by Dave Edlund
“Continue,” Pierson said.
“Lieutenant Lacey’s team has been sifting through and analyzing the intelligence coming in from Minsk. They believe they have the location where the BSU hostages are being held by the NPA.”
Jim and Lacey reviewed their conclusions and reasoning. The few questions the Colonel had were right to the point. In the end, he agreed with Stephens’ assessment.
“Commander, I want your report and supporting data right away; I’ll make sure it gets to the right people.”
Jim nodded to Stephens, who quietly left the conference call. She had the files organized so it would only take a few minutes to email them to Colonel Pierson.
“Operation Bright Star has commenced as of 1220 EST. Fortunately, C Squadron of the First Special Forces Operational Detachment was already positioned in Germany. They are presently airborne. However, in the event Bright Star is not successful, I want your team in position.”
“Yes, sir, we’re on it,” but Pierson had already hung up.
“Bull, assemble Alpha Team, conference room B, fifteen minutes.”
“Yes, sir,” Bull replied, and he and Ghost rose and exited the meeting.
Jim addressed Lacey and the remaining members of her intelligence team. “Good work, but we’re just getting started. Stay on this. If there’s any hint that the hostages may have been moved. I want to know ASAP. Also, get me everything you have on the NPA weaponry, especially air defenses. Lieutenant, I want you in the briefing with the strike team.”
“Yes, sir,” Lacey said as Jim left the room.
s
Exactly on schedule, Jim pushed through the door to the conference room and sat at the head of the table. He was met by the faces of his five strike team members—Bull, Ghost, Homer, Magnum, and Iceberg—plus Lieutenant Lacey.
“Given the fluidity of the situation and the presence of captives, we’re gonna follow the standard rapid response plan. Homer, get the C-130 ready for wheels up in two hours, not a minute later. Standard load of weapons and munitions. I want external fuel pods to avoid mid-air refueling and save time.”
“Affirmative, sir,” Homer said, lifting his eyes momentarily from his tablet where he was furiously scribbling notes with a stylus.
“We’ll continue the briefing en route. Lacey’s team will provide frequent intelligence updates.”
Lieutenant Lacey nodded acknowledgement.
“Flight time will be about twelve hours. We’ll update and refine the plan in the air.”
“Sir, how are we going to insert?” Iceberg asked. If he was nervous about his first mission since joining SGIT, it didn’t show. Slouched in his chair, his expression conveyed nothing but confidence bordering on indifference.
“With the airport off line, I think HAHO is the best option. And the aircrew will likely appreciate maximum standoff distance.” The high-altitude, high-opening jump was a practiced, but dangerous, means of parachuting into a hot location. Aided by GPS and using specially-designed parachutes, they could glide more than twenty miles from the drop point and land with precision. It was risky, for sure, but the payoff was significant.
“If there are no other questions, we have work to do.”
As the assembled personnel gathered their tablets and exited, Commander Nicolaou called to Lacey. “Lieutenant, a word please.”
Jim was still seated, and Lieutenant Lacey stood facing her boss. “Has the NPA established air defenses yet at the BSU campus?” Jim asked.
“They’ve placed mobile SAM launchers and AA guns at the airport, fortifying their position. But so far, we have no indication they’ve placed anti-aircraft guns or missiles near the KGB Headquarters building, the Government House, the train station, or the BSU campus. All reports indicate the NPA forces that overran the campus are armed with light weapons only.”
“They could still have shoulder-fired surface-to-air missiles and RPGs,” Jim said.
“I would agree, sir.”
“Given time, they’ll have Russian SA-11 mobile launchers in there, too. Our C-130 will be an attractive target.”
“MOTHER is processing the KH images, including searching for AA weapons systems,” Lacey said. The KH—or Key Hole—spy satellites provided very high definition images in multiple spectral ranges including visible, infrared, and radar. “I’ll also ask Colonel Pierson to request a Predator overflight. In addition to images, it will serve as a decoy to draw fire if there are any active anti-aircraft systems in place.”
Jim nodded. “I like your thinking, Lieutenant.”
Chapter 12
Minsk
IT WAS THE IMAGE THAT frequently haunted his dreams. Maggie was radiant, laughing and so full of life. Ethan and Joanna were young, giggling and running in the meadow that edged up to the cold, blue lake, the forested ridge rising from the opposite shore. Then the vision melted away, to be replaced by his wife lying unconscious on a hospital bed. A tube was inserted in her arm and oxygen was being forced into her lungs through a tight-fitting mask covering her mouth and nose.
Peter hated this part. He knew what was coming… knew this was a dream, and yet it still scraped against raw nerves. In his vision he saw himself telling the physician to turn off the life support.
“She will die,” the doctor said, his voice bland.
“This is not life,” Peter said. “She didn’t want this.” The doctor turned and manipulated some switches and knobs out of sight.
Peter had been there, of course, at her bedside. And even in his subconscious memory he knew he would relive her death—as he had countless times before.
While Peter looked on for the last time, Maggie’s eyes suddenly opened, although the rest of her body was still frozen in place. Inexplicably, the breathing mask was no longer over her face, and she spoke, all the while the doctor was continuing his process to turn off the life support.
“I need to know, are they safe?”
“Yes, they got away, down the stairs.” Somehow Peter instinctively understood Maggie was asking about the children’s escape from the chemistry building. But how could that be?
She smiled, and appeared at peace. “I knew you would take care of them, like you always have…”
“And I always will.”
Her smile faded. “No, Peter, you can’t. Ethan and Joanna are grown now. They will live their lives and you cannot always be there to protect them. Just like…” She stopped, leaving the statement unfinished. Yet Peter knew exactly what she meant.
“Just like I couldn’t protect you,” he said.
“My love, there was nothing you could do. You must accept this. Please.”
“What am I to do?”
In Maggie’s countenance Peter saw understanding that went beyond anything rational or comprehensible. “Don’t you see?” Her eyes were pleading. “You have done all that a father can do. You’ve shielded Ethan and Joanna from harm, not just today, but many times.”
“How could you…” Peter’s mind was spinning in confusion.
“Know?” she finished his question.
“No, this doesn’t make any sense. How can I be here again? This isn’t real.”
“And yet, here we are.”
The doctor was still busily working, oblivious to the conversation transpiring behind his back. Suddenly it dawned on Peter, Maggie was alive, not like all the previous dreams where she lay unmoving, unconscious. “I have to stop the doctor!”
“No, Peter. No. You cannot change what has happened.”
Peter grasped her hand. It was cold and limp. “What can I do?”
“You have already done what is important. Our children are safe. There is nothing more. You must let go.”
“I miss you so much. All I wanted was to live my life with you, to grow old by your side as we raised our family.”
Maggie’s smile returned. “When it is time. You cannot change the past, but there is still the future, and another time to be together.”
Peter held Maggie’s gaze, longing to embrace her,
to feel her warmth again. He wanted to lean over and kiss her lips, but his body refused to comply.
“You are a special man, Peter Savage.” For the briefest of moments, the sparkle was there in her eyes.
“Stop! Stop what you’re doing! She’s awake!” The doctor didn’t seem to hear Peter, and he remained busy, his back still turned to Peter and Maggie.
“No,” she whispered in a voice so low only Peter could hear it. “We both know I cannot stay.” She closed her eyes.
“No! Stop! She’s okay!”
Finally the physician turned to Peter, confusion etched into his face. “The life support is off. There are no vital signs. I’m sorry.”
“No!” Peter heard himself shout, and knew it was a dream… a nightmare. He stirred.
The voices were jovial, punctuated with laughter. Although not terribly loud, it was enough to roust Peter from a light, restless sleep, sitting on the floor with his back to the storeroom door. At first he thought it was only his imagination, some perverted part of the nightmare, but then he heard it again. He drove the images from his mind, but not before he recalled his promise—I will always protect Ethan and Jo, always.
Looking across the small room, he saw Gary positioned beneath the harpoon gun with his legs drawn up to his chest, forehead resting against his knees.
“Psst. Gary, wake up,” Peter said, his voice a whisper.
Gary raised his head and blinked his eyes. Awake and ready, he stood, hand on the valve handle, poised to discharge the makeshift weapon upon Peter’s command.
Peter also rose and pressed an ear to the door. The sound of voices was clearer. He could make out two distinct voices, and assumed a pair of guards was close to the door, on a break maybe.
“Be ready,” Peter whispered. The flamethrower was near his feet and he struck a match and lit the rag at the sprayer nozzle. He pumped the handle a couple times to make sure the flammable liquid was still pressurized. They were as ready as they could be.
Pounding a fist against the door, Peter called out. “Hey! Open the door! We need help!”
Several seconds passed and Peter pounded the door again, raising his voice and calling to the guards, “Hey! Hey! In here! We need help! Hey!”
Peter pressed his ear to the door and thought he heard footsteps approaching. He backed away to the side and picked up the flamethrower. At the same time he nodded to Gary.
They heard the faint metallic clicks of a key engaging the tumblers in the door lock. The knob turned and the door opened. Standing there, framed by the doorway, were two guards, one standing slightly behind the other. With droopy eyes and tired expressions, they looked like they had been drinking.
“Now!” Peter shouted and Gary slammed open the valve, releasing the pressurized air and propelling the wood harpoon forward with a whoosh. In the blink of an eye the staff speared the lead guard in the center of his chest, the sharpened point protruding through his back. The guard fell forward, unable to utter a sound.
The second guard was stunned, never expecting to meet such a primitive and deadly weapon. He hesitated, and when he finally raised his eyes from his dead comrade, he was greeted with a plume of fire erupting from the end of the spray nozzle brandished by Peter.
In an instant the guard’s torso and head were aflame. He cried in agony, dropping his rifle and then his body to the floor, writhing in an attempt to escape the inferno engulfing him. Several seconds later, with a deep breath that drew searing and toxic gases into his lungs, the second guard also died.
Peter set the flamethrower down and retrieved the rifle, but with the guard’s uniform on fire, it was impossible for Peter to search for spare ammunition.
“Grab the rifle and search him for anything of value,” Peter said, referring to the lead guard. Then he turned his attention to the hallway, fearful that the screams had alerted other guards.
Quickly, Gary found two spare magazines and a cell phone in addition to the key ring still hanging from the doorknob. Although he did not carry any ID, in his wallet were Russian rubles and a photo of a young woman, perhaps a girlfriend. He stuffed the items into his pockets, passing along one of the ammunition magazines to Peter. “Ready,” Gary said. “Now what?”
“We find Dad and Dmitri,” Peter said.
“Sounds easy enough. Where do we look?”
Peter shrugged. Without knowing exactly where his father and friend were taken for questioning, all they could do was search room by room.
“And if the doors are locked?” Gary asked.
“Maybe that key the guards used to open the storeroom door is a master key.”
Gary looked at the key ring again and counted only four keys, far fewer than the number of locked doors. “I hope you’re right.”
“Stay close to the wall and be quiet. If you hear anyone, freeze and take aim before they spot us.” Peter doused the burning rag on the nozzle of the flamethrower and double-checked that he still had a book of matches in his pocket. Next he inserted his arms through the straps and hoisted the flamethrower onto his back. The metal pressure tank rubbed uncomfortably against his bruised muscles.
Peter looked to the right and then the left. He knew the large room where they and the other hostages were first gathered together was to the left. “Let’s try this way,” he said, turning to the right.
Silently placing one foot in front of the other, Peter moved forward, hugging the wall. Gary was right behind him. It didn’t take long to reach the first closed door, but they bypassed it upon noticing the placard on the door indicating it was the women’s restroom.
Silently they inched up to the next door. Peter checked the door handle, locked. Not wasting any time, Gary inserted the key that was used to unlock the storeroom. He gave it a quarter turn and was rewarded with a metallic click as the lock opened.
Gary quickly checked the room while Peter stood guard outside the door. “Nothing. Looks like a break room.”
Suddenly they heard the echo of boots pounding the tile floor. The sound was quickly growing louder. Peter pushed Gary back into the break room and then kneeled, leaning his shoulder into the wall for support, aiming in the direction of the approaching guards.
Peter took a deep breath and exhaled, relaxing his muscles, focusing on the sight picture along the barrel of the rifle. Two soldiers jogged around the corner at the far end of the hallway. They must not have expected to meet an armed adversary, as they held their weapons casually while they conducted their hasty search.
BOOM! BOOM! Both soldiers crumpled to the floor, their bodies carried forward a couple feet by their momentum before coming to rest in an unnatural position.
“Come on!” Peter said. “They’ll have heard the gunshots and will be prepared next time.”
The duo had no sooner started toward the next room when a guard emerged into the hallway twenty meters away, rifle raised and pointed in the general direction of Peter and Gary.
Peter instinctively dropped to a knee and pulled the trigger at the same time Gary let go a withering barrage of automatic fire, killing the guard instantly.
Peter stayed ready, gun aimed at the open door, expecting another NPA soldier to enter the corridor and return fire. Instead, he saw a metallic orb flung into the hallway. It ricocheted off the wall and rolled lazily toward him.
Chapter 13
Minsk
“GRENADE!” PETER YELLED and then shoved Gary to the open door to the break room. Peter dived in, landing on top of his buddy.
The explosion was far louder and deeper than the gunfire and Peter’s ears were ringing, but he was alive, the blast and shrapnel being absorbed by the concrete-block walls. A long section of overhead lighting was destroyed, plunging the hall into darkness.
Sliding off Gary, Peter picked up his rifle and aimed it at the open doorway. With one hand, he leaned over and nudged Gary.
“You okay?”
Gary nodded and rose to his feet. “This isn’t going so well.”
“You’re a
live, aren’t you?” Peter replied. But he also knew Gary was right. It was only a matter of time before their luck ran out if they continued to fight the NPA soldiers head on.
“Watch the hall,” Peter said. “Let me see what I can find.”
Peter quickly assessed the room and the first thing he noticed was another door on the opposite wall. Maybe another way out, he thought. There was a sink, plus a refrigerator, microwave, and coffee machine. In three strides he was at the sink.
Automatic gunfire reverberated through the corridor, the hard walls channeling the sound. Gary ducked back inside the room as bullets burrowed in the open door.
Under the sink, Peter found what he was looking for. He set his rifle down and grabbed both pint-size bottles, then slipped off the flamethrower and stashed it in the empty space.
“Why are you leaving that?” Gary asked.
“I can move faster without it. Besides, we may want a weapon stashed for later.” Peter removed the screw cap from one of the bottles and was immediately greeted by a pungent smell that caused his eyes to water.
“This will buy us some time,” Peter said. “Fire a burst to slow them down. I’m gonna heave these into the hallway.”
“What is it?”
“Concentrated ammonia, industrial cleaner.”
Gary stuck the barrel of his rifle around the edge of the doorframe and fired a continuous burst until his magazine was empty. Peter threw first one bottle and then the other in the direction of the approaching guards. The glass shattered on the tile floor, spreading the noxious liquid in a wide swath. Immediately the ammonia vapors filled the space, causing the NPA soldiers to gag and their eyes to water profusely, stopping their advance.
“Quick, there’s a door out the back. I only hope it’s an exit,” Peter said.
Gary was right behind Peter, who paused only to grab his rifle while Gary rammed home a fresh magazine.
Cautiously, Peter opened the door. It connected to another, smaller room, with a large corkboard covered with notices on one side, and a wall of small wood-framed cubes on the other side. Below each cube was a name card, and envelopes were resting diagonally in many of the open cubes.
