Legend: An Event Group Thriller

by David L. Golemon

  The system had performed nearly flawlessly. With the exception of the short firing cycle, which allowed the rear attack boats to escape, the laser performed as intended for the first time after over three hundred laboratory and field tests. The technicians knew they would pay for it later because the generator had shorted out (causing another fire) and the thirty-five-inch mirrored barrel had melted under the intense heat. But right now, the largest assemblage of American nerds in the air ever were jumping for joy and giving high fives until the lieutenant colonel burst out of the targeting room and yelled for them to knock it off.

  “In case you just forgot, you just killed one hell of a lot of men with this fucking thing; now let’s see if maybe we can still help them by getting this damned system back online to get the rest of the bad guys!”

  The technicians immediately silenced as he angrily stepped back inside.

  Ryan went over to the twenty field techs from Northrop-Grumman.

  “Listen, they were men, but they were also bad guys and they were on their way to kill some friends of mine, and possibly a bunch of students. So take that with you when you go home. You did real good,” he said and walked away.

  The loudspeaker over their heads crackled. It was the commander in targeting speaking: “Okay, we had a malfunction in the fire sequence and half of the assault element was missed. They are currently grounding their craft on the far bank of the lagoon. Satellite imagery indicates they are regrouping. All our systems are down and—”

  The explosion erupted out of the thickly protected generator systems room. A fireball outgassed through the thin aluminum of the 747 in a horrendous fireball. The giant aircraft was rocked as it first slammed the crew to the floor and then those that weren’t strapped in into the air, as the Boeing jet lost and then gained altitude. Roaring wind swept through the interior of the aircraft as its integrity failed at almost twenty-five thousand feet, the sudden depressurization pulling fifteen of the unsecured technicians to their death through the ten-foot diameter hole.

  Ryan was stunned and was close to passing out, first from hitting the floor and then from his flight to the roof of the 747 as the impact knocked the remaining oxygen from his lungs. As his eyes fluttered he could hear men shouting as they fought to control the dying aircraft and others as they reached for men sliding away toward the massive tear. Ryan’s slide toward the breach was halted by a strong arm.

  Suddenly he felt an oxygen mask slip over his bleeding head, and the first trickle of air as it coursed down into his windpipe while the arms were securing him to the matted flooring. He shook his head and tried to focus his eyes. The Delta sergeant was there, shaking him and trying to make the navy man stand up.

  The 747 was going down. Ryan felt the nose of the great plane was at an angle that didn’t lie. He saw at least two more technicians sucked out of the damaged generator section, along with papers and equipment, as the tremendous pressure bled the air out of the fuselage.

  “All personnel, stand by to eject. We have a total vital systems failure of the aircraft. Delta element, when we call, ‘eject, eject, eject,’ blow the cargo hatch!”

  “Oh, shit!” the sergeant holding up Ryan said into his oxygen mask. “Delta equipment up, prepare for HALO!”

  “Oh, no,” Ryan said as he staggered to his feet.

  As the plane passed below 18,000 feet and the interior of the 747 stabilized somewhat, the sergeant yelled at him, “What the hell, you wanted our element on the ground anyway. Did you plan on living forever?”

  Ryan started to struggle into his chute. “Well, maybe living just another year would have been nice.”

  Mendenhall was just starting to make his way down the steep incline when he saw the flash in the night sky above him. His jaw dropped when he saw an expanse of flame streak outward from an unseen object as it started falling from high altitude. He closed his eyes and prayed it wasn’t Lieutenant Ryan and the rest of Proteus.

  As the remaining crew ejection seats exploded out of the doomed 747 one and two at a time, the Delta team, with Ryan in tow, pushed the panic button of the large cargo door on the right side of the aircraft. After the brief explosion of the door, they strained and braced themselves against the blast of passing air and lined up by twos for HALO—high-altitude low-open— parachute egress. The only problem was they were becoming a low-altitude jump very fast, as the steep dive of the giant 747 became even steeper.

  “Jesus Christ, what about the tail?”

  “Oh, yeah, Mr. Ryan, don’t hit the tail,” the sergeant said loudly behind his mask. He pulled the lieutenant out of the door and into the painful slipstream.

  They flew out and down like discarded paper from a fast-moving automobile. The first two-man team out of the cargo hatch flew up and over the swept-back rear stabilizer. The rest went below, luckily missing the fast-moving tonnage of aluminum. The crew, jumping with their ejection seats attached, had a much smoother exit from the plane. The Delta element would watch below and try their best to follow the 747’s air force crew and remaining civilian technicians to the ground.

  As they fell toward the black jungle below, they knew to a man they would land at least a half mile from the lagoon. The now fully engulfed 747, flames licking its frame like a falling meteor, slammed into the jungle three miles away, ripping a gash in the dark countryside.

  Ryan watched as the top canopies of the trees rushed at him. The sergeant had explained at what altitude they would pop their chutes, but he had lost his wrist altimeter sometime during the commotion of getting the hell out of the burning plane. His gloves had been ripped from his hands in the slipstream and his fingers were frozen Popsicles. As he reached for his ripcord he knew he wasn’t going to be able to pull it in time, as the ground was coming at him like an oncoming freight train and his fingers just couldn’t feel the damned thing.

  He closed his eyes as he waited for the bone-crushing impact that was only moments away, when he felt someone slamming a fist into his black jumpsuit. Then he heard his parachute pop, and he suddenly slowed as the black silk caught the dense air. He struggled to look above him, knowing that it had been the sergeant who had reached out and saved his life.

  Ryan opened his eyes and tried desperately to get the headgear and mask off his face. The world had become a foggy, strange place from his new vantage point. He knew he was upside down because the flow of blood in his ears was pounding away as if his heart were in overdrive. The cold oxygen flowing into his mask was enough to fog the glass of his mask, and that terrified him more than anything: not being able to see just what kind of danger he was truly in.

  He struggled and felt something give way above his feet where they were tangled in the black chute. He didn’t want to chance using the radio that was still attached to his mask, for fear he may not be in friendly territory, which he wholeheartedly doubted he was. He heard a sharp tear in the fabric of the chute. He felt his stomach lurch as he dropped two feet farther toward the ground. He finally freed his right hand and arm, and tore the oxygen mask from his face.

  Ryan breathed in the hot and humid air of the small valley. He turned his head as somewhere off in the distance he heard the call of birds and the sound of a waterfall. Then he ventured a look down and closed his eyes. He was no more than three feet off the forest floor. It was a miracle—he had hit one of the few open spots within a quarter mile of the lagoon. He quickly fought out of his harness and released himself from his upside-down personal hell. He hit ground on his shoulders as his feet tangled in the harness at the last moment, and he managed to knock the wind from his lungs.

  “Nice one, Mr. Ryan.” The whispered voice came out of the darkness somewhere to his front.

  Ryan eased his hand to his holstered nine-millimeter Berretta.

  “Easy, Lieutenant, easy, I’m a good guy. But be careful, there are some of the other fellas around here; I saw them as we came in. Now come on, we got some friends we have to get out of some trees.”

  Ryan watched as Ser
geant Jim Flannery slowly came out of the bush, rubbing greasepaint on his exposed features. He finished and tossed the tube to Ryan.

  “Black up, Lieutenant.”

  “Have you seen anyone else?” Ryan asked as he painted his face.

  “Not yet, but when we do I sure as hell hope they came down with more equipment than I did. I lost everything except my peashooter.”

  Ryan knew he was talking about the same weapon he himself had, a lousy nine-millimeter, which wasn’t too damned good for fending off heavy weapons.

  The Delta sergeant easily placed his chute harness and helmet within the bush and left them. He placed a black and green do-rag on his head and winked at Ryan.

  “Well, I guess we start our defense of the lagoon from here. Let’s get the rest of the cavalry.”

  Ryan nodded; his eyes were the only part of his body visible in the darkness of the jungle surrounding them.

  “Right, I guess Proteus has just gone back to Operation Conquistador,” he mumbled as he took up station behind the more experienced Delta man.

  “I guess you can say that. Let’s just hope we find one hell of a lot more conquistadors than we have right now.”

  “Yeah, like maybe a couple with real weapons.”

  The sergeant nodded in agreement, and the two men set out to find the rest of the doomed Operation Proteus team.

  24

  THE PYRAMID

  The first turn in the canal almost did them in as the boat slammed hard into the wall and the fifteen souls inside careened around in the large treasure boat. The current was picking up speed as more and more water slammed them from behind. The dam had completely broken free above them, and they now found themselves traveling at breakneck speed toward a dark and unknown death.

  As Jack tried to focus as water cascaded over him, he ventured a look up from the front of the boat. The darkness was once again becoming shaded green. The Incan designers had embedded large stones of tritium ore in the walls to illuminate the treasure trail. At least now he could vaguely see the turn in the system that would smash them to splinters. Jack knew they had to try and control their descent somehow.

  He addressed the panicked faces. “Look, we have to start shifting weight in this—” The boat careered against another turn and Jack was awash with water as the boat bounced into another canal and slipped down an even steeper causeway. He regained his sitting position and held onto the sides. “Watch me. When I raise my right hand, everyone crowd to the right side and vice versa, or we’re going to wind up hitting a wall at fifty miles an hour.”

  He didn’t wait for anyone to nod or comment; he just turned and faced the front. Carl would have to control them in the back.

  In the dim light, the major saw another turn coming and this one went left. He held up his left arm and yelled, although over the roar of water no one could hear him: “Shift, now!”

  Carl jumped to the left side and pulled Robby along with him. The others upon seeing this repeated the movement; most seemed to fall on the master chief, who again howled.

  Jack braced himself as the boat started to slide to the left, too late he saw the weight wasn’t sufficient enough to make the turn. The boat slipped and slid into the curving wall. It hit with such force that he was tossed from the boat. He hung on to its side for dear life as it started to gather momentum once again. Sarah was there in an instant and was joined by Kelly. Together, they helped the major back into the vessel.

  “Thanks, I—”

  The canal shaft was brilliantly lit up by the flare of gunfire as rounds slammed into the walls around them. Jack looked back and saw Farbeaux had jumped into another boat along with Mendez and one other man. They were traveling light, so they had less weight to control. Another burst of fire nearly caught him before Jack had time to get into the bottom of the boat.

  With no control, the boat gathered speed and slammed into the next turn. It struck the wall so hard that it tipped to the right and then spun on its blunt bow. Now they were traveling backward. More bullets were fired and Jack heard one of the students cry out in pain.

  He rose and fired his nine-millimeter back toward the onrushing boat. He saw Farbeaux’s eyes widen before the Frenchman slammed himself into the bottom. One of Jack’s rounds caught Mendez in the shoulder, and he saw him spin and collapse below the gunwale. Just as he took aim again, another turn rocked him to the side. This time they all heard the crack of wood as the boat began to split in two. Water started rushing through the gap as it started to come apart.

  “We’ve had it, Jack!” Carl called out.

  “Everyone grab onto someone and—” It was too late, as he started to speak the boat broke into two pieces and all fifteen people went into the roaring canal.

  The water was deep and unlike rapids. Jack knew they could survive if they just paid attention. Another turn was quickly upon them as the water brought them around a corner. A young woman sped by Jack and went under. He quickly reached out and grabbed a handful of hair and pulled her up and back to him, as they both hit the wall and were raised up into the air as it curled around the curve.

  Farbeaux held on as his own boat made the curve and came out in the midst of the current-tossed survivors. He watched in horror as the remaining Colombian in the front of his boat took aim at two students struggling to stay afloat to his right. He knew he couldn’t react in time.

  “Save your ammunition for those who can fight back, fool!” he shouted.

  He could see the man was going to shoot anyway. Farbeaux was furious but was also powerless to stop him as a sudden roar, louder than even the rushing water, sounded in the canal shaft. The man was pulled into the water by a large webbed hand, and then the vessel seemed to hit a submerged object. Farbeaux and Mendez found themselves airborne. They hit the water. Both were close to panic as they realized one of the animals was in the canal with them.

  Together seventeen men and women were on a ride none of them could have ever imagined. The canal system was becoming steeper and the turns not as numerous as they traveled down the pyramid that got wider at its base.

  Jack tried to rein in as many as he could, yelling for each to hang on to the next, to form a chain that would allow them to travel the current together. Without notice, the water spilled over a small fall and now they were all airborne. Carl held the master chief one moment and then lost him as Jenks’s own weight tore him from his grasp. They hit the water on the next level and all went under. When Carl surfaced he saw the master chief only feet away, grimacing in pain as Virginia splashed toward them. It was that movement that told Carl they had passed into light. As he looked back he saw that the fall of water they had come over had sent them into a tunnel, a tunnel that led them to a place they had been before.

  “Look!” cried one of the sputtering students.

  They were entering the main chamber. Teacher was there, still smashed on the staircase leading from this very canal.

  “I’ll be damned,” Carl said and slapped the slowing current as he watched Jack ahead, already helping students out of the water and onto the stone staircase. “That was one hell of a ride!”

  “What did you do to my boat!” the master chief cried out as he floated out of the cave.

  THE SOUTH SHORE OF THE LAGOON

  The Delta team was complete. It had taken close to twenty minutes to locate them all and another ten to get four Delta and air force personnel down and out of the high trees where they’d landed. At least they had been able to hang onto three coils of rope. They took stock as they reached the lagoon’s south end. The five Zodiacs were just starting out. Altogether, to stop them, the men had at their disposal thirteen nine-millimeter Beretta handguns, two Ingram assault weapons with only one extra thirty-round clip, and one M-14 sniper rifle with no extra ammunition.

  “Hope you boys have a plan that calls for throwing rocks when we run out of boom-boom,” the air force colonel said as he knelt beside two injured airmen.

  “Even with what we have, it wo
n’t be much against those fifties mounted in those Zodiacs,” the Delta sergeant said.

  “Come on, guys, we have to make sure those boats don’t get to the other side,” Ryan said anxiously.

  “That’s what we plan on doing, Mr. Ryan, but we only have so much fire-power to accomplish that mission,” Delta Sergeant Melendez said. “Look, I hate to say this, but our opening salvo can’t be kill shots; we have to first slow and then stop the Zodiacs. Punch as many holes in ’em as we can. We’re going to take one hell of a lot of return fire. Discipline, gentlemen, discipline.”

  The thirteen men gathered around nodded their understanding.

  “Okay, two-man firing teams: my people pair up with the blue birds and I’ll take Ryan. Boats first, assholes second, got it? Wait till my fire, then let all hell break loose.”

  The men paired up without comment and started to file into the dense terrain.

  As the makeshift rescue force moved out, they failed to see the small Indian who went right to the spot the men had been only moments before. The mud-covered man raised a small whistle to his bone-pierced lips and lightly tooted, imitating one of the many Amazonian birds perfectly. As he did, the jungle started filling with the not-so-lost tribe of Sincaro, and they moved off silently, following the Americans.

  EL DORADO

  Everett swam to the right side of the cave opening. He waved at Jack and the two men made eye contact. The major knew exactly what Carl was up to. Jack shot the lieutenant commander a sloppy salute, then reached out and helped the others pull the master chief from the water and onto the stone steps.

  “Look at my boat,” Jenks wailed.