by Dave Edlund
“How about I just shoot you now?”
Gorev stared back at Peter with hate-filled eyes.
“Stand aside,” Peter said.
“You know, I don’t think you are a dangerous man. And I don’t think you will shoot me, either.” Gorev pressed the button and then quickly rose, revealing a pistol. As he raised it, Peter fired.
The bullet hit Gorev low, in the belly. He stumbled back against the stone wall. Again he started to raise his gun, only now more slowly, like he was struggling to lift a heavy weight.
“You should have listened to me, General. I have nothing to lose.” Peter squeezed the trigger. The bullet shattered Gorev’s sternum before blowing out his heart. The pistol clattered as the General fell dead.
Only now did Peter hear the high-pitched whine of the air blower, and he knew the aerosol device was active, spreading the deadly virus.
Chapter 43
Minsk
PETER WAS TOO LATE. Now the smallpox virus would spread in a deadly cloud across the most populous part of the city.
As quickly as the thought entered Peter’s consciousness, he vanquished it. He had a job to do, and he focused on the task at hand. First priority was to mitigate the spread of the virus spores. Taking stock of his surroundings, he inventoried his resources. The gun was clearly useless unless he was attacked again.
Peter dashed to the floor hatch and slammed it shut. Although he had no way to lock it, at least he thought the squeaky hinges would alert him to someone trying to gain access to the terrace.
The EMP bomb would take at least five minutes to set up and detonate. There must be something I can do to destroy the virus spewing from the machine, he thought. He slipped the duffel bag off his shoulder and felt the flamethrower shift against his back. Yes, that’s it!
First, Peter ripped the shirt from Gorev’s body. Buttons popped and scattered. He tossed the shirt aside and then stripped off his undershirt as well. Grunting from the physical strain, he hefted Gorev’s limp body onto the edge of the stone wall so that he was bent over the wall. Next, He took a length of heavy copper wire from the duffle bag and twisted one end around the dead man’s belt. The other end was fastened to the hour hand on the clock, stretching the wire over the aerosol machine.
Finally, Peter draped Gorev’s shirts over the wire such that the fabric hung down over the aerosol ejection vent. He thought he could smell the aerosol now. It reminded Peter of dusty earth.
The remnants of flammable liquid were dispensed from the flamethrower onto the shirts, thoroughly soaking them, a few drops of liquid slowly finding their way to the sides of the case. Without pausing to admire his work, Peter struck a match and ignited the liquid. Within a second, a raging inferno erupted above the aerosol machine. The intense heat from the blaze sucked in air and spores, incinerating the smallpox virus.
But the fire would not burn long, and Peter still had to rig and detonate the EMP bomb.
s
“Reloading!” Jim yelled as he slammed in another magazine. Homer was still working through the 50-round drum magazine, but Jim estimated he’d expend the last of the fragmentation rounds soon.
There was more movement on the far side of the roof, and Jim saw the flash of light and white smoke trail before the RPG hit the AC shelter. Although the heavy industrial air conditioning unit protected Boss Man and Homer from the blast, it wouldn’t stand up to a second RPG. He sprinted in a low crouch for Homer’s position, sliding to a stop behind the cover.
Jim looked over his shoulder and thought he saw wisps of black smoke coming from the far side of the clock tower. Whatever Peter was doing, Jim hoped he’d get it done soon.
“I’m running low,” Jim announced.
“Same here; one drum of buckshot left,” Homer answered.
The large industrial AC unit was holding up, but only barely. Jim raised his rifle, aimed, and fired one shot at a time, maximizing use of his limited ammunition supply. “Homer, I’ll draw their fire so you can take out that RPG. We need to get back to the access door.”
Homer understood that the enemy weapons and ammunition would be their prize.
Jim was firing the H&K 416 between twisted and torn metal. Most of the shots missed, but a few connected and served the purpose of keeping the soldiers down. As expected, one of the assailants popped up with the RPG launcher already shouldered. It would be a snap shot, no time to aim.
Homer shot first, before the RPG was launched. The 12 gauge fragmentation round hit the soldier at the belt line and exploded. The force split his body in two in a display of violence that was unequaled even on this ferocious battlefield.
Immediately Boss Man and Homer were running for the access door, trying to get there before the shock wore off their opponents.
s
With no time to waste, Peter opened the multitool Iceberg had given him and started to take apart the closest floodlight. Careful not to short the electrical wires, he discarded the light fixture. He glanced at the fire suspended over the case—still burning, but not as strong; he had to move faster.
Peter began wrapping the copper wire around the length of plastic pipe. He couldn’t rush this and was muttering “slow is fast, fast is slow,” to keep his mind focused. His chest and back were soaked from perspiration, and a drop of sweat threatened to fall from his nose onto the coil of wire. Peter brushed it aside with the back of his hand.
Next, he examined the power supply. It was similar to the last one, and Peter connected the copper coil to the direct current output of the power supply after stripping off the wire insulation. He repeated the process to connect one of the electrical wires from the defunct floodlight to the input to the power supply.
Sensing the passage of time, Peter looked up again at the fire. It was almost out! He grabbed the duffel bag and dumped out the remaining contents—copper pipe filled with C4, detonator, and timer—and gently placed the cotton canvas duffel bag over the wire. At first, Peter thought he was too late and that the fire was going to go out, but then the cotton fabric ignited and shortly spread across the bag.
The blower inside the aerosol machine was whining, indicating it was still operating. Peter had no idea how long it would run before the smallpox virus was completely discharged.
He connected the timer and detonator to the second wire from the floodlight, again taking extreme care not to short the electrical power, and then to the other input terminal on the power supply. Finally, he removed the wire coil from the plastic pipe form and slipped it around the copper pipe. With the detonator inserted into the C4 plastic explosive, the EMP bomb was armed and ready.
All Peter had to do was to set the timer. He punched in a delay of 30 seconds, and then glanced at the dwindling fire from the canvas bag. He estimated that the fire would consume the canvas in less time, maybe only twenty seconds. Quickly, he reset the timer to fifteen seconds and activated the device.
s
Jim and Homer reached the access doorway and pulled the four bodies inside where they scavenged their rifles, ammunition, and three grenades. From the shelter of the access door Jim could see the clock tower. Peter was nowhere to be seen, and the black smoke was gone.
Jim radioed his team in the lobby on the squad net. “Ghost, it’s Boss Man. Sitrep.”
“Pretty quiet down here, but they’re gonna need to remodel big time. What’s your ETA?”
“It got more complicated. We’ll be coming down the right staircase in five.”
“Roger that.”
Shouldering an AK-74, Jim dashed out the doorway and around the corner of the structure to allow a clear line of fire for both Homer and himself.
In the minute they’d used to reposition, the enemy was already moving forward. Jim counted 15. He opened fire and was joined by Homer, who was still using the AA12. The NPA soldiers ducked for cover and returned fire.
That’s when Jim saw Peter at the top of the ladder. He was also seen by the NPA soldiers, some of whom began shooting at him. Pet
er dropped below the stone wall as bullets raked across the facade.
“Peter’s up there, but he can’t get on the ladder!”
Homer responded by stepping forward into the open, AA12 in one hand and AK-74 in the other. He dove for the shattered shelter they had first used as cover. All that remained was a pile of bent sheet metal and the sturdy base of the air handling system. Homer slid to a stop, propping the two weapons upon the steel base.
And then he opened up on anything and everything in the direction of the enemy.
Jim rushed forward with a second rifle in hand, joining Homer.
“Peter!” Jim yelled, trying to be heard over the gunfire, “Peter!”
Peter looked over the edge and saw what Jim and Homer were doing—and it was working! None of the enemy soldiers ventured to expose themselves to the brutal onslaught. With the timer ticking and not wanting to find out if he’d survive a half-pound of C4 detonating only feet away, Peter hopped over the edge and started down the ladder.
Half way down, the bomb detonated. The sharp reverberation was accompanied by violent shaking of the tower causing cracks to appear between many of the stones. With his hands already slick from perspiration, that was all it took for Peter to lose his grip. He tumbled to the asphalt-covered roof, landing hard on his back. The air left his lungs with a groan, as his body lay motionless. The stitches in his side ripped from flesh and bright red blood flowed unabated through the fresh wound.
Jim was on the radio. “Bull, Iceberg—get up here now! Peter’s down and we’re taking heavy fire!”
Commander James Nicolaou, a.k.a ‘Boss Man,’ considered himself the consummate professional. He even prided himself on his mental discipline, separating emotions from his work. A cool head would always prevail over rash emotions, he had said more than once. Over years of training, and despite the brutal reality of his profession, Jim had done exactly that. He used his intellect, and calm, logical approach to problem solving to get his SGIT team home through innumerable battles in far-away places, some of which didn’t even have names.
But this was different. He didn’t know why, it just was.
He continued firing both rifles—the passing seconds seeming like hours. When they were empty, he discarded them as the useless tools they had become, and started throwing grenades in the direction of the NPA soldiers. He only had three, and he delivered all of them. The metal balls flew through the air to land with a dull thud and then roll a few meters further before coming to rest.
The swift ferocity of his attack left the enemy stunned as they sought cover. Homer backed up his commander firing an AK, the automatic shotgun empty and joining the growing collection of other now-useless firearms. He kept up the fire, the bullet impacts serving to keep the enemy down.
Jim turned and ran to his friend. He checked for a pulse. Peter was alive, but unconscious. Kneeling, he hoisted Peter onto his shoulders. Just as Jim stood to retreat back to the doorway Bull burst through, blasting away at the advancing NPA .
Seconds later Iceberg emerged behind him. He was armed with a light machine gun, a 200-round ammunition pouch extending below the weapon and another 200-round belt draped around his neck. He stepped into daylight and was firing almost before he had assessed the location of the enemy.
It was a scathing barrage, the NPA soldiers could only hug the roof for a whisper of protection. Round by round, their hiding places were destroyed.
Jim lowered Peter, easing him against the roof access structure. He blinked his eyes twice, then held them open.
Abruptly, the shooting stopped. Iceberg loaded his last belt of ammunition for the light machine gun. Bull rammed in a drum of buckshot—his last.
A pile of empty brass casings and shotgun hulls littered the rooftop for twenty feet around the men—over a thousand spent rounds—testimony to the violence they had undertaken.
“It was activated by Gorev. We’ve all been exposed.”
“We have to contain the virus,” Jim said. “Everyone, get into your NBC suits.” Jim reasoned that the rubber suits and face masks designed to protect against exposure to nuclear, biological, and chemical agents would serve equally well to keep the smallpox virus on their clothing from causing further contamination.
Jim radioed Ghost again, his throat mic clearly carrying his crisp words. “The device was activated. I need another NBC suit up here.”
“Roger that, sending up one NBC suit.”
“Don’t go above the fourth floor landing. Homer will pick it up there. He’s already suited up.”
“What about the aerosol machine—is it deactivated?”
“I’ll know shortly. Boss Man out.” Then he turned to Peter. “You’re alive. Wasn’t sure you’d made it.”
“Me neither.” He winced and placed a hand against the burning gash in his side, feeling the warm, thick blood. He shifted to rise to his feet, and immediately reconsidered. “There’s someone inside my head swinging a big hammer.”
Jim placed a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “Stay here. I’ll make certain the aerosol machine is deactivated.”
With Iceberg, Homer, and Bull keeping a keen eye for any attack from the far side of the roof, Jim scampered up the ladder and disappeared over the short, stone wall. Soon, he appeared again at the ladder holding the device on his shoulder. He lowered himself over the edge and hurried back to his team.
Homer was helping Peter into the rubber suit that Diaz had sent up; it was slow going. A loud explosion split the air, and Peter flinched. Yet the SGIT team knew from the attenuation of the explosive crack that is was not in their immediate vicinity, not an imminent threat.
No more NPA soldiers had showed themselves, leaving Jim to believe they were all dead. In truth, it was unlikely anyone could have lived through the volume of fire unleashed by his team. Looking out over the roof, the air conditioning shelters that had recently provided ample shelter were now all torn and twisted ruins, barely capable of offering protection to a ground squirrel.
Chapter 44
Minsk
JIM WAS HOLDING THE CASE closed when he set it down near the access doorway. Homer was just snugging up the clear polycarbonate facemask onto Peter’s head. “We need to secure this case and remove it without spreading more of the virus.”
Peter produced a length of parachute cord he’d taken along with the copper wire and other supplies from the storeroom. With the SGIT team still on high alert, Peter bound the hard case closed while Jim retrieved two heavy-duty plastic bags from a pocket of his rucksack along with a roll of gray duct tape.
With efficient movements they double-bagged the device, taping all the seams. Jim hauled it onto his shoulder and followed Peter off the roof.
It seemed that all the NPA soldiers and KGB guards had either been killed or had made the decision to retreat. A wise move, Jim thought. Regardless of the reason, no resistance was encountered as Jim’s team descended the stairs to the lobby. At the second floor, Jim radioed Ghost to alert him that they were moments away from appearing on the staircase.
“Glad to see you, sir,” Ghost greeted Jim. He then deposited the plastic-wrapped case in the back of the Humvee.
“Load up! Let’s go!” Jim ordered. With Nolty behind the wheel and Ghost still on the gun, they turned the Humvee around and drove out of the KGB Headquarters building, closely followed by the second Humvee.
Bouncing down the steps Jim saw a Russian BTR-80 armored personnel carrier only 50 meters away. It was on fire with the turret resting upside down in the middle of the avenue, and rounds for the 30mm automatic cannon were cooking off. Severely charred bodies were littered around the back of the machine. Jim reasoned Diaz and Washington had taken out the troop transport with another TOW missile, just as they had the tanks.
The radio squawked and Jim recognized the voice of Captain Diaz. “Where to, sir?”
“Our mission here is completed. We have the aerosol machine. We’ll rendezvous with an Osprey at the BSU campus, decontaminate, and debrief
at the hotel.”
Upon reaching the Renaissance Hotel, the SGIT team was sprayed down with a dilute solution of bleach, effectively killing any virus on their NBC suits. The three Humvees were also sprayed down, inside and out, as was the Osprey. Since the military men all carried current vaccinations for likely diseases—naturally occurring or possible biological weapons—the risk of smallpox infection was slim.
The same could not be said for the civilian population of Minsk, or for Peter.
Chapter 45
Washington, DC
PRESIDENT TAYLOR LOOKED around the table at his most senior and trusted advisors. Several of the cabinet members were away on travel, as was the Vice President, but the meeting could not be delayed. Present also were the Joint Chiefs. The emergency cabinet meeting had been called to review the data obtained from the detailed analysis of the first aerosol device.
The fact that General Gorev was shot dead after activating the second aerosol machine was nothing more than interesting trivia, since Gorev could not be tied directly to the Russian military. President Vladimir Pushkin would easily dismiss Gorev as an independent leader of the militia, operating outside any sphere of Russian influence. It mattered little that everyone in Taylor’s administration knew that to be a total fabrication.
“Ladies and gentlemen. The past few days have been difficult, to say the least. However, I believe the worst is behind us. I have spoken at length with President Pushkin. It was a frank conversation, and he made it clear that his government believes they have a historical mandate to protect Russian citizens, especially in the Eastern European countries bordering Russia.”
President Taylor paused to select his words before continuing, enough time for Paul Bryan to ask a question that was on the minds of everyone in the room.
“Sir, Russia cannot be allowed to unilaterally turn back the clock to a time of their choosing and expect the United Nations and the international community to accept those historical borders. The precedent would be unacceptable. Just think, what if all of Europe, North Africa, and the Middle East were redrawn to the historical national borders of 1913. Or, heaven forbid, the map of North America was redrawn to as it was in 1800, prior to the completion of the Louisiana Purchase?”
