by Evan Currie
Why hadn’t he noticed that before?
“Yes…” He hissed slowly, shaking his head. “The Down-welling design.”
“In English, Saman!”
Saman started to explain, but a sudden crack of sound and fury exploded around him, cutting him off. In seconds the air itself seemed to come alive, flaying skin from his body and driving Saman to the ground as the men around him yelled and screamed something he couldn’t make out.
There were popping sounds as he fell, gunshots he supposed, but they seemed far off.
As Saman Sol hit the ground, the rest of his group came under redoubled fire from the depths of the rain soaked tower room, explosions of black smoke detonating in the air right in their midst, spraying them all with lethal shrapnel until the last man hit the ground.
A moment later, four black garbed men appeared from the rain like ghosts and carefully checked each man and their equipment. When they were all confirmed dead, the leader nodded and straightened up, “Alright, let’s get these bodies out of here. The sprinklers will clear away the blood for us.”
The SAS men nodded, getting quickly to work as they cleared the men and weapons away, leaving only a rapidly lightening stain on the tower floor.
*****
Lieutenant James Guffrey of His Majesty’s Australian Special Air Service Regiment broke from cover when the first explosive booms of the sniper shots rolled over his position. They had agreed to let the two long guns be the signal that started the assault, so as soon as the sound hit them, Guffrey led his team out and around the corner of the plaza.
The hostiles were only a few meters away from the position they’d managed to work their way up to, but there were unfortunately more of them than there were on the SAS assault team.
Guffrey’s MP7 stuttered briefly, the five round burst stitching one of the terrorists from pelvis to shoulder as he ran, dropping the man where he stood and attracting somewhat more attention than he’d have liked. Behind him the others had their own assault weapons, a mix of MX-90 rifles and MP7 submachine guns, pressed tightly to their shoulders as they quick stepped behind him.
The smell of powder and sound of gunfire quickly overtook the general screaming that had erupted after the first sniper shots had dropped the initial terrorists, and as they moved it all came down to training for the members of the SAS force.
Hundreds, even thousands of hours of Close Quarters Battle (CQB) training had left it’s mark on the assault team, and they didn’t even flinch as the opposition began to return fire in a sporadic, almost random fashion. The team kept moving forward, occasionally pivoting at the hip without changing their direction of travel to drop another Tango in his tracks.
Guffrey’s target was three men wearing Hazardous Material (Hazmat) suits, standing out in brilliant canary yellow they made pretty targets against the general foray of chaos and excitement surrounding the attack. He didn’t dare open up on them, however, because they were tinkering with an ominous looking container that he would rather didn’t get to divulge it’s contents.
As the Lieutenant made tracks toward the trio of Hazmat garbed Tangos, he noted a spray of red gore erupt from one of their heads as a sniper round from either Mac or Givens took the man down. The others dropped to the ground almost instantly, taking cover behind the tank they were working on.
“Get the canaries!” Guffrey yelled over his shoulder as he saw one of them reach again for the tank, “Get the…Ooof!”
He went down hard as something caught his leg, turning over in a fluid motion to look down along his body. Guffrey’s eyes widened as he saw the blood streaked face of one of the Tangos he’d counted as out for the count glaring up at him, the man’s meaty fist enveloping his ankle like a manacle.
“Son of a…!” Guffrey cursed, kicking at the man’s hand as he tried to get loose. “Let go of me you bastard!”
The bloodied terrorist didn’t seem to understand, or care, that Guffrey was speaking. He just fisted his way up, hauling himself to his knees, as Guffrey swung the MP7 around to target him.
Guffrey screamed as he fired, the man lunging forward straight into the bullets of the submachine weapon, blood spattering back from the bullet impacts to the terrorist’s chest right up until a swipe of the man’s hand knocked the chattering sub machine gun from his hand. The MP7 jerked up short, kept close to Guffrey’s body by the assault strap connecting it to his vest, but before he could recover it the other man had lunged up and was wrapping huge hands around the SAS man’s throat.
*****
“Power still isn’t restored, Amir…” Director Jacob replied, “We may be running through our reserves at a dangerously high rate.”
Abdallah scowled, but nodded. “Stand the Radar arrays down to minimal sweep…maintain jamming on all frequencies.”
Jacob nodded, issuing the orders quickly.
“That will give us power for several days, unless they attack with another air assault…even if we are unable to regain peak production.” Jacob replied.
Amir nodded, still scowling. “What I want to know, Jacob, is what happened to the power in the first place?”
“It may simply be surge damage from the Chinese Array,” Jacob replied, shrugging. “The system is cruder than its American ‘Aegis’ counterpart, though marginally more powerful. Very likely when we turned it on to full power, we weakened some of the circuits feeding it.”
Amir nodded, sitting down as he considered that.
“Where are the repair teams now?” He asked after a moment.
Jacob waved his hand to another man, and a portable comp was immediately produced and handed to him.
“They were going to check the primary feed junction in the tower itself,” Jacob replied, then frowned, “They’re overdue to check in.”
“Call them.”
*****
“What’s happening there?”
The screens that made up entire sections of the walls in the central command room of the CIA’s crisis management center were tuned to the events in Tower City, just a little less than half the world away. On the center screen was the power facility itself, and that was were Natalie Cyr was pointing when she asked her question.
The thermal overlay, previously unreliable due to the enhanced temperature of the solar facility was rapidly cooling from the center outward, spreading a blue fog across the circular compound that left the occasional red blotch in its wake.
“The tower is losing thermal variance,” One of the computer technicians muttered, staring a little too wide eyed for Natalie’s taste.
“I can see that, did they do it? Is it shut down?”
“One moment…Yes Ma’am, satellite scans now indicate water saturation in excess of one hundred percent within the tower…It’s drawing air in.”
“Yes…” She whispered, fist clenching as a slight smile touched her lips.
“Ma’am…something else…”
“What is it, Richie?” She asked, laying a hand on the man’s shoulder as she leaned over him.
“Power output on the Chinese radar array has dropped from active to standby modes, I think they’re having an energy crisis, Ma’am. The turbines inside aren’t designed to make use of falling air.”
“Well…” This time a genuine smile did cross her lips, “Do we still have our teams in the air?”
“Yes Ma’am.”
“Have them make for Australian airspace, I’ll be right back.”
*****
Guffrey hit the man in the sternum.
Hard.
The blood covered grimace above him barely wavered, even though the SAS man was fairly certain he’d heard something pop from the strike. Whatever the man was on, it wasn’t letting too many signals get through to the brain, though judging from the guy’s eyes, Guffrey wasn’t sure that many signals ever did get through. He growled as he wrenched his weight over, pushing the guy off him and using the motion to roll over on top as the drugged terrorist tightened his grip around Guffrey�
�s throat.
Stars were popping in his eyes when he found the strap that held the MP7 to his harness and yanked it back, wrapping one hand around the cold steel of the machine gun. He didn’t wait to find the grip or trigger, Guffrey just pulled it back, then slammed the weapon into his opponents face.
Then he did it again, and again.
The grip finally slackened as the SAS man kept driving the steel down with motions that were powered and guided by autopilot, not rational thought. Finally he was able to gasp in a breath of air as the hands fell away, and he rolled off the man to the ground.
The Lieutenant lay there for a moment, unable to summon the strength to move as he gasped for air through a throat that felt half crushed, until he finally managed to look to the side and at the man who’d almost killed him.
The terrorist’s face was gone, nothing but a bloody pulp remained, but he was still breathing through all of that, somehow his body was still trying to keep going. Guffrey groaned, forcing himself to his feet, and cast about for the rest of his team and their target.
His men were down, prone on the ground, two of them returning fire while one just lay there unmoving. Guffrey quickly took in the rest of the scene, paling as he finally located the men in the canary yellow hazmat suits.
“Oh no…” He whispered.
The tank between them was spewing fumes into the air, already forming a cloud that was growing far too rapidly for his taste, moving slowly on a faint breeze to the outer ring of the facility.
*****
Natalie Cyr stepped back into the Crisis Management Center a few minutes after she left, a distinct look of satisfaction on her face as she settled in to her station to overlook the situation.
“You look like the cat that got the Canary,” Carl Severson said as he arrived from an adjacent room. “Do I want to know?”
“Probably not.”
He closed his eyes, shaking his head slightly, “You’d better tell me.”
“I just gave away about three hundred billion dollars worth of men and equipment, are you sure you want to know?”
“Oh God. Tell me you cleared whatever it is with someone, preferably outside my department??”
Natalie just shook her head, still with that hint of a smile.
*****
“This is Comanche Zero One to Sydney Control.”
“Go ahead, Zero One.”
“I have been instructed to turn myself and my flight over to Australian Air Command and am now doing so, Commanche Flight awaiting orders.”
“Roger that, Commanche Zero One. Australian Air Command is accepting change of command and is ordering you to proceed immediately to the following coordinates and provide all available support to troops on the ground. Be advised, communications with ground crews are still being jammed.”
“Confirmed, Command. We’ll be cautious.”
“Very good, Comanche Flight. Good hunting.”
“Zero One to Flight, continue at maximum flight speed and prepare to drop to nap of the earth flying when we approach within two hundred nautical miles of the target.”
*****
Lieutenant Guffrey stumbled through the crack of gunfire, grabbing one of the canary suited terrorist by the back of the crumpled fabric of his Hazmat suit and yanked the man back away from the expanding fog with a grunt of exertion.
He didn’t want to be standing within twenty miles of that floating death, but he had a job to do, and he was going to get it done. One way or the other.
The SAS man found the seam in the suit and split it open along the seal, much to the dismay of the struggling man inside, quickly yanking the one piece system off the man as a echoing boom erupted through the air, jerking his head up.
The second man in yellow was stopped, a ragged hole in his suit at chest level, where he’d been ready to strike Guffrey with a pipe. Guffrey nodded in the general direction of the snipers, then turned back to his task.
“Stop! Stop!” The man screamed, still struggling, but Guffrey had none of it and wasn’t going to take any either.
“Jesus! Lieutenant!”
Again the SAS man paused, looking up from the man he was pealing out of the protective gear, “Get the fuck out of here, Corporal! And take those people with you!”
The young man stared at him for a moment.
“That’s a fucking order, trooper!”
That shook the man clear and he and the remaining SAS soldier began yelling for people to move back while Guffrey got on with it.
“Stop! You’re killing me!”
“You think I give a shit?” He growled in response, tearing the rest of the suit away from the struggling man, “You helped bake up this shit, if you don’t have a cure that’s not my problem.”
“Cure!? It’s not the disease! It’s the radiation!”
“Yeah,” Guffrey said grimly, snapping a boot to the man’s face as he yanked the suit over his shoulders and flipped the visor up over his head, “That’s about what I figured.”
He left the unconscious man where he lay, hastily sealing up the suit even as he noted the progress of the gas had already passed his position. He didn’t feel any different, but that was a worry for a later time. Guffrey strode toward the tank that held the drifting death, finishing the last seal as he did, and began vigorously twisting the knob to the right.
*****
“Amir!”
Abdallah Amir spun around as one of the young men he had with him shouted his name, teeth clenching in a grimace at the tone. “What!?”
“Reports of gunfire from the hostage areas! We’re under attack!”
“Jacob!” Amir shouted, turning to the big man who was his right hand, “What of the team we sent out!?”
“No response from them, Amir,” The big man growled, his face tight with worry now.
“Surge damage!” Amir said, disgusted. “Send warriors to their last position!”
“The tower, yes Amir.” Jacob replied, grabbing for a radio.
The terrorist leader planted his hands on his desk and glared at the young man who had delivered the bad news, “Security!”
“W…what?”
“Put the secuty cameras on the screen.” Abdallah growled, waving at the banks of images currently showing the exterior of the tower where, up until now, he had believed the military presence to be contained.
“Y…yes Amir.”
In moments the areas where the hostages were being held were shown, and scenes of utter chaos filled each screen. People were running as men in military clothing waded through the masses, firing occasional shots at Abdallah’s own men.
“Send people to help eliminate those men,” He said grimly, “Then have them round up the hostages and…”
“Hold it, Abdallah,” A new voice said grimly, “You’re under arrest.”
The few men left in the control room turned to see a blond man leveling a large shotgun in their direction.
*****
“Move it you pigs!”
The call sounded oddly flat in the open acoustics of the glassed in section through which they ran, the PVC water ‘cells’ radiating head all around them so that the cool air they were running into turned everything slick with condensed moisture.
The call had just come from Director Jacob himself to proceed immediately to the central tower and find out what had happened to the tech team he had sent there earlier, and that was what they were about. The twenty man group were armed with the best Chinese weapons money could buy, Norinco assault rifles and carbines in bullpup configuration, and they were expecting trouble.
The cold air and wet floors had actually been a major tip off that something was wrong, but the sudden rise of a drifting fog sure as hell wasn’t right so the leader called for them to slow down as they approached the entrance to the central tower.
“Lord above,” Someone whispered, touching a pendant to his lips. “It is raining in the tower.”
The leader of this particular group frowned. He’d been
on site, masquerading as a janitor, for over two years now and he’d never heard of the like. Water condensed from the air was reclaimed along the side of the tower, it certainly didn’t ‘fall’ in a deluge like he was seeing here. No, something else was at work here.
“Advance slowly,” He finally decided, “report anything you see.”
The nodded and slowly began to move forward, weapons now leveled ahead of them as they readied themselves for violence. The gaping maw of the entrance to the central tower room was dark, any sounds from inside completely covered by the rushing sound of water, so as they closed on it the tension in the men began to mount.
At a signal from the leader they split into two groups, moving around and taking temporary cover alongside the reinforced concrete archway that marked the entrance, pausing a moment to stare into the darkened interior.
“I don’t see anything, Ryan.”
The leader nodded, “I don’t like it.”
“What is there to like?”
The question brought a slight smile to his face and Ryan Emmerson nodded, “You have a point. Alright, we’re going in. Take care, don’t group too closely together…remember, the military prays to their evil gods for enemies that stand together in large groups.”
*****
Anselm Gunnar noted each of them men in the room as he kept the shotgun leveled on them, buzzing the electronic security lock shut behind him.
“Abdallah Amir, Jacob Harrow Kalindon…Consider yourselves served with arrest warrants,” He told them, his eyes briefly falling on the three other men in the same room. “As for the rest of you, I’m sure I can dig something up to make you feel at home.”
“The swede.” Abdallah muttered, a touch of humor on his lips.
“What are you going to do, Agent Gunnar?” Jacob asked, his tone smooth as his cultured accent. “There are five of us…rather difficult to restrain us all.”
“Not really,” Anselm responded, “If anyone gives me trouble, I can just shoot them.”
The younger men exchanged worried looks, but the two primary targets just smiled thinly.
“Now, now, Agent, that would be violating our rights.”
