The Fate Of Nations: F.I.R.E. Team Alpha: Book One

by Ray Chilensky

  “We’ll come back to each other,” she replied.

  Carter touched her cheek. “We’ll have a lot of leave time when we get past this mission,” he said. “We’ll spend every second of it together.”

  “You really didn’t get in on the chaplain’s prayer,” Monica said. “I know you’re not exactly a believer, but it couldn’t hurt to have a talk with a chaplain before you deploy.”

  “I’ll think about it,” Carter said.

  “But you won’t do it,” She said.

  Carter shrugged. “Probably not,” he admitted. “It would be a waste of time. God wouldn’t need to use a chaplain as a middle man.”

  “You don’t believe in God, do you?” Monica asked. There was pity in her voice.

  “I don’t disbelieve,” he replied. “I envy believers like you the comfort their spiritual beliefs provide,” he added.

  “What do you believe in?” she asked.

  Carter chuckled slightly. “You really wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

  Monica placed a light kiss on his lips; words failing her. “I should get going,” she said, finally. She waited for a long moment. “You should talk to Okesa,” she said.

  His hand lingered on her face as they parted. “I will.”

  Handshakes and hugs were exchanged among the operators and then the four deploying teams boarded the waiting submarines. Teams Alpha and Bravo watched as the subs submerged. Carter remained for several seconds after they disappeared beneath the water’s surface. “Good fortune,” he whispered to himself.

  [][][]

  Carter had been walking without a destination for over an hour. With his wife gone his quarters became a sad mockery of a true home. The scent of her perfume lingered and mixed with the odor of vanilla scented candles that she had kept almost constantly burning since they had returned to Fort Reagan. The smells and the few personal items she had left behind served only to reinforce the fact of her absence.

  His wandering took him to the lake shore and the end of one of the longest pier that served as a base to the Coast Guard and Naval vessels when the facilities at the nearby base on the island of Put-in Bay were overcrowded. The night air was heavy and thick, but the breeze coming off of Lake Eerie provided relief from the heat and humidity.

  People always seemed to seek out water when they were troubled, Carter thought. Or at least that was the cliché’ portrayed in books and movies. He decided that it was not any soothing effect the water might have that he craved. He had come to the end of the pier for the isolation. None of the larger vessels were in port at the moment and there were few people working on the docks so close to dawn. The sentries had noticed his presence but had not challenged him. They had seen his rank insignia on his basic duty uniform and, perhaps, sensed his need for solitude.

  With Monica gone solitude was good. Looking into the night he could pretend that there was nothing was going on. He could shut out the memories of dead loved ones and friends and push away the knowledge that there would soon be more people to mourn if he, himself, survived the next few days. He found that there was a comforting emptiness in darkness.

  Carter had allowed himself a nearly an hour of quiet reflection before returning, reluctantly, to his quarters. Upon returning he found Okesa waiting for him; sitting on the highest on the three steps that let up to the quarter’s front door. She stood as he approached. Her posture suggested that she was pensive but determined. She wore a simple red blouse and well worn denim jeans. Her hair was loose and moving with the gentle breeze.

  She was beautiful, Carter thought. He had always known that, he supposed. But, in light of her recent revelations concerning her feelings toward him, he found that he was compelled to acknowledge that beauty in a different way. He would be faithful to Monica; that was never in question. However, it was impossible for the personal dynamic between Carter and Okesa not to change.

  “I guess it’s time we talked,” he said, managing a slight smile. “Come inside.”

  Carter turned on the lights and led Okesa into the cottage. The quarters still felt empty. Not like the natural, comforting emptiness of a dark night, though. It was the depressing kind of emptiness of a living thing that had been drained of life. Carter decided that he would leave as soon as he had finished speaking with Okesa. If he slept at all before the team deployed he would sleep somewhere else.

  “Have a seat, Carter said, moving toward the small kitchen. Do you want something to drink?” Carter asked. “Monica has some real orange tea.”

  Okesa smiled slightly. “Yes, please.”

  Carter used the process of making the tea to bridge an uncomfortable silence. Okesa waited quietly. Neither of them wanted to begin what they thought would be a difficult conversation. The aroma of the brewing tea mixed with the other scents and became another reminder of his wife’s absence. Oddly however, the tangy, orange scent of the tea seemed to bring a visage of her presence that lessened the tension between Okesa and himself.

  Minutes later Okesa accepted a cup from Carter on a plastic saucer. She held the steaming cup under her nose and smiled. “I gave Monica this tea for her birthday last year,” she said.

  Carter nodded. “I remember. Teams Alpha and Delta were both stationed in Adak that year. She always wondered where you managed to get two tins of real tea while we were in an active combat zone. She just opened the second tin few days ago.”

  Okesa sipped her tea. Carter stared at his for several seconds. “I suppose one of us should actually talk,” he said finally.

  Okesa managed another slight smile. “I suppose so.”

  Carter set his teacup on the small coffee table. “O.K.,” he said. “I’ll start. First, I want to you know how much I admire the courage it took to be so honest with Monica about how you feel about me. Most people wouldn’t have been able to do that.”

  Okesa finally looked up from her tea. “I could never betray Monica; not telling her would be the same as lying.”

  “Well”, Carter said.”You need to know that nothing will change between you and me professionally. I won’t be transferring you unless that’s what you want.”

  Her eyes rose to meet his. “Thank you.”

  “I can’t honestly tell you that it won’t be a bit awkward between us for a while. But you’re Monica’s best friend. And, since that’s not going to change, you and I are going to be part of each other’s lives.”

  Okesa sipped her tea. “I hope so; Monica has been so good to me.”

  "Monica loves you," Carter said."So, the three of us are going to have to work this out."

  Okesa shifted slightly in her chair. “You're not angry with me?"

  "Hell no," Carter said. "If anything, I'm flattered. Like I said; it took a lot of guts and integrity to be so honest. I don't think I could have done it."

  "Is that true?" Okesa said; raising her eyes to see Carter's face.

  "You're damned right it's true," Carter said. "Hell, I tried to weasel out of having this conversation with you."

  Okesa managed another week smile. "What are we going to do, then?" Okesa asked.

  Carter shrugged. "For now, nothing,” he said. ”Once we all get home from this next mission the three of us can sit down, have dinner, and talk this all through. It will get worked out. There may be some awkward moments but, the way I see it, we’ll all be damn lucky if we’re still alive a week from now to feel awkward.”

  “That is true,” Okesa agreed.

  “The way I see it,” Carter said, “situations like this fester into something ugly when people ignore their feelings; or try to conceal them. Sooner or later everything comes out in the open all at once and at the worst possible time. At least this way we can deal with the situation calmly like reasonable people and not get blindsided by an emotional avalanche.”

  “That was my reasoning,” Okesa agreed. “I wanted Monica to hear about my feelings from me; not from second hand word of mouth.”

  “That was the right move,” Carter said.
“Everything’s above board and there’s no room for misinterpretation or speculation.”

  “Thank you for being so understanding,” Okesa said looking Carter in the eye again. “

  “Not a problem,” Carter said. “But what I’m really having trouble understand is what you, or Monica for that matter, see in a beat up old soldier like me.”

  Okesa’s eyes brightened. “That is a question Monica should answer. Besides that, if you cannot see your endearing qualities form yourself, it is likely that no one could make you see them.”

  Carter smiled. “I can be pretty thick headed,” he said; “just ask Monica.”

  Okesa chuckled, “She actually used the term ‘mule headed’” she said.

  Carter laughed. “So, are you going to be alright until we get back from Brussels?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Okesa said. “It is a tremendous relief to have it all out in the open; knowing that you and Monica aren’t angry with me.”

  “Alright,” Carter said. “Let’s just keep our heads in the game, go to Brussels, kill the enemy, and blow a bunch of shit up.”

  Chapter Six

  Wright-Patterson Air Force Base

  14 May 2104

  Light rain was falling. Hicks watched the arrowhead-shaped plane taxi onto the loading area. It was painted a flat, almost black gray and made surprisingly little sound. Built for radar evasion it was an aerodynamic lifting body and was without any obvious wings, fins or stabilizers that would provide a radar-reflective surface. There were no visible exhaust ports and no engine nacelles. The plane’s engines were recessed deep inside the fuselage; not only to muffle their sound, but also to mask the heat they produced. The skin was smooth and seamless; devoid of protruding rivets or bolts.

  Hicks turned at the sound of Carter’s voice, “The damn thing doesn’t look it should fly,” Carter said.

  “Well it does,” Hicks countered. “There are only four like it in the world. It can fly at six-hundred miles an hour, two hundred feet above the ground or at mach-four at one-hundred and twenty thousand feet while carrying up to ten fully equipped special operators. You can point a radar right at it from a hundred feet and not get a reading. If we need to, we can launch it from and aircraft carrier. It has a four thousand mile mission range, and it can be refueled in mid air. It’s so secret we didn’t even give it a name”

  “The pilots just call it the Black Arrow,” Carter said. “It does look like an arrow head.” The plane had come to a halt and a team of technicians joined the flight crew in performing one last pre-flight inspection.

  Turning to face Carter, Hicks found him already wearing the FIRE team’s standard black assault suit, both his main and reserve parachutes, the latest in closed circuit SCUBA gear, and seventy pounds of other equipment, weapons, and ammunition. He carried his helmet under his left arm. His face was covered in black, light absorbing camouflage paint.

  “I don’t think they’re quite ready for you,” Hicks said gesturing toward the working flight technicians.

  “I always try to get to the embarkation area early,” Carter said. “That last few hours before an operation is launched are the worst. If I’m here it at least feels like I’m doing something.”

  “It’s always best to get into battle quickly,” Hicks agreed.

  “We received a burst transitions from the subs carrying the other teams. They’ve arrived on their launch station as scheduled. Team Bravo is already at Rickenbacker Air Force Base; they’ll take off thirty minutes after you do. I’ll be heading for the USS Inchon as soon as I see Team Alpha off.”

  “Say goodbye to Mama Hicks for me,” Carter said as a small truck carrying his team rolled to a stop nearby.

  Hick clapped Carter’s arm. “I will,” he said.

  Team Alpha spent several minutes checking each other’s equipment as the aircraft technicians finish their pre-flight inspections of the Black Arrow. When that was done the flight crew’s chief waved the team over; indicating that they could board the plane.

  Hicks shook each operators hand in turn. “Good luck Team Alpha; and good hunting.”

  “We’ll get the job done, Sir,” Carter said.

  “I know that, Doug,” Hicks replied. “There was never any doubt.”

  Carter only smiled slightly. “Let’s go, people,” he said to his team.

  Minutes later the Black Arrow was airborne with Team Alpha aboard. It was only seconds before it was swallowed by the darkness. Hicks found himself chilled by a cold that had nothing to do with the absence of heat.

  [][][]

  You could forget that you were riding inside a super-sonic aircraft. The Black Arrow’s passenger compartment was pressurized, heated and equipped with sound and vibration dampeners. The compartment was spacious when compared to other military transports. It was lit, somewhat dimly, by small lights over each operator’s head. The operators were seated, facing each other, in well cushioned seats that were partially recessed into the plane’s fuselage; four on each side. Beside each team member was cylinder-shaped chamber just large enough to accommodate one fully equipped trooper.

  Carter looked at the cylinder directly across from him. He knew that it was connected to a slanted, six-foot, tube that lead to small hatches at the bottom-rear of the plane. When it came time to make the parachute drop, each operator would enter the cylinder next to them and a pressure door would seal it. When the plane approached the jump point, the tube would be de-pressurized and the operators would be given a five second warning before the cylinder’s floor would retract beneath their feet; dropping them into the tube. The doors at the end of the tube would retract into the fuselage only for the seconds it took for the operator to exit the plane. This system meant that the parachutists could make their jump without opening large doors in the sides or rear of the plane and compromise its radar-defeating shape.

  Beside him, DeFontain was also scrutinizing the drop-tube. “You’ve never jumped from a Back Arrow before, have you?” he asked the Jamaican woman.

  She turned her hooded, camouflage face toward him. “No, Boss,” she answered. “I it is going to be strange not being able to jump on my own. Just waiting for the floor to slide out from under me is going to be unnerving.”

  “Well, if we opened the cargo doors, we’d almost certainly be tracked on radar," he told her. “Would you rather jump while the pilot is dodging missiles?” he asked, tilting his head.

  She smiled slightly. “No, Boss; I think we can do without the missiles.”

  “So what else is bothering you?” Carter asked."You’ve been thinking hard about something for the whole flight.”

  DeFontain’s brow furrowed. “I’m wondering why the WCA soldiers fight for such a government,” she said. “Ever since our raid on the prison in France I’ve wondered why anyone could fight for a government that would do that to its people. Many of the prisoners we freed were children. Mertens and the other prisoners were in wretched condition.” She paused and looked at down; shaking her head. “Why don’t the people rise up? Why do the soldiers continue to obey? I can’t understand it."

  “That’s not something that’s something that’s easily understood,” Carter said. “Most WCA troops are conscripts and fight because they have to. The WCA makes sure that none of their military units serve in or near their home countries, or even in the same region. That way, their families are alone and defenseless. If a WCA soldier refuses to fight their families are killed or imprisoned.”

  “Also consider,” Williams said from his seat across from Carter, “That some of their units, such as the First Earth Guard, have been indoctrinated from childhood. Their parents were devout globalists, and so where their ancestors all the way back to the nineteen-sixties; perhaps even longer ago than that. You must understand that the globalist movement is not new; it is ancient. The WCA, as it exists today, is the product of centuries of planning. Its leaders have been prepared to assume their leadership roles from childhood. They carefully laid the groundwork for manipu
lating and controlling the masses.”

  “That’s right,” Carter said. “Units like the First Earth Guard are the hard core globalist believers. They look at individual liberty and self determination as the reason for all of mankind’s problems. Some even think that individualism is a mental illness. They actually believe that the WCA would eventually evolve into a system that isn’t oppressive; that everything would be better when everyone just accepts their social status, does whatever work that they’re assigned by the State, and is content to obey the ruling class. They would have all their needs met by the State, but would be completely subservient to the collective body politic. It would be kind of a political hive mentality.”

  “That would work too,” McNamara interjected. “Once you kill off every one who won’t sit down and shut up.”

  “I still can’t understand why no one fights back.” Defontain replied. “Even if it means having loved ones killed. Living day to day waiting to be killed or imprisoned for saying or doing the wrong thing has to be worse than death.”

  “Some people are fighting back; the FNF for instance,” Carter said, pointing to the FNF insignia on DeFontian’s uniform. “And don’t forget that the mission we’re on right now depends on the underground resistance fighters; it would be impossible to accomplish the mission without them. Most of the people we liberated from that prison in France were resistance fighters or political dissidents. They sacrificed everything to fight for what they believe in. As I recall your parents were killed for being dissidents.”

  “Yes, they were," Defontain confirmed. She realized that all eyes were now on her. “They were both doctors. They were educated in America, but they returned to Jamaica and opened a free clinic with the help of some American missionaries. When the war broke out, they treated casualties from both sides.”

  “And they were gunned down along with anyone else who wasn’t a WCA soldier,” Carter added.

  “Yes,” Defontain conformed. “I was in Florida; my fourth year of medical school. When I found out what happened to my parents, I joined the FNF.”