by Dave Edlund
“Everyone, stay together!” Zeus shouted to be heard above the engine and rotor blades of the Blackhawk. Although the aircraft was designed as the second generation of stealth helicopter, it was still quite loud at this close distance.
Gary closed ranks with Peter, relieved they were reunited with Ian and Dmitri. As Gary joined them, Dmitri was agitated, talking about a machine.
“Who said this?” Peter asked.
“It was General Gorev. I overheard him talking to another officer, a captain, I didn’t hear his name. Gorev said Major Leonov reported that the machine was set and ready to activate on schedule.”
Suddenly, a brilliant white light, like a gigantic strobe, illuminated the entire commons area for a fraction of a second. It was accompanied by an ear-splitting, sharp boom. It looked and sounded like a lightning bolt had rent the sky above them.
The rhythmic sound of the Blackhawk engine was replaced by metal-on-metal grinding. The tail of the aircraft dipped and struck the ground, followed by the cabin, and the machine rolled onto its side, the rotor blades gouging out turf as it burst into flames.
“Get back inside!” Zeus shouted. “Everyone back inside!” Although Zeus didn’t see it, a streak of white light lanced across the night sky above his head, the Igla-S shoulder-fired anti-aircraft missile homing in on the hot engine cowling of the second Blackhawk. The missile detonated on impact, rupturing fuel and hydraulic lines, and engulfing the helicopter in a massive fireball.
A random cacophony of screams came from the civilians as they turned direction and started to run back to the destroyed front entrance of the chemistry building. A few faculty and administrators chose to flee in the opposite direction, past the burning wreckage of the American helicopter, only to be gunned down by fresh NPA troops sweeping across the grassy expanse.
Attracted by the gunshots, Zeus turned in time to see a red line streaking downward, from a moving but invisible point high in the sky, to the lawn on the other side of the flaming wreckage. He knew these were tracers fired from the Spooky gunship, but due to the flames he could not see the NPA soldiers being targeted. A moment later two white points raced to the orbiting aircraft, exploding in a brilliant pyrotechnic display. The tracer fire ended and the aircraft, broken into four major pieces and on fire, arced toward the ground.
Peter caught up with Zeus, grabbing him by the arm and spinning him around. “We have to get these people out of here!”
“We just lost our air support. My entire team is dead. Our only option is to find cover inside. Out here we don’t stand a chance!”
“Gorev will have his men search room by room. They’ll find everyone. We have to get away.”
“Do what you want,” said Zeus. “My job is to protect these people.”
The gunfire was getting closer, herding the civilians back inside, and Peter realized that Zeus was probably right. Outside, they would have to run a gauntlet of rifle fire to escape.
“Come on,” Peter said. He ran up the steps with Gary, Ian, and Dmitri in close pursuit. Once inside the foyer, Peter stayed to the right and angled for the east hallway, planning to retrace the route he and Gary had followed earlier. As they slipped around the corner, out of sight of the foyer, the gunfire ceased. Peter could only hope that the hostages would survive long enough for a second rescue attempt.
s
“All right, gentlemen. Listen up.” Commander James Nicolaou addressed his team within the cavernous cargo bay of the specially-modified HC-130J Combat King IIB aircraft. He had just completed a lengthy satellite radio communication with Colonel Pierson. “We’ve been ordered to proceed with the mission. We are approximately five hours to the drop point. To get maximum glide distance, we jump at 35,000 feet and deploy chutes at 34,000 feet. GPS landing coordinates are already programmed into your jump computer.”
Every team member wore a small computer strapped to his wrist. The screen was about the size of a credit card, as thick as a cell phone, and ruggedized to mil-spec. The device provided essential information for a HAHO—high-altitude, high-opening—jump, including altitude based on GPS readings, air temperature, plus direction and distance to the landing point. With favorable weather conditions, a skilled operator could glide more than twenty miles from 34,000 feet and land within a twenty-foot by twenty-foot target.
“Simultaneous to our insertion, Marine ground troops from the Black Sea Rotational Force, backed up by B1s, F22s, and support aircraft flying from Ramstein and Spangdahlem air bases in Germany, will commence an all-out assault on the Minsk International Airport. Their objective is to seize control of the runways and flight facilities and eliminate all SAM and AA batteries by 1000 hours local time. With the airport secured, reinforcements and munitions can be ferried in by air.”
Jim reviewed the faces of his team. What he saw was confidence and commitment. “Lacey will provide intel updates right up to the point of insertion. However, our landing point and objective is ten miles from the airport. It looks like we are going in blind and alone.”
“Just the way I like it,” Magnum said in a low voice.
“Can it,” Jim said, his tone leaving no doubt about his mood.
Magnum squared his soldiers and raised his chin just a bit. “Yes, sir,” he said.
“As you all know, SGIT was the backup—second string. Now we are first string. The primary mission was, and remains, rescuing the civilian hostages. You also know from the intelligence briefing that some of the hostages are American.”
Jim paused, moving from face to face, trying to sense their emotions. “Here’s what the briefing didn’t say. Peter Savage and his father Professor Ian Savage are among those being held against their will.”
At the mention of Peter Savage, a concerned glance rippled through the team. The veteran members of Alpha Team knew Peter personally from prior missions. Homer recalled fighting side-by-side with Peter in a remote patch of desert in western Sudan, and he would never forget the debt he owed.
“What I am about to share with you is of utmost secrecy,” Jim said. “However, I think you gentlemen deserve to know.” Jim paused again to make certain he had everyone’s attention. “Approximately one hour and twenty minutes ago, two Delta teams—Gunslinger and Outlaw—inserted and made contact with the objective. Initial resistance was light, but both Blackhawks were shot down just before the civilians boarded. A Spooky providing air support was also shot down at the same time. It is believed all fourteen Delta operators were lost.”
The drone of the engines was the only sound while this information was absorbed and digested. Every man under Jim’s command had the highest level of respect for the different Special Forces commands, and Delta was widely considered among the best of the best. To lose two teams following a successful insertion could only mean this was going to be a demanding mission against a well-trained and prepared adversary.
“You each need to focus on the mission and have confidence, as I do, in your capabilities and training. Remember that each of you was hand-picked from the most elite units, including Delta.” Jim paused again, searching the face of each team member for any hint of doubt or fear. He didn’t find any.
“Any questions before I go on?” Jim said.
Bull spoke up. “What’s the status of the hostages?”
“Unknown. However, the crew of the Spooky reported a large cluster of persons, presumed hostages, grouped near the lead Blackhawk. When the helicopter was destroyed, other persons advanced on the group from across the campus commons, at which time the hostages re-entered the chemistry building. That’s all we got before they were shot down.”
“Do we still believe they are held in the main conference room to the left of the front entrance?” This question came from Iceberg.
“That is correct, but subject to change based on most current intel.”
“Weaponry and defenses?” Ghost asked.
“The NPA has locked down the airspace over Minsk. That’s why we are inserting from maximum standoff dis
tance. Fortunately, the special mods to our one-of-a-kind luxury aircraft…” That earned chuckles from his team. “…allow the pilots to stretch the flight ceiling to 35,000 feet. If we are targeted, the EWO can actively jam radar-guided SAMs. We’ll insert from twenty miles out, too far for heat seekers.”
The B version of the Lockheed Martin Combat King II was a prototype, and only SGIT had one. In addition to more powerful engines and increased on-board fuel tanks, the aircraft was packed with the latest radar systems for navigational and targeting purposes. The Electronic Weapons Officer (EWO) could jam targeting radar, including radar emanating from surface-to-air missiles, as well as radio communications. The EWO could also deploy ten AIM-7X Sparrow missiles for defense from enemy fighters or air-to-ground attack. The X designation was applied because these missiles were still classified experimental, although it had passed all development testing and was now in active trials. The specially-modified munition was designed to home in on radar emissions or travel to a fixed GPS coordinate.
Finally, Homer asked what he thought was on everyone’s mind. “What about Peter?”
“His children, Ethan and Joanna, escaped and are under Marine guard at the U.S. Embassy. The President has ordered its evacuation, but until the SAMs are neutralized, it’s too risky by air and local police cannot guarantee their safe passage by car.”
“He’s tough, sir,” Homer said, referring to Peter’s resiliency and ingenuity.
Jim’s lips were drawn tight in a thin line, his jaw locked. He nodded but didn’t voice his thought—he’s tough, but he’s not bullet proof.
Chapter 16
Washington, DC
PRESIDENT TAYLOR WAS SITTING at the Resolute desk, a gift from Queen Victoria to President Rutherford Hayes in 1879. He was joined in the Oval Office by General Hendrickson, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, Secretary of State Paul Bryan, Secretary of Defense Howard Hale, and the Director of the National Security Agency, Colleen Walker.
“This is unbelievable,” President Taylor said. “First you’re telling me the Delta teams are likely dead—and now this? How can this be true?”
Colleen Walker had just completed briefing the President and his closest advisors on the smallpox outbreak in Tbilisi. The number of suspected victims was growing exponentially, overwhelming the medical facilities in Georgia. And now reports were coming in of people getting ill with smallpox symptoms in Odessa, Ukraine, and Vilnius, Lithuania.
“Blood samples have already been received by the CDC,” she explained. “Secretary Bryan has been most helpful in securing samples without delay.”
“Both the Lithuanian and Ukrainian governments were eager to jump on this quickly,” Paul Bryan explained.
“How soon before we have any information from the CDC?”
“Twenty-four hours, sir,” Colleen replied.
Casting his gaze at his Secretary of State, President Taylor said, “If this is the beginning of a broad smallpox outbreak, an epidemic, we need to mobilize resources and provide all the assistance we can. I assume you are also discussing this potentiality with the World Health Organization and the EU?”
“Yes, Mr. President. My staff is reaching out to their counterparts in the EU as well as directors at the WHO. The Russians have already started a vaccination program, and we have been asked to supply vaccine from our stores.”
“Do we have any smallpox vaccine?” Taylor asked, looking across the faces of his advisors.
At first, no one answered. The Secretary of State cleared his throat. “I can’t speak for the military, but my office has reached out to the CDC and the FDA. We’re looking into that.” Paul Bryan cast a sideways glance at the intelligence director, mentally encouraging her to get to the main topic.
Colleen cleared her throat. “Sir, there is a more pressing matter, and the reason I requested the presence of General Hendrickson and Mr. Hale. It concerns a report from the Kremlin released about twelve hours ago. It’s been broadcast through the Russian media, that’s how we came across it.”
“Go on,” the President said.
“President Pushkin claims they have evidence that the smallpox infection in Tbilisi is an American biological weapon.”
President Taylor blinked his eyes, then leaned forward. “Did I hear you correctly? The Russians are publically accusing us of dispersing smallpox upon the population of Tbilisi?”
Howard Hale leaned forward and stared at Colleen Walker. He knew her to be a very logical and intelligent person; one who checked and doubled checked facts before recommending a course of action. It was inconceivable that she would share such an inflammatory accusation with the President unless there was ample supporting evidence.
“That is correct, sir,” said Paul Bryan. “Ms. Walker shared the reports with me only a few hours ago. I made some phone calls, including to Viktorovich Denisov who confirms—”
“Well, of course,” the President interrupted. “The Minister of Foreign Affairs wasn’t going to contradict a statement from President Pushkin.”
“My point,” Paul Bryan continued, “is that he shared technical details—off the record, of course—but knowing we would follow through and check his data.”
“And?”
“Samples of the virus were tested at the European Molecular Biology Laboratory in Heidelberg. They sequenced the genome of the virus, confirming it to be smallpox and confirming a match to a U.S. smallpox sample from Fort Detrick.”
“How can that be?” the President asked for the second time since the meeting began.
“Impossible,” Hale said. “There is no ongoing research at Fort Detrick involving smallpox.”
“No one said there was.” Colleen remained calm, her voice steady and non-threatening. “Fluid samples from deceased victims were delivered by scientists from VECTOR, the only lab other than the CDC in Atlanta that is allowed to store smallpox samples.”
“VECTOR is, first and foremost, a Russian bioweapons lab,” said Hale. “It’s located away from major population centers in Novosibirsk, in Siberia, for a good reason. How can we be sure they didn’t spike the samples with smallpox from their depository?”
Colleen turned to the Secretary of Defense. “Because we have a ninety-nine percent confidence match of the genome with U.S. smallpox. The genetic sequence is unlike naturally occurring smallpox or the strains Russia developed. Think of it as a fingerprint, only more detailed, more precise. The lab was able to rule out other strains since the World Health Organization has a database of naturally occurring and weaponized viruses and bacteria. The database was constructed using genome sequencing supplied voluntarily by both the U.S. and Russia.
“The match could be to a strain developed by the Army as far back as the 70s during the height of the Cold War. We won’t know until we get a full report from the lab.”
Secretary Hale leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. “And you trust the data?”
“Yes, I do. The EMBL is well respected. Why would they play along with a con from the Russians? Besides, scientists from the WHO also witnessed the testing and verified the data. Regardless, the CDC is conducting their own analysis, but I am confident they will verify the European conclusion.”
President Taylor rubbed his temples. “It doesn’t matter if the data is authentic or not. What does matter is that the entire world will see this as an unbiased investigation and conclude that America used biological weapons in an effort to implicate the Kremlin.” He sighed and turned in his chair, looking out the window to the gardens, rich with vibrant colors, the beauty in stark contrast to the ugly topic of his meeting.
When he turned his attention back to his advisors, his mood was somber. “This plays right into Pushkin’s hand. He’s been saying all along that we’re stirring up conflict and staging attacks by groups that we label as pro-Russian rebels in order to discredit Moscow and gain influence over the former Soviet satellite nations. When this news spreads, we’ll be lucky to have any allies in Europe, or anyw
here else.”
“I’ll start damage control right away,” offered the Secretary of State.
Taylor nodded. “Reach out to Germany first, since they conducted the analysis.”
The President narrowed his eyes and locked onto Howard Hale and General Hendrickson. “Tell me this is not a missing bioweapon from one of our stockpiles.”
“No, sir,” replied the General.
Howard Hale jumped in. “All stockpiles of biological weapons were destroyed during the previous administration.”
“You’re certain of that? Because if there is any doubt, any doubt at all, I better hear about it now.”
General Hendrickson met the President’s glare. “That is 100 percent affirmative, sir.”
President Taylor held the General’s gaze for a moment. “Very good. Now that we’ve established the smallpox virus is not of U.S. military origin, can someone please tell me where in hell it came from?”
“We’re working on that problem”, Colleen Walker said. “The prevailing theory is that someone, Russian or Russian-sympathizer, or maybe someone just looking for a big payday, got a hold of weaponized smallpox… either from a weapon prior to destruction of our arsenal, or from samples at Fort Detrick when they still had samples, or from the CDC. The DIA and CIA are assisting.”
“General, direct your staff to oversee an immediate review of all U.S. biological weapons containing smallpox. And verify the inventory. If even one weapon is unaccounted for, I want to know without delay. Howard, you make certain General Hendrickson has every resource he needs.”
“Yes, sir. But I doubt any weapons are unaccounted for. That inventory was checked and doubled-checked when they were destroyed.”
“Then check it again! There is no room for error. And get the DIA over to Fort Detrick. I want a complete accounting of all samples of smallpox virus they ever touched, or even thought of handling.”
“Sir,” Secretary Bryan began, “assuming Howard and General Hendrickson are correct, and I have no reason to doubt their veracity, then a sample of smallpox must have been acquired from other sources. About a year ago, I recall the Washington Post reported six vials of smallpox were discovered in an unsecured lab at the CDC. Apparently, the samples were misplaced and undiscovered for decades. What if other samples were misplaced?”
