by Dave Edlund
Peter wasn’t going to debate the issue. He placed the cross hairs on the closest machine gun position. The electronic scope read out the distance using its built-in laser range finder—1,345 yards. The scope compensated for the bullet drop over that distance and a tiny green light illuminated in the upper right corner of his objective lens, signaling that the sight picture had been correctly adjusted and he could take the shot.
Holding steady, Peter took in a breath; rather than holding it he slowly exhaled as he gently increased pressure on the rifle trigger. BOOM!
He saw the soldier manning the machine gun take the hit; his right side awash in bright red. The ammunition bearer stepped up to man the gun, and Peter took aim again, almost at exactly the same spot. The rifle roared and kicked, and again the bullet struck its target. With both soldiers dead, this machine gun was at least temporarily out of service.
Homer and Todd were simultaneously dispatching the other two machine gun crews, and the new kids steadily advanced. With the devastating fire from the machine guns halted, this new force on the battlefield began to gain ground.
They were zig-zagging across the open land, running a short distance and then dropping to fire three or four well-aimed shots. They timed their advance so that there was always about half of their force firing and providing cover for the other half that was advancing.
Although the snipers were thinning the defender’s ranks, they couldn’t do it fast enough. Homer was concerned that the new kids, still heavily outnumbered and now close enough to receive deadly fire, would not make it to the buildings in sufficient numbers to do their job. That thought was followed logically by his next. He started a brief conversation in his mind. Just what is their job? Not my problem. That’s Boss Man’s call.
Homer glanced at his watched—twenty more seconds until he was scheduled to contact Boss Man with a sit rep. As the losses were mounting, he decided not to wait any longer.
“Homer here. We’re thinning them down, but there are still way more Chinese and Homothals and the new kids are likely to be overrun soon. We just can’t get enough volume of fire down there fast enough.”
“Understood,” Jim replied. “You have the remote controller for the mule, right?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Drive the mule out on the most direct line. Engage the Dillon at maximum effective range. Get it moving, now!”
“Yes, sir, out.” Homer immediately had the mule’s electric drive on and the machine pulled out of its hiding spot. Steering with a remote controller that included two joysticks, an LED screen, and one prominent toggle switch, he steered Bessy directly at the defensive line established by the Homothals and Chinese soldiers.
The mule had only traversed a hundred yards or so when Homer aimed the multi-barrel Dillon minigun at the enemy and pressed the fire toggle switch. To conserve his limited supply of ammo and achieve maximum effect, he fired only short bursts—all the while the mule was inexorably plodding closer to the targets. Homer focused the majority of the fire on the lead elements of the defending force. At first, the defenders did not acknowledge the Dillon. By the time they realized the magnitude of the threat, more than a dozen had been mowed down.
The Chinese soldiers began to fall back. Within three minutes the large ammo can for the Dillon minigun was spent. The battlefield was littered with more than 75 corpses, mostly killed by Homer’s squad. Without ammunition, the minigun would be useless for supporting Boss Man’s exfiltration. Homer didn’t linger on the thought, instead trading the remote for his rifle.
The invading force had been reduced in number to seven men. Homer counted carefully to be certain of the number.
Once they retreated to the building, the defenders had all but disappeared. Only three Homothals remained at the entrance, firing their rifles to keep the invaders from rushing head long to the open doorway. Peter aimed and fired. Two more rifle shots immediately followed and all three Homothals lay dead.
With the doorway temporarily cleared of defenders, the new kids closed the distance and entered the building. As the last man entered, he paused briefly and looked up toward the ridge where Homer and the sniper team were positioned. The man came sharply to attention, raised his right arm, and saluted smartly. Homer watched all this through his scope, as did Peter, Todd, and Gary.
“Well I’ll be…” was all Todd could say.
Homer voiced what was on everyone’s mind. “I just pray to God that we helped the right team.”
“I suspect we’ll know before long,” Peter observed.
“I’ll let Boss Man know the score. Not much else we can do until the fighting comes back out in the open.”
Taking advantage of the break, Peter laid down his rifle and shuffled back to the sheltered spot nestled in a wide fissure in the rock outcropping where Ethan lay. Here he was shielded from stray shots by a group of boulders to the front and the twenty-foot-high sandstone walls that defined the fissure. It appeared to travel further up the ridge… how far Peter couldn’t be sure because it took a bend to the right and continued out of sight.
Ethan was beginning to stir. Peter squatted next to his son.
“How are you feeling?”
Ethan groaned and opened his eyes just a bit. “My head is killing me.”
Peter smiled, it was a good response. “I’m not surprised. That Homothal was using you as a punching bag.”
Ethan squinted his eyes. “The what?”
“Homothal, that’s what they’re called. A genetically engineered cross between a Homo sapiens and a Neanderthal.”
“I don’t understand.” Ethan paused and a grimace flowed over his face. “My whole body hurts.”
Peter rummaged through his field first-aid kit and pulled out a small bottle of ibuprofen. “Here, take four of these,” he offered the tablets and his canteen of water.
Ethan took the pills and a big swallow of warm, tepid water. He lay his head gently back down on the rolled-up jacket.
“Dad?” he asked after swallowing the medicine.
“I’m right here son.”
“Are we going home soon?”
Peter wanted to tell him yes, that they were leaving right now. But they couldn’t leave just yet.
“Soon. We’ll be going home soon.”
Ethan’s eyelids were heavy. “I want to go to Todd Lake and swim in the cool water.” Ethan swallowed and even that simple act seemed to drain away his energy. “It’s so hot.”
“Yes, we’re in the desert. Do you know where you are?” Peter’s voice was gentle.
“The desert… yeah, I know. It’s so hot and my head hurts. I want to go to the lake. Can we go there?”
Peter nodded, fearful that if he tried to speak his voice would break, and he had to be strong for Ethan.
Peter took a moment to compose himself. “Yes, we’ll pack a lunch; I’m sure your sister will come along, too. I can imagine the meadow at the far end of the lake. There are still a few wild flowers blooming. Do you see them?”
Ethan allowed his eyes to close and relaxed his head. “Yes, it’s so beautiful.”
“We’ll go soon, I promise. And you can go swimming in the lake. It’s too cold for me.” Peter attempted humor, hoping to raise Ethan’s spirits, if only a little.
A slight curl appeared to Ethan’s mouth, but it didn’t remain long. His eyes were still closed. “Dad, are you there?”
“Yes, I’m here, right beside you.” Peter clasped his son’s hand. “You’re safe here. Just rest. I won’t be far away. Just rest, okay?” Peter’s voice was thick with emotion again; he found it hard to speak without choking up. He gently squeezed Ethan’s hand and mumbled a prayer, too soft for Ethan to hear.
“God, please get us out of here. Please.”
Chapter 43
Darfur
June 14 0845 hours
The SGIT team reached the exit doors, knowing they we still too close to the lab. Jim had been through here before and knew that out the doors and to
the right they would find the building housing the computer center, the communications room, and—if their prisoner was telling the truth—the officers’ quarters. They needed to move without delay, but Jim sensed this could be a trap.
Jim checked his watch, counting down to the detonation. One minute, seventeen seconds…
“Doctor, I think you should go first,” Jim ordered.
The doctor shook his head. “No!”
Jim, holding an assault rifle he had picked up from a dead guard back in the lab, jabbed the barrel into the doctor’s back. “Get up and go out the door!”
“No! They might shoot me!”
“If you don’t move, I’ll shoot you right here!”
The doctor stood, hands till bound behind his back, and reluctantly nudged the door with his shoulder. The steel door had no window, so he pushed it open a few inches and yelled out something in Mandarin. Jim assumed he was announcing his presence and telling any Homothals or Chinese soldiers that might be watching the door not to shoot.
The doctor pushed the door open a little further and finally the doctor slowly emerged from behind it, stepping into the morning light. BOOM! BOOM! Two shots and the doctor fell dead, his body falling within the door way so that the door couldn’t close.
One minute…
“Ghost, snake the fiber optic lens around the edge of the door. We need to know where the shooters are,” Jim ordered.
Laying down to conceal his position, Ghost slid the probe along the Doctor’s body to the edge of the door. He held the LCD screen close while maneuvering the lens left and right.
“I see two shooters at the corner of the barracks on the far side of the yard… left corner. One is high, the other low.”
Forty three seconds…
“Bull, what’s the load in that magazine?” Jim asked, referring to a spare AA12 magazine stuffed in a pouch strapped to Bull’s waist.
“Frags, sir.”
“Good. Load ’em up. When Ghost pushes the door open we all fire where those shooters are. We need to get to the next building. That should be the computer lab. We have to move fast—that bomb is going to detonate.”
Jim nodded to Ghost and he pushed the door open. Bullets pierced the door, but none of the SGIT soldiers were hit. Bull raised his shotgun and fired at the corner of the barracks. He was joined by his teammates, all firing as they dashed out the door and turned toward the adjacent building.
Ten seconds…
With weapons aimed across the open space toward the barracks, the SGIT soldiers fired from the hip as they ran for cover.
The explosion was deafening, twice as large as any had imagined. The shock wave shoved the men to the ground and they slid to a stop in front of the door, the card lock above Magnum’s head. He stood and inserted the key card, holding his breath for a heartbeat, and then he heard the faint click of the lock opening. He pushed the door open
Magnum entered through the door into the deserted hallway, followed by the rest of the team.
“That door on the left, that’s the lab where we found the computers. We’ll start there and then search the remaining rooms,” Jim said.
As before, the door into the computer lab was not locked. The team quickly dashed inside, and Bull remained on guard while the others surveyed the room.
There were two rows of computer workstations located in the room’s center, running the width of the room from left to right. Jim stepped forward and quickly estimated the room’s size—100 feet wide by at least 50 feet, maybe 70 feet, from front to back. In this space were a large number of PCs, servers, and other peripherals.
“How much explosives do we have?” Jim asked.
“Not enough,” answered Magnum. “We’ve only got ten pounds of C4.”
Jim looked around the room again. They needed another plan.
“We need more explosives or incendiaries… both would be great,” Jim thought out loud.
He looked around the computer lab while Ghost and Magnum stared at their commander.
Still muttering to himself, Jim questioned, “Where is a directory when you need it?”
Ghost and Magnum looked at each other with a question in their eyes.
“You okay?” Ghost asked.
“Never better,” Jim replied and then added, “Where would you find explosives in this kind of complex?”
Ghost shrugged, and then said, “Uh, the armory?”
“That’s exactly what I think. Now where do you suppose the armory is?”
“Well, in the barracks, close to the troops.”
Jim shook his head. “No, not there. Remember what the doctor told us? Colonel Ming doesn’t trust his troops. That’s why the communications center is located here, in the same building as the officer’s quarters.”
Magnum understood. “And Ming would want to control all access to the weapons. He lives in fear of a mutiny.”
Jim nodded. “Exactly. That means the armory is—”
“In this building,” Ghost interrupted.
Jim looked at Ghost. “Now, all we have to do is find it and avoid being killed in the process. Search room by room,” he commanded.
The SGIT team left the computer lab and turned down the hallway, continuing their journey further into the building. It was a twin to the other building the team had been in with the long hallway and rooms on each side.
As they searched, Jim hoped they would also discover Ming’s office. It was likely critical information would be kept there, which they would need to destroy along with all the other records.
At each door, Magnum tested the handle and so far none were locked. Entering the rooms, they conducted a quick search, taking a mental inventory of the contents so they could come back later and demolish it if needed.
Magnum was testing the latch on the fifth room on the left side of the hallway. This door was locked. Jim motioned for Bull to shoot the latch. Bull switched out the rotary magazine in the AA12 for one loaded with buckshot, but before he could fire, four Chinese soldiers emerged from a door further down the corridor. One appeared to be an officer; Jim recognized another as Sergeant Wong. The Chinese soldiers were startled by the sight of the four Americans.
Immediately recognizing Jim, Sergeant Wong quickly raised his rifle and fired. The shot was wild and burrowed into the wall inches from Jim’s head. Jim spun and dropped to his knees. Although the rifle he was carrying was equipped with a 75-round drum magazine, Jim had no idea how full it was. Still, with adrenaline coursing through his blood, he pulled hard on the trigger and fired a continuous stream of bullets into the close pack of Chinese soldiers.
Before Wong got off a second shot, four bullets slammed into his torso. Along with his fellow soldiers, Sergeant Wong died on the spot.
“Get that lock cleared!” Jim ordered, keeping an eye on the hallway for further dangers.
Bull blasted the lock and kicked open the door. They rushed in and closed the door behind them.
From the furniture and decorations in the room it was obvious they were standing in Colonel Ming’s outer office.
In front of them was a receptionist’s desk with a black phone and an intercom, but otherwise the desk was devoid of paper and other objects. On the wall behind the desk was a framed photograph of Colonel Ming in full dress uniform.
“This certainly confirms the size of Ming’s ego,” Jim quipped. To the left of the photograph was another door. Jim guessed that this one led into the Colonels’ office.
He strode to the door and gently grasped the handle. Looking back at his team Jim nodded. His team responded by shouldering their weapons and aiming at imagined adversaries on the other side of the door.
Jim turned the door handle and pushed the door forward.
He motioned for his team to move up. They quickly moved through the door and then parted to either side, guns at the ready. Jim immediately followed them through the door. The room was empty.
Chapter 44
Darfur
June 14 0857
hours
Colonel Ming’s office was the size of a two-car garage. In its center lay a large oriental rug in deep shades of burgundy and emerald green. The plush carpet covered a marble floor in light shades of beige. Aged oak panels covered the walls giving the room a mellow honey tone. Nestled close to the back wall stood a large carved ebony desk. Jim could not help but marvel at the beauty of the furnishings.
“Ming may be a monster, but he certainly knows how to select an interior designer. I wonder if his comrades in Beijing know how much of their money he spent to decorate and furnish his office.”
“Not quite in the spirit of communism, is it?” Magnum observed, also marveling at the masculine beauty of the room.
“I could get used to this,” Ghost quipped. He wandered to the floor-to-ceiling bookcases covering both walls flanking the desk, eyes scanning over the collection like a freshman college student trying to find a particular class-assigned textbook. There was a copy of Grey’s Anatomy and two editions of the Merck Manual. On another shelf was Concepts of Genetics and next to it was a copy of Human Molecular Genetics.
Ghost moved to another section of the bookcase. “Hey, check this out. Looks like Ming has a collection of books on Neanderthals. This title is Neanderthals Revisited… and here’s one called The Neanderthal Legacy.”
“Think he actually read all these books?” Magnum asked.
“Yeah. It’s his reference library,” Jim answered.
Bull didn’t quite know what to say; he just whistled.
The top of the desk was completely clean and free of clutter. Jim began to rifle through the drawers, looking for anything that might be of value—records, diary, notepads, memory sticks or compact discs, voice recorder—anything.
But he didn’t find anything. Only the usual office paraphernalia—pens and pencils, writing tablets, paper clips.
“Looks like Colonel Ming is a neat freak,” Bull observed.
Jim kept searching. He turned next to the four-drawer file cabinet. It wasn’t locked, and when he opened the top drawer he knew why… empty.
“He’s cleaned everything out. There’s nothing here. No records, no notes… nothing.”
