ARISEN, Book Twelve - Carnage (34 page)

“Enough of this bullshit,” Misha said, snatching them up.

After loading up the three-plus-one the weapon held, he strode to a spot directly in front of the hangar doors, spread his legs and stood tall – and started shooting them off, high, left to right. The propellant of the grenades was enough to punch through the thin steel walls. When he was empty, he loaded up the last two and shot those as well.

Then he dropped the launcher to the tarmac with a clatter, brought his rifle up, planted his feet, and stared at the hangar.

“Now come out and breathe some real air, you junk monkeys…”

* * *

When the hangar started to fill with burning, noxious CS gas, nobody inside panicked. Then again, nobody had a gas mask, either. No one except Juice, who always seemed to have everything.

Most of the operators got some type of cloth, ideally wet from their CamelBaks, over their faces, then helped the non-operators do the same. Many had goggles, which came down fast, and were helpful to keep their eyes from shutting uncontrollably. Although the thick clouds billowing around didn’t help visibility much.

Ali quickly organized a more systematic plan to deal with the tear gas – though a more dangerous and crazy-ass one. While Homer got everyone clear of the plane, and Noise got the back door open, Ali climbed into the cockpit.

And she started up the right-side engine.

Now they had a head-thrummingly loud noise in there, along with engine exhaust fumes, and not to mention the outrageous health-and-safety hazard of a twelve-foot, four-bladed propeller spinning at over 1,000rpm, indoors and in tight quarters.

But they also had all the tear gas blown out the back door – basically all the air in the hangar replaced – in about ten seconds.

Ali nodded happily as she stepped to the hatch and looked out.

Your move, motherfuckers.

* * *

By this time, Misha’s men surrounded the hangar on all four sides. When the door on the back left opened, and the alley filled with tear gas, the two men posted there looked like they wanted to withdraw. But they sure as hell weren’t going to. Probably the ones in the back alley did as well, but Misha didn’t give a shit about them either.

“God fucking dammit,” he spat, turning and stomping back to the parked vehicles. He was starting to wish he’d moved them all over here from the open-air Team 2 graveyard where they’d stopped, two hangars down. But really he just wanted this shit over with.

He pulled a five-liter plastic fuel can from the back of an open-bed Humvee and tossed it to the man nearest him, then grabbed another one. He stalked up to the hangar and started splashing gas high and wide across it. Soon, several other men were approaching with gas cans, following suit.

Misha heard Kuznetsov speak from behind him. “Smart. The heat and smoke will kill the living. But unless the brainstem is burnt to charcoal, Patient Zero should be fine.”

Misha grunted as he splashed the last of the gas in his can. “They’ll have to come out before that anyway. Be ready.”

Shots rang out and holes blossomed in the hangar walls.

* * *

The sound of the splashing and the acrid stench of gasoline made it pretty clear, pretty quickly, what exactly the hell was going on outside – and what was about to happen to everyone inside. A few of those near the front started taking shots wherever they heard the splashes hit. They were rewarded with a grunt of pain in one spot, and the thunk of a gas can hitting the tarmac in another.

But they could only harass this process. They couldn’t stop it.

Homer looked at Ali. “We can’t stay here.”

“We can’t go, either. They’ll just disable the plane when we roll out.”

“No – I don’t think they will.” Homer and Ali turned toward this new voice. It was Baxter, still blood-smeared from his surgical apprenticeship. “I heard their commander on the radio earlier. I don’t know how, but I did – I swear it.”

Juice said, “It’s true.” What he didn’t say was how it had happened. But he was pretty sure he knew – it was Handon again, holding his radio channel open. His last gift to them.
Or, hell, maybe not even last. There’s probably more to come…

Baxter went on. “And he issued his men clear instructions to capture any aircraft of ours, and not to damage it.”

Ali looked skeptical. “Huh. I heard they already destroyed one, the Beechcraft, on the carrier.”

Now Wesley, standing his post nearby, heard this, and perked up. “No,” he said. “I was there. It was an accident that it rolled off the flight deck. They were trying to take it intact, I think.”

“Huh,” Ali said again, considering.

With that, a great whooshing sound erupted outside – and the temperature started climbing fast. They were now all inside the slow cooker. And the air was already getting dodgy.

Ali looked back to Homer. They had little choice but to believe Baxter and Wesley – because they were all dead if they stayed there. She turned to face the room and raised her voice to a shout, carrying even over the running engine.

“
Everyone saddle up! Anybody who wants to go home, kindly get on this majestic aircraft – now, now, now…!
”

She turned again and looked up at the giant roll-up doors.

And she tried to remember who had been assigned to hump breaching charges on this epic, globe-straddling, aeon-spanning, dumbass mission…

Let’s Make Ourselves Useful

Djibouti Airport – UN Hangar

When Ali had finished delegating the task of placing the charges, she turned around to see Homer shrugging into his insertion ruck, and picking up his helmet. With his other hand he touched her arm.

“Ali,” he said. “I’m not coming.”

“What?” But she only had to think about this for two seconds before she understood it. “Back to the boat,” she said. It wasn’t a question. Homer’s kids were still on the
JFK
.

Of course he wasn’t coming.

Ali shook her head. Homer was going back to save his children – again. And, whatever the state of play on the carrier, however bad the situation with the Spetsnaz boarders… he was probably going to single-handedly recover that, too. Ali wouldn’t want to be the Spetsnaz naval brigade that got between Homer and his kids.

Fick all but crashed into them. “Who’s got a body bag?”

Ali looked down to her belt – the ZPW kit was still there. As she dug into it, she said, “What’s your intent?”

“A distraction – to cover our withdrawal.”

“Nice.” She didn’t ask what. She didn’t need to know. “How soon?”

“Ready to roll in five.”

Ali looked around the hangar as she handed over the rolled-up bag. “Us, too, I think. Alert me before you go.”

Fick nodded and turned – but paused and looked back at Homer. “Hey, did I hear you say you’re going back to the carrier?”

Homer nodded.

“Lovell left a raiding craft on the beach. Should still be intact – inflated, and mostly fueled.”

“Thanks, Master Guns.”

“Godspeed, Master Chief.”

Then Fick scurried off again.

* * *

It had been when Fick was getting Park set up to work in the back of the plane that the idea hit him. As predicted, they found a power outlet – and as soon as Ali started that first engine, a live one – so they were able to get the DNA sequencer plugged in and booting up. As Fick had been pulling Patient Zero to the safest possible position, out of the way in the very back, he stopped and just stared at the wiggling for a few seconds.

Now he was back at the side door, kneeling by the body of Sergeant Lovell. Quickly but reverently he got him out of his body armor and webbing belt, then started maneuvering him inside the body bag. He looked up to see Reyes kneeling down on the opposite side of their dead friend – kneeling with difficulty, due to his one previously blown-up leg and his more recently shot one. Nonetheless, he reached in to help with strong hands.

It helped that they were low to the deck, as smoke was starting to build up at the top of the hangar from the fire burning outside. Once they’d zipped up the bag, Fick said, “Gimme a hand,” and Reyes complied – until Fick got Lovell over his shoulder and faced the outside door. Suddenly Reyes got it.

“
Oh
, no, Master Guns. No fucking way.” He gave Fick a shove to throw him off balance, then relieved him of the body, heaving it onto his own shoulder. “I’ve carried heavier bail jumpers than this,” he said. And he had – big biker dudes with full leathers and chains, in his bounty hunter days in LA. “And you’ve got to get the real Patient Zero back. You’ve got to finish this. See it through to the end. It’s just your destiny, dog.”

Fick seriously considered arguing, or even fighting Reyes for the job. But, like Brady before him, Reyes appeared totally resolved – and was also bigger than him. And, like before, they simply had no time. The mission was too close to success – and also too close to failure.

Finally, Fick was unable to speak, again. Here he was, it seemed, still living through his worst nightmare, only in waking life. But he couldn’t escape the reality that this was what duty required of him – that he sacrifice everyone under his command, in service of the mission. All he could think was, after all this pain and loss, somebody had damned well better finish the job. To make all the sacrifice somehow worth it.

He nodded once at Reyes, and put his hand on the door handle.

He hit his radio. “Ali, we’re ready.”

“Stand by.”

* * *

In the frantic bustle of loading and preparations, two men in overalls approached Homer and Ali. It was the two aircraft mechanics, Chief Davis and Pete. Both were covering their mouths and coughing from the CO2 fast building up in there. Everyone had also stepped away from the walls, which were now radiating heat like stove-tops.

Davis lowered his arm from his mouth, looked at Homer and said, “Did we hear you say there was a boat going back to the
Kennedy
?” Word got around fast. When Homer nodded, Davis looked at Ali and said, “Well, then we’ve got a decision to make. Or you do, I guess, if you’re in charge now.”

Ali took a breath through wet cloth and considered.

While she did so, Davis said, “We’re both willing to fly out with you. In case something goes wrong with the plane along the way. But I’ve also got a responsibility to the air wing, back on the flattop.” Half under his breath, thinking of Hailey, their runaway fighter jock, he added, “Whether there are any planes and pilots left or not…”

Ali looked at Davis’s bandaged arm, and she decided. “You’re wounded, Chief. Return to your station.”

But even as Davis nodded, Pete stepped forward. “I’ll stay.” The others gave him a look. “Something could still go wrong – it could!”

Davis put his arm around the young man’s shoulders and pulled him aside for last-minute instructions. “Okay. You need to keep a close eye on nose-wheel steering and hydraulic pressure, not to mention listen for engine compressor surges…”

Even as they stepped away, the two NSF guys, Wesley and Burns, trotted up. Wesley said, “Did we hear some people are going back to the carrier?”

Jesus
, Ali thought.

Homer, strapping his helmet on, nodded.

When Wesley looked to Ali, she said, “I’d say it’s your call if you want to go back, LT. You’ve done your job here.”

Wesley looked over at Burns, his eyes wide.

Burns said, “All my people are back on that boat.”

Wesley almost grinned. “The bank robbers.”

“Bank robbers – and associates. But they’re all my responsibility.”

Wesley nodded. “All of my people are there, too – everyone in NSF.” It went without saying they were his responsibility.

Burns shrugged. “Derwin can take care of the team – he was doing it long before you showed up. But you’ve been here since the beginning, Wes – since the breach of the Channel Tunnel. I think you should see it through – all the way to the end. Also, that French girl is back in Britain, waiting for you.”

Still conflicted, Wesley looked again at Ali.

She shrugged. “You’re probably going to get killed either way. But I wouldn’t say no to another shooter when we bust out of here.”

Wesley looked shocked to hear that word used to describe him. It had been a very long journey for him. In the end, it was the face of Amarie that decided it for him.

“Okay,” he said. “I’m coming. I’ll help get you back to Britain.”

“Fine,” Homer said, hefting his rifle. He kissed Ali on the cheek. “See you when I see you. You two on me…”

And, with Davis and Burns in tow, he walked away from her – again.

* * *

And just like that… she’d lost him all over again.

Ali’s eyes felt strange, and she wondered if it was the after-effects of the tear gas, or else the smoke, which was thickening now. Then she realized she was crying. Looking up at Homer’s back as he walked away, she took two steps after him…

And felt a hand on her arm. It was Juice. He pulled his gas mask aside and she looked across into his lovely fuzzy face. He shook his head. “You can’t go with him, Ali. You know that.”

Now her eyes went wide. Was she that transparent? Or was Juice just playing the role of spooky, mystical, passed-through-death-to-the-other-side guy – who could see into people’s souls?

“We need you flying the plane. And we also need you shooting. That means we need two of you. So we definitely can’t get by with none.”

Ali nodded, wiped away two tears – then turned, leapt up the front stairs to the plane, turned left onto the flight deck, and poured herself into the left-hand seat. After ten seconds of rifling she found a printed pre-flight checklist, and got into it fast.

Brakes, directional gyro, artificial horizon…

She found it similar to the checks of a smaller prop plane, so she was able to do the checks fairly mindlessly – which allowed her to get into her own head. The crying thing had been very weird. Was it simply because she was losing Homer all over again? No, it had to be… because they’d also lost Handon? She knew he was never coming back from his last holding action with Henno. Neither of them were. Maybe that was what was under her emotional hood. Or maybe it was both things – losing both Handon and Homer at once.