by John O'Brien
The stairwell is deathly quiet. So quiet that she can hear the quickened breaths being taken both by her and the soldiers behind, fueled by adrenaline and the fear that accompanies the unknown. Her heart pounds in her chest from the adrenals kicking into high gear. The enclosed concrete block stairwell seems to close in and Lynn is thankful it is not the pitch black that it must be outside of her NVG’s. This is so much better than having just a flashlight, she thinks as she resumes her climb. The darkness outside of a flashlight’s illumination being even darker and the light ruins any night vision.
Reaching the third floor landing, she notices there is not any light coming from under the stairwell door giving a clue that light from the glass front of the building is not reaching the stairwell door on this floor. She noticed the same on the second landing but that was to be expected from the fact that the lobby is two stories tall. Not good, she thinks heading even further up into the building. As she places her foot on the first step toward her ascent to the fourth floor, Drescoll informs her that Green Team is starting its way upward meaning Black Team is stretched out behind her for two floors, each member occupying a half flight of stairs, intermediate landing or landing.
Anxiety begins to grip her as she makes her way upwards, each step taking her farther away from the safety of the daylight. Lynn tells herself not to get trapped by the false notion that if things go terribly wrong, the rooms or offices with windows outside will offer any sanctuary. Sure, for the moment they will but the setting of the sun will cause that safety to disappear. No, if something happens, this stairway and the entrance door leads to the only true sanctuary.
Alert and ready for anything, Lynn fingers the selector switch, reassuring herself that burst mode is selected. She thinks momentarily of her and Jack’s discussion on the M-4. Him telling her that the ones he used were fully automatic and her insisting that is not the case. Well, he was in a little while before her and that could be the case for the early models. He still insisted and insists that the ones he used in special ops were automatic. Those thoughts slip quickly from her mind as she reaches the fourth floor landing. Only one more to go, she thinks in the dark quiet with only the rustle of clothes, the creak of boots stepping quietly on the concrete steps, and the occasional light metal clinks sounding in the stairwell as soldiers climb behind her.
There is only the same as she ascends to the fifth floor and reaches the landing. She stops as Black Team slowly ascends and joins her there. Drescoll informs her that they are all secure on the landings beneath her, each guarded by two soldiers, one covering each door. As her team gathers near her, a hush descends on the landing. Only the muffled sound of shuffling boots is heard. The sound of soldiers climbing vanishing as each takes their positions and waits. Detailing two of her team to stay and guard the fifth floor here, she puts her ear to the door to her left leading out of the stairway and into the building.
Hearing nothing outside, she asks one of her teammates to check the other door, reporting back that there is nothing to be heard. Lynn pushes on the door bar and opens it just a crack. A slight, metallic squeak is all that is heard as she peeks through the crack into what seems like a darkened hallway. Silence greets her as she pushes the door wider and ducks her head in the opening, glancing to her left and right before quickly pulling it back in letting her brain analyze the quick view her eyes sent to it. Realizing she did not see anything amiss, Lynn pushes the door open slowly to the soft, metallic sound of a fire door opening and steps quickly into the hallway; the soldier behind catching and holding the door as she moves out.
Lynn quickly takes a kneeling position in the hallway facing down the hall to her right. The next team member takes a position behind her and faces the opposite direction. Two more quickly enter the hall, one joining her and the second joining the one behind. The door closes with a soft click, one of the soldiers left guarding the landing easing it shut. The tension threatens to engulf them as they there waiting for something to happen. The very air breathes of tension.
“We’re in,” she whispers into the radio mic.
Two clicks on the radio followed by two additional clicks announce that Drescoll and Horace heard her and are acknowledging. Lynn continues to survey the area to her front. The hallway stretches out ahead to the limit that the night vision goggles will allow. Many doors line both sides of the quiet hall, some shut with others open. Picture frames line the walls at intervals. Plaques on the wall next to each door show an individual name, conference room, or the standard bathroom sign. All have room numbers on top and, giving them a look from her position, she can tell that the numbers increase the further away from her the rooms are. The director’s office must be behind me, she thinks hoping it is not on the other side of the stairwell.
“What do you have on your side?” Lynn asks the teammates behind her.
“Hallway ends and opens into some kind of foyer or larger open area,” her teammate responds.
Lynn stands quietly and turns around, tapping one of her team behind her and signaling for them to switch positions. The exchange is completed in almost total silence. The swish of cloth rubbing together is the only indication of movement. Looking at the hallway in the other direction from her new vantage point, she sees that the hallway does end after short distance, opening up into what appears to be some kind of reception room. The tiled hallway gives way to carpeting and the room ahead opens up to the sides. Two desks sit on the carpeting looking out in her direction with a large, shut door in the far wall between them.
Something just does not seem right. There are the words ‘CDC Director’ but they seem to be placed oddly. At first they seem to be on the wooden walls directly above the desks but placed too high. Then they seem to be floating in the air. The light bulb hits. The reception room is fronted by a glass wall with double glass doors leading inside. The writing is on the glass in front. Lynn also sees a thin beam of light peeking out from under the large door set in the far wall. So, that office must have a view of the outside. That will be convenient for searching, she thinks wondering if those glass doors are locked.
“Sergeant Drescoll, this is Jordan on the third floor. I have sound and movement coming from the other side of my door,” a voice whispers in the radio, startling Lynn and sending her adrenaline into overdrive.
“Can you identify what it is?” Lynn hears Drescoll respond to the call.
“Do not open that door,” Lynn quickly whispers into her mic.
“Copy that, First Sergeant. Break. I don’t know what it is but it sounds like something shuffling on the other side,” Jordan answers.
Lynn rises and stares over her shoulder at the stair door. What they came looking for, well, at least the location it should be in, is tantalizingly close. They are not really discovered yet but it is only a matter of time if one or more of the night runners are prowling around. She stands wondering if she should continue and head to the director’s office or pull them back. Her competitive and ‘can do’ mindset compels her to continue; get the files and get out of there. The hackles on the back of her neck rise as she suddenly hears a low growl and a faint sniffing from down the hallway in the direction she is facing. The green glow of her night vision goggles picks out the faint outline of a nose poking out from one of the open doors close by.
Oh shit, she thinks looking at the nose apparently sniffing the air. She stays absolutely motionless. Don’t make a sound. A soft grunt emits from the direction of the night runner at the room’s entrance, followed by a very low, deep growl that fills the otherwise silent hall. Tension fills the air. The soldiers kneel in the darkened hallway like stone statues, poised and ready. Not knowing if they have been found out or not. Waiting for the shriek that will signify their presence is known and alert other night runners.
Lynn sees the soldiers kneeling before her looking from the room, to her, and then slowly back again, waiting for her call to action. She waits hoping the night runner will not smell or hear anything and retire. Regardless
, we’re done here, she thinks waiting for the balance to shift one way or the other. Not knowing how many are in here but thinking along the worst case scenario of many. The knowledge they seek is not worth the life of a single soldier in her mind. Or is it? The question runs through her head. If we can gather knowledge that will save others down the road, well…. That line of thinking leaves as the night runner by the door emits a loud shriek, echoing loudly in the in the hall. The team’s scent has apparently reached its nose and it has determined something was indeed here.
“They’re onto us,” Lynn says into her mic. “Hold the doors! We’re on our way out.”
The suddenness of the shriek startles the other soldiers into a form of paralysis. They hold there as the night runner quickly emerges from the opening and out into the hallway, turning in their direction with its first step. Lynn, having slowly raised her M-4 to her shoulder, fires a burst at the night runner. Rounds follow the sharp popping and slight bucking of her rifle out of the barrel, streaking toward its intended target and impacting its skin and bone with solid thumps. The steel collides with its chest, neck and just below the nose, flipping it over backward with a flowering blood spot marking the entry into its chest and a spray of blood from its neck and head covers its face. Shrieks ring out from within the room as more night runners begin pouring out into the hallway.
The explosion of her weapon firing startles the soldiers out of their paralysis and they begin introducing steel into the air down the hallway, dropping the first two night runners that emerge into the hallway, their bodies hitting the linoleum floor hard, sending tremors through the floor and felt beneath the soldier’s boots.
“Move! Now!” Lynn calls out. “I’ll cover.”
The soldiers quickly rise and rush the very short distance to the door, throwing it open and yelling “friendlies” as they do. Lynn reaches down and taps the one kneeling beside her on the shoulder, signaling for him to exit as well. The night runners come out of the same door and her vision picks up more coming from doors further down the hallway. This is going to get ugly quick, she thinks squeezing the trigger lightly and feeling the confident buck against her shoulder. The familiar smell of gunpowder fills her nose but goes unnoticed in the quickly building, furious battle. One more night runner is flung backwards and to the side as her rounds hit the mark, the ones behind slow to side-step around it. She begins side-stepping toward the fire door being held open by one of the soldiers guarding it. Fire, step, fire. Each of her bursts sending a night runner to the floor. Blood splashes against the walls and tile, creating psychedelic spray patterns, quickly making the footing treacherous in the hallway beyond. A couple night runners slip in the forming pools, causing them to lose their balance, but barely noticed as they catch their footing and charge on.
The flash of rounds being fired and the tinkling of empty shells on the ground add to the general uproar and violence. Strobes begin to emit from the open stairwell door, evidence that someone is firing back from within into the growing horde. Shrieks, howls of pain, gunfire, a growing haze of smoke, and alternating flashes of strobe light fill the hallway to excess. That, combined with the now frantic radio calls coming through her ear piece, forces Lynn to concentrate on getting them out of here and getting them out now.
“I’ve got movement on the fourth floor,” Drescoll’s voice comes through.
“They’re trying to get through the door on the third,” Jordan calls out. “Don’t know if I can hold this shut much longer.”
“Sounds and movement by the second floor doors,” another voice calls out over the radio.
This whole place has come alive, Lynn thinks. We’ve stirred up a hornet’s nest. She makes the door with a multitude of night runners lying dead on the hallway floor but more are coming. Many more. She did not think it could get any louder but the shrieks fill even more of the hallway as a horde of them charges her way. To the point where she thinks her head will come apart from the noise.
“Close the door!” She yells above the din to the soldier that was holding it open for her and firing one-handed down the hallway.
The door swings ever slowly closed, the pneumatic swing arm above slowing the process. Lynn fires two more bursts into the hallway, hearing the rounds strike without seeing where or what. How could I miss though? She thinks. They practically fill the hallway. She yells for the teammate to head down as she covers the now shut door. The soldier on the other side of the landing holds the other door closed with all of his might.
“Go, I’ve got it covered,” she yells to him.
He releases his grip and turns for the stairs behind her. The door immediately swings open and she sends rounds into the opening, her rifle barking and echoing loudly in the enclosed space. The door opposite swings back closed. Lynn realizes there is gunfire further down the stairs from the other landings.
“They’re trying to come in,” Jordan’s voice yells in the radio. “Better hurry if you’re going to make it.”
“Hold tight, we’re on the way down. Drescoll, you good?” Lynn asks in the radio and starts down the stairs covering the doors on the landing above.
“They’re trying to get through but we’re holding ‘em for now,” he responds.
The sound of footsteps coming from above Lynn rises momentarily above the sound of gunfire and the struggle within the confined space. She looks upward to the stairs and landings above, seeing movement rapidly descending her way. Looking down, lights flash off of the walls from the battles on the landings below. If we’re not careful and quick, we’ll be trapped in the stairwell between floors, she thinks side-stepping down the stairs, keeping the night runners momentarily at bay as they try to come in through the doors on the fifth floor.
* * *
Descending down for the seeming hundredth landing, with Robert flying us on a competent final, voices suddenly interrupt our thoughts and instruction, coming through on the our helmets from our secondary radio.
“Sergeant Drescoll, this is Jordan on the third floor. I have sound and movement coming from the other side of my door,” a whispering voice calls out.
The threshold of the runway begins to fill our screen as Robert adjusts the throttles to keep our airspeed up. He is doing a great job of monitoring his airspeed on short final now. The tendency is to begin to concentrate primarily on the runway as it begins to draw near. Especially if you are feeling a little behind the aircraft and intent on getting it down. My attention is focused primarily on his flying, guiding and giving instruction where need, but a part of my mind is directed to listening to the radios for any further information that might come over them. The radios of the teams are affected by distance and line of sight. Not that they have to be in a line of sight to work, but the line of sight affects the distance they can carry and receive.
He manages to set it in without my wondering if my spine will be permanently affected and I nod my approval.
“Nice job,” I say as he applies the throttles for a touch and go.
Airborne once again, he calls for the gear and shortly thereafter, the flaps. I move the appropriate handles and levers at his call, careful of the airspeeds so we don’t overspeed any of the structural limitations. The aircraft cleans up nicely and he levels off at pattern altitude, ready to turn his crosswind leg.
“They’re onto us,” I hear Lynn say over the radio. “Hold the doors! We’re on our way out.”
“I have the aircraft,” I say over the intercom taking control and switching the radio to the secondary.
“Red Team, this is Jack, over,” I say pressing the transmit button.
“This is Gonzalez,” I hear in return.
“Get yourself, along with Alpha and Bravo Teams, ready to board once we taxi in.”
“Copy that, sir,” Gonzalez says replying. “What about the civilians?”
“Bring ‘em,” I answer.
Bringing the aircraft around, I set up for a combat assault landing, basically the quickest way to get this lumbering
beast to the ground. It is an overhead turning maneuver designed to roll out on a very short final, landing quickly. My plan is to load up the rest of our teams and find a field or road near the CDC campus to deploy and aid Lynn rapidly if needed. The chatter on the radio sounds like the proverbial shit has hit the fan.
I land without the sweet kiss of the tires rolling on the pavement but deposit the aircraft on the runway with authority sending a jolt through our seats. Slowing the aircraft down quickly with a firm application of brakes and reverse thrust, I take the center taxiway back to the ramp where I see the other teams lined up and waiting.
“Drop the ramp down to its level position,” I tell Robert as I set the aircraft up for takeoff configuration. The ramp has various settings for a variety of applications.
We taxi in and I then have Robert drop the ramp door down all of the way leaving the engines running. I can feel the aircraft shift as the teams clamber aboard. Gonzalez hops up the stairs to inform us that all are onboard and I brief her quickly on the radio chatter I had been hearing as Robert raises the ramp to its closed position. Quickly taxing to the closest runway, I move the throttles up and we are airborne in a rush, cleaning up the gear and flaps, and turning toward the CDC campus only a short distance away.
* * *
Now racing down the stairs to the fourth floor landing, Lynn sees Drescoll and another Green Team member firing through openings in both doors leading to the interior; the doors held partially open by bodies lying in the openings. Lynn exchanges magazines, her now mostly empty one clattering to the landing under her feet as she quickly replaces it with a fully loaded one from her tactical vest. The stench of dead bodies, their insides ripped open by steel-jacketed rounds and bowels emptied mingles with the sharp smell of gunpowder. The near continuous firing is deafening in this small space, amplified by the concrete walls echoing the noise.
