A New World: Reckoning (26 page)

The second guard, hit in the throat and mouth is gurgling, air bubbles forming from the holes in his throat and mouth. Noting that these guards aren’t wearing armored vests, I walk over and pump two rounds into his chest. His shirt flutters upward from the striking bullets and his wheezing/gurgling ceases.

I look overhead at the door to see if they have a camera installed inside and I’m glad to see that there isn’t one. There are dozens of monitors filling the wall above a control panel. Most are from the fence line but others show the interior. I see the ones of the hallway I just crept through playing through their loopbacks. They don’t look any different than the others with regards to quality and look natural. One monitor shows a room with several guards sitting around a table playing cards. I assume those are the ones who responded to the doors and cameras. Another monitor shows a location that looks like a control room for a space launch center with manned consoles and several large screens to the front. I continue to look but, other than the ones mentioned, I don’t see anyone moving around. Unfortunately, after looking over all of the feeds, I don’t see any depicting a barracks or where the majority of the security personnel are staying.

All of the monitors have locations imbedded into the video feed which makes it rather convenient. Studying the controls, I find that it’s rather intuitive. I’ll place the fence monitors into playback mode when the others arrive. If there is an alternate security room, they shouldn’t notice anything out of the ordinary unless they look at the small time stamp in the lower corner. The possibility of a secondary security room is the reason I placed the loopback over the room I’m currently occupying.

“I’m in. Land and send the teams,”
I send to Robert.

“Okay, we’re on the way,”
he replies.

Now is the time for luck to take the reins for a little while. It’s going to be some time before the teams arrive and it’s just me. I remove my pack and place it against the wall near the door. Holstering my Beretta, I remove the M-4 strapped to my back. Uprighting the overturned chair, I place two of the guards in the seats, arranging them as best as I can. Using speed tape, I secure their legs to the seat and do my best with their upper bodies while keeping the tape hidden from the back. I push the chairs close to the console to hold their bodies up. It won’t hold up for anything more than a cursory inspection, but anyone passing by the window and glancing in shouldn’t be alarmed.

Dragging the third guard out of view, I remove his shirt and begin mopping up the copious amount of blood on the floor and console. In case you didn’t know, wiping spills up from a linoleum floor is a bitch. I end up having to use the guard’s pants as well. On a table opposite the equipment racks, there are three hats. I take two of them and place them on the two guards. Standing by the door, I look over my handiwork and chuckle thinking that I could actually make it look right. It’s like something from the horror section of a wax museum, but it should pass a quick inspection, especially as anyone walking by will be expecting to see guards at their stations. A lot of it is about what others expect to see and accommodating that vision.

There’s really nothing else for me to do so I station myself against the wall just inside the door, watching the banks of monitors and ready for anyone to enter. I won’t have any warning other than the lock disengaging so I stay alert. Although I’d never tell anyone, there’s a part of me that didn’t expect to make it this far and the effort has left me feeling drained. Along with being tired, there is a deep anxiety about having to wait so long. It’s the unknown and the anticipation of it that will fuck with the mind…and that’s where I am at the moment.

The hours seemed like days in the back of the 130. The perpetual turbulence made it seem like she was riding a bucking bronco. Not only was the jarring constant, but the back end also swayed to the sides as the aircraft rode the choppy air. The smell was atrocious, and it became too much for several of the soldiers. Although she threw the cat litter concoction on the messes and cleaned it up as best as she could, the stench still threatened to gag her, the sweet smell of the scented kitty litter seeming to actually make it worse.

It’s like Old Spice mixed with vomit
, she had thought as yet another jarring crunch threatened to grind her hips into her shoulders. The sinking of the sun brought some calm to the turbulence.

That was hours ago and, since then, Jack had jumped out into the night. Riding in the cockpit since his exit, there had only been one update from Jack, relayed through Robert, saying that he was at the fence and proceeding. Since then, silence. For the past couple of hours, there has only been the droning of the engines as they turned in circles to the north.

Lynn knew it would take time for Jack to get inside, but her worry increased with each repetition of their flight pattern. Her bottom lip was sore from constantly gnawing on it. Several times, she had to restrain herself from asking Robert to call for an update. Each time, she stopped herself thinking that it might interfere with what Jack was doing. Any disruption could cause him to falter at a critical point. Instead, she just resumed her pacing and bit into her already sore lip.

“Lynn,” Robert calls but she is lost in her thoughts.

“Lynn,” he shouts, this time the call penetrating her consciousness.

She turns to Robert who is looking at her from under his helmet. “He’s inside. We’re going in.”

Relief floods through her. The moment is short-lived though as she knows their part is coming up, along with the fact that Jack is inside without any support.

“How long until we’re on the ground?” Lynn asks.

“Twenty minutes,” Robert replies.

Lynn gives a nod and heads into the back to inform the teams. With the news, the passive sitting that they’ve been doing for hours becomes an explosion of silent activity as they rise and begin gathering their gear. Straps are removed from the tied-down piles, packs are searched through and donned, weapons and mags are checked. Satisfied that they’ll be ready upon arrival, Lynn dons her own gear and heads back into the cockpit.

Robert and Craig are talking with each other and setting up for the approach as she reenters. Robert turns and lets her know that Jack didn’t find any mines on his way through but left a brown cord centered on a safe route. She listens as he describes the fence and pole number to enter through. He mentions that it doesn’t look like the response teams are wearing armor vests so center mass shot will be effective.

“Oh, and he said he left a key under the mat,” Robert says, finishing.

“What the fuck does that mean?” Lynn asks, searching for the relevance.

“I have no idea,” Robert says, and turns back to flying.

A few minutes pass with the deck tilting periodically under her feet. Outside, there is only darkness which, now that she knows they will be descending, makes her anxious. From her vantage point, it looks like they are flying into an abyss and she expects a mountainside to suddenly appear out of the dark. The moment and image passes quickly.

In the darkened cockpit, illuminated only by dim red light and the faint glow from the instruments, Lynn looks to Robert and notices he isn’t wearing NVGs. She never really thought about it before with the frenzy of activity, but she now knows that he must have gained the same night vision capabilities as Jack. The aircraft banks again and levels.

“Sis, you better get strapped in,” Craig states.

“Yeah, this could be a little bumpy,” Robert chimes in without turning.

Lynn places a hand on Robert’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze and does the same to Bri. Resting her hand on Craig’s shoulder, he turns and gives her a smile, which Lynn returns. Craig then turns back to the front, moving his hand to the gear handle and pushes it down.

Lynn retreats to the cargo compartment and sits on one of the red nylon seats. The roar of the engines change pitch as Robert alters the throttles to keep them on airspeed and glide path. She holds up her hand with her fingers extended.

“Five minutes,” she calls.

The shout is passed down the line of soldiers gripping their carbines between their knees.

With the yell, there’s a collective sigh. The hours of drilling holes in the air is nearing an end. Ahead, there is a coming fight. It’s not an ‘if they meet the enemy’, it’s a definite. They are going to wage battle against those that struck at them. In their minds, though, there is no glorious song being played; there is no warm feeling of justice being served. There is, perhaps, a thought of their fallen comrades, but not the feeling that they are going forth to avenge them. Inside each is tension and anxiety about the upcoming action. Each one is lost in their own thoughts—none of them the same. Some have loved ones on their minds, those that are with them or that they’ve lost, some worry about getting shot, while others think about the people around them; their buddies or comrades. No heroic speeches are made. None are needed. They know what has to be done.

The jolt takes them all by surprise. The aircraft rocks back and forth. They are down. Lynn hears the engines reverse their thrust and is thrown against her straps. Before the aircraft comes to a complete stop, the rear ramp begins to lower. Red light dimly illuminates the interior, only bright enough to keep everyone from running into walls.

“Let’s move,” Lynn yells, seeing the ramp fall past the level position.

Soldiers rise and head down the ramp. Outside, the roar of the engines idling fills the night air, making it difficult to be heard. It’s completely dark outside but all of the soldiers have their NVGs on. Lynn directs the teams to the side of the aircraft, making sure to stay away from the huge props which are generating gale force winds to the rear.

Once to the side of the aircraft, after verifying that everyone is present, she gives a wave to Craig who is looking out of one of the cockpit windows, wearing his own set of NVGs. Knowing she has his attention, she gives a clear thumbs-up. He nods and the rear ramp begins closing. The big engines begin revving up. Everyone on the ground turns their back to the aircraft and kneels as the 130 starts turning away from them.

Lynn feels the wind and dirt swirl around her. After it passes, she turns to see the 130 facing in the opposite direction, lit only by the green glow of her goggles. The roar of the engines increase and the behemoth begins rolling across the lumpy dirt field, picking up speed quickly. It vanishes beyond her sight but she can hear the engines roaring, straining to gain enough airspeed for the 130 to lift off the ground. The noise of the engines seems to go on forever and there’s a moment of worry that the aircraft won’t get aloft. Then, the roar changes pitch and she knows that it’s safely airborne. The sound slowly fades until there is only the quiet of the night and the noise of shifting soldiers. They’re on the ground and ready to begin the next phase of the plan.

Lynn quietly and quickly organizes the teams. She hasn’t heard from Jack since the last relay from Robert but she has to go on the assumption that everything is still on plan. They landed not far from the bunker so they won’t have to travel as far as Jack did. Lynn sets a line of march with two teams in the lead to the left and right with Lynn and Black Team behind. The others follow in spaced intervals.

Before long, they reach a position directly west of the correct pole but far enough out that the cameras won’t be able to see them. Over the radio, she clicks twice to initiate communication and let Jack know that a message is following. Hearing his replying clicks, she then clicks the pre-briefed number of times to signal that they are close to the fence. A minute later, she hears the signal letting them that it’s okay to proceed. Again, she feels a measure of relief that Jack is okay.

Lynn has the two front teams spread out to find the cord Jack left to indicate the safe passage. The brown cord on the ground will be hard to find, especially with night vision, so Lynn has them proceed slowly.

Of course, if I know Jack, he’ll have hidden it as well
, Lynn thinks as they start slowly forward.

A soldier from Blue Team stops, bends down, and holds up his arm. He signals to Horace who, in turn, signals Lynn. Hidden within the grass stubble is a thin cord snaking its way across the ground toward the fence. If they hadn’t been carefully looking for the line, they would have missed it. Lynn traces it with her eyes and is unable to see any evidence of Jack’s passage. Bending closer, she makes out scuff marks along the dirt only after parting the grass. Shaking her head, she gathers the team leaders and tells them to follow the cord in single file.

Reaching the fence without incident, Lynn sees where Jack cut it. The teams are through quickly and race across the intervening space to the exit building. It’s completely quiet except for the swish of grass against pant legs. Reaching the structure, the teams fan out forming a perimeter.

Lynn peeks around the corner to the front and immediately sees what Jack meant by leaving a key under the mat. Looped on the door handle is an ID card. Taking the card, she places it against the screen above the keypad next to the door. A light turns green and she hears the click of the door unlocking.

She takes a quick peek inside to ensure that the way is clear. “Everyone, inside and quickly.”

Horace leads her team inside, taking the forefront. Lynn feels the tension emanating from each soldier as they pass. On the heels of Blue Team, she leads her own inside. She watches as Horace checks around the first corner of the stairs and moves on. At the bottom of the steps, they begin moving down a hall. It’s not wide enough for the teams to spread out so they move in a single column, each soldier staggered on opposite walls. They move at a crouch quickly down the corridor, Horace and another, on the opposite wall, lead with their M-4s trained on the security door at the end.

From here, anyone they meet will be taken down quickly. There won’t be any call to surrender. They are still extremely vulnerable in the enclosed space and it wouldn’t take much to hold them up. A couple of people sighting around corners could wipe out all of the teams in a short period of time. Having only a couple in front, it will be difficult to achieve fire superiority. With these thoughts in mind, Lynn hustles behind Horace and moves her team to the door.

Swiping the card, it releases and, with Horace ready, she swings it open. Horace darts inside ready to deliver fire should she see anyone on the other side. There’s only a corridor that stretches past her line of sight, illuminated by widely separated lights hanging from the ceiling.

The air is dry yet chilled as they move quickly down the hall, figures darting in and out of the light, fading into the gloom between the pools of brightness, the sound of many boots shuffling on the dusty concrete floor, heartbeats racing.

Horace holds up near a corner at the end of the long tunnel and waves Lynn forward. Peeking around, Lynn spots a door with ‘Security’ placarded across the top. Over the door, only because she is looking for it, she notes Jack’s handiwork on the camera.

Sending a series of clicks, she signals Jack that they are at the security room door. Lynn sees a shadow through the window and the sound of the door unlocking. Directing Horace to station her team at the adjacent corner, and making sure their backside is covered, she takes her team and enters the security room.

She immediately takes in the scene and is taken aback by guards sitting in chairs at the console. Looking closer, she sees that they have long since left this life, becoming quickly obvious by their slouched positions and blood stains on their collars and shoulders. Another body lies partially stripped of its clothing in a corner. And, standing near the wall by the door, is Jack.

“Took ya long enough,” he says.

“What happened? Did you get bored?” Lynn asks, smiling.

“One can only play so much solitaire,” he states, waving an arm to one of the computer terminals on a table. Sure enough, there is a half completed game on the screen.

“Jack, you didn’t really…” Lynn questions, to which Jack shrugs and turns to the monitor banks filling one wall.

“We’ve been pretty lucky so far, but we don’t have a lot of time. I’d rather initiate things on our own terms than be discovered and have to fight our way through. Here,” Jack says, pointing to one of the monitors, “this is the reaction team. They’ll need to be taken out first before we move into positions in the equipment bay.”

On the monitor, Lynn sees a group of six soldiers that are playing cards around a large table. She notes that their carbines, M-4s, are slung on the backs of their chairs. The soldiers themselves are clad in multicam fatigues and wearing vests. The edges of bunks can be clearly seen in the foreground of the video. Jack then directs her attention to a diagram outlining the general room structure of the facility with room numbers annotated.

“We’re here and they’re in this room here,” Jack says, pointing to a room not far from their present location.

“That’s just down the outside hallway,” Lynn says.