by Kevin Tinto
Appanoose grasped Leah’s hand once again. He made it plain she and K’aalógii were not to move. He dropped her hand and crept toward the edge of the clearing, staying well hidden within the trees.
Leah saw no obvious signal from Appanoose before a small group of warriors and fierce femmes burst from cover and, within seconds, disappeared inside the Chinook through the open rear ramp. The tactic was quick and quiet. No screams, cries, or sounds of any type escaped the Chinook. If the Ancients had killed the crew, they’d done it lightning fast and with lethal silence.
Leah hardly had a chance to draw in a breath before she heard the sound of something knocking on a tree, well out in the forest to the left side of the meadow. It seemed unimaginable the Ancients would make such a bonehead mistake, knowing how many lives were at stake.
The attention of the armed men surrounding the Black Hawk, including the barrels of their assault rifles, spun in the direction of the sound. At that moment, at least ten, perhaps more warriors and fierce femmes came out of the forest and took all five armed guards down in an instant.
Leah saw the muzzle flash of a single weapon shooting from what had to be a sixth man from inside the Black Hawk. The shooter got off three rounds before being silenced, but not before a single Ancient, slower than the rest, was caught out in open as he sprinted for the Black Hawk. When the shooter got off the third round, the warrior dropped his arms to his sides and fell into the grass.
With a sick feeling in her gut, Leah knew that it hadn’t been an Ancient at all. Garrett Moon, a modern-day Navajo warrior charging the Black Hawk with his brothers and sisters, had been cut down with a single shot.
Leah dropped K’aalógii’s hand and sprinted into the meadow, one thing on her mind. Reach Garrett, and hope that he’d just tripped, or heard the shots and dived for the ground, or perhaps been winged in the shoulder.
Appanoose was already kneeling beside Garrett by the time Leah reached him. The shaman was whispering a prayer as Leah dropped to her knees and burst into tears. K’aalógii knelt beside Leah, grasping her hand once again. Leah glanced over and saw tears on her cheeks, but also a hardness in her eyes, the eyes of a child who had witnessed this and much worse, her entire life.
The pain of seeing Garrett Moon lying dead was crushing. The Genesis Settlement had been cursed from the start, and one person deserved the blame for his death, and the death of Juan before him. The blame was on her, and her alone.
Appanoose got up and walked away, allowing Leah time to grieve. Leah stayed by her friend’s side until her tears stopped. Finally, she stood, K’aalógii helping her to her feet as she drew several calming breaths. With the last of the tears and a new sense of calm came a repressed fury. If she looked in a mirror, she thought, she’d have seen that same hardness she’d just witnessed in K’aalógii.
With purpose, she walked toward the Black Hawk. Three of the five armed guards lay dead in the meadow, their throats cut before they hit the ground. The sight of three slaughtered men should have horrified her beyond reason. Instead, she simply passed them to where two more men, still alive, lay next to the helicopter, hands pinned down to the middle of their backs by the knee of an Ancient on top of each.
She passed them by as well, stepping to where Appanoose held the Black Hawk flight crew on their knees.
She recognized the crew right off: Captain Hutchinson, Lieutenant Cruz, and Sergeant Bruce. The crew that flew most of the resupplies into and out of the SLZ. The same crew that had flown Jack in only days ago, and Leah and K’aalógii back and forth from the Settlement to Holloman.
To say the expression on Hutchinson’s face was one of frozen terror was an understatement. He stammered up at her, “D—Dr. Andrews? Are you going to kill us?”
“That depends.”
“On what?” he asked, his eyes wide open and unfocused.
“If you so much as make a sound, or flinch.”
Leah spun and stepped to the open door of the Black Hawk. Inside, one man lay on the floor of the helicopter, pinned down by two Ancients in the same way as those lying in the meadow. Beside him lay the assault rifle he’d used to kill Garrett Moon.
The calm and focus that she’d gained after grieving over Garrett’s body continued to sooth her. She felt no instant urge to kick this man in the teeth, to bash his skull. The calm was damming back her building rage, a rage that disconnected her from her emotions.
That rage intensified geometrically when she peered into the half-lit interior of the Black Hawk. A bloody body bag rested against the fuselage, while strapped securely to the aluminum bulkhead stood the Hafnium warhead that Marko Kinney had been babysitting.
Leah drew a breath. Then another. The sense of calm detachment cradling her murderous rage prevented her from having the man pinned down and slaughtered on the spot. She boarded the Black Hawk and worked her way back toward the nuclear device and body bag. She knelt and unzipped the bag, revealing stringy blond hair stained crimson.
Marko.
She had to stop for a moment. It was critical that she maintain control. The safety of the Ancients remained her responsibility. The Ancients had to be her overriding focus now.
Once certain she’d regained control, she unzipped the bag the rest of the way, exposing Marko’s body. It was the hardest thing she’d ever had to do. Once the zipper reached Marko’s boots, she pulled the laces open on one boot and slid a hand down inside a bloody sock. Nothing. Leah calmly turned her attention to the opposite boot, unlacing it, and working her hand down inside the sock.
This time she felt the paper envelope she hoped would still be there. She pulled it out and found it soaked with blood. Leah ripped it open and read the codes that had been sealed into a plastic bag. Jack had been thinking ahead, as usual. Certain that Marko would spill soup or hot cocoa on the list, rendering the access codes for Freddy Kruger unreadable, Jack had sealed them inside a Ziploc sandwich bag before inserting them inside a plain white envelope.
She zipped the codes inside her flight suit, then closed the body bag, wiping her hands on her legs.
“Plasticuffs,” she said to the man pinned to the deck. He didn’t plead for his life, or moan. He simply nodded toward a gear bag jammed underneath the webbing. Leah slid the bag out, opened it, and dug around inside. It was filled with loaded magazines for the assault rifle, multiple satellite communicators, water, even a couple of energy bars.
There was also a plastic bag filled with plastic handcuffs, a basic staple on any mission in which people would be secured for transport. When Leah had boarded the Chinook on the initial transport to the Settlement, the Ancients had been secured with the same. She’d screamed bloody murder. There was no need to secure their hands, they’d all been heavily sedated. The security personnel had refused to cut off or release the plasticuffs until the Chinook landed and the Ancients removed from the aircraft.
Leah showed Appanoose how to use the plasticuffs on the man pinned down in the helicopter. She told him to secure, the Black Hawk crew: Captain Hutchinson, Lt. Cruz, and Sargent Bruce, also using the plasticuffs. Also the three surviving mystery shooters: the man she’d found pinned down inside the Black Hawk and the two other survivors, with throats still intact, lying face-down in the grass.
Leah glanced at her watch. The Special Operations team would be at the edge of the Settlement by now. The sooner she got off the ground, the safer they’d be.
She took Appanoose aside, and told him to gather Garrett’s body off the grass and Marko’s body out of the Black Hawk. He gave a sharp single nod and gave directions to the Ancients, who carefully picked Garrett’s body up and transported it to the Chinook, returning for Marko just moments later.
When Appanoose stuck his head outside the back of the Chinook, Leah motioned him over once again. She told him to carry the ‘ophíye’ from the Black Hawk and load it into the Chinook. If he was impressed that she’d actually
remembered the Lakota word for ‘container,’ he didn’t give any notice.
He simply gave one sharp head snap, and ran to the Black Hawk, retrieved the Hafnium warhead, and with no more effort than a NFL running back, dodging defenders on a long touchdown run, ran with it toward the back of the Chinook.
She picked up the assault rifle lying on the deck of the Black Hawk and the gear bag filled with the spare magazines.
She considered having Appanoose gather up the other assault rifles lying in the grass but decided against it. The last thing she needed was someone whose idea of an advanced weapon was the steel knives they’d taken off perimeter security getting ahold of an assault rifle and shooting up the helicopter, or anything else, full of holes.
When the Ancients were clear of the Black Hawk, she walked backwards, pointing the barrel of the automatic weapon where she thought the fuel tanks ought to be. Leah held the weapon with both hands, hoping it wasn’t set on safety. When she pulled the trigger, she hit the Black Hawk twice, before the barrel jumped into the air. She re-aimed, this time determined to hold down on it, and held the trigger back until the magazine was empty. Although the Black Hawk hadn’t caught fire, it was shot full of holes from front to back.
“Fly that,” she muttered, before moving to the rear of the Chinook.
Chapter 54
When Leah walked inside the Chinook, she found the pilots held down by the Ancients, the classic knee in the back, a blade moving around just within peripheral vision as a reminder not to move.
The Black Hawk pilot, Captain Hutchinson and his crew, had been propped against the fuselage of the Chinook, hands plasticuffed in their laps. On the opposite side of the fuselage, the three surviving shooters from the Black Hawk were lined up, and cuffed in the same position.
Leah told the Ancients to release the Chinook crew. “I know you—you’re out of Holloman, TAD for the Settlement, shuttling security.” The crew nodded in unison. “What’s your mission?” Leah asked.
“We were told you ordered an evacuation of the Settlement,” said the command pilot. That’s all the information we were given.”
“What happened to perimeter security? They should have been all over this….”
“The civilian contractors were pulled out 48-hours ago. The military inner security was ordered to stand down yesterday…”
“By who?”
The pilot shrugged. “Sorry, Dr. Andrews. I don’t know.”
Leah pointed toward the goons. “Who are these guys?”
“We never saw them before the mission briefing yesterday. They launched first. It was only after they gave us a ‘go code,’ were we to fly to the meadow with the Delta Platoon. The Black Hawk was already at the LZ when we touched down.”
“Get the Chinook into the air,” Leah said.
The pilot looked confused. He glanced first at his co-pilot, then the loadmaster. “Ah—what about the Delta Platoon, ma’am?”
“They get a special treat—hiking out.”
“Destination?” he asked.
“Back to Holloman. Don’t rush. I want to enjoy the scenery.”
Before the two pilots climbed into the cockpit, Leah had one more piece of advice. “We are flying radio-silent until I say otherwise. I’d expect you to hear from the Delta guys anytime now, wondering what the hell happened to the Ancients. You will not respond.”
She looked at the command pilot, then the co-pilot. “The Ancients would like nothing more than to cut your throats with your own knives. That’s not going to happen—is it?” The pilots and the loadmaster shook heads with such ferocity, Leah thought their helmets might fly off their heads. “Then I think we’re ready to go.”
She turned to the loadmaster. “My crew doesn’t speak English, but don’t make the mistake of thinking they’re stupid. Show them how to sit on the webbing. Start with the tall one who looks mean enough to kill and eat a rhino with a butter knife—he’ll instruct the others.”
The Ancients sat on the webbing, the hardness in their eyes replaced with fear and anxiety as the turbines spun up. Appanoose carried the same stoic expression as always, and he moved up and down the web seats, talking with each, calming them with just a word or two.
He’d make a helluva poker player, Leah thought. Nothing rattles this guy.
The pilots raised the ramp, and the Chinook lifted off, dipping the nose to gain speed and altitude. That created renewed panic among the Ancients. Leah and the shaman did what they could to soothe and calm, moving up and down the cabin.
Leah turned her attention to the three black-op goons, yet to be identified. One was heavily bearded, the second clean shaven. They both appeared about the same age. Late 30s-early 40s. The third one was clean shaven and sported a monkey shave haircut as well. He was easily in his mid-50s. Muscular, wrinkled, and wind worn. An old school hard-ass who’d seen it all. He had to be the leader. He was also the one she’d found pinned down inside the Black Hawk. The one who had killed Garrett with that last, three shot burst. Leah stepped over and studied him closer. Then he looked into her eyes, all she saw was contempt.
“You got a name?”
“I’ve got a few—pick one that works for you.”
“How about ‘Dead Man Walking’?”
He shrugged. “Good as any.”
“I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure.”
No response.
“How did you know how to find Marko and the warhead?”
No response.
“So, it’s gonna be like that?”
He glanced up, mocking her. “How about pointing a gun to my head and threatening to blow it off….”
“If I blew your head off, how would I get the information I need?”
He shrugged, then closed his eyes, as if anticipating a restful nap. “It’s been a long night. Wake me when we get to Holloman.”
“Oh, I doubt you’ll make it to Holloman,” she said. That got a reaction. His eyes flashed open, but only for a moment.
Leah stood and walked forward to the cockpit. She leaned in and said, “I heard you guys using the radio. I only need one of you to fly the helo, so I guess I just toss a coin.…”
Both pilots shouted, ‘No!’ at the same time. A sharp but brief grin flashed across her face. Jack said he used gallows humor—a psychological tool-of-survival—in situations where people were dying around you.
That one’s for you, Climber.
“Lower the ramp,” she said. The co-pilot lowered the ramp without comment. She knew it would frighten the Ancients, but she had limited time and had to take the risk. When she turned around, the ramp was already opening, the rush of air and the sound of the turbines and rotors making a deafening roar. The Ancients, for the most part sat frozen in their web seats. Leah nodded at Appanoose.
He was at her side instantly.
She turned toward ‘Dead Man Walking.’ His expression was pure amusement. He had to shout over the roar. “You plan on tossing me out of the bird if I don’t talk?”
“I can see why Fischer hired you for the job,” she shouted back. “You think way ahead of the curve.”
The other two accomplices also looked amused.
“Let me see if I can’t wipe those silly grins off your faces,” she shouted over the roar.
Leah leaned against Appanoose and shouted into his ear. One sharp nod told her he understood. He reached over and lifted the bearded thug up but didn’t cut his restraints. Appanoose hauled him to the back of the Chinook, spinning him around until his body was prone, lying half in the Chinook, half out on the ramp.
Leah had told Appanoose to take the bearded one and hold him at the open door while she questioned the bald one. Or she thought that’s what she said. Over the roar of the wind, the turbines, the rotors, and her deep emotional fatigue, she might not have gotten it exactly right.
She turned and looked at Dead Man Walking. His smirk had grown.
This won’t work, she thought. They know it’s a bluff.
She turned and got Appanoose’s attention. She shook her head, a sign she hoped he’d interpret as failure and as an order to pull Beard back aboard the Chinook.
Appanoose gave one sharp nod and, without expression, tossed Beard out the back of the Chinook with no more effort than lobbing a rag doll into the trash.
Leah was so shocked, all she could do was stare out the ramp at the fast-vanishing body as it plummeted to earth.
Chapter 55
Jesus!” said Clean Shave. “What the hell do you want to know?”
“Keep your mouth shut,” growled Dead Man Walking.
“You saw Sitting Bull toss Miller out.” Clean Shave shook his head. “I’m not going out like that. No way.”
To her surprise, Leah felt nothing for the late Miller. Or her other two captives. The memory of Garrett shot dead in front of her eyes, of Marko’s broken and bleeding body stuffed in the body bag, had dissolved whatever empathy remained.
“Who’s next?” She focused on Clean Shave. “How about you?”
“Just tell me what you want to know,” he said, looking more disgusted than fearful.
Leah pointed at the older commando. “What’s his name?”
“Krause.”
“Shut. Up.” Krause struggled futilely to free himself from the restraints.
“Who’s running this operation? CIA? NSA? Who ordered this mission? Fischer?”
“We’re civilian,” Shave said. “All former Special Operators with black-ops experience. We work outside the normal chain of command on classified operations.”
“Mercenaries with a leash,” Leah said.
Shave shrugged. “Pays better than the service industry.”
“Fischer—where is he?”
“He was in charge—right up until—”
“Keep your mouth shut!” Krause was getting so worked up that he sprayed a sheet of spit as he yelled.
