Guarding Savage

by Edlund, Dave;

  Peter swiveled his rifle and fired at this new threat, but the men were moving quickly across the open ground, firing full auto from the hip as they ran.

  Holding his rifle close to his chest, feet pounding the ground, his leg muscles burning as he dashed for safety, the strain was visible in Robert’s face. Sweat poured off his forehead; his cheeks were bright red from heat and exertion.

  He broke left, and then right, showing moves that would make a pro linebacker envious. This wasn’t a game, though. He was running for his life.

  Peter continued to fire and nicked one of the guards, who fell and rolled in pain. But the others continued forward—emptying a magazine and then reloading to fire again. It was a tremendous volume of fire, hundreds of bullets. And the law of probability eventually played out.

  Robert twisted to the right, as if he’d been punched in the kidney. His left hand dropped to his side, and then his upper body tilted in the same direction. Two more strides and he collapsed.

  “Robert!” Peter yelled.

  The big man didn’t move. He lay only twenty-five yards away. Ordinarily, not a long distance. But in the face of heavy gunfire, it might as well be twenty-five miles. Without another thought, Peter let go of his weapon and dashed forward. Bullets gouged dirt all around his feet, several zipping through the air near his head. Still, he charged forward, and then he was at Robert’s side.

  There was no time to check for a pulse or examine the man’s injuries. If they stayed there, stationary, they would both be dead.

  Peter pulled on his arm, and Robert’s eyes open. “You’ve gotta help me. I can’t lift you on my own.” Together they rose and jogged the remaining distance, bullet’s whistling by all the while.

  Peter laid his friend next to Jade and then dropped below the ledge. The gunfire subsided, with only an occasional shot.

  “Get Jade free of here,” Robert said through clenched teeth. He’d taken a bullet in the side, just below the rib cage. If there was a bright side, Peter thought it was that his lung wasn’t shot up. But what damage had been done to the internal organs, he had no idea. For sure, the immediate threat was loss of blood. Which was also the danger with Jade.

  “She’s been shot in the leg.”

  Robert’s eyes widened. “How bad?”

  Turning his attention to her, Peter eased her hand aside. The blood oozed smoothly and not too fast. “Didn’t sever an artery. I need to wrap it. But it’ll start bleeding for sure if we try to run.” He removed the folding knife blade from his pocket and cut the sleeve off his shirt. He wrapped the wound, being careful not to cut off the flow of blood to her lower leg. She winced as he knotted the bandage. “That should do for now.”

  Diesel began circling and yawning again, and the signals didn’t escape Peter’s notice. He pointed at the ground next to Jade. “Diesel, guard.” The red dog came in next to her and lapped his warm tongue on her face. Then he turned and faced right, in the direction of the palace. Neither Peter nor Robert had paid any attention to the building, assuming the threat was limited to palace guards pursuing them across the grounds. The significance of that mistake was about to be demonstrated.

  Two heavily-armed men exited the palace and immediately spotted the Americans, completely exposed beside the pond. They ducked behind the tall planters and began shooting at Peter since he was the only one not laying prone on the stone patio. The rectangular pond was laid out with the short side facing toward the palace, and the two palace guards were moving to flank the trio.

  As bullets zipped past Peter, some gouging chips out of the stone ledge, a few skipping off the pond, Peter heaved his body away from the pond to use the row of planters as a shield. He hoped that Robert and Jade would be ignored for the moment, appearing either dead or seriously injured. Rolling to a kneeling position, Peter opened up with his rifle.

  Three more guards came out of the palace and joined their fellow black berets. They steadily advanced on Peter, scurrying from one planter to the next under covering fire.

  Peter dropped an empty magazine and slammed home a full one, then resumed firing, but his situation was untenable. He couldn’t stop shooting to help move either Robert or Jade to cover at the far end of the pond. But even if he could, somehow, reach the far end of the pond, then he’d be exposed to gunfire from the other palace guards advancing from across the grounds.

  In the distance, he heard the rhythmic thumping of a helicopter, but quickly it faded. More rifle cracks and bullets cratered into the planter Peter was behind.

  Then there was a metallic clanking sound. Again it was distant, but steadily increasing in volume. He’d heard that sound before: the sound of a tracked heavy vehicle, like a bulldozer.

  Diesel was barking wildly and bouncing on his front legs. The approaching guards were driving him to the edge of control. If he broke free, he’d be killed. As fierce as he was, he was no match for multiple men armed with rifles.

  Peter glimpsed his behavior as he rammed home his final ammunition magazine. “Diesel! Enough! Stay!”

  Despite the pain and loss of blood, Robert was still conscious and he read the situation for what it was. Determined to fight, even if that meant to the death, he shifted his prone body to a shooting position and aimed his rifle across the ledge of the pond. With sweat dripping off his face and threatening to cloud his vision, he squeezed off shot after shot, taking down two guards. Peter dropped two more.

  The black berets from across the ground had closed to within seventy-five yards and were zeroing in on Robert. Peter had to press his body tight against the planter to achieve some protection from the shots fired from the two directions.

  Another group of three guards ran out from the palace, adding more firepower to the assault on the Americans. Peter was conserving ammunition now, firing only if he had a decent shot. Robert stopped shooting long enough to replace the magazine in his rifle.

  As Peter fired, bullets from across the grounds were hitting the planter behind him. At the same time, bullets from the guards advancing from the palace were chipping stone from the planter in front of him. With the two forces closing in, he couldn’t maneuver. He glimpsed a black beret dash from one planter to the next, only a couple dozen yards away. Peter leaned out and fired. The guard tumbled forward, his weapon skidding across the stone patio.

  But in that brief moment of exposure, another bullet found it’s mark. Peter’s rifle dropped, his left arm now bleeding from a bullet passing through his forearm. He held back a litany of curses, and instead focused on raising the weapon and continuing the fight.

  Boom! Boom! Boom! He was out of ammunition.

  Dropping the rifle to the side, Peter pressed his back against the curved stone of the planter. He cast his eyes to Jade. She was laying on her stomach, her head raised and looking forward toward Peter and the advancing palace guards who continued to pour out of the building. Tears streaked her face, certainly expecting she was in the final moments of her young life.

  Although he’d only known Jade for a few days, she reminded him so much of his own daughter, Joanna. Youthful, innocent, not deserving of this cruel fate. For a moment, Peter closed his eyes and allowed his mind to drift to happier times. Memories of Joanna, first as a child laughing and giggling while hunting for Easter eggs on a chilly spring morning. Then as the young woman she’d become—smart, caring, vivacious.

  Opening his eyes and seeing Jade again, he wondered what contributions she would have made to society if only she’d been allowed a full life. It’s not fair. Life is not fair.

  Then he looked at Robert. The expression on his face conveyed defiance, determination, anger. Peter had seen that look before and read it clearly—he would fight to the end. He’d already accepted death, perhaps even welcomed it since it was no longer a stranger, but a known quantity.

  Peter’s left arm was going numb, but it made no difference. His only weapon now was the Beretta pistol, and he only needed one hand to shoot it.

  The fingers of Pete
r’s right hand circled the rubber grip of the Beretta, and it felt comforting. He pulled the gun from his waistband and shifted his body slightly to have a better angle on the approaching guards. He flipped the safety off and prepared to make his final stand. Hopefully, they won’t kill Jade and Diesel.

  Diesel? Peter’s attention was again drawn to the red pit bull. The chunky head was swiveling from side to side. What does he sense? Peter tried to follow the dog’s focus, looking over his shoulder back away from the palace toward the outer wall.

  With a screech of grinding metal, the wall collapsed. Two tracked military vehicles powered through the luscious gardens, and then motored at a high rate of speed across the lawn, ripping up the turf and throwing a rooster tail of dirt and dust in their wake. They were headed directly toward the pond where Peter, Jade, and Robert were pinned down. Mounted atop each vehicle was a .30-caliber machine gun. Completely surrounded now, Peter’s last glimmer of hope evaporated.

  The tracked vehicles looked like large boxes on tracks, and he knew these where M113 armored personnel carriers (APC). The two machines stopped side by side fifty yards from the pond. A dozen troops, dressed in military fatigues and wearing maroon berets, were disgorged from the rear of the carriers. They scrambled around to the front and took up firing positions. To Peter, it looked like every rifle was aimed directly at him.

  The palace guards had stopped their advance with the appearance of the two APCs. But the pause was only momentary, and with the vehicles stationary, the guards renewed their advance.

  One of the machine guns cut loose with a short burst. The bullets knocked chunks of stone from the tall planters lining the approach to the palace doors. A second short burst of machine gun fire, and the palace guards were hugging the ground, seeking whatever cover was nearby.

  Across the lawn, the approaching squad of black berets fired on the M113s, but it was ineffective. The dismounted troops combined with the top-mounted machine guns quickly mowed down the palace guards from across the lawn.

  Over the deep rumble of idling diesel engines, a new sound rose. It was the sound of a helicopter. But as the sound grew louder, there was something odd about it. Turning his head skyward, Peter searched for the aircraft.

  It came in low over the palace, kicking up clouds of dust and debris as it hovered only 100 feet above the ground. Painted gray and with two massive tiltrotor engines, the V22 Osprey rotated and then landed next to the armored personnel carriers. The loading door at the rear of the aircraft opened while the huge propellers spun, ready to lift off on a moment’s notice.

  The cyclonic winds from the Osprey engines whipped the uniforms of the fresh troops and made it difficult for Peter to clearly see what was happening. Palm fronds and sere leaves were thrown across the grounds, sand and dust assaulted his eyes. He raised his hand to his forehead, still holding the Berretta, and squinted. Diesel remained fixed at Jade’s side, lowering to his belly and turning his head away from the tempest.

  Uniformed men inside the Osprey moved onto the loading ramp. They were dressed in the same green uniforms and wearing the maroon berets of the troops from the tracked APCs. They formed a line, shoulder to shoulder, rifles aimed toward Peter.

  Then, from farther back on the ramp, a familiar face appeared. He pushed through the line, followed by another military officer. From somewhere a voice was heard clearly over a loudspeaker. In Malay, the voice instructed the palace guard to lay down their weapons. “You have five seconds to comply. If you do not comply, the Special Combat Squadron of Brunei are ordered to shoot you dead.”

  The black berets needed no further encouragement as they all dropped their guns and clasped their hands above their heads.

  “Peter!” Jim Nicolaou shouted, trying to be heard over the roar of the twin engines. Then he spoke into a handheld radio, but it was impossible for Peter to hear the words.

  Jim strode up to his friend while the gale subsided as the aircraft engines spun down. “I’m glad to see you,” Peter said. He snugged the pistol inside his waistband. “We need help.”

  “Bull!” Jim barked. A second later his first sergeant appear at his side. Seeing Peter’s blood-coated arm and the blood-stained shirt at his side, Bull reached for his medic’s pack.

  Peter pointed toward Jade and Robert. “No, not me.”

  Bull understood immediately and completed a cursory evaluation first of Jade and then Robert. Seeing the wound to Robert’s side, Bull shouted, “Need a medevac ASAP, Boss Man!”

  Robert was on the edge of consciousness. Bull leaned in close. “I’m going to stop the bleeding, but that’s all I can do. We’re going to get you out of here right away—get you to the hospital. This ain’t nothing. Let me tell you. I’ve seen a lot worse than this. You’re gonna be fine.”

  Bull moved to Jade but was stopped by Diesel. The dog was on his feet, lips drawn back exposing his canines and growling at Bull.

  “Diesel, chill!” Peter commanded. “Come.”

  Diesel lowered his head and returned to Peter, where he was rewarded with a head rub.

  Bull removed the wrap Peter had placed around Jade’s leg. “You’re in good shape, young lady. To tell you the truth, I don’t know why my boss even called me in.” He removed scissors from his medical pack and cut back her denim jeans. Then he sprinkled a blood coagulating powder on the front side of her thigh. “I need to have you roll over so I can also put this anti-coagulant on the back side of your leg.”

  She moved gently, holding back a cry of pain. When Bull had finished, he applied a sterile bandage. “The bullet never touched your bone. In two weeks you’ll be running on this leg like nothing ever happened.”

  Jim was talking to Peter when Bull returned to address his arm wound. “Peter, let me introduce you to the Crown Prince of Brunei.” Jim moved his hand toward the officer who had followed him off the Osprey. As the Crown Prince passed, Jim lowered his head slightly.

  Paduka Begawan Shah stopped opposite Peter, who was still sitting while Bull wrapped clean cotton gauze over his forearm. “You are Peter Savage?” he asked.

  Peter stood and bowed his head.

  “Stand tall and proud. You have performed a great service to my country.”

  Peter looked up, locking eyes with the prince. But before he could speak, the relative peace was disturbed again by rotors whipping up the air. A helicopter bearing the royal seal of Brunei landed on the lawn.

  All eyes were turned toward the aircraft. The door opened, and out stepped Sultan Omar Muhammad Shah.

  Chapter 41

  Istana Nurul Iman Palace

  August 26

  The Brunei Special Forces stood at attention as the Sultan strode directly to the Crown Prince. His eldest son first saluted and then bowed.

  “I cannot believe the treachery that has been festering in my palace during my absence.”

  “It is true, although I was shocked when word first came to my attention through the American President. He was most insistent, so I left the regional Security Summit in Kuala Lumpur to personally assess the situation. Still, until I saw this with my own eyes,” he waved a hand indicating the palace guards who were either dead or under custody of the military, “I thought there must be a mistake. Misinformation.”

  Jade had elevated herself to a sitting position, her face still streaked with tears. She was rubbing Diesel’s head when her uncle approached. He knelt and wiped the side of her face. “I am so sorry for the pain inflicted upon you by Guan-Yin. And I grieve with you over the death of Eu-meh. I loved her as my sister, and you loved her as your mother. From this day forward, I welcome you into my home to be raised as my daughter, if that is what you want.”

  Paduka directed his father’s attention to Peter. “This man has risked his life to rescue your niece and save her life.”

  The Sultan’s eyes bore into Peter, searching for hints of his character and moral fiber. After an uncomfortable moment, he said, “Then my country owes you a great honor, and I am personally in
your debt.”

  “To tell you the truth,” Peter said, “I had some help. Robert, Jade’s bodyguard, deserves most of the credit.”

  Robert was laying on his back, awaiting a stretcher. He acknowledged Peter with a wave of his hand.

  “Together, you have saved a child of the royal family. Whatever you wish for, if it is within my power to grant, you shall have.”

  Bull leaned in close to Commander Nicolaou. “Sir, we need to medevac these wounded.”

  “Excuse me, Your Majesty,” Jim said. “All three of these people need to be treated in a hospital. Mr. Schneider has a serious wound with internal injuries and your niece has lost a lot of blood.”

  “The Raja Isteri Pengiran Anak Saleha Hospital is the best in my country, and it is only a short distance away. They have a heliport. Please, load them into my helicopter. They will have the best care possible.”

  Two of the Bruneian soldiers carried first Robert to the helicopter and then Jade. Another soldier tapped Peter on the shoulder. “We need to go, sir.”

  Peter held out his hand. “Just a couple seconds.” He looked beyond Jim to the gathering of SGIT operators standing on the ramp of the Osprey.

  “I don’t know how you did it,” Peter said to Jim, “but I can never thank you adequately for bringing the cavalry.”

  Jim leaned close to Peter and spoke into his ear. “Looks like you hit the jackpot. The Sultan is an exceptionally wealthy man.” Jim raised his eyebrows and his lips curled into a rare smile.

  “Yeah, well, he may take back his promise when he learns I shot and killed his youngest son.”

  He slapped Peter on the shoulder, a sly grin still on his face. “Homer!” he called, and the SGIT soldier jogged down the ramp. “Would you escort Mr. Savage to the helicopter?”