Eternal Night

by Richard Turner

  Mitchell heard the scuffle, spun on his heel, and threw himself at Robert. Grace shot her head back, hitting the last guard in the nose, shattering it. Blood poured down the pained man’s face like a red river. Grace stepped to one side, and swept the guard’s feet from underneath him. He landed hard on the floor, bumping his head and knocking himself senseless.

  Mitchell hit Robert in the torso and bounced off the man’s musclebound chest. He shot out his right leg to try and sweep his opponent off his feet, but missed. Mitchell saw Robert reach for his machine pistol and charged at him.

  A short burst of automatic gunfire filled the air.

  Robert dropped to his knees with a hole straight through his heart. The man gurgled something unintelligible, before falling to the floor.

  Mitchell came to a sliding halt next to Robert’s body. He turned around and saw Sam holding a machine pistol in her hands.

  “I thought you were drugged?”

  “Playing possum,” she replied.

  “Get the key for the cuffs.”

  Sam nodded and retrieved them from a pocket on Robert’s coveralls. She rushed to remove her friends’ cuffs when an alarm blared throughout the facility.

  Grace and Mitchell helped themselves to the dead guards’ weapons and ammo.

  “What are we going to do?” asked a terrified-looking Sandesh.

  “We can’t stay here, so I say we take the fight to the enemy, and screw them around until Nate gets here,” said Mitchell.

  “Sounds good to me,” said Sam.

  Mitchell faced Grace. “Your job is to keep Sandesh alive.”

  “Hey, I can fight,” countered Grace.

  “I know you can, but we made a deal, and keeping Sandesh alive is part of it.”

  Grace ground her teeth together and nodded.

  “Okay, the stairs are this way,” said Mitchell, pointing down the corridor. “Let’s move.”

  The second the alarm sounded, Lena leaped to her feet. “What the hell is happening?”

  Dimov snatched up his phone and called the command center.

  “Dimov, I demand that you tell me what is going on,” said Lena.

  He slammed his phone down with such fury that he snapped the receiver in half. “The prisoners have escaped.”

  “Surely you have enough men to stop them.”

  “I do.”

  “Then kill them!”

  Dimov snatched up his weapon from his desk and ran to the command center. He tapped one of the duty techs on the shoulder and said, “Order all available guards to the second level. I want the prisoners recaptured or killed.”

  The man started to pass the order when a red-colored phone rang. The tech picked it up and listened for a moment, before looking over at Dimov with his mouth agape.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Dimov.

  “Sir, it’s the ULA,” stammered the tech. “They report they’re under attack.”

  A cold shiver ran down Dimov’s back. He sprinted from the command center to the front of the base and swore as three armed helicopters flew at treetop level straight toward the refugee camp. With almost choreographed precision, the three choppers fired their rockets at the base, blasting to pieces anything remotely looking like a machine gun bunker or position. Although his eyes could see the helicopters, Dimov’s brain couldn’t comprehend that they were under attack.

  59

  Yuri pulled back on the red plastic trigger on his joystick, releasing a volley of 57mm rockets into a line of parked helicopters. Struck by the high-explosive projectiles, the choppers exploded one by one as Yuri flew overhead.

  In the back, Cardinal sat on the floor, firing a heavy machine gun out the open twin doors at anything his friend may have missed. Fifty-caliber bullets tore up everything they struck. Cardinal switched his aim from the helicopters to a group of fuel and ammunition trucks hidden under a camouflage net. A bright-orange flash followed immediately by a thunderous explosion heralded the end of the tucks and their precious supplies.

  ULA fighters scattered for their lives. Most fled for the safety of the jungle canopy. A couple of brave souls stood their ground and fired up at the chopper as it circled their burning base. If Cardinal didn’t get them, Saya’s men firing light machine guns out of the MI-8’s side doors finished them off.

  Dark clouds of smoke rose into the air from the burning camp. To those trapped out in the open, it was hell on earth. Less than five minutes after the attack had begun, Yuri applied power to his chopper’s engine and flew off to join the others, leaving in his wake a trail of death and destruction.

  Jackson felt the wheels of his helicopter touch the ground. The back doors flung open, and light flooded in the rear of the chopper. A haze of dust and smoke hung in the air.

  “Let’s go!” yelled General Saya in Burmese. His men let out a cheer and followed him out the back of the chopper.

  Men ran from the rear of the three helicopters and fanned out. A dozen or so of Dimov’s men were in the camp when the choppers landed, and opened fire on the rebel fighters. Bullets tore through the air in both directions. Saya’s men were tougher than they looked, and within seconds, all of Dimov’s men lay dead or dying. An RPG team fired a grenade at Lena’s helicopter, blasting it apart. A dark spiral of burning fuel crept skyward.

  Jackson spotted the rebel corporal leading the sapper squad assigned to him and waved him to his side. He pointed up at the opening to the base and said, “Get your men and follow me.”

  The corporal nodded and called for his men.

  The sound of a bullet ricocheting off the wall behind him snapped Dimov back to life. He spun around yelling, “Close the blast doors. For the love of God, close them now!”

  The metal doors creaked to life and began to close.

  “My helicopter?” asked Lena.

  “Gone,” he replied.

  “Dimov, this is a disaster, you have to get me out of here. I’m too valuable to the cause to die here.”

  “You needn’t worry. They’ll never get inside once the doors close.”

  A thunderous explosion tore through the facility as a volley of RPGs struck the doors, knocking one slightly ajar. The screeching noise of metal on metal made Dimov cringe. The doors would never fully close now.

  “You have to get me to safety!” ordered Lena.

  “Hold on,” he replied. Dimov ran to the command center. He struggled to catch his breath. “Activate the base’s defenses and then order all available men back up here to hold this floor. Have some of the guards keep Mitchell’s people trapped on the third floor, but I need the rest up here now.”

  “Yes, sir,” responded a scared tech, as he typed in a command, bringing all the automated gun systems online.

  Dimov took Lena by the arm and walked her to an elevator marked private. He slid his pass card into a panel on the wall. Right away the door slid open. “You and your bodyguard can take this all the way to the bottom floor. You’ll find a Jeep down there. Head due east for about an hour. You should run into some ULA fighters, who will help you get out of the country alive.”

  “The men with the Achlys, where are they now?” asked Lena.

  “They should be airborne. They’ll refuel in Oman before carrying on to Europe, where they’ll split up.”

  “Dimov, you can’t stay here. Come with me.”

  He shook his head. “No, I have to try and save this base and its supply of Achlys. I’ve spent too much time and effort to see it fail. Get going, and send help if you can.”

  Lena and her guard stepped into the elevator. The doors closed.

  “Thank God she’s gone,” said Dimov, happy to be rid of her. He looked back at the crippled doors. Smoke blocked his view.

  “Sir, where do you want us?” called out a Hispanic man, leading a squad of guards.

  “Take cover, and don’t let anyone inside the base,” replied Dimov. He flipped the safety off on his machine pistol and prepared to fight for his life.

  The explosion from t
he rocket propelled projectiles hitting the metal doors surprised Jackson, making him duck. He raised his head and saw the left-hand door was now twisted and bent. He was about to jump to his feet when a row of light machine guns rose from the ground on the hill and opened fire. Bullets tore into Saya’s men, killing four before the rest dove for cover.

  “RPGs!” yelled Jackson.

  The rocket-propelled grenade teams targeted the guns and opened fire. For every sentry gun destroyed, a pair of RPG gunners paid with their lives. After a while, the fire began to slacken from the machine guns.

  “Sappers, with me!” bellowed Jackson, leaping to his feet. As fast as his feet could go, he sprinted to the base of the hill, and threw himself to the ground. Eight men carrying heavy packs on their backs rose from the field and ran to catch up with Jackson. Right beside them, Dawn and her squad hurried to reach the doors before they closed.

  Jackson rolled over and saw that the damaged doors would never fully close.

  A long burst from a sentry gun just above the doors struck one of their helicopters in the engine. Black, oily smoke wafted from the wound.

  Jackson waved a sapper over to him, hauled the man’s backpack off his back and activated the explosives in the pack. Jackson took a step back and hurled the bomb over the top of the doors. He ducked down and took cover. A couple of seconds later, the explosives went off, ripping the machine gun apart.

  Jackson gave a thumbs-up to his squad leader before crawling over to the crippled left-hand door and taking a quick peek inside. Smoke from the blast still hung in the air, making it impossible for him to see more than a couple of meters. He turned to look at his squad leader. “Big boom,” said Jackson, using his hands to show a large explosion.

  The man nodded and waved a young sapper over. The corporal removed the man’s pack, opened a flap on the top, set a timer for ten seconds, and edged to the opening. With as much strength as he could muster, the corporal threw the pack inside and ran for cover.

  “Down!” yelled Jackson, diving for the dirt. Mentally he started counting back from ten. When he reached zero, the ground shook as the bomb went off. Twenty kilograms of high explosives jammed with ball bearings exploded, sending thousands of deadly projectiles tearing through the air.

  “What was that?” asked Sandesh, as an explosion somewhere above sent dust and paint chips falling from the roof.

  “The cavalry’s here,” said Mitchell.

  Automatic fire from a guard on the second floor struck the metal handrail, ricocheting against the cement wall.

  Sam thrust her machine pistol up into the air and replied with a short, sharp burst of her own.

  “Is there another way up?” Grace asked Sandesh.

  “There’s the elevator, but they’ll be watching that,” he replied.

  Grace grabbed Sandesh’s shirt collar. “Think, man. There has to be another safety measure built into the base to help people escape in the event of a fire.”

  Sandesh shook his head. “I’m sorry. This is it. The stairs are the only way out of here.”

  “Grace, your gun please,” said Mitchell.

  She tossed it to him. “What are you going to do?”

  “We can’t stay down here forever. So, we’re going up. Whatever happens, stay close behind Sam and me.”

  “You’re nuts, but what the hell.”

  Mitchell looked at Sam. “Ready?”

  She nodded and brought up her weapon to fire.

  “Now!” said Mitchell, bursting out from under cover of the landing.

  Sam fired off a long blast up the stairwell to prevent anyone from trying to stop Mitchell as he ran to the next level.

  Mitchell stopped and brought both machine pistols up to fire. “Move now!”

  Sam heard the automatic gunfire and hobbled quickly up the stairs. Close behind her, Grace dragged Sandesh up the flight of stairs. They came to a sliding halt next to Mitchell. Sandesh sounded as if he had just run a ten kilometer race. The smell of gunpowder hung heavy in the air.

  “Next stop is the second floor,” said Mitchell.

  Not wanting their opponents to recover, he tapped Sam on the arm and prepared to make the next move. Sam raised up her arm and shot off what was left in her magazine as Mitchell took the stairs two at a time. On the landing leading to the second floor lay a badly wounded guard, staring blankly at the door. Mitchell kicked his weapon aside and aimed his pistols at the door, letting loose with everything he had. Nine-millimeter casings flew from the ejection port of both guns, falling down the stairs like a brass rain. The very second both machine pistols ran out of ammo, Mitchell scooped up the wounded guard’s weapon, yanked open the door, and dove inside. He landed on his shoulder, rolled over, and came up on his feet.

  A guard with a bloody wound on his head turned to fire. Mitchell dropped the man and fired off another short burst into a man rushing down the hallway to stop him. He waited a moment to make sure it was safe, before kicking the door open and yelling, “It’s over! Come on up.”

  Sam ran up and helped herself to some fresh ammo.

  “Thanks,” said Mitchell, handing back Grace’s weapon to her.

  Sandesh saw the blood splattered all over the walls, and the two bodies, and dropped to his knees to empty his stomach.

  Mitchell turned to Grace. “Make sure he’s okay.”

  Sam slapped home a full magazine. “Okay, boss, now what?”

  “I doubt we could pull that off again. I say we hang out here for now, and let Nate come to us.”

  “Where’s Gordon?”

  “I suspect he’s already here.”

  “Was he worried?”

  “Of course.”

  Sam smiled. “Good. He tends to let me do whatever I want when he frets about me. I see a para-sailing holiday in Mexico in my future.”

  Mitchell shook his head. How Sam could stay so cool was beyond him. He felt like Sandesh, but had learned long ago how to control his fear.

  60

  “Let’s go!” yelled Jackson, firing as he ran into the smoke-filled base. Behind him came Dawn and the two squads of rebel soldiers. Three bloodied and mangled corpses lay against the far wall. Jackson ignored them and came to a short set of stairs that led down to the main floor. Chunks of plastic and cement ripped from the walls when the bomb exploded littered the ground. Jackson ran past a man lying on the floor, clutching a bloody hand to his stomach. There was nothing he could do for the doomed mercenary, so he kept on going.

  A volley of gunfire from an office overlooking the floor struck Jackson’s sappers. Men cried out in pain and tumbled to the floor.

  Jackson dove for the nearest cover and landed behind an electric cart. He looked back and cursed. At least half of the rebel sappers lay dead or dying. He spotted Dawn taking cover behind a tall pillar. He bought his assault rifle up and fired it over the top of the cart, spraying bullets wildly.

  For his troubles, a burst of gunfire hit the top of the car, chewing away pieces of plastic and metal.

  Jackson looked around. He couldn’t go back without being hit, and he couldn’t carry on without help from his scattered men. He clenched his jaw tight. For the moment, he was trapped.

  Lena ran to the parked Jeep, and leaped into the passenger’s seat. Her bodyguard started the vehicle and looked around in the dimly-lit cavern for a way out. Lena spotted a small remote lying on the dash and picked it up. There was a large, red button in the center, which she pressed. The far wall split open, letting light flood inside. The bodyguard changed gears and sped toward the opening. Seconds later, they were outside on a narrow dirt path through the jungle. Lena dug out her satphone and dialed a number.

  “Yes,” said a man on the other end of the call.

  “Father, the base is under attack.”

  “Are you safe?”

  “Yes, I’m on my way to link up with some ULA fighters. Please call ahead and ensure that I get their protection. My helicopter is gone, so I’ll need you to arrange for transport to
get Marek and me out of this hellhole.”

  “I will, my dear.” There was a pause on the line. “The weapon?”

  “Samples of all the variants are on their way to Europe. I suggest you have our people intercept the flight once it lands, and seize the weapon so it can be studied.”

  “The plane, is it one of Sandesh’s?”

  “Yes.”

  “Very well, I will have men ready to meet it the instant it lands.”

  “I’ll see you soon, Father.” Lena hung up and tossed the phone on the seat beside her. The attack may have set them back, but only by months. Once the samples were examined, it would only be a matter of weeks before they could mass-produce Achlys on their own.

  “Ryan, come quick,” said Sam.

  Mitchell turned his head and saw Sam staring wide-eyed into a room. He walked over and looked inside. His gut clenched at the sight of four men in white overalls lying on the floor. Their bodies were frozen in agonizing poses. In a sealed-off portion of the lab stood another man, his head hung low and his shoulders drooped. Mitchell recognized him as Max Dinu. He found a speaker on the outside wall and pressed a button. “Sir, can you hear me?”

  Max shuffled over to his speaker. “Yes, I can hear you. Who are you?”

  “My name is Ryan Mitchell. Sir, there isn’t time to explain everything. All you need to know is that Nova is safe and back home in Romania.”

  Max raised his head. “Are you telling me the truth?”

  “Yes, I am. We rescued her from Spiridov Island before it blew apart.”

  “Thank God for that.”

  “Sir, this base only has minutes left before the Indian Air Force wipes it off the map. Can you find a way out of there?”

  Max shook his head. “May God have mercy on my soul. Once I realized the base was under attack, I released a small portion of Achlys in the other room. I’d never killed a man before, let alone four. Unlike me, those people enthusiastically worked on the bioweapon for money. All of the doors in this lab are sealed tight. My fate has already been decided.”