[Brainrush 01.0] Brainrush

by Richard Bard

  Tark’s voice came over his earbud: “Team Three—go!”

  Jake squinted at Tony through his goggles. Bits of sand lodged in the corners of his eyelids caused him to tear up. Tony gave him a thumbs-up, and they started their ascent, the rope corkscrewing through the threaded APEX gear at an impressive ten feet per second.

  By the time they were halfway up, the whistling wind sounded like an army of banshees. Gusting waves of stinging sand screamed past them up the cliff face, jostling them dangerously close to the rocky wall.

  Jake glanced to his left. Tony’s back was to him, his body swinging from the last gust.

  A fluttering shadow above Tony drew Jake’s attention.

  An immense wraith of darkness seemed to peel itself from the cliff wall above them, its black wings blotting out the stars as it swooped down and engulfed Tony in its deadly grasp, abruptly arresting his climb.

  Jake smashed the stop button on his APEX. Where Tony had once been, there was now an undulating black cocoon wrapped tightly around the rope, twisting and swaying in the torrent of flying sand.

  “Tony!”

  There was a faint reply, but the howling wind sucked it away. Tony’s voice didn’t register in Jake’s earbud.

  “Tony, do you read me?”

  Kenny’s voice answered him. “Read you five by five, Jake. What’s wrong?”

  “Tony’s tangled in something, and his mike must be messed up. Stand by.”

  The wind-borne sand grew sharper, blurring the view through Jake’s goggles. He cupped his gloved hands around his eyes like binoculars to keep the sand from the lenses, trying to discern exactly what was happening.

  A sprawling swirl of silky black fabric and nylon cords flapped against the cliff face behind Tony. It appeared to be one of the SEAL team’s parachutes, caught on an outcropping of rock. Stirred to a whipping frenzy by the sudden wind, one corner of the chute must have snagged on the spinning gears of Tony’s APEX, twisting violently around him and pinning his limbs. Tony’s struggles only aggravated the situation.

  In between wind gusts, Jake yelled, “Stay still. I’m coming over!”

  There was a muffled reply, and the cocoon settled down.

  A stiff gust whipped past Jake, lifting the tucked end of his turban loose from around his face. It flew up, snapping into the wind above his head. Sand encrusted Jake’s nose and the corners of his lips. He spit to clear his mouth and rewrapped his face.

  Using the rope as a fulcrum Jake swung his legs toward the wall and then tucked them and reversed the process. He pendulumed several times, each swing bringing him nearer to the wall. When he was close enough, he levered his legs into a fierce shove off the rock that angled him toward Tony. His first swing wasn’t wide enough, so he swung back and repeated the process, springing off the rock each time to increase his arc. On the fourth try he reached out and grabbed hold of the rope above the tangled canopy. His feet slammed into Tony’s head under the fabric.

  There was an angry grumble beneath the shroud.

  Jake shouted over the wind, “You okay under there?”

  “Yeah, but the APEX is jammed to hell. I’m so trussed up I can’t even get to my KA-BAR.”

  “Stay still and I’ll cut you loose.”

  “Hey, Jake.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t cut the rope!”

  “Shut up and don’t move!”

  Kenny broke in over the radio. “Jake, what’s going on?”

  “I’m on it. Stand by.”

  Jake used a carabineer to clamp himself to the rope above Tony’s tangle. He pulled out his pilot’s survival switchblade and snapped it open. The razor-sharp edge made easy work of the chute. He used the knife’s secondary hook blade to slice through several of the twisted shroud lines. The chute snapped up and away in the fierce wind, its other end still hooked on the outcropping, the fabric whipping against the rock.

  “Clip on,” Jake yelled.

  Tony hooked himself to Jake’s rig. Once he was securely tethered, they unclipped from Tony’s ruined APEX and swung away together on Jake’s rope.

  “Hope it holds,” Tony yelled under his scarf.

  Jake switched the APEX to its spare battery pack and they restarted their ascent up the mountain. The cracks and snaps of the flapping parachute faded into the distance beneath them.

  They were three hundred feet from the top when a hollow, deep-throated whistle rose over the howl of the wind. The whistle grew louder as they climbed closer to its source, its intensity rising and falling on the waves of each gust. It emanated from a dark smudge in the rock above and to their left.

  Beneath the eerie sound, Jake sensed an undercurrent of vibration coming from the mountain. It seemed to resonate deep inside his head, tugging at him. When they were abreast of the dark patch in the rock and the vibration was at its peak, Jake stopped their ascent.

  Tony’s eyebrows creased above his goggles. Still yelling over the wind, he said, “Why’d you stop? We gotta get up there!”

  “I’ve got to check out that vibration first.” Jake pointed at the deep shadow. “Grab the flashlight out of my pack.”

  “I don’t feel any vibra—”

  “Tony, it’s important!”

  Tony didn’t argue. He opened one of the flip covers on Jake’s backpack and handed him a slim flashlight.

  The shrill oscillating sound was like a steam whistle that was only occasionally getting enough steam to sound its loudest. It was in tune with the gusts of wind screaming up the mountain. But the vibration Jake felt under the whistle was a constant and steady low-pitched hum.

  Jake aimed the flashlight at the shadowed cleft in the face of the rock. The dust-filled wind obscured its beam, but Jake saw enough to confirm his suspicions. There was a car-size opening in the rock wall.

  Tony yelled into his ear. “We’re runnin’ outta time!”

  Tony was right. Jake shook his head, forcing himself to ignore the vibration. He hit the up button and continued their ascent.

  They were only a hundred feet from the top when Kenny’s panic-laced voice filled Jake’s earbud. “Tangos are swarming on the ridge!”

  Jake stopped their ascent and snapped open the flap on his wrist screen. There were several red dots moving toward the team’s position overhead. Suddenly, there was a loud explosion on the ledge above. The rope lost tension, and they dropped five or six feet before lurching to a violent stop. Jake’s stomach was in his throat. He watched the rope next to them plummet out of the sky like an angry serpent, the mangled remains of the tubular A-frame following in its wake. It shrieked past them amidst a shower of rocks and gravel. Jake threw his arms over his head for protection, and his forearms were pelted by debris.

  It stopped as quickly as it started, and Jake opened his eyes to find Tony limp in his harness, his goggled eyes rolled back in his head. Blood trailed down his forehead from beneath his turban.

  Chapter 36

  Hindu Kush Mountains, Afghanistan - 2:50 a.m.

  BECKER AND AZIM had been the first up the ropes. They’d hurried inland to scout their position.

  Taking cover behind a large boulder, Becker studied the Raven’s overhead view on his helmet-mounted HUD. Azim was at his side, the mujahedin warrior as strong as a pack horse, carrying all of the explosives and two heavy canisters of fifty-cal ammo for the remote-control machine guns.

  A large clearing spread out before them, the high peaks on either side outlined by the star-filled night. The wind had calmed; the ridge guided the currents from the sandstorm up and over them. The chill mountain air was deadly quiet. Becker caught the faint scent of goat feces nearby.

  Treading the earth in the deepest hours of night, weaving through rocky crags and scrub brush, silent and watchful—for Becker it was like returning to his roots in the outback. When he was twelve, his parents had died, and his aboriginal grandfather had taken him on his first of a countless number of walkabouts designed to shed the stain of city living from his psyche.
He’d learned the ways of his ancestors, to live not on the land but with the land, to become a part of the cycle of life in the wild.

  Becker switched his HUD to night vision and analyzed the terrain in front of them. The relatively flat clearing widened to the size of a large soccer field, the area likely used by Battista’s men for games or training exercises. This would be the killing ground. He studied the perimeter. Like an oblong bowl, it was surrounded by towering walls of granite on its left side and a steep, rocky slope of loose stone on the right, the bottom of which was littered with a patchwork of car-size boulders, offering excellent pockets for concealment.

  The far end of the clearing lay two hundred yards away, where the only other entrance to the bowl narrowed to a winding cleft less than two yards wide, with sheer canyon walls towering up either side. That was the path that would bring reinforcements from the village and the lower caverns, and that was the target for his first trap.

  The main cavern entrance—where Jake and Tony would be going in—was cut into the base of the granite wall at the far left end of the clearing. His HUD revealed the heat signatures of two guards posted in front.

  “Wait here for the fire team and the rest of the equipment,” he whispered. He pointed to two positions, one on each extreme side of the clearing. “Tell them to set up the turrets there and there.” As he slung Azim’s explosive packs onto his shoulder, he added, “I’ll be back in a jiff, mate. Keep your head down.”

  Becker disappeared into the darkness, keeping a watchful eye on the two guards at the entrance as he padded his way through the maze of boulders on the right edge of the clearing.

  He returned ten minutes later to find Azim, Papa, and Juice in cover positions among the rocks. Maria had crawled up the slope above them, keeping an eye on the two guards at the cave entrance through the nightscope on her Dragunov sniper rifle. The turrets were in place and ready. Jake and Tony should be up the ropes anytime now.

  Juice appeared around the corner with the smoke-generating ATV slung over one of his massive shoulders. He carried the eighty-five-pound vehicle with about as much effort as a young boy carrying his toy truck. Becker had him position it so that it had an open path all the way across the clearing.

  He surveyed the kill zone. Everything was in place for their exit. According to their intel, the enemy could come at them only from the south, through this clearing. When the time came, his team could hold them off for quite a while.

  Kenny’s warning over the radio revealed how wrong he was. Twin explosions pierced the quiet from the cliff face to their rear. It was followed by the chatter of several AK-47s.

  Their exit route was compromised.

  Chapter 37

  Hindu Kush Mountains, Afghanistan - 3:00 a.m.

  THE BLAST WAVE from the two grenades lifted Tark clean off his feet. Shaken, he scrambled behind a large boulder at the cliff’s edge as the first rounds from the AK-47s hammered into the earth around him.

  Willie hadn’t been so lucky. He lay limp and twisted near the sagging remains of one of the mini-cranes, his chest and shoulder riddled with smoking holes. Blood ran down his neck from a shrapnel wound that had peeled back several inches of his scalp above his right ear. His helmet was missing. So was the second mini-crane.

  Switching to his weapon-mounted camera, Tark held his HK over the boulder. He used his HUD to spot five tangos rushing down out of the rocks, firing wildly. He returned a quick burst to slow them down, yelling into his helmet mike. “I think Willie’s dead! Jake and Sarge never made it up, and I’m pinned down on the ledge. I count five tangos coming down from the southeastern ridge line. They’re screaming over their radios for reinforcements.”

  Snake responded from the clearing. “Ripper and I are on our way back. ETA three minutes.”

  “Shit, man. This thing’s gonna be over in thirty seconds.”

  As if to emphasize the point, a barrage of AK rounds blasted chips from the edge of the rock behind him.

  Tark looked at Willie’s tattered body and choked back his anger. Gritting his teeth, he emptied his magazine in a focused spray over the top off the rock. The suppressed spits of his HK were barely audible over the AK’s reverberating cracks. The return fire faded. The tangos exchanged shouted commands, their voices getting closer. They had him, and they knew it. His only way out was over the edge.

  Tark still wore his reserve chute.

  He’d grab Willie’s body on the way over.

  With his back to the rock, he coiled his muscles, sucking air into his lungs as he readied for the sprint of his life. His eyes focused on his longtime partner, his limbs splayed at awkward angles, blood dripping from his earlobe. I’d have a better chance if I left Willie’s body—

  Willie’s eyes popped open, pale white orbs within a blood-red mask. He gave Tark a dull glance, and the corner of his lips twitched up in a weak smile. Then his eyes froze when he saw the tangos moving toward him from rocks behind Tark’s cover position.

  Tark had only moments to react. He patted the air in a silent signal for Willie to stay still. Willie blinked once in response. Tark threw up the okay sign with his index finger and thumb and gave his partner a questioning expression. Willie blinked again. Tark nodded. He patted the air one last time and drew a finger across his throat, his head cocked to the side and his tongue hanging out, signaling Willie to play dead. The two men locked eyes in a way that needed no words. It was time to go to work. Willie closed his eyes and kept them shut.

  Tark shouted over the rocks, “Hold your fire. I give up!”

  The gunfire stopped and one of the tangos called out in thickly accented English, “American, throw weapon, stand slow!”

  Tark threw his HK over the rock. He stretched his hands as high as he could above his head and stood up. Before the tangos could say anything, he walked toward them and away from Willie, crying out, “I surrender. Don’t shoot. Don’t shoot!”

  “Stop!” one of the tangos shouted.

  Tark ignored the command and kept walking forward to increase the distance from Willie’s position. He squealed like a scared child, “Please don’t hurt me!”

  One of the tangos fired his AK into the ground at Tark’s feet. “Stop now!”

  Tark sank to his knees in the dirt, his eyes pleading, his hands locked behind his neck. All five tangos moved forward and surrounded him.

  That was their first mistake.

  The lead tango spat through his thick beard at Tark’s upraised face. He followed that with a swift kick to the jaw that sent Tark sprawling to the ground.

  That was their last mistake.

  Tark hugged the ground, welcoming the sounds of the rapid-fire spits of Willie’s silenced HK. Willie unloaded an entire magazine on the tightly bunched group. At that range, the kinetic energy of the HK’s 5.56 NATO rounds dropped them like bowling pins. The flailing bodies jerked and twisted from the impacts.

  Tark snap-rolled to his back. He pulled his M9 pistol from his hip holster and fired into the heads of the falling terrorists.

  It was over in four seconds.

  Tark rushed over to Willie. He’d propped himself up against the frame of the bent mini-crane. “Where’re you hurt?”

  “My shoulder’s on fire, and my head’s screaming like a son of a bitch. The Dragon Skin saved my ass from the worst of it. I’ll make it.”

  “I thought you were toast. I almost left you.”

  “Yeah, well, that’s a few more beers you owe me, then, ain’t it?”

  “Damn straight.” Tark wrapped a dark-gray camo dressing around Willie’s scalp wound.

  His partner’s body armor was riddled with shrapnel holes across the chest. He would have been torn to shreds if it weren’t for the specially layered armor that resembled overlapping dragon scales. But the vest didn’t cover his shoulder, where two deep gouges in the meat of his upper arm oozed blood. Tark snapped the cap off a pre-filled hypo and plunged the local anesthetic into Willie’s shoulder. Using a field dressing on the wo
und, he cinched it tight with three swift wraps around the arm.

  Kenny’s agitated voice filled his headset. “Tark, more tangos just appeared out of nowhere from the rocks above your position. There’s got to be a tunnel entrance up there that we didn’t know about!”

  “What about Jake and Sarge?”

  “They’re okay for now. You’ve got to focus on that tunnel.”

  Tark grabbed Willie’s good arm and helped him up. “Time to go!”

  Chapter 38

  Hindu Kush Mountains, Afghanistan - 3:03 a.m.

  JAKE’S SHOCK AT THE SUDDEN TURN of events froze him into momentary inaction—that is, until the sound of heavy gunfire erupted on the ledge above them.

  Going up was no longer an option.

  Jake checked Tony’s pulse. He was still alive, but he didn’t look good. Rivulets of blood oozed from under his head wrap.

  The explosion must have partially dislodged the mini-crane that supported them because the rope now hung only inches from the rock face. That made it awkward to use the APEX without scraping along the rock. Jake would need to keep from snagging his feet on the way down, especially with the added weight of Tony’s unconscious body.

  Jake kicked off the mountain and flicked the down button on the APEX.

  He established a rappelling rhythm in their descent, swinging them out and away with the motorized APEX switched on for a second or two and then stopping for another kick as they swung back into the mountain. Each arc dropped them nine or ten feet. Jake repeated the process, eager to get clear of the threat above. At this rate, however, it was going to take them way too long to get to the bottom. Instead, he stopped their descent when they were level with the hidden tunnel they’d passed earlier.

  After confirming the aperture’s position with his flashlight, Jake crabbed across the rock face toward the entrance. Sweat beaded on his brow as his fingers and toes fought to find grips among the too-few cracks and crevasses of the smooth rock. They were three feet from the opening when the rope snagged on something beneath them. Steadying his grip on the wall with his left hand, Jake reached down with his right hand to tug it free.