June took advantage of the pause to gulp down three swallows of water. No telling when she'd get another chance to quench her thirst. As if to emphasize her thought, she heard Bruno speak through her earpiece.
"May as well get comfortable. They're gonna put up a fight. It's gonna be a long day. Over."
"Corban?" Scooter called. "Boss, you copy? Over."
There was no response. June picked up her scope. Though Corban hadn't moved, she saw movement farther east, beyond seven hundred yards. The first who had fallen in the first wave were coming to; the NL-X1 rounds were wearing off. Had it already been an hour since the first shot? It was now a little after seven in the morning. Those who woke were seeing corpses lying all over the plain. They gathered their gear and started to hike east. But those soldiers closest to the team of defenders were pinned down. The hog-tied Janjaweed screamed out their frustration at being bound, but no one could help them.
Two Janjaweed rose from behind a nearby horse and fired at June's foxhole, in leapfrog strategy, when four other soldiers rushed forward. Scooter was ready, as was Brauch, while June huddled inside her hole. One soldier scrambled back for cover as the other three fell in the first two seconds. June rose and stayed at the ready in case they tried the same tactic against Brauch. This wasn't at all how she had envisioned the battle—a virtual standoff. And Corban was down, isolated, and surely bleeding to death if he wasn't already dead. How would they make Operation Rahab in Germany a success without Corban? He was the only one who knew what was really going on.
At three hundred yards, four men rose from the sand and ran to join those in front of Brauch. As June watched, Brauch took out one of them before he had to hide from a barrage of rounds. But he received no help from Scooter's position this time as Scooter and Bruno had their hands full.
"December, this is Brauch."
"Go, Brauch."
"They're going to reach Corban's forward foxhole in front of me. His pack is still there. Over."
Licking her lips, June measured the distance to the hole. Fifty yards. It seemed like a mile, death at every step. The hidden Janjaweed were so close!
"You want me to get it? Over."
"The pack can't fall into their hands. You're smaller and I'm a better shot to cover you. Over."
Yeah, that made sense, June figured. Corban's foxhole was smaller, too. It would make for a safer defense, if she could get there alive.
"If I get there, I'm not coming back," she informed. "That's a lot closer to their shooters, east and south. Over."
"Take your pack, then. I'll cover you. Scooter, can you assist? Over."
"I can try. They're keeping their heads down. Over."
"December, count down for us when you're going. Over."
"Roger." June fit her pack onto her back and checked her ammo and canteen. She wouldn't be moving very swift with all of her gear, but she had to take it. "God, if You and I are tight now, I could use some help here. We're just trying to help the refugees. Amen." Touching her earpiece, she counted. "Five…four…three…"
"Wait!" Bruno interrupted.
The sound of a plane's engine reached their ears.
"One!" June said, and crawled out of her hole.
She wasn't going to wait. It was the perfect instant while the Janjaweed were peering skyward for the source of the engine, which could be an assault plane to them. June was halfway across the fifty-yard expanse before the first soldier saw her advancing. He raised his head and fired a volley. Sand popped in front of June's feet, but she couldn't stop now. She zagged to the left as Brauch slapped half-a-dozen pellets into the man's cheek and ear. Others joined in, rising from their cover much closer than June realized. Boldly, she ran straight at them, even amongst them, firing from the hip, not missing a step.
Fear showed on the Janjaweed faces closest to her. They were bullies, used to outnumbering and overpowering their victims. But here, surely to their dismay, was a woman with a gun, charging their concealed positions!
A round tugged at her fatigues and twisted her like a top. She was hit! Her heel caught on sand and she fell to the ground. Two rounds slammed into the pack on her back, tearing at her straps. Crying out in panic, she scrambled desperately the last four yards to the foxhole, and fell in headfirst, her feet kicking the air as she squirmed into her new defense. Gunfire peppered the rim of her hole, but she was safe for now.
June righted herself and shrugged off her pack. Shouldering her rifle, she mentally saw her target before she rose and fired. Corban's forward foxhole was at such a new angle that the Janjaweed flank was compromised. Many hiding behind horses from Brauch's angle were caught without cover from June's new position. There was a brief attempt by the soldiers to retreat from their fallible cover. Brauch joined June in peppering them with pellets until there was no one closer than eighty yards from June's foxhole, and over one hundred yards from Brauch's position.
"You all right, December?" Scooter asked. "Looked like you took one. Over."
June shrank into her hole and checked her pack first for damage. Her spare canteen was undamaged, but one ration pack of stew had been punctured, oozing thick gravy all over. Nothing serious.
"I'm okay. Over."
But she suddenly realized she wasn't okay. A bullet had grazed one shoulder blade. The burning pain began to surface as she acknowledged the warm wetness of blood mixed with sweat slowly running down her back. The team's fatigues were lightly armored, but the bullet had found its way between the plating and her skin, gashing her open before exiting the back of her heavy jacket.
There wasn't much she could do now without someone to help her. She could barely reach the wound with her fingers. Though she couldn't bandage it, she was able to use her belt to tighten it across her shoulder blade and chest, to apply pressure to help stop the bleeding.
Reloading her rifle, June poked her head out of the foxhole to keep watch. Brauch was doing his part with the NL-X1 to push the Janjaweed back from Scooter's position.
The Janjaweed settled into new defenses, and it was obvious they intended to wait out their enemies. As the minutes ticked by, more Janjaweed woke up. Some were too far away to see that their comrades were making a stand, so they, like a few others before them, collected their things and turned to walk to the east. The team let these few go. But the enemy who were nearer, found cover and joined the battle.
She glanced westward toward the camp. The plane they had heard was now landing on the far side of Kalma. It was a small recreation plane—their ride out of this place. June wondered how long it would take for Memphis and Johnny to get suited up and come help them. No one was moving until then.
**~~~**
Chapter Nineteen
Nathan "Eagle Eyes" Isaacson was running on the beach. The sandy, white beach reminded him of Daytona where he'd once taken leave during his Marine days. The green water lapped against the beach and his ankles. Green water, white sand, blue sky, and the wind in his hair. But if this was heaven, where were all the people?
He stopped running and looked around. Behind him, he saw a mob of people chasing him, though they were some distance off still. That's why he'd been running, but why were they chasing him? No matter. He'd better keep running lest they catch him. And they never would catch him because he'd always been a strong runner, even with a pack on his back.
Trying to move his legs to start moving forward again, Nathan found that he'd sunk into the sand, and was stuck up to his knees. Panicking, he clawed at the sand and glanced over his shoulder at the approaching mob. The waves flooded both sand and beach around him repeatedly. Grabbing at his thighs, he tried to free his body from the trap.
The mob was nearly upon him when he woke and his eyes flashed open. His heart beat wildly, adrenaline still rushing through him from the nightmare. Perfect. He had to use the adrenaline from his dream this time!
Lying flat on his back, Nathan was again on the table in the castle's operating room. He'd been given his fourth "treatment" that
morning, and like the other sessions, the doctor had left him alone afterward, strapped to the table. And just the day before, the idea had come to him to use his adrenaline from his terrifying dreams—surely drug-induced.
Dr. Stashinsky knew that Nathan was exercising in his cell, but he didn't know how seriously. Even through his infectious night sweats, Nathan had forced himself to work out, oftentimes trembling uncontrollably with little fuel to feed his muscle fibers.
It was all of this that came together at that instant. When he awoke, with the nightmare fresh on his mind, his senses and strength were heightened. He was stronger than the countless victims who had preceded him, but their own thrashing and spasms had ensured his freedom.
The threads on the bolt had been stripped over the months of daily and nightly use. To his surprise, he was able to pull the Velcro strap loose before he applied all of his strength to break the bolt free. Unstrapping his head and chest, he then sat up and removed the strap from his other wrist. Next, he unstrapped his thighs and ankles. Naked, Nathan jumped off the table, but fell flat on his face. He fought consciousness from the blow to his brow.
Rising shakily to his feet, Nathan eyed the doors—one left, one right. The one on his right led to the levels of cells. The mute escapee had ventured from that direction days ago, but he wasn't sure if there was a way out through there. But naked? Nathan had lost track of time, but he was sure he'd heard one of the guards say something about snow or winter outside.
He approached the left door. It was an unknown, but that's where the guards and Dr. Stashinsky always came from. The door was sealed with a protective flange. Nathan turned the handle to find it wasn't locked, so he opened it a crack. Dr. Stashinsky was in a closet-sized chamber, suiting up in his biohazard gear. On the wall hung other white suits, masks, headgear, and oxygen canisters.
Nathan opened the door wide. Dr. Stashinsky looked up, his suit not yet zipped. His gaunt face froze in horror and he caught his breath.
"What...have you done?" gasped the old man. "You...! My suit isn't on!"
"Welcome to the family."
The doctor didn't resist as Nathan grabbed him by the collar and pulled him into the exam room. The aged man's sunken, black eyes bulged as Nathan began to strip him of his suit and clothes, even his watch. When the initial shock had passed, the doctor tried to fight back, but Nathan easily slapped the man's hands aside.
"Please, don't hurt me! What're you going to do to me? You're my favorite patient. I can help you! Please!"
For the first time in months, Nathan pulled on clothes. They didn't fit, but they covered his nakedness. Though he couldn't button the pants, he got them zipped. Even after all his weight loss, he was still larger than the doctor was. The shoes were too small, as well, but Nathan forced his toes inside, letting his heels hang out.
"I think you've helped me enough, Doc. On the table. Now!"
Stashinsky whimpered as he climbed onto the table. Nathan pinned the naked man down and strapped him into place. Where the wrist strap was missing, he tucked the doctor's right arm against his side tightly under the chest strap. The old man thrashed about and gnashed his teeth at Nathan.
"You will never get away with this! There are powers at work here that are beyond you! I will…bleed you empty when they catch you!"
Not waiting to hear the rest, Nathan opened the right door and stepped into the lowest corridor of cells. The familiar stench reached his nostrils. Closing the door, he silenced the doctor's threats and cursing.
Nathan was free. He could barely control his excitement. After checking the time on the doctor's watch, he shoved it into a pocket. It was ten o'clock—but morning or evening? How long had he been on the exam table, sleeping?
The old bullet wound in his leg wasn't so sore anymore, but certainly stiff. Limping to the nearest cell door, he braced himself for what he might find, and peered through a window into a cell. A man was curled up into a ball in the far corner, a thin blanket carefully draped over one shoulder. But this man was not big enough to be Milk.
In the next cell, was a small, white man, too white to be Toad; too small to be Milk. And Milk had shrapnel scars across his calf and leg muscles. Nathan hustled to the next cell, then the next, continuing his search for the two Flash and Bang Team members who had been captured with him in England.
Finding no one familiar on the bottom level, he cautiously climbed the stairs to the next. At the fourth cell, he almost moved on, then took a second look.
"Hey! Milk! Milk? That you?"
The malnourished prisoner rolled away from the rock wall. He was a skin and bones figure as white as…milk.
"Milk!"
Jesse "Milk" Patters squinted at Nathan peeking through the small window. Using the wall, he climbed to his feet. Bent over like one-hundred-year-old man, he approached the door.
"Who is it?"
"It's me! Nathan! It's Eagle Eyes! I just got loose. C'mon, Milk! We've got to get you out of there!"
Gripping the door handle, Nathan tugged and wrestled with the lock, but it was secure. Frantically, he kneed the door, making more noise than necessary in his frustration, until his knee was bruised to the bone.
"Stop, Nathan. Stop it!"
Nathan reached his fingers through the tiny window and Milk met them with his own. He was so thin, so old looking, and he coughed every few breaths.
"We can find Toad and make a run for it!"
"No." Milk shook his head, tears streaking dirty cheeks. "I'm too far gone, Nathan. Leave me. Find Toad and go on without me. You have to. Tell the boss where I am. He'll come for me. You can make it without me. You were always the best man."
"I can't…leave you, Milk." Nathan choked on his words. It was unimaginable, to leave a man behind. "No, I can't."
"Go! Listen. I'm not strong enough, and neither are you to carry me. I've been sick a lot lately."
"We've all been sick. It's the experiments."
"They haven't started on me yet, Nathan. They've only taken my blood."
Nathan's face twisted with worry, fear, and then hope.
"Then, you might be okay, if we can get you out right now! You probably just got the flu, maybe tuberculosis. Nothing we can't treat!"
"No, Nathan! Go!" Milk's weak knees buckled, but he caught himself and leaned against the door. "If you go without me, you can save yourself and the rest. Use your head! And if you can't get Toad out of his cell, you'll have to go without him, too. You're our only chance!"
"But the doctor could come for you at any time."
"I…can't…" Milk whispered an apology and slid down the door to the floor. "Go, I'm begging you. Before you're caught. Go."
Tears pooled as Nathan punched the door's lock. Maybe he could pick the lock with something, then carry him to…to where? They didn't even know where they were. Through the window, Nathan watched Milk roll away from the door, lacking the strength to walk, or even crawl back to his corner. Looking up and down the corridor, it was so dimly lit he couldn't see the other end, but Nathan knew he had to go. The guard who was assigned to Dr. Stashinsky was sure to happen upon the operating room soon. At any moment, the alarm could sound.
"Forgive me, Milk…" he whispered into the window. "We'll be back to get you. Give me two days, okay? Two meals, my brother. Count two meals, two potatoes, and I'll be here for you. You know the boss won't let you die in here. Think of everything we've done for others in worse places. Just two days, Milk! You've got to hold on!"
Milk didn't respond, but Nathan was forced to move on. However, he couldn't leave without checking the other cells. Down all fifty cells on that level, then the next. He mistook a number of captives for Toad, but when they stirred, he saw that they were strangers, though fellow sufferers.
At the end of the corridor, he climbed the stairs to the next level. Sorrowfully, he acknowledged so many more cells full of men, some even two and three to a cell, huddled together for warmth. But he found no one he knew. After doing the same on one more lev
el, he came to a stone ramp that led toward a hallway where there was a sealed door. Nathan looked back. Had he missed any cells? Were he and Milk truly the only two COIL operatives held captive? Had Toad somehow escaped in England? His memory flashed back to London. He had been wounded in Malaysia and unconscious so much of the time. Anything could have happened to Toad.
Nathan gripped an electrical lever and pulled it downward to open the sealed door. It slid sideways with a hiss, unlocked. The jailers surely wouldn't have imagined anyone getting out of their personal torture chambers, even though Nathan was certain the other escaped prisoner before him had to have come this way. He closed the sealed door, knowing that its purpose was to keep the germs and diseases within…for now.
Moving down the hallway, he found a small window on either side of the walk. The mute man had been here, too, Nathan guessed. A castle courtyard was to the left, a forest with snow was out the right window.
Leaning against the rock wall, Nathan watched the courtyard for a moment. It was almost eleven in the morning now. The sentries on the wall and others who lingered outside the two-car garage doors didn't seem concerned about any emergency; his escape hadn't been detected yet. Crossing to the other window, he measured the distance to the trees. A mere hundred-foot sprint would suffice, but even that distance seemed too far for Nathan right now.
He glanced from the ground to the sky. It had snowed recently and more bad weather was rolling in. Since he didn't know how far away civilization might be, he wasn't very keen on running blindly into the forest, only to die in the snow. And he knew he was somewhere in Germany, but in which state?
All he needed was a phone. Once he contacted Corban or Chloe, Corban would send in a couple teams. Just how was he supposed to get to a phone? Nathan felt suddenly overwhelmed and dizzy, and he slumped to the floor. He needed a plan, but while his brain wasn't firing properly, he couldn't proceed.
Since his team was often outnumbered, Nathan was used to that. But he had often had superior technology, weapons, and intel. His wits were all he had to work with now, so he knew there was no room for error. However, he did have the Lord; He was one Person he could go to for help. Whispering a prayer, he asked for some idea, maybe a way to mislead the enemy, buy more time, or confuse them, to do the unexpected, to somehow get to a phone.
DARK HEARTED (The COIL Series) Page 19
