by Rob Wood
On the left bank, it seemed the earth was splitting. Cochrane blinked back the water in her eyes. The bank was dividing in jagged lines. These resolved themselves into mud-caked, crenellated pieces that stretched for eight to twelve feet. With eyes. Alligators were slowly sliding one over another. The peaks and valleys of their aggregate mass shifted like a small continent. And in the water, the largest gator, baleful eyes turned toward her, seemed to shiver so that the water leaped upward around it. The droplets spit straight up, then fell back. The gator grunted and shook. The water danced in sheets, for ten or twenty seconds at a time. The patter of the falling droplets sounded like rain.
Cochrane was transfixed. She and the gator were level in the water, locking eyes. She could see the yellow rims and the elliptical pupils. Behind the head, the vertical scales, called scutes, dropped back in dense rows like a regiment at attention. “Reptile is not a pretty word,” she thought.
In one brief, chilling moment, the alligator pivoted, tail churning, and made for Cochrane. As it came toward her, she was aware of the head, the eyes, and three islands of scales moving toward her above the water. The rest of the gator was submerged, but palpably present. She could tell by the swell and churn of water.
The gator bore down on her. It was accelerating. No mistake. This was what it felt like to be singled out by a predator, in its world, where it had been dominant since the Jurassic era.
Well, she thought, she wasn’t going without a fight. She rose up, clutching the 30-inch machete over her head with both hands, ready to split in two any part of the gator that slipped into her kill zone.
As she rose up, the alligator slowed. Then it stopped. Then it slipped down beneath the duckweed. Cochrane jerked her head left, then right, searching for a sign, a trace in the water. Fear knotted her gut as she imagined being seized from somewhere below the surface and dragged down. She pictured the struggle in her mind. She felt the pressure in her lungs, the gagging, the terror. But there was no sign. There was no sound. On far the bank, the remaining gators were mostly quiet.
She looked toward the chopper. Purdy was already there, gesturing impatiently for her to hurry up.
49
MUTINY
Their strategy for taking out the chopper pilot was straightforward. Purdy would go through the open left side of the copter; Cochrane would go up the right side. Each would aim a debilitating, or at least distracting, blow. Each would work to subdue the hand that reached for a sidearm—on whichever side of the body that might be.
They had been trained for this, but so much depended on variables they could address but not control. For example, they would be striking up toward an opponent that had the advantage of height and leverage. They would need to push out of the water and deal a blow at the same time. Their strongest weapon was the element of surprise, which meant they needed to push down on the left and right pontoon and hurtle into the cabin at essentially the same time. If the chopper rocked too much under the weight of Purdy, for example, the pilot might glance down and have time to react, picking off one, then the other.
After her encounter with the gator, Cochrane felt like a giant killer. She was pumped. There was nothing she could not do. She slipped along the pontoon to the right side. She saw Purdy focusing on her, under the copter, on the opposite side. He placed his hands on the left pontoon and mouthed the words, “Three. Two. One!” He rocketed up with a whoosh and a trail of spray.
The pilot saw him coming, turned toward him and, in one reflexive gesture, held up his left hand to block him and sent his right hand windmilling around to where his mind said his sidearm was holstered on the right hip. That hand, guided only by instinct, bounced on the hip and fumbled with the holster.
Purdy, an opportunist in battle, did not aim a blow. Instead he grabbed the forefinger of the left hand held toward him. He dragged the finger down with all his weight and twisted it back. The pilot screamed and his right hand came back to clasp the left.
Cochrane pushed high off the pontoon, lowered her head and somersaulted into the cabin. She landed with her back down and her legs curled. She snapped a kick with her right foot, aimed at the pilot’s head. It caught him in the temple, and he sagged down in his seat and gently folded over toward Purdy, still in the water.
Purdy was up in a flash, checking the pulse in the man’s neck. He was out cold, but very much alive.
“Heckuva knockout, Cochrane!” he said. “But I wondered if you’d ever get here!”
Cochrane just glared at him.
“Let’s go get Lily and gear up.”
When they rendezvoused with the others on shore, “gear up” took on a different shade of meaning with regard to Lily. She was just off the phone and still in her bra and panties. And Purdy couldn’t help thinking that this was just fine. Her flawless skin and gentle curves , the small swell of her belly before it dipped down to the low-cut silk, charmed and disoriented him.
Lily, however, was all business. She had interrogated the pilot, now tied at the wrists. He was shortly to be deposited in the hog box in the back of Maude.
Lily turned toward Purdy.
“Does that helicopter have GPS so we can get a fix on exactly where the pipeline station is?” she asked. “Chung-wei here says that’s where Cao Kai and the team were headed.”
“Yeah, it’s got GPS” said Purdy. “Why?”
“Assuming Cao Kai is where the pilot says he is, I’m going to need to call that location into the Lucky Lady. Cao Kai’s got flak jackets and automatic weapons. We need to wait for back-up.”
“The best back-up is DHS or State Police . . . and they’re not going to be able to respond in time,” said Purdy shaking his head. “And you can’t.”
“You’re too stubborn to listen.”
“Just practical. One: There’s no time to wait. Two: Landing your Chinese Marines isn’t exactly covert. It’s a one-way ticket to lifelong detention for Cochrane and me—and maybe worse for you. Not to mention the snarl-up between Washington and Beijing.”
“You Americans are so rash. Not to wait is stupid.”
“Waiting is stupid. Do the words ‘loss of life, radioactive contamination and crippled energy sector’ mean nothing to you?”
“Just give me one fly-by for a GPS fix.” With a curt pirouette, Lily turned to retrieve her clothes. “Mother will want to know where I’m going.”
“Purdy—you want to give some thought to our assets and offensive status?” Cochrane had dressed and was coming up on Purdy’s left. “We’ve got three players and a 30-06 for armament. What exactly is the definition of ‘stupid’ in your mind?”
“Ooo—eee!” That was Thibeault’s comment, not articulate, but still profound. “Mr. Navy-man, I smell a mutiny.”
“Naw. Nothing like that. We’re committed,” said Cochrane. “But someone here could use some common sense!”
“Say, I’d listen to this lady, if I were you,” said Thibeault. “She’s okay in my book. Did you see her face down that bull gator?”
Purdy looked nonplussed. “What gator?”
“You didn’t see anything?” asked Cochrane, mystified.
“What gator?” Purdy stammered.
“Thing was as big as a car,” said Thibeault, shaking his head in wonder. “Must have been the alpha male in this pond. Thing charged her. I thought it was gonna take her under.”
Thibeault was getting agitated, practically dancing on his toes, the words coming faster.
“Like a freight train. Nothing but teeth and gator breath. Then she raises up out of the water with that machete and backs the gator down. Close call. Medal of honor, man. Balls of steel.”
Purdy stared at Cochrane, his jaw hanging open.
“Close your mouth and put on your pants, Purdy,” snapped Cochrane. “Or the enemy’s going to laugh at you.”
Purdy glanced down at his damp boxers, made a move with his hand to cover his privates and left to recover his clothes.
Thibeault came up and put his
arm around Cochrane, in an avuncular, confiding gesture.
“Actually, Miss, you weren’t in any danger. You did exactly the right thing. Gators think that height equals might. They think a high animal is a big animal and won’t go after it—even it’s as frail as a child or, pardon me, a young lady. When you came up out of the water with that machete over your head, the gator thought you were King Kong.”
Cochrane looked at him with wide eyes. He nodded vigorously, making his point.
“Height equals might.”
“Right,” she said softly. “I knew that.”
50
UP IN THE AIR
Lily Zhang strode toward the helicopter, fully dressed, with the 30-06 clutched in one small hand. The barrel swung awkwardly back and forth inches above the ground, as Lily contended with its weight.
“Okay,” she said, “Let’s roll and rock.
Cochrane watched her stumble toward the chopper. She just shook her head. “This should end well,” she muttered.
“I got this,” announced Purdy, strapping into the pilot’s seat. “Piece of cake.”
Cochrane slid in behind him.
Once up in the hair, Lily turned on the radio and put the ear phones on, leaving one ear free to listen in on the conversation in the copter.
“When they see their chopper, they’ll hail us.” said Purdy. “We’ll have to bluff. I’ll do the talking.”
“No. I’ll do the talking,” Lily corrected him.
“I speak Chinese,” snapped Purdy.
Lily shook her head. “Not like you were from Guangzhou.”
“They’ll expect to talk to the pilot . . . to a man.”
“They’ll expect to talk to a voice on a radio. Which one of us is the actor here?” She immediately began chattering into the radio, calling out their compass heading and their position as they swung toward the pipeline.
It was no great chore to spot the pipeline right of way and follow it north to the station. The station was concrete block and brick with a standard flat black composite roof. HVAC units, scaled for the south Louisiana heat and humidity, sprouted from the top.
Beyond the station itself, they could see that Cao Kai had a team of three working on a portion of the pipeline. A gas torch threw up a twinkling arc of sparks. In addition, there were two hand-dug redoubts thrown up in a loose perimeter defense, a man in each shallow bunker.
“Can’t make out their ordnance from here,” said Purdy. “They could have sniper rifles, automatic weapons, or both.”
The radio crackled: “Chung-wei, what’s the meaning of this? Why are you here?”
“American troops—Army and police—are moving in from the East. They are heavily armed. They have all-terrain vehicles.” Lily sounded frightened.
There was cursing on the other end of the radio.
Purdy glanced at Lily. “I gather that they’re not very far along with the tap-in to the pipeline?”
Lily shook her head.
“You are our eyes in the sky,” said the voice on the other end of the radio. “We’ll want to know how fast the Americans are advancing and what arms they have.”
“Of course,” Lily said. “I’m on it.”
“Our objective has to be to harass them, stall them, prevent the penetration of that pipeline,” said Purdy.
“You’re not going to do anything rash, are you?” asked Cochrane.
“No, I’m going to drop you to off at the tree line. That’s a lot of yards, but you still have a shot at the pipeline team and the defenders. Keep moving, so they don’t pin down your position due to the muzzle flash—or the bark of that 30-06.”
“Then, what?”
“Then I might do something rash.”
Purdy flew low, banked hard to the right, dipping down below the tallest trees, keeping the rotors and the body of the chopper toward the pipeline pumping station. This disguised the exit of Lily and Cochrane. When the chopper reached its furthest point east and headed back toward the pipeline, they tumbled out into the mass of mangrove, leaves flying everywhere.
Cochrane was up first. Lily had hit hard, the rifle bouncing off her chest.
“You alright?” Cochrane asked.
Lily grunted and pushed herself off the ground. “Shit,” she said.
“You alright?” Cochrane repeated.
“I’m angry. Never been dumped by a man before.”
“Good line. You know he was probably trying to save your life. Yours and mine.” There were tears in Cochrane’s eyes. “Now he thinks he’s going to go it alone. Give me that gun.” Not waiting for a response, she picked up the rifle and chambered a round.
“I can shoot,” said Lily.
“I know you can,” replied Cochrane. “But this is something I am really, really good at. I’ll need a spotter though, and that’s you.”
On his first pass, Purdy came close to setting down right on the pipeline team. His rotor wash kicked up sand that sizzled against the steel sides of the line and cut into exposed flesh. Cao Kai’s men covered their faces and staggered back, stumbling blindly to escape the cloud of biting sand.
The door of the pipeline station opened. From inside, Cao Kai shouted at his men to resume. They were too stunned to regroup quickly. When they did, Purdy pivoted and brought back the sandpaper cloud.
Cochrane balanced the barrel of her rifle against a branch, steadying it between branch and trunk. She sighted along the barrel. There would be no third chance for Purdy. Cao Kai’s three sharpshooters had realigned their positions so they could each hit the copter circling in front of the pipeline.
“I’m trying for the bogie closest to us,” said Cochrane through clinched teeth.
“I’m on him,” replied Lily, zeroing in the binoculars.
Cochrane pressed gently on the trigger with the ball of her finger only, to help reduce a pull to the left or right. As she exhaled, the rifle cracked and the sniper’s body twitched.
“You got him,” smiled Lily. “I think. Wait. He’s still firing. How can that be?”
“Must be body armor—ceramic plates,” said Cochrane.
“Well, he can’t be armored everywhere!” Lily went from triumph to exasperation in a flash. “Hit him somewhere else!”
“A trunk shot was all I thought I could manage at this range,” explained Cochrane. Regardless, she chambered another round.
“Stop! Stop!” yelled Cao Kai from inside the pipeline station. “Go back to your positions. Defend the perimeter!”
“They stopped shooting,” said Lily Zhang, peering through the field glasses.
“I think they were afraid a kill shot to Purdy would cause him to dump the copter—and that’s their ticket out of here.”
“No. That may be what they’re thinking, but I don’t think they’re going to make it out of here,” replied Lily. “Here comes the cavalry.”
A small copter buzzed along the far tree line, the last stretch of territory cleared to support pipeline operations.
“Give me those binocs,” ordered Cochrane. “Not DHS. Not police,” she muttered as she scanned the tree line. “I don’t know who or what that is, but it doesn’t look like much of a threat to me.”
“Just wait,” said Lily. “It’s mine.”
In what seemed the blink of an eye, the little copter dropped four metal cubes, then peeled out of there, leaving nothing but shivering mangrove to mark its trail.
“What the…?” said Cochrane, mystified. “Here they come. Like lawn mowers.”
The “lawn mowers” were bouncing toward them, unfolding like Swiss Army knives, sprouting antennae, parabolic dishes, and gun barrels.
“I’ll be damned,” said “Cochrane. “It’s Lazyboy.”
“And his friends,” added Lily.
“What is he, er they, doing here?”
“You remember you left that robot behind after we skirmished with the druggies in Afghanistan. You were hit, and we pulled back to Xinjiang so you could recover and recuperate. My people secure
d the bot and ‘repatriated’ him to one of our tech facilities there. We do good work.”
“Reverse engineering?” asked Cochrane. “Cloning?”
“Well, as you would say, ‘It’s not our first riding show.’”
“Rodeo,” Cochrane corrected. “I don’t get it,” she said, still glued to the glasses. “Their rounds are taking out the snipers. Is that anti-tank ordnance or something?”
“No. I believe they are reading the difference in body warmth where the sniper is un-armored. They’re targeting those areas. They solved the problem you described a moment ago.”
“That’s pretty subtle.”
“We are Asian,” Lily smiled. “I’m going to call in to the Lucky Lady. They’ll need to know what we know.”
51
HOSTAGES
Purdy had been hit by a sniper round that pierced his arm and punctured the canopy. It had been a wobbly few minutes. Only about half a dozen rounds had even hit the chopper, but the seconds had stretched out in rubber time, where constellations of sparks and dust motes had danced to the sound of ding, ricochet and puncture.
Now he was getting light headed. It made it that much more difficult to make sense of what was happening below him. The ground shifted with the pitch and yaw of the copter, adding to his sense of vertigo. The geysers of dirt kicked up by bullets pinging around Cao Kai’s men had stopped. Who had been shooting at them, he wondered? Nobody was shooting at him. That was good. Where were Lily and Cochrane? He remembered dropping them off for safekeeping well away from the pipeline station.
The radio crackled. “Lieutenant Purdy?”
It was Cao Kai’s voice. “Lieutenant Purdy, please set my helicopter down in front of the pipeline station, but between the pipeline and swamp. Please do it now. It is my helicopter, after all. And I have a hostage.”
“What?” stammered Purdy.
