Black Flagged Apex

by Steven Konkoly

  “Armory secure. No sign of 60 mike-mike.”

  “This is Overlord. 60 mike-mike neutralized by Overwatch.”

  “Understood. Proceeding to Hotel-Quebec,” McDonald said.

  “Front door is open. No movement detected inside. All rooftop threats neutralized,” replied Overlord, one of the SEAL surveillance teams in the forest.

  “Three-one controls access to armory,” another voice reported over the digitally encrypted radio feed.

  Three-one was one of the Delta sniper teams located to the west of the compound. The first number determined the team designation and location. “Three” represented one of two teams firing laterally across the compound. The second number indicated the type of support. “One” signified that they were snipers. If any non-friendlies approached the armory, they would be taken down by .50-caliber sniper fire. Apparently, the snipers had run out of high-value targets. He wasn’t sure if this was a good or bad sign.

  The team formed up again without prompting, and they moved down the western face of the headquarters building, rapidly approaching the front corner. The point man paused briefly at the edge of the building, scanning the area for movement. The dirt and debris cloud caused by the Excalibur rounds hung in the air, obscuring their view across the parade field. Nobody on the team carried any thermal imaging equipment that could see through the haze and night vision would be utterly useless in this situation. He decided that speed would be their best ally here.

  “Bobby, you got anything?” he whispered.

  “Negative. But I can’t see shit,” his point man replied.

  He held up a closed fist long enough for the team to see. The fist changed to a flat hand, which he moved rapidly back and forth.

  “Go. Fast,” he said and slapped the point man on the shoulder.

  The point man took off, and the team dashed toward the small concrete stoop in front of the entrance door, which stood less than twenty feet away. They left one operator at the corner to cover the approach to the front door. He had closed three-quarters of the short distance to the door when Staff Sergeant Robert Chamberlain appeared to stumble. The sound of a suppressed weapon from his rear and a double tap gunshot from the parade field immediately followed. Chamberlain collapsed and tumbled forward under his own momentum, colliding clumsily with the side of the building. McDonald could see a dark stain on the wall where he had hit.

  “Man down,” he hissed into his headset.

  **

  It didn’t take Paul Thomas long to figure out that they were seriously fucked. An incredible explosion had rocked the top of the barracks building, showering the parade field with debris. A large, twisted chunk of smoldering timber had fallen several feet in front of him, stopping his sprint toward the rear fence. Engulfed in dirt and smoke, it took him a few seconds to realize that the machine-gun position located on top of the building across the parade field had been simultaneously hit by a separate explosion.

  The Road Warrior had been disabled by a third explosion that landed less than fifty meters away, in the southeast corner of the parade field, but the impact had been close enough to the other that it never registered to him as a separate hit. Thomas had defied the statistics of battlefield artillery. Located just outside of the fifty-meter kill radius, he had been saved by the fact that the Excalibur round had landed on the opposite side of the Road Warrior, which had absorbed most of the shrapnel sent in his direction. It didn’t register with Thomas that he had been spared by the very vehicle he had secretly deemed as one of Bishop’s more asinine ideas.

  Thomas dove to the ground behind the smoldering timber and assessed the situation. He could hear short bursts of machine-gun fire from every direction, competing with the sound of one of their .50 cals at the front gate. The heavy-caliber gun continued to pound away at something. So much for short, controlled bursts of fire. He knew it was a stupid idea to put that crazy bitch on the gun, but Bishop had insisted. Equal opportunity or something like that. None of that mattered now. They were in a fight for their lives.

  The sound of small-arms fire intensified from every direction, and he could tell that the compound was putting up a spirited defense. The .50-caliber machine gun stopped firing, which unmasked something he hadn’t been able to hear. Repeated, single booms echoing throughout the compound. He knew that sound very well from Iraq. He lifted his head above the thick piece of blackened wood and watched a body sail horizontally into the parade field from the top of the armory, still spinning as it struck the ground. One of their snipers had been hit by a .50-caliber sniper bullet, which had imparted enough kinetic energy to toss his body off the roof like a rag doll. Thomas stayed low, not wanting to tempt the snipers firing with impunity from hidden positions in the valley.

  The second salvo of Excalibur shells landed just as he pressed his body flat against the ground. Thomas once again defied the odds, avoiding the shower of steel fragments released from the artillery round landing near the Road Warrior. He remained in a prone position, scrambling to process his options. He considered running into one of the buildings, but figured that the doors were under observation. They’d send a Hellfire missile right through one of the windows, instantly vaporizing him. This could be the only explanation for the accuracy of the strikes he had witnessed. Drones overhead.

  This thought spurred a separate line of thinking. Predator drones were equipped with thermal imaging equipment for nighttime strikes. Sitting here would have the same result. He might have a better chance in one of the structures. If he could get inside the command building, he could send a warning to Brown before they overran the camp. He had to act fast. The cloud of debris would clear up soon, making him an easy target for snipers. He raised his head slowly, along with his AR-15 rifle, scanning for threats near the command building. He started to rise up on one knee, when he detected movement down the side of the command structure.

  A small team of soldiers moved briskly along the wall, approaching the front corner. He recognized their fluid tactical movements immediately. Special Forces. There was no way he was going to make it into that building. He lowered his head and glanced behind him, in the direction of the front gate. He could see that the forward machine-gun positions had suffered the same devastating fate as the rooftop emplacements. Fuck. He wasn’t going to make it through this one. His luck had finally run out. He closed his eyes for a second and paused before peeking at the soldiers. They had already started to move toward the front door. Without thinking, he quickly raised his head and sighted in on the lead soldier. He placed the illuminated green crosshairs of the C79A2 3.4X combat optic at center mass and fired two rounds, shifting the sight picture to the next soldier in the line.

  **

  Sergeant Gabriel Castillo searched for movement. He stared past the parade field at different points in the distance, never fully focusing. He allowed his mid-peripheral vision to do most of the work, knowing that the light-sensitive rod cells responsible for peripheral vision could detect motion better than the cone cells that dominated center vision. Several dark clumps of oddly shaped wreckage littered the field, presenting a considerable challenge for one man.

  Something moved in the pile of glowing rubble on the far left side of the field. He sighted in on top of the debris heap through his night-vision scope and fired a round instinctively. As the rifle recoiled into his shoulder, he still hadn’t formed a detailed picture of the target. All he knew was that the round shape he had identified didn’t belong to the debris.

  His night vision flared bright green, which meant that the target had probably fired a round at the same time. He didn’t have much time to process any of this before hearing the words “man down” in his headset. He flipped the night-vision scope down and fired three rounds at the hazy silhouette of a human head still poking above the top of the pile. Overkill, but he had to be sure. The target had been quick enough to acquire and hit one of his teammates before he could react…and there had been no problem with Castillo’s reaction time.
He wondered if there were more like this one in the compound.

  **

  “Stinger lead, this is Overlord. We have a man down near the LZ. Recommend Stinger two-one deploy medical team with the assault group. Prepare for immediate cas-evac, over,” Carroll said.

  He watched the first of two MH-53J Pave Low helicopters cruise at rooftop height over the headquarters building. He hated to break the pilot’s concentration on approach to a hot LZ, but the Delta operator might require immediate evacuation to save his life. The casualty report had been passed seconds ago, with no clarifying information. The helicopters could deploy the SEALS as planned, leaving the second Pave Low on the ground for a few moments to deal with the casualty.

  “Copy. Stinger two-one will remain in LZ for evac.”

  Done deal.

  “Delta One. Overlord. Pass casualty to Stinger two-one medical team for immediate evac.”

  He didn’t expect a response. Delta One had just stormed the headquarters building.

  **

  McDonald hovered over Staff Sergeant Chamberlain, searching his unresponsive body for the wound. As the third operator in line stopped to help, he grabbed him by the sleeve and yanked him toward the door.

  “Stack up,” he said and called Castillo over from the corner.

  “You did the best any of us could do. Stay with him and cover us,” he said and continued the quick search.

  He started with the head and quickly determined that Chamberlain had not suffered from a headshot. Neck was fine. Upper chest…not sure. No way McDonald could tell in the dark. He listened to the broadcast from Overlord to the approaching helicopters. They’d take care of Bobby.

  “Make sure the second helicopter takes him out of here,” he said and stacked up behind the last man crouched outside of the door.

  The lead Delta operator didn’t wait for orders or hand signals. As soon as McDonald reached the stack, he tossed a flashbang inside the door. The seven-million-Candela flash illuminated the field in front of the building, followed by a thunderous 180-decibel explosive sound. Anyone standing inside the doorway would be incapacitated long enough for his operators to engage safely. With their rifle-mounted flashlights illuminated, they disappeared through the opening and assessed the structure. A long hallway ran from front to back, with two doors on each side. Not a word was spoken as they lined up on the first door to the right. The position of several antennas over the front right corner of the building suggested that this might be their communications room, making it their highest priority.

  A flashbang detonated in the room, prompting the Delta operators to enter. As the last man in the stack, McDonald immediately pivoted upon entering the room and covered the doorway across the hall. He had seen enough upon entry to know that he would not be needed. A bearded man in a camouflage-patterned jump suit yelled for mercy, with his hands over his head. Within seconds, McDonald’s team had slammed him to the ground, secured his hands with plastic zip ties and placed dark green duct tape over his mouth. The man tried to yell through his taped mouth and nose, making loud grunting noises, prompting one of his men to lean down and threaten to cut his throat if he didn’t shut up.

  The man quieted down, and McDonald heard his men ask a series of yes or no questions to determine if any other personnel had remained in the compound. The man wasn’t one hundred percent sure that the building was clear, but he was the only one assigned to the communications center. The sounds of the interrogation were suddenly drowned out by the overpowering chop of the Pave Low helicopter’s rotor blades and the intermittent buzz-saw bursts of its 7.62mm miniguns. Dirt and loose debris from the open field flew through the front door, filling the hallway and swirling darkness. DEVGRU had arrived.

  “Pack him up. We need to clear these rooms!” he yelled.

  Less than ninety seconds later, McDonald’s team emerged from the front entrance. The first helicopter had already departed, firing long bursts from both of its side-mounted miniguns at the remaining terrorists along the front fence line. Stinger two-one sat in the middle of the field with its rear ramp down. SEALs hustled down the ramp and formed up near the buildings flanking the field. The first contingent of SEALs had already disappeared into the compound, presumably headed toward the front fence. Based on the volume of fire directed by the helicopters toward the south, he assumed that most of the remaining enemy personnel were clustered along that fence line. A sudden increase in small-arms fire to the south confirmed his suspicion. The SEALs had already reached the front fence line.

  Two Air Force Pararescue operators lifted a medical litter holding Chamberlain’s inert form and started through the pelting dirt storm kicked up by the Pave Low’s rotor wash. McDonald sprinted over to them.

  “What’s his status?”

  The Pararescue in front turned to him and shook his head. “He’s dead. Rounds punched right through his side plates and out the other side. AP rounds. Sorry.”

  McDonald nodded as they carried his good friend away. Fuck.

  “Overlord, this is Delta One. Man down classified as KIA,” he reported.

  “Understood. Delta Two and Three have finished clearing structures on your immediate flanks,” Overlord responded.

  “Roger. Delta units will secure the northern half of the compound and continue clearing,” McDonald said.

  “Copy. Six-two will assist.”

  The second wave of DEVGRU SEALs, known more affectionately to the public as “SEAL Team Six,” would join his men and secure the compound behind the first wave of SEALs. He couldn’t imagine the fight lasting much longer. The compound militia had their back up against a fence, and nowhere to run if they could find a way over it.

  He jogged back to his team and broke the bad news. Nobody said a word. They simply nodded and formed up to continue their mission. He’d assign Delta Two to guard the prisoner and any others they collected. He didn’t think it would be a good idea to leave his own team in charge of this scumbag’s safety. They showed little reaction to Bobby’s death, but he knew what they were thinking; the same thing he was thinking. His team would be much better off clearing structures.

  Less than seven minutes later, they had cleared all of the structures not taken down by DEVGRU during their assault on the front part of the compound. Beyond the heavy drone of helicopter rotors in the distance, the valley had fallen silent again, punctuated by the occasional cry for help from the fence line. He hoped the men and women watching this in D.C. didn’t ask him to turn around and help the traitorous fucks they just massacred. He wasn’t feeling very charitable toward them right now.

  Chapter 38

  12:56 AM

  White House Situation Room

  Washington, D.C.

  Frederick Shelby spoke into his headset and turned to the president a few seats away.

  “Mr. President, I just finished speaking with Kathryn Moriarty, my lead agent at the scene. She arrived by vehicle convoy and has been briefed by the advance party. Their initial assessment is not encouraging, sir. One of the buildings cleared by 1st Special Operations Forces Detachment appears to have been dedicated to training groups to conduct pipeline attacks. The floor in the northeast corner of the room has been removed to expose bare dirt, and there is evidence that the ground has been disturbed. They found generic pipeline schematics that could be used for training and one set of equipment similar to what we found at the Fort Meade site. The building has its own ramp and loading bay, giving my team the impression that it had been used to store more equipm—”

  “How much equipment?” the president interrupted.

  “The back room where they found the spare set was large enough to comfortably fit at least twenty-five of these drills. Lockers along the wall hold shovels, a variety of smaller drills and picks, in addition to components to create two additional virus-injection devices.”

  The president looked at his chief of staff, Jacob Remy, and then back at the table.

  “General Gordon, Commanders, I can’t thank
you enough for what your people have done tonight. This has been an unprecedented evening. Unfortunately, I need them back at Dover Air Force Base, ready to roll out at a moment’s notice. Based on this initial assessment, we might very well need them again.”

  “Thank you, Mr. President. We’ll have our people in the air, en route to Dover within the hour,” General Gordon replied, turning to the U.S. Air Force general behind him to ensure the orders were clear.

  “General Gordon, I’d like to reach out to the family of the Delta soldier lost tonight. Due to the sensitive nature of this operation, I’m afraid the circumstances of his death will probably never receive the type of public recognition and respect he deserves. Let Jacob know when it is appropriate to arrange a private phone call or meeting with the family.”

  “Thank you, Mr. President. That will mean a lot to the family,” General Gordon said.

  “It’s the very least I can do for operators like Staff Sergeant Chamberlain. I know that most of their operations and missions never see the light of day. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to coordinate a public response in light of these developments. We’ll adjourn to the main conference room.”

  He stood up and turned to the lead Secret Service agent. “Agent Souza, will you inform the watch supervisor that I’d like to convene in five minutes?”

  “Right away, Mr. President.” The agent spoke into the microphone hidden in the left sleeve of his suit coat jacket.

  “General Gordon,” the president said, “when you’re finished here, please join us.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Director Shelby followed the president’s entourage out of the small conference room, navigating the surprisingly packed halls past the watch floor to the main conference room. As the group approached the busy room, the president stopped and said something to a member of his security detail, then followed the agent to a door several feet down the hallway. As Shelby tried to walk into the conference room, a different agent addressed him.