Black Ops

by Alan Baxter

  Zorn coughed again. “Right here, guys.”

  Ivy turned to set down the first-aid kit and retrieve dressing material from it. Under his breath he said, “He needs an OR, Hatcher.”

  Hatcher gave a curt nod. “Want to prove what a tough son of a bitch you are, soldier?”

  “Not especially,” Zorn said, his voice rough, rasping. “Is there a pussy option?”

  “We need to get you out of here. Not to mention, us. Think you can move without slicing any vital organs?”

  “Maybe. If you got some good junk for me to shoot up. Hurts like a bitch, man.”

  Hatcher glanced at Ivy. “What about it?”

  “I might be able to dose him enough to help without knocking him out.”

  Hatcher tipped his head back, searching the sky. Then he cut his gaze to Woodley.

  “How far’s the extraction point?”

  “Thirty clicks or so west. But not for another twelve hours.”

  “Failsafe?”

  “No. Complete disavowal, remember? No radio contact, no homing. We show up. Or not. Failing that, same as you were told. The embassy.”

  “Yeah, in Zambia. How far is that? Fifty miles? A hundred?”

  “What do you want me to say? I’m in the same boat you are. Our only known contact was Mbuyi. And he took off to drive the hostage across the border. We just have to make it through the night.”

  “Yeah, but in order to do that, we have to get as far away from here as possible. So, we need to get to the vehicles and not waste any more time arguing about it.”

  “Look, Hatcher, I know you’re pissed. I don’t blame you. Really, I don’t. But don’t you think our best bet is to do what we came here to do and kill that thing?”

  “You mean, what you came here to do. I came here to rescue a hostage, remember?”

  “Still, it caught us by surprise, that’s all. We have RPGs in the floor of the Hummer, for crying out loud. If we just prepared—”

  “The answer is no. We have one KIA – our sniper, at that – and another down in need of urgent medical attention. And I have no doubt whatever it was could have taken us all out right then if it had really wanted to.”

  Woodley gave him a skeptical look, brows cinched. “Then why didn’t it?”

  Hatcher didn’t respond. He looked down at Zorn, who gave him a weak thumbs up as Ivy administered a syringe, slowly depressing the plunger.

  “What do we have for transportation? Same as before?”

  “Yes. Plus what they brought you in.”

  The words seemed to echo in Hatcher’s head for a moment. Something shifted in his head, revealing a new question.

  “You never answered my question. Why?”

  Woodley shook his head, frowning. “I told you. The brass figured they’d take you to where it nests or hangs out or whatever.”

  “No, I mean, why do they want us to kill this thing? Please don’t expect me to believe they care about the plight of some third-world poverty hole, because they don’t.”

  “What can I say?” Woodley said, shrugging. “Above my pay grade.”

  “You’re lying. I can see it in the direction your eyes moved before you answered, in the timing of the shrug as you spoke, in the way your lids hooded as the words passed your lips, and in the way you curled those same lips back over your teeth, as if to bite them closed and stop more lies from coming out.”

  Woodley shook his head, grunting an exasperated puff of air as he tossed his arms up.

  “And despite being a fucking idiot, you’re not stupid. You would have asked these same questions, demanded answers. And you did. So quit holding back and tell me everything.”

  The man sucked in a deep breath, held it as he searched the ground, then let it out, his body deflating some.

  “Cliché as it sounds, it’s classified.”

  “Is it vital enough to national security that you’re willing to endure broken arms and missing teeth? Because I wouldn’t bank on me being above all that if I were you.”

  Ivy stood, took a step closer. “Answer the damn question, Woodley.”

  Seconds passed as the man’s gaze volleyed back and forth, Hatcher to Ivy to Hatcher. His eyes lingered on Hatcher for a long moment, then he lowered them, thinking.

  “Helium,” he said.

  Zorn let out a laugh, a rummy, drug-induced chuckle.

  “What does that even mean?” Hatcher said.

  “Apparently, the world only has a finite supply. Who fucking knew, right? All kinds of high-tech shit uses tons of the stuff. But it doesn’t exist everywhere, and supplies have been starting to run low, low enough some places have banned party balloons and that kind of crap. Then they recently found a huge cache of it in Tanzania, enough to supply everyone for a few more years. But not forever. The shortage got a lot of people spooked.”

  “Keep going.”

  “Seems there’s another valley like it, same rock formations and satellite indicators or whatever it is, and they suspect this field is even bigger. Maybe two or three times as big. Enough of the stuff to last twenty years. Only when they’ve tried to drill core samples…”

  Hatcher glanced around the jungle, then tilted his head to search the sky. “Their engineers have disappeared.”

  “Something like that.”

  “That’s just great.”

  “Hey, it wasn’t my goddamn idea. The way they explained it, this was important stuff. Medical devices, lab equipment, all kinds of crap that requires it to function. The world needs an ample supply. Without one, people all over the globe will be fucked.”

  “By ‘they’, you mean, Keegan. And you believed him. Still believe him.”

  “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “How about because if this were actually about saving the world, you think he’d send a team of five contractors? Guys he had to blackmail? For Christ’s sake, wake the hell up. Did he ever show you credentials? I never saw any. Nothing with his name on it. Nothing with anyone’s name on it. Just clandestine meetings in government basements. Off the books. No paper trail. Jesus, Woodley, this is the same asshole who made up some BS story about the vice-president’s daughter to explain all the secrecy, why it all had to be off the books, untraceable, when you have to know by now it was just some poor aid worker in the wrong place at the wrong time. Just some good woman trying to help albinos, or whatever. But who do you think orchestrated that? Hell, who do you think arranged for her to be taken in the first place? This was planned from the beginning, right down to the tiniest detail. It had to look real. Real people, real news stories.”

  “I don’t understand…” Woodley blinked. “You’re saying there’s no helium?”

  “No, I’m sure there is. I’m sure there are a gazillion metric shit-tons of the stuff, or however they measure it, just like he said. And I’m also sure the rights to it are worth a few metric shit-tons of money.”

  “Money? Wait, you’re telling me…”

  “Yes. That guy cut a deal. Whoever the hell he is. A big, fat gild-your-toilet deal that will make him millions. Maybe hundreds of millions. No wonder he told me he was retiring, that this was his last gig. Jesus.”

  “But, he must have thought we could do it, then, right?”

  “No. He probably thought all of you would die.” All except me, Hatcher thought. Me, he needed to keep alive. He didn’t know how he knew, just that he did. “Open your eyes, Woodley. Why the hell do you think they asked for me… by name?”

  “He said there was a vendetta of some sort. Didn’t get into the details. All I was told was, they’d take you somewhere, and we were supposed to retrieve you and terminate the target.”

  “There’s a vendetta, all right. But not with some guerrilla clan.” Hatcher turned to look at Zorn. “Think he can move now?”

  Ivy hitched a shoulder. “I guess we’re
gonna find out.”

  The two of them helped Zorn to his feet. His eyes were glazed, lids half closed. He had a dreamy smile on his face, even as he winced a few times.

  “Keep your eyes on the sky,” Hatcher said, looking at Woodley. “You have those NVDs?”

  Woodley nodded, reaching into a pack.

  “You see it, let us know. If it sees us, open fire on it. Three round bursts. How’re you set on ammo?”

  He detached the curved magazine from his rifle and replaced it. “Four mags. A couple dozen more in the Hummer.”

  Zorn had a few magazines of the same caliber, so did Ivy. But it didn’t matter. If they needed more cover than that to make it to the vehicles, they never were going to reach them, anyway.

  “It’ll have to do. Let’s move.” Hatcher picked up Zorn’s rifle and replaced the magazine before shouldering it. He looked through the trees. Little diamond-shaped sparkles between the leaves. “The sun will be completely gone in a few minutes.”

  He let Ivy point the way, each of them with one of Zorn’s arms around their necks and over their shoulders. Zorn, for his part, helped more than Hatcher expected, so it wasn’t quite dead weight. He alternated between laughing and grunting. Like he could feel the pain, but would have a hard time caring less.

  “How is it looking back there, Woodley?”

  “Nothing, and lots of it.”

  The jungle was thick. The path they were following was recently slashed, broken stems of rubbery plants dangled in places on each side, partially sliced, other parts lay flat from being pressed with boots, various leafy shapes of deep green and purplish red padded the ground underfoot. An occasional caw from what Hatcher supposed was a bird, the call of what may have been a monkey. The trill of insects rose and fell in waves.

  To Hatcher’s left, those jeweled twinkles of light flashed and then disappeared. Hatcher looked up. Darkness was creeping across the twilight like a weeping wound.

  Hatcher tapped Ivy and stopped. “Now might be a good time to break out those NVDs.”

  Ivy nodded. Hatcher took Zorn’s weight and pivoted to look at Woodley, who was a few yards behind. Woodley’s rifle dropped from its sling as he got the message and fit the goggles over his head. He made some adjustments along the sides, staring first at the ground, then the sky, then leveling his gaze at Hatcher.

  Something wasn’t right.

  “Listen,” Ivy said, pausing, goggles near his face, ready to be slipped over his head gear. “You hear that?”

  Woodley shrugged his rifle higher and leaned his head back, scanning the heavens. “I don’t hear anything. Don’t see anything, either.”

  “That’s what he means,” Hatcher said. “Everything’s gone quiet.”

  Darkness seemed to fall like a blanket. The surrounding jungle became a jumble of strange shadows with shapes suddenly both closer and farther than before. Woodley was still visible, but hard to see. It was gray beyond him, a dark background populated by deep shadows. Something even darker moved. Fast.

  “Look out!”

  Woodley started to turn, but there was no time to act. Hatcher felt a buffet of air against his face as he raised his weapon, could make out the ink-black shape as it swooped through. The slashing sound of movement whipping through the air, a wet, popping crunch. Something loose bounced off Hatcher’s M4 a split second before a large curve of hair and skin and bone slapped his abdomen. In the dying light, he could make out a nose and eyeless lid as the piece of skull slid like a broken saucer off his boot. By the time he raised his eyes, he couldn’t make out anything else but shades of ebony beneath a slate sky.

  Ivy scrambled to take aim. The air swirled and something cut and fanned just feet above them.

  “Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” Ivy said. “It’s like, it’s like… Hatcher! You gotta see this thing! Oh my God!”

  Hatcher wasn’t sure what the man could be seeing that they hadn’t already got an eyeful of, but he didn’t have time to ponder it. He could make out Woodley’s NVDs on the ground in front of him from the glow and picked them up. A dull, greenish light shone in the view side of the lens. He pulled them over his head, groping the sides with his fingers and fiddling with the sliding controls until the area around him seemed in focus. These were high quality. Not the best he’d ever tried, but good enough.

  He panned the sky, then swept his head around. Nothing.

  “Gone,” Ivy said. “It just pointed itself up and shot like a missile! Never seen anything like it. I mean, damn.”

  Hatcher looked at Woodley’s body. He lowered his head to see the piece of Woodley’s face on the ground.

  “How far to the vehicles from here?”

  “Click, click and a half. We were just behind your convoy. This should take us right to them, more or less.”

  “Not us. I’m going to draw it away,” Hatcher said, heading to where Woodley lay.

  “What? No. We should stick together. I can’t handle him myself.”

  Zorn laughed, then gagged for a few seconds. “Too much man for you,” he mumbled.

  “You can if you’re not being attacked. Look, I think it’s me it wants. I also think it’s going to pick everyone else off one at a time until it gets me. Unless I can draw it away and it thinks I’m alone.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I don’t. Don’t ask me to explain. There’s no time, and I really don’t have much of an explanation to offer. I want you take him back to where you found me. Just stay there. Hunker down for about an hour. And do what you can to keep him alive in the process. If I’m the only one headed for the vehicles, it may think I’m trying to escape and come after me.”

  “What if it doesn’t follow you?”

  Hatcher inhaled deeply, surveyed the sky for a moment. “If I’m wrong, we’re probably all dead anyway. That thing can pick us off whenever it wants. But I’m pretty sure I’m the one it’s really after.”

  “And if you’re right? What are you supposed to do if it does come after you? If you don’t make it to the Hummer?”

  “What I was brought here to do, whatever that is. Don’t try to understand, just go.”

  Ivy shook his head, then nodded. He hooked Zorn’s arm over his neck and started to move back the way they’d come, sidestepping past Woodley’s corpse. Hatcher watched for a moment, then checked Woodley’s pocket’s for magazines. He rolled the body over and could see Woodley’s face in the greenish monochrome, part of it missing, the face of someone unmasked while straining an organ in the catacombs of an opera house.

  A quick calculation of rounds told him he had a hundred and twenty. But part of him was certain for any of them to do any good, he’d have to be up close, practically shoving the barrel in the thing’s mouth. It had already absorbed a couple of dozen hits, at least. Its leathery hide must have been as thick as an elephant’s. There wasn’t much doubt its wings were strong enough to handle high velocity rounds. It left him wondering if there was anything they couldn’t handle.

  He stared down the makeshift trail until Ivy and Zorn were out of sight.

  “All right,” he said, his voice loud but not overly so. Anything louder than necessary would come across as baiting. At least, that was what his gut told him. “Here’s your chance.”

  He let out a breath and broke into a run. The NVDs kept the terrain visible, and he was able to move at a double-time pace. He kept his rifle up, stopping every few dozen yards to sweep the sky to his rear with the barrel, controlling his breathing, listening, watching, watching, listening.

  Minutes passed. He had to have traveled over a kilometer. Run stop sweep, run stop sweep. Nothing but eerie glowing jungle with a pitch background to all sides. No choice but to keep moving.

  A break in the foliage seemed to jump in front of him. Dirt road. Nothing visible in either direction. He headed to the right, more of a sprint now. Nothing
. He was about to turn around when something came into view, a bright monochromatic outline around a curve.

  The back of a truck. He recognized it as he drew closer. The one he’d arrived in, with the grappling hook launcher in the rear. He should have turned left. He’d practically come full circle.

  He stopped and scanned the sky, swept the dense cluster of forest to each side. His thoughts turned to Ivy, Zorn. For all he knew, they were already dead, or in the process of being dismembered. There was no way to be sure.

  But he didn’t believe it. He had to be the target.

  He jumped in the truck, placing the rifle across his lap. Keys were in the ignition. He closed his eyes and breathed a grateful sigh.

  What if you’re wrong?

  No. He shook the thought from his head. He’d been through too much, seen too much, not to know. He was the one it wanted. It wouldn’t just let him go.

  But what if you’re wrong?

  The truck started on the third try. He pulled off his NVDs and turned on the headlights. He shifted into reverse, then drive, then reverse, using all of a seven-point turn to get it aimed in the opposite direction. He maneuvered past the other vehicles, then gunned the engine and bounced down the dirt road.

  What if you’re wrong?

  He made it a couple of hundred yards before the headlights reflected off more vehicles. The team’s, he realized. A Hummer and a safari truck. They were pulled slightly to the left, probably to hug the tree line. He could tell they had stopped here to follow him on foot, laying back far enough not to be noticed.

  Hatcher slowed the truck, squeezed it by the two vehicles. The road was narrower at this spot. Branches drummed and scraped on the passenger side, a shriek of metal on metal erupted on the right as it side swiped the Hummer.

  He was just past the second vehicle and starting to accelerate when something slammed into the roof of the truck, caving it halfway in. The truck swerved. He was barely able to correct it before there was a second hit, this one smashing the windshield and causing him to veer off into the bush. One wheel of the truck jumped a felled trunk and popped it onto its side.