Trojan Horse

by George West

  Chapter 1

  “Raise, two hundred.”

  Ramos stared across the table at his opponent, attempting to read his face. He couldn’t tell if Hunter was bluffing.

  “Call."

  Ramos tossed in two hundred dollars’ worth of chips just before someone flipped over the river card. It was a king of hearts. Both players immediately stared at one another trying to determine if the latest card on the board was beneficial to either one of them.

  Hunter then tapped the table. "Check."

  Ramos didn't even hesitate as he smiled and shoved the rest of his chips into the center of the table. "All in!"

  Hunter glared at his hand for a few seconds until he returned the favor. Hunter pushed the rest of his pile into the center. Each waited for the other to flip over his cards, too anxious to discover the outcome.

  “Stop messing around and flip ’em!” yelled one of the other guys at the table.

  Simultaneously, Ramos and Hunter flipped their cards over, still timid to see the other's hand.

  “Hell yeah!"

  With an uncontrollable grin, Ramos proceeded to rake the pile of chips toward his side of the table. He attempted to remain in his seat while he bent over the table to move his winnings over to his side.

  “Ramos, what the fuck are you doing? I got a flush. Those are my chips,” asserted Hunter.

  “Hell no! Straight beats a flush every time.”

  “Are you high? Flush always beats a straight."

  “Just Google the rules," interjected one of the other guys at the table.

  A moment of silence transitioned into an explosion of laughter. Guys around the table were close to falling out of their chairs.

  “Yeah, and I’ll order some Domino’s pizza while I'm at it," added Ramos.

  The guys played in a windowless room under the dim radiance of one light bulb dangling from the ceiling. Mold covered the concrete walls. Weapons were scattered on top of plastic tables while fresh bullet casings rolled around the floor. Empty beer bottles and soup cans sat piled up in the corner. The only décor in the room hung above the entrance: a black flag depicting the Grim Reaper holding a scythe, blood dripping from its blade. Then, the flag began to flutter as two guys burst through the door, covered in muck.

  “Y’all look like shit,” said Ramos.

  Dirt and face paint covered their faces, yet one could still notice the growing fatigue in their eyes. The two guys appeared like they hadn’t slept in days. They each had a sniper rifle slung around their backs as well as pistols and knives strapped to their hips. They wore no military uniforms or insignias, just like every other guy in the room.

  “It was worth it,” replied Adam Dawkins. The team leader stood at just over six feet. His lean and muscular frame could be seen through his tight black shirt. An ungroomed beard covered his face, yet one could barely recognize his youth. Adam pulled off his Kevlar vest stuffed with extra ammo and other gear and threw off his shirt, exposing the image of the Grim Reaper tattooed to his shoulder blade. Finally, he tossed three rifle shell casings onto the poker table.

  “Damn, were they all officers?” asked Ramos.

  “Oh yeah, except two of those shell casings are mine," interjected John Dawkins, the other guy that had entered the room. John looked nearly identical to his older brother except for a lack of facial hair that immediately revealed his youth.

  “Really, Adam? Are you trying to take credit for your brother’s kills again? It's not fair if you don’t play by the rules,” mocked Ramos.

  Adam continued to unpack his gear as he flipped Ramos the bird.

  “Hey Adam, does a flush beat a straight in Hold ’em?” asked Hunter.

  “Of course it fucking does."

  Hunter immediately grabbed the chips from Ramos’s pile and raked them back to his side. Ramos flung his cards in the air and went straight to the case of beer. “This is bullshit. I lost the poker game on a technicality, and now I’m being forced to drink this warm bottle of shit. When can we find a refrigerator?”

  The two brothers walked over to the other side of the room. A bulletin board pinned with pictures and maps hung from one of the concrete walls. Adam removed three pictures of the recently deceased officers from the board. He stared at their faces; he could see their eyes and the stubble on their cheeks. His stomach started to churn for a moment until he shook it off. He then scanned the board for any other intel he could use for his team’s next mission.

  “Hey, why don’t you sit down at the table with us and play a few hands of hold ’em? Maybe even crack open a fine warm beer while you’re at it. I understand all this may sound foreign to you,” taunted Ramos.

  “Reaper 3, while you’re getting your ass handed to you in cards, the Global Alliance is still running around the East Coast slaughtering our people."

  “Don't worry. Those assholes will still be here after I'm done with this beer."

  Adam Dawkins then turned his head towards another wall. Pictures were taped to the concrete, images of parents and children milling and laughing. Adam focused his eyes on a single image: he and his brother posed beside his parents. Adam remembered taking that picture when his family dropped him off for freshman year. He could feel the cold breeze from the Potomac River as he stood waiting for his grandmother to figure out how to use the camera on her iPhone. He could still feel the annoyance posing for that picture as other students passed by his family. Now, he only wished that he could live in that moment forever.

  “Hey, Reaper 4, deal me in again,” demanded Ramos.

  “If you remember, I took all your money,” replied Hunter.

  “Well, how about I stroll down the street to the U.S. Treasury Department. I'll take a couple stacks of cash. Our government abandoned it. Besides, this currency is basically Monopoly money nowadays.”

  Soon, a woman burst through the door into the team room. “Guys, we have an emergency. A Global Alliance naval ship is inbound. It’s headed south on the Potomac. ETA, 25 minutes till it’s in D.C.,” announced Carly.

  “Are you sure it’s the G.A.?” demanded Adam.

  “Our scouts spotted the naval ship five minutes ago while patrolling the banks of the river,” replied Carly.

  Ramos stared up at his team leader. “You should have taken my offer on that beer."

  Chapter 2

  On a cloudy day in a suburb just outside of the St. Louis Metropolitan Area, the residents of the upper-class community were rising out of their beds, making their coffee, and retrieving the morning newspaper before heading to work. From the sight of this safe and quiet neighborhood, one couldn’t tell that the rest of the country was engulfed in war. A resident was in his pajamas, retrieving his newspaper with a coffee in his hand. As he started to pick up the paper, he dropped his coffee onto the driveway and froze. Men in full body armor with guns approached the front door of the house across the street.

  “3,2,1."

  The SWAT team smashed through the door with a battering ram.

  “Police!”

  The team rolled flash bangs into the entranceway to disorientate any hostiles. One of the residents caught the full effect of the concussion grenade but still managed to reach for a pistol in his waist band.

  “Gun!” screamed one of the SWAT team members. As the man started to raise his weapon, the SWAT team fired several rounds into the man’s chest. The team passed the dead body and continued to clear each room on the first floor.

  “Moving upstairs,” announced one of the team members over the radio. The SWAT team made their way to the second story, scanning in every direction for potential threats. A woman with a pistol appeared in the hallway, and two SWAT guys took aim at her chest and pulled their triggers. The woman collapsed to the floor as the projectiles pierc
ed her chest. SWAT team members kept their weapons on her as they approached her lifeless body and kicked her pistol away from her corpse.

  “Clear the rest of the rooms!” ordered the SWAT commander.

  The team finished clearing the house. Only two people had been inside, and they were now dead.

  “Sir, the VIP is not here,” announced one of the officers.

  By midday, the St. Louis Police Department had surrounded the residential home. Neighbors were outside now, trying to ascertain the frightening event that continued to unravel in their supposedly-safe community. They were astounded to witness the swarm of law enforcement outside their homes. The police officers began to block off the street and ordered the neighbors to return inside their homes. Soon, three black SUVs pulled up to the scene. The police officers immediately let the vehicles through without question. Men and women in suits exited the SUVs and strode toward the home that was now surrounded by yellow tape.

  The police captain approached the group of suits. “How’s it going? My officers have established a perimeter.”

  “Congrats. Now order your people to exit the scene. This is now a Department of Homeland Security investigation,” declared the senior special agent.

  The female agent appeared immune to small talk. She was dressed in black slacks and a coat, her badge clipped to the front of her hip with her pistol clearly hanging from her side.

  The police captain was speechless after the agent’s unpleasantness. The suits, accompanied by the SWAT team commander, made their way into the home.

  “I want people bagging and tagging everything. I want someone examining the bodies. Let’s go! Time is not on our side. We need to find Dr. Eris,” ordered Agent Reyes.

  The DHS team initiated a routine sweep of the house, thoroughly checking every room. Reyes inspected the kitchen, analyzing every item in sight. She started to tear open the cabinets and refrigerator doors.

  “Where’s all the food?” inquired Reyes.

  “I’m sorry, what?” replied one of the other agents.

  “Food! I don't see any food in the refrigerator or cabinets. And I don’t see an ounce of trash either."

  “Maybe the garbage men already picked up the trash, ma’am.”

  “No, the trash is scheduled to be picked up tomorrow."

  Agent Reyes strolled around the kitchen island, gliding her index finger over the white marble. Everyone in the kitchen remained silent as the senior agent contemplated her thoughts.

  Eventually, the DHS team marched upstairs to examine the other body. Other agents were already crouched next to the body taking pictures and grabbing fingerprints. Suddenly, Agent Reyes stopped at the top of the stairs and glared at the corpse.

  “Why is she dead?” questioned Reyes.

  “She pulled a gun on my team and we took her out, ma’am,” replied the SWAT team commander.

  “Well, next time, make sure to use your brain and take the suspect alive. She was our only lead to a kidnapping,” scowled Reyes.

  The DHS agents started to probe through the dead woman’s clothes. Agent Reyes slowly pulled on a pair of black latex gloves before crouching next to the body. She meticulously examined the inside of the dead woman's clothing as she made her way down the body.

  “We already searched the body for any evidence,” announced the SWAT commander.

  “Thanks for sharing, but we’re going to conduct our own search, if you don't mind,” replied the senior agent without even looking up at the commander.

  “No ID, and her prints aren’t in the system. I can have the CSI team draw blood to determine if her DNA is in any of our databases," announced one of the agents.

  “There’s no need,” replied Reyes. The senior agent pulled up one of the dead woman's sleeves exposing a tattoo on her forearm. The tattoo pictured a globe with a sword through the center. Everyone in the room recognized the symbol.

  “Dammit, she’s Global Alliance.”

  “What? They've infiltrated our defenses?” pleaded the SWAT commander.

  Reyes ignored his frightened questioning and continued to inspect the body. Her eyes remained focus on the corpse while she drowned out the distractions. As she rolled up the other sleeve, she discovered a second tattoo.

  “What are those symbols? Chinese?” asked one of the agents.

  “Why is her tattoo not consistent?” mused Agent Reyes.

  “You know Chinese?" asked the SWAT commander.

  Agent Reyes peered at the markings on the woman's forearm. She squinted her eyes attempting to figure out its meaning. She rubbed her fingers against the tattoo. “These two characters symbolize a classic love story, but the other says something different.”

  “What does it say?” repeated the SWAT commander.

  “A ship.”

  Chapter 3

  “Well, unfortunately, it appears the intel was solid,” sighed Ramos.

  Adam Dawkins and the rest of his team lay prone on top of a hill overlooking the Potomac River. The guys used the cover of the tree line to mask their position. Adam's eyes pressed against the eyepiece of a spotting scope while his brother peered down the optics of his sniper rifle. The rest of the team were scattered among the trees making sure no one could flank their position.

  “I got movement. Topside, bow of the ship,” observed Adam.

  Two sailors dressed in blue camouflage manned the .50-caliber machine guns on both sides of the bow.

  “Looks like a Lider-class destroyer. Nuclear-powered. Cruise missiles, air defense system, and not to mention the beautiful 130 mm naval cannon at the front,” added John Dawkins.

  “Dear God, keep it in your pants,” whispered Ramos.

  Adam continued to peer down his spotting scope, admiring the behemoth vessel that cruised down the river. Adam felt overwhelmed as he gazed at the naval destroyer and the advanced weaponry that covered its exterior.

  “Requires at least two hundred to properly operate a vessel that size. I bet they also have thirty to forty infantry troops on board for land operations,” added John Dawkins.

  “Since we know that’s not one of ours, it must be the G.A.,” asserted Adam.

  “What are you thinking? Another invasion of D.C. or are they headed somewhere else?” asked Ramos.

  “I don’t think the G.A. is planning another invasion of D.C. This area doesn’t provide any strategic advantage for them. They already blew this city to hell," explained Adam.

  “Then why the hell is a Global Alliance destroyer cruising around in our territory?” demanded Ramos.

  “I have no idea. But let’s get a better look.”

  The team started to hike down the steep hill toward the riverbank. Guys grabbed onto trees to stabilize their descent. The woods were bare of any leaves with little cover to hide their movements. Every breath Adam took produced a puff of steam from his mouth and into the icy air. He was the point man with his M4 raised, scanning for any hostiles. Adam stopped in his tracks and raised his hand.

  “What’s going on?” asked John.

  “Movement at our 9 o’clock,” whispered Adam.

  Several branches broke to the left of their position, and they immediately raised their weapons. They didn't have eyes on their target, yet, but heard the sounds closing in on their position. Adam flicked off the safety to his rifle. A moment later, a baby deer appeared from a pile of brush.

  Ramos sighed in relief. “Fuckin Bambi."

  The team continued their descent until they were steps away from the edge of the river. The currents of the Potomac were strong this time of year; the water was close to freezing. John posted up behind a tree and placed his sniper rifle between two branches.

  “The ship is approximately 200 meters out. Give me the OK and I'll smoke the two on the bow,” requested John.

  “Negative. That ship has much bigger guns. It’s not worth it,” replied Adam.

  The team leader gazed at the ship through his spotting scope. “I got two Middle Eastern males. Looks like the P
akistanis joined the fight,” inquired Adam.

  “The Global Alliance keeps getting bigger and bigger," said Ramos.

  “Let’s see how this ship responds to a threat,” announced Adam.

  The team hiked back up the hill to their original position. The sun was setting, and the destroyer was nearly out of sight from the team's position as it slowly cruised further down the river towards the city.

  “Brother, let’s give our friends on the river a nice firework show,” instructed Adam.

  “Roger that.” Adam’s brother pulled a couple of grenades from his pack while Hunter loaded his SAW machine gun with tracer rounds.

  “All right boys, when the fireworks go off, run like hell down that ravine and take cover,” ordered the team leader.

  John pulled the pins to several grenades and chunked them down the hill toward the river while Hunter unloaded a burst of tracer rounds into the air. Every team member sprinted down the ravine searching for a place to take cover. Before they made it down to the bottom, several blasts erupted from the Potomac.

  “Incoming!” screamed Adam.

  The force of the explosion knocked every member of Reaper team off their feet, forcing them to roll the rest of the way down the hill. It took several minutes for Adam to regain consciousness. His eyesight was still fuzzy as Dawkins began to search for the rest of his team. He soon spotted a light in the sky approaching their position. The rest of his team was still unconscious.

  There was no time to wake them up. Adam started to grab piles of dead leaves from the ground. He covered his men with leaves and branches and anything else he could find. The light in the sky continued to close on his team's position. Adam then grabbed his brother and dragged both of their bodies into a hollow log.

  The helicopter was now directly above them, its spotlight illuminating the entire area. As John started to wake up, Adam covered his mouth. He prayed that the enemy wouldn’t see the unconscious bodies of his teammates lying out in the open. Twenty seconds felt like a lifetime. The pit of doom in Adam's stomach started to subside as the helicopter moved on to search other areas. Eventually, the rest of Reaper team regained consciousness.