge went off with a roar—the partition was in ruins. The foursome dashed straight through, tossing stun grenades into side rooms and following up with volleys from their weapons. Jeffrey's South African R4 clicked empty. He reloaded on the run, another thirty-fiveround clip, then fired right through the plasterboard interior walls. The air filled with white dust. His receiver parts clattered noisily, and spent shell casings clinked. He tossed another grenade, then sprayed more bullets after it—the pantry room, unoccupied. They swept the first floor quickly. The guards had all taken cover inside a sandbagged and armored vestibule, protecting the stairs to the basement lab. SEAL Two was using the radar scanner. "This deck's been structurally reinforced. That's the only way down."
The Boer guards shot at SEAL Two through firing slits in their miniature fortress, and Two hit the deck.
"Four, Three, upper level clear, all occupants terminated. We're at the bottom of the staircase down to you. We'll give covering fire so you can breach the vestibule enclosure.
"
"Good," Jeffrey said. "Shoot from hip level into the slits. We'll crawl under your suppressing fire and put satchel charges in place."
SEALs Two and Seven each grabbed a pair of
satchels from their packs. Jeffrey dropped his rifle and grabbed a satchel too. He held his pistol in one hand.
"Chief," Jeffrey said, "open fire." The SEAL chief and the two men with him, Eight and Nine, hit the slits of the enclosure. Jeffrey crawled forward with Seven and Two, shooting on the way. They took cover at the base of the sandbags, which were leaking from all the bullet holes.
Two frag grenades came out of a firing slit and landed on the floor. Whoever threw them was hit—there was a scream inside the vestibule. Jeffrey turned. He couldn't reach the grenades. The SEAL chief saw them too. He ran from the stairwell and flung himself, landing just as they detonated. He was lifted off the deck by the concussions, then bounced back in a heap, helmetless and smoldering. Jeffrey knew he was dead, shards of steel through his heart. The other men in the stairwell kept firing at the slits.
"Arm the satchels!" Jeffrey shouted to Two and Seven. Then they pulled well back. "Fire in the hole!" Jeffrey screamed. SEALs Eight and Nine stopped shooting—they must have gone up the stairs.
There was a huge eruption, the loudest explosion so far, and Jeffrey's visor screens blanked out the glare. Jeffrey was deafened; he choked on the fumes and the sand. Rubble was burning and the museum displays were a mess. Pieces of shark skeleton were scattered all over the place. Every window on the first floor was blown out—Jeffrey could feel the breeze. It was helping clear the smoke.
The Boers' enclosure was wrecked. Two bloodied soldiers took cover behind fallen piles of sandbags, firing viciously, one of them now using a light machine gun on a bipod. Six other figures lay limp, some of them dismembered.
"Eight and Nine," Jeffrey said, "open fire again—make them keep their heads down." Just then Clayton
arrived, crawling up beside Jeffrey. Both men winced as ricochets zipped by.
"One isn't going to make it," Clayton said.
"The chief bought it too," Jeffrey said.
"I saw," Clayton said. "Let's give them a taste of their own medicine." Clayton took two fragmentation grenades from his vest. More enemy slugs snapped overhead, pulverizing the walls. Clayton held a grenade in each hand and Jeffrey pulled the pins. Clayton popped the spoons. "One, two, three," he counted. Then he yelled "Grenade!" and tossed them both at the Boers.
Jeffrey hugged the floor, his arms protecting his head. There was a stabbing flash and a sharp double crack, brief screaming and writhing, then stillness and silence, except for more painful ringing in Jeffrey's ears. He saw Eight and Nine rush the Boers, firing into their bodies, long past when they were dead.
Jeffrey turned to Ilse. "Get some fire extinguishers and put out whatever's burning!" Ilse nodded. "Don't forget the bodies!" Jeffrey shouted after her. "We don't want their ammo cooking off!"
Jeffrey and Clayton threw concussion grenades down the stairs, then clambered into the basement. They took a bend in the debris-strewn concrete hallway, then came to a door. Clayton examined it carefully. "It's solid steel, no lock we can reach, the hinges are on the inside."
"Crap," Jeffrey said. "They'll be trying to signal for help." Clayton turned to his men. "Get the thermite lances!"
SEALs Eight and Nine came down, carrying rods
three feet long, and wearing asbestos gauntlets. They
put on dark goggles, then donned their gas masks, then
pulled out igniters for the rods. The rods began to burn,
a hissing, brilliant white. Eight and Nine held the rods to the door, starting to burn their way through. Soon Nine said, "It looks like three-inch armor plate." He and Eight kept working. SEAL Two set up a battery-powered fan on the steps, for ventilation.
"Two and Seven," Clayton said. "Police up the bodies outside, dump them in the workshop. Establish perimeter security, the amphitheater, the road." The two men nodded and left.
"This'll go faster if we help," Jeffrey said, then he coughed from the fumes. He and Clayton put on their gas masks and lit two more lances. Above the thermite's eager, potent hiss Jeffrey heard Ilse working upstairs, the squirting sound of extinguishers. They were all on their third set of lances, the last they had. They were almost done making a hole at the base of the door, big enough to run through at a crouch.
"This is the exciting part," Jeffrey said, sweating in the built-up heat. "We know the biosafety four containment's at the other end of this level. We don't know what else is down here or how many personnel."
"I'm worried they'll have school kids," Clayton said. "Experiment subjects, for hostages."
"This thing ain't over," Jeffrey said.
"We're just about finished," Nine said. A small lip in the middle of the top cut held the square chunk of door in place. SEALs Nine and Eight held the lances to the side. The thermite kept sparking and smoking, and the air stank from burned steel.
"We can fit the peeper through here," Eight said. "It's cool enough now, LT." He pointed to one spot where the jagged gap flared slightly.
Clayton went to the door. He bent the tip of the fiberoptic wand and pushed it through the cut. He looked through the viewer. "The lights are on inside, but I don't see people or weapons. The front walls and partitions are heated and insulated. They're opaque to IR. . . . I don't see any booby traps, but I can't be sure." Jeffrey took Clayton's place at the viewer. He twirled the wand between thumb and forefinger, to make the lens pan around.
"You're right," Jeffrey said, "more shielding. Another layer of security, even in there." Jeffrey could see worktables covered with papers, different kinds of cabinets, big black binders on bookshelves, a few desktop PCs. Then he saw a TV monitor, hooked to a VCR.
Something was showing on the screen, but the angle was too oblique. Several chairs were grouped in front of the set, empty, one knocked over, as if people had been sitting and watching and then scattered with the attack. That meant they were still down here somewhere, farther in. Jeffrey saw a central corridor with doors off to both sides. The corridor ended in some kind of air lock with a porthole. Through the porthole he saw stainless steel. Above the air lock a red light was flashing.
Behind Jeffrey, Ilse came down the stairs. "The fires are out," she said. She smelled distinctly of smoke. She crouched on the concrete floor, her black wet suit snug around her thighs. She clutched her pistol in both hands, pointed toward the overhead. She looked incredibly sexy.
"What now?" Ilse said.
"Look through the viewer, get oriented," Jeffrey said. Ilse put one eye to the ocular. " Memorize what you see," he told her. "Visualize going in."
"Okay," Ilse said. "I'm ready."
Jeffrey let the two SEALs take a peek. "Everyone change to hollow point only," he ordered. "No armor-piercing rounds near the containment." He pulled from
his vest an ammo clip color-coded green, with distinctive ribbing. He cleared his pistol and reloaded with the clip. Ilse and the others did the same.
"Finish the cut," Clayton said. "After we go through, fan out. Don't damage computers or notebooks. Shoot only when you have targets, kill everyone you see. If they have a child, he won't make much of a shield. Aim for the bad guy's eyes, like we trained. His fingers'
ll go slack instantly."
"What do we do with the hostage?" SEAL Nine said. "We'll worry about that if it happens," Jeffrey said. "Any second now," Eight said, working his torch. "One, Six," Clayton called. "One, Six, how you making out?"
There was a pause. "Six, One, I'm cold, and thirsty."
"Pull up your wet-suit hood," Clayton said. "You'll feel warmer. And drink from your canteen. If you need more water, just call me." Clayton sounded choked up.
"One, Four," Jeffrey said. He had to clear his throat. "You did a great job going in there. We're on the next-tolast phase now. We'll be back to you soon. Hang tough."
"Yeah," One said, obviously in pain.
"Two and Seven, Six. Any outside activity?"
"Six, Two, negative."
"Six, Seven, no unusual radio traffic, nothing at all from the lab. . . . I think the rain might be stopping."
Ilse watched SEAL Nine give the metal slab a shove. It fell inward with a clank. Eight dashed in, Nine followed. Jeffrey went after Clayton, then Ilse duck-walked through. Jeffrey held back, protecting Ilse now as the rest of the team moved forward. Ilse pulled empty equipment bags and two digital cameras from her pack and started rifling the desks. The SEALs advanced, covering each
other methodically, shouting "Clear" as they checked each office in turn.
"Shit," Ilse said, eyeballing several computers. "The backs are off. They took out the hard drives themselves."
"I don't see any floppies or CD-RWs either," Jeffrey said. He pointed to empty spaces on the desks, where disk holders had probably been. Bullets hit the door and Ilse and Jeffrey ducked.
"They've been destroying the evidence," she said, "the whole time we were breaking in."
