by Greig Beck
“They also obliterated our people, and hundreds of thousands more. We’re all in this together now. If this is a new form of tactical device and delivery methodology, then our military bases in the Middle East are at risk, as well as all of Europe.”
“This is true,” Shavit said, coughing dryly.
Hammerson winced, wishing the guy would take a sip of water. He waited, but the old warrior didn’t continue. Hammerson had a sudden thought – they’d already gone in by themselves. He took a gamble. “General, we know you’re already on the ground in Iraq. You need our support on this.”
There was a hoarse laugh. “Your Intel is good, Jack. But support is a capricious thing. We cannot afford to be constrained by our supporters when it comes to our own backyard. You get to go home, and we are left to clean up the mess, before it becomes everyone’s mess.”
“We’re going in, General. We’d like your assistance, but with or without it, we’ll be there in a few hours.” Hammerson had nothing to lose, so gambled some more. “We’ll see you in Mosul.” He smiled as he waited.
The silence stretched until there came a long, weary sigh.
“General, you won’t be taking orders and you won’t be constrained,” Hammerson said evenly. “We’ll be working together as partners.”
“And if we find anything … provocative?” The general’s voice held a challenge.
Hammerson knew this was the final test. “If we find anything, then we destroy it. We leave zero capability.”
Once again there was silence, and then another soft exhalation of breath. “We have sent three agents. Their orders are immutable, and will not be swayed by your own people. Too much is at stake now, Jack. We will seek and destroy. Join us in this mission, or stay away from us.”
“Then we have similar mission objectives. Where can we rendezvous?”
Hammerson heard some ruffling of papers. “There is a town in the Ninwa Province, called Jurn. I will send you the coordinates. We will be there in six hours, Jack.”
Hammerson looked at his watch and whistled. “Give us ten.”
Shavit laughed. “You were never really on your way, were you?”
“We are now.” Hammerson sat back and smiled.
CHAPTER 4
From the ground the Rockwell B-1R Lancer bomber was invisible as it slipped through the atmosphere at around 42,000 feet. The high speed, high altitude bomber was doing a tick over Mach 2, and at that speed and height, it was well beyond the range of guided missiles. The craft had been cleared by the Iraqis on the pretext it was examining the radiation bloom traveling across the continent – but only part of that data had been true, as the examination to be undertaken would be a little more intrusive than the locals expected.
The three figures seated in the back looked more like assembled robots than human beings. From head to boot, they were encased in an armored uniform that reflected the inside of the bomber’s rear cabin. It was an adaptive camouflage that interpreted their surroundings to provide a suitable cloak, blending them to their environment.
For now, it was as black as the shadows they sat within. Some of the molded plating looked like the exoskeleton of an insect. Further adding to this image was the full-face helmet that had dark lenses, glossy black, and impenetrable insect-like eyes. Over the back and shoulders were aerodynamic packs in a twin-bulbed case that contained a simple thruster propulsion system. Not that the HAWCs would need any more speed on their way down, but as they had no parachutes, there would be a reverse blast from the turbine fans when they needed to slow. Parachutes could be seen from the air, and in some cases even picked up on radar. A single falling body, with low metallic trace, was harder to see … and therefore harder to hit.
Weapons were stored in pouches and sheaths. Heckler & Koch USP45CT pistols, a HAWC favorite, were smooth and matte black sidearms made of a molded polymer with recoil reduction, and a hostile environment nitride finish. The variant trigger made it lightening quick, and the upgraded frequency shifting pushed discharge noise beyond the range of human hearing. The HAWCs also had K-Bar knives – long and short, their tanto edge was like that of a chisel and they were laser-honed so they were sharp enough to perform surgery, and strong enough to cut bone.
The lights in the rear cabin’s bomb bay went to red, and everything took on a gothic gloom. Alex stood and looked at his small team. Both Casey Franks and Sam Reid rose to their feet. Alex held out a fist and they all brought theirs together at the center, the plated knuckles clacking as they struck one another.
“We are ghosts; in and out without a trace.” He waited as they repeated the phrase, knowing it by heart. He stared into the glossy black eye-shields. “We are the sword and the shield. If any get in our way, they will fall.”
“They will fall,” came the response.
Thirty seconds to target zone. The voice from the cockpit sounded just as the bomb bay doors whined open. A blast of sub zero air screamed in. Beyond the doors, there was nothing but a dark void.
“Form up.” Behind Alex, the huge form of Sam and the muscular Casey got into line, waiting.
Five, four, three, two, one … drop.
Alex walked forward and without hesitating, dived. Neither Sam nor Casey flinched before following. Yet both probably remembered one of the things that Major Jack Hammerson had told them many years before – HAWCs rarely died of old age.
The outside atmosphere at forty thousand feet was a staggering sixty degrees below zero with little oxygen. Their suits would provide air and thermal protection, but only for a while. As they fell, short wings emerged from their packs, and they accelerated quickly. Within a minute they were traveling at two hundred miles per hour.
Alex and his small team moved into an arrowhead formation, hands back by their sides and feet only slightly spread. The ground was still just patches of yellow and brown with a huge mountain range to the north. It was a strange sensation and one Alex never stopped being thrilled by, being at such a height, free falling, and looking down onto snow-capped mountains. The sun was just peaking over the horizon, but they would outpace it, and when they reached landfall, there would still be predawn darkness.
In the distance Alex could see Mosul, their target, perhaps another fifty miles to the north-north east, and just below them was the much smaller town of Jurn, where they were to meet an old friend. Alex smiled in his helmet at the thought of the encounter.
He dropped his shoulder by about an inch, causing his body to bank. Casey and Sam banked with him. They needed to land on the outskirts of the township, and nowhere near any houses or people. The entire area was under control of the terrorists now, and though the people might not have been sympathizers, they were in such fear of the butchers that they might inform on the HAWCs, just to try and buy some safety for their families.
Together the human gliders in the sky corkscrewed down in a two-mile wide loop. They passed through the five-thousand-foot barrier, and Alex’s eyes moved over the landscape, searching for anything that could hint at danger while they were vulnerable in the air. They were still traveling too fast for any snipers to pick up, but he certainly didn’t want helicopters following them to earth.
“Begin our slow.” Alex said to his team, then spread his arms and legs. “Brace.”
The buffeting was instantaneous and punishing. He heard the grunts from Sam and Casey. Alex had done this many times, and he was well aware of what the high velocity turbulence could do to muscle and bone. The suits would insulate them from most traumas, but still, it was like being beaten with a hundred baseball bats.
“Still coming in too hot, boss.” Sam’s voice was tight as he probably gritted his teeth through the beating he was taking.
Time to throw out the anchors, Alex thought, and then: please work. A lot of the HAWC kit was experimental, and they got to field test some cool stuff. Most of the time it worked just fine.
“Fire ’em up.” They each started their thruster packs. One after the other, the turbines began
whining to life, and Alex breathed a sigh of relief. Vents opened, front and rear, and air was grabbed, compressed, and then blasted out. The packs were not strong enough for actual flight, but could hold a single passenger’s weight just long enough to give them a soft landing – or at least that was the plan. Sam wasn’t exactly your usual passenger’s weight, though.
At a thousand feet from the ground, the human missiles spun in the air and spread their arms out, their feet directed at the ground. The thruster’s bulb engines sitting over each shoulder started to get hot as they furiously vented the air behind and below them.
They slowed, and then the only problem became keeping upright for a perfect landing. Still, it would feel like jumping off a two-story building, so rocks were best avoided.
Alex and the team headed for a patch of hard-packed sand, just a mile away from the oasis town of Jurn. Alex came in first, landing hard with an audible thump and sinking to his ankles in the sand. He went down on one knee with one fist striking the ground like he’d been taught. He immediately straightened.
Two more thumps and then grunts around him told of his team landing close by. He turned in time to see the huge form of Sam Reid sunk in to his knees, and then dragging his trunk-like legs free to stand tall. If anyone were watching, they would have just seen three huge figures fly in and land.
The thruster engines whined down to nothing as they powered out, their batteries exhausted. Each of them then quickly shrugged off the winged machines that now glowed red from the heat. The dust swirled around them and then settled. On the eastern horizon, a hint of orange told of an approaching dawn. Alex clicked on his throat mic.
“All down; proceeding.”
He knew there would be no response. The information would be compressed, and then bounced off numerous satellites to Hammerson back home. The granite-faced man would read it, his face impassive, knowing the hard work was yet to come.
“Let’s move.” Alex began to head toward the tiny town of Jurn with Sam and Casey at each shoulder.
*
Leyla had her hands clutched to her chest, and could feel her heart beating under her tiny fingers. She had seen the light in the sky and had at first thought it was a shooting star. But it had been much, much more. She barely believed her eyes.
She remembered what her father had told her before he was taken, before the fire. That when things were darkest, then the angels would come.
The dust cleared some more, and then there they were – the three huge angels with glowing wings on their backs. She swallowed down her fear. They were giants, and powerful, but not as she had pictured them – they were frightening to look at.
Good, she thought. Father also said that they would strike like the hammer of God.
She stepped back further into the shadows. She watched them head toward Jurn, and she crushed her eyes shut, and prayed that her father would be rescued.
And if he was dead, then she prayed for a bloody vengeance.
CHAPTER 5
The HAWCs followed the signal frequency given to them by the Israeli Metsada, and it led to a small building on the edge of town. It was still dark, but dawn was coming fast. The small flat-topped building had curtains drawn and was tomb silent, but Alex knew they were being watched from the moment they approached.
He turned to Casey Franks. “And you behave, or you can walk home.”
Franks nodded, her mouth never losing its scar-pulled sneer. “Always.”
Alex knocked on the door, standing slightly to the side of the frame. He looked to Sam. “Give me thirty seconds.”
The HAWCs spread each side of the door as it was pulled inwards a crack. Alex pushed on the door and stepped into the ink-black room and waited. He could sense the people, three of them, without seeing them. One to his left and another to the right, both watching him from their dark spaces; the third was seated directly in front of him.
An oil lamp was suddenly lit, but it was turned down so low it only cast a tiny yellow circle of light over the person beside it. Alex lifted an arm and pressed a small stud at his neck. The full face shielding telescoped back into the collar of his suit.
There came a soft laugh. “Of course it would be you.” The woman smiled, and in her eyes there was genuine interest, and perhaps even delight at seeing him.
Alex gave a small bow, looking at her more closely. She seemed relaxed but he knew there was lethal power coiled in that athletic frame. She wore two Israeli designed Barak pistols, which meant “lightning” in Hebrew. They were blunt and business-like – the power punch of a magnum without the weight. She had them both strapped on her front so the gun barrels pointed down toward her groin, creating a “V” shape for rapid access and firing.
“Adira.” Alex straightened, waiting.
He expected her, and knew she expected, or maybe hoped, it would be him. He knew everything about her – her name meant “mighty” in ancient Hebrew, and it suited her. She was related to the famous Chana Senesh, who was sent by the Kibbutz Sdot Yam to save Jews in the Nazi-occupied countries and was betrayed to the Nazi regime. Severely tortured, she never informed on her friends, never gave in, and for that she was sentenced to death. Adira Senesh had all of her ancestor’s grit and courage.
She rose to her feet; above average height, with a smooth olive complexion and dark eyes like pools of oil. She smiled disarmingly, but Alex knew she was a fierce warrior in the Metsada, and was responsible for single-handedly entering a Hamas terrorist tunnel network and rescuing a captured twenty-two-year-old border guard from a nest of ten Hamas butchers. No terrorists had survived.
Alex looked to his left. “Come into the light.” He turned to the right. “You too.”
Adira nodded. “It’s okay, we’re old friends.” The two large men came forward. Both cradled skeletal-looking automatic weapons in their arms. “Friends …” Adira repeated and shrugged. “Sort of.”
Alex half turned. “HAWCs.”
Casey and Sam came in fast, taking up positions just inside the door. Sam’s bulk filled the space, and Casey slowly shut the door behind them. They both retracted their face shields.
Adira looked coolly at Casey, the female HAWC returning the steady gaze. The last time they had met at the foot of the Black Mountain, Adira had bested her in a one-on-one fight. Casey hadn’t forgot it. Adira nodded, but turned away, not interested in the woman’s blazing glare.
Adira’s smile returned and she stepped forward to tap on Alex’s armor. “There’s still a man in there, yes?”
“It’s good to see you again, too.” Alex smiled. “And yes, still here, just a little more battle-scarred.”
“Like us all.” She stood in front of him, looking into his face. “Unfortunately, it’s the business we are in.” She turned to the giant figure in the room. “Sam Reid; big as a house as ever, I see. Still part robot, I assume?”
Sam grinned. “Only the best parts … and they all still work.”
She shook his hand warmly, and then called her own team forward. She motioned first to a dark eyed, formidable-looking man, whose eyes darted from one HAWC to the other, missing nothing.
“Agent Eli Livnat.”
He nodded almost imperceptibly. She then turned to other man. “And Moshe Levy. Both are experts in explosives, weaponry and combat.”
The three HAWCs examined each of the men. They appeared capable and if Adira had selected them, then they’d be as good as they looked.
“We’re in your hands … for now,” Alex said. “We should compare Intel, and then investigate the Mosul facility.”
“Tonight, we go in. Today, we scout the area and make a plan.” She half smiled, her eyes going to Casey and Sam. “Where we are going is into the belly of the beast – over a thousand fanatical jihadis, light and heavy weaponry, and unfriendly eyes everywhere. You walk around looking like that, you’ll have exhausted your ammunition before you even get inside the city walls.”
“What about the local population – any chance of frie
ndlies?” Alex asked.
“Maybe once.” She tilted her head. “Most of the sectarian civilian population fled months ago. Those that stayed were either killed or learned quickly to become informants, sycophants, or themselves turned into butchers. Daily, the Hezar-Jihadi brings back captives to either sell as slaves, rape, torture, or simply execute for the enjoyment of the blood-hungry crowd and the western media. This place has been turned into hell, Captain Hunter.”
She walked to a large plastic bag and emptied it on the ground. Mounds of clothing piled on the floor of the cabin and she began sorting and then throwing garments at the HAWCs.
“Thawbs. Traditional robes of men in the area; it will conceal everything. One for each of us.” She tossed one to Casey. “You get one too as you can pass as a man.” She half smiled.
“No shit,” Casey said, snatching the robe from the air.
“Moshe, the map.” Adira moved to a small table.
Moshe Levy brought a tablet computer to the table and opened a satellite view of Mosul. He drilled down to the building they had targeted.
“In here.” Adira moved the image around, pointing at different sections of the street and other buildings. “There will be people watching. I would place them up here, in here, and here.” She looked up at Alex. “They need to be taken out first.”
Alex nodded. “But we go in together.”
“Then you better be quick.” She looked back down at the map. “In and out, because if we stall and get trapped inside, no one is coming to our aid.” She drew the image back to take in the entire city center, a sprawling metropolis, with many of the roads blocked now either by formal gates, or simply piled high with the rusting hulks of cars.
Adira looked at the HAWCs. “Which of you speaks Arabic?”
Sam nodded and said a few words to her.
“Not bad, but a terrible accent,” Adira said. “Though the primary language is Mesopotamian Arabic, most other dialects are spoken and understood. For you, Sam, I can hear a touch of American, so speak only if in an emergency. I suggest each of you accompany one of us. Team one, Alex with me. Team two, Sam and Moshe.” She turned and grinned. “And Eli gets Casey Franks all to himself, as team three.”
