Dead Island: Operation Zulu (3 page)
CHAPTER 6: DOESN'T LOOK SO BAD
"There it is," Jackson pointed to a dot in the horizon.
"Doesn't look so bad." Crossley watched the island slowly growing in the sea of green. "Think I should try their tower?"
Jackson shrugged. "Can't hurt."
"Right." The pilot grabbed the radio mic and clicked it on. "Eller Island Control, this is Flight 4607 requesting landing instructions." Static. Crossley repeated himself. Nothing but static again.
"Fantastic," Jackson said.
"Well, can't say we didn't expect that." Crossley hung up the radio mic. "Ready for some excitement?"
"You know me, Nate." Jackson wiped some sweat from his forehead on his orange Hawaiian shirt.
"Yes I do." Crossley grinned. "So no."
"Uh huh." Jackson smiled weakly. "Doesn't look like we have to worry about any other air traffic though."
"That's a plus." He clicked on his headset, which sent his voice into the cargo bay. "Attention all passengers. This is your captain speaking. Please fasten your seatbelts, for we are about to land. Prayers are always welcome, and thank you for flying Crossley airways." The pilot clicked off his mic. Eller Island was quickly approaching. Nate could make out the small airfield below. Two C-130 cargo planes were parked on one of the small runways while the remains of a charred Chinook helicopter and a small Cessna lay near one of the hangars. "Got some aircraft below."
"See 'em. Does not look good."
"No, it doesn’t. Look at the tower."
"Crap."
The roof of the tower appeared to have been blown off. Smoke was still rising from the remains. About a dozen bodies were strewn about the airfield below along with a half-dozen parked and overturned vehicles.
"Hey, General," Crossley spoke into his headset, "looks like there was some kind of firefight down there. No sign of any deaders either."
"Thanks," Hale said into his headset mic. Hale hoped it was just the outcome of the outbreak and not something else. He looked back at Sergeant Wu, who was seated behind him. "Sergeant."
"Major?" Wu looked up from a crossword puzzle.
"When we land, grab a sniper rifle and head up through the roof hatch. I need an overview of the airfield."
"Yes, sir."
"Problem?" Brooks asked.
"The pilots report the remains of a firefight at the airport. No deaders though."
"Sounds like there was a run on the planes." She shrugged.
"Yeah, I hope that's all it is." He went and sat back down. They would be landing soon. He hated landings. Hale had survived two crash landings and relived them every time he flew. The first crash, he'd escaped with his life and third-degree burns on his back and legs. The second one was in a Blackhawk during the outbreak. Hale walked away from that one. "I hate landings," he mumbled to himself.
"It's alright, Major." Brooks squeezed his forearm. "We've got the best money can buy up front."
"That's comforting, Captain. Thanks."
"Anytime, sir."
As Crossley and Jackson shut down the plane's engines, Sergeant Wu climbed up a service ladder in the cockpit. Wu opened a roof hatch and climbed out carrying a wool cargo pad and an M-40 sniper rifle. Hale and the other soldiers grabbed their weapons and gear and headed towards the plane's aft ramp. Lieutenant Wickham grabbed up the ramp controller as the others formed up behind him.
"Major," Wu's voice came across the officer's headset. "Looks all clear. No movement. Appears to be thirteen bodies on the tarmac. No living or deaders."
"Good job, Sergeant. Stay posted."
"No problem, Major." He was glad he had the forethought to bring the thick cargo pad to lie on. The hot, tropical sun was already starting to bake his ass.
"Crossley," Hale spoke into his mic, "we are going to unass the plane. As soon as we are out, close up the aft. Sergeant Wu will remain topside providing cover."
"Poor bastard. We'll button up tight, General. You paid for a round-trip ticket, so don't worry your pretty lil' head about your ride home."
Hale winced at Crossley's sarcasm. "Good, Crossley, 'cause I'm not a big fan of having to shoot civilians." The major took a measure of his assembled troops then hit Wickham on the shoulder. "Lieutenant, pop the ramp!"
"Major." Wickham nodded and punched a button on the controller. The huge aft ramp slowly opened. The heat from outside quickly rolled in. "Go! Go!" the lieutenant shouted. Knox and West were the first ones down the ramp. West motioned clear, and the rest followed them out.
"Commandos are out!" Jackson shouted from where he was standing in the open doorway of the cabin. "Close the door, Nate!"
"Gotcha, Cal," Crossley said, operating the remote ramp controller.
"Rear closed." Jackson shut the cabin door and sat down next to the pilot. "Snug as a fuckin' bug."
"What about the commando on top? Must be a hundred out there."
"He'll let us know when he wants back in." Crossley yawned. "Get some shut eye, Cal. Any deaders out there won't be able to get to us."
"I know," Jackson said uneasily. "Deaders still make me uneasy, Nate."
"Your momma makes you uneasy." The pilot lifted up his aviators and gave him a wink. "If you're not going to take a snooze, at least let me. Wake me up when the commandos need their ride back."
"Sure, Nate." Jackson pulled a dog-eared paperback out of a side pocket on his cargo pants.
Crossley looked at him sideways and grinned. "Not done with that yet?"
"
Eat, Pray, Love
. Best book I've read in years," he said, waving the book in his face.
"Any pictures?" Crossley yawned. "Never mind. Just wake me up when General Forearms and his buddies get back."
"You really should read this, Nate. The chick that wrote it really knows how to live."
"Uh huh," Crossley mumbled as he drifted off into one of his trademark naps.
Captain Brooks guided her team through the remains of the airfield's terminal building. Nothing but debris and dead bodies greeted them. Some of the corpses were starting to decay while others were freshly dead. All had bullet wounds. Most were headshots. They quickly cleared the building without incident.
"Looks like the Matol contractors were able to clear out the airstrip," Captain Brooks said.
Hale nodded and spoke into his headset. "How's it look, Wickham?"
"Clear," the Australian lieutenant’s voice came over his headset. "A few bodies. All headshot. Nuthin' else, Major."
"Good. Meet us back at the plane, Lieutenant."
"Yes, sir."
"Any luck contacting the lab?" Hale turned to a tall, rangy soldier standing behind him.
"Still nothing, sir," Sergeant Tim Diamond, Hale's radioman said then hung the handset up on his backpack radio.
"Transmitter probably blown along with the cell towers," Hale told him.
"I'll keep trying, sir."
"Nevermind, Sergeant. You'd just be wasting your time. Thanks anyway." Hale glanced down at his big dive watch then turned to Brooks and the five other soldiers gathered around her. "Something doesn't feel right about this."
"Wickham?" Brooks asked.
"They found the same as us. Nothing outstanding but a lot of dead. Mostly headshots. No contractor bodies."
"Lucky?" Mac asked.
"No," Hale shook his head. His gut ached.
"Major." Arturo 'Gonzo' Gonzales, the team’s medic, pointed at the body of a jumpsuited mechanic. "That guy was shot, not bitten."
"Crap." The major walked over to the body. "You sure?"
Gonzo nodded. "Pretty sure. I gave him a quick check and found nothing obvious."
"Why would he be shot?" Brooks asked, kneeling next to the dead mechanic. "Friendly fire?"
"There's a mess of casings all over." Sergeant Newman bent down and picked one up. He rolled it around in a Kevlar-gloved hand then looked over at Hale. "Russian or at least someone who uses AK 74s." He tossed the casing to Hale, who caught it.
"Hate AKs," Zoe said. "Got shot by one in Africa." She rubbed her left arm. "Ruined a perfectly good tattoo."
"Wasn't a butterfly, was it, luv?" Newman smirked, picking up another casing.
"Fuck you, Alby."
"Don't think we have time, luv." The Australian winked.
"GlobaTech doesn't use AKs," Brooks said, standing up. "It's not the Matol security team."
"Let's get back," Hale said uneasily. "I need to make a call on the SAT phone. The rest of you, ready the vehicles so we can get to the target." Hale rolled the casing around in a gloved hand. He had a really bad feeling about this.
***
The afternoon heat was starting to make sergeant Wu sweat. He adjusted his boonie hat and wiped the salty wetness from his eyes. Wu was getting uncomfortable and bored on top of the plane. The sun was almost unbearable, but he was thankful he had the cargo pad to keep the skin of the plane from roasting him alive. It was a relief when Hale called him and said they were heading back in. Wu stood up and stretched.
From his standing position on the plane, he could see the surrounding green ocean. Something shiny in the distance grabbed his attention. Wu grabbed up his monocle and peered through it. "Damn!" he cursed. The sergeant quickly tapped on his headset mic.
"Major, Major, this is Sergeant Wu."
"Go ahead, Sergeant."
"From my view on the plane, I can make out a large yacht anchored a little ways offshore.”
“Son of a bitch!” Hale motioned for the others to hurry up. “Good job, Wu. Get downstairs and get your gear.”
“No problem, Major.” Wu slung his rifle and grabbed up the cargo pad.
***
Jackson was just getting to a good part in his book when a pounding from above brought him away from an ashram in India to the air-conditioned cockpit on the tiny landing strip. He set the paperback in his lap and looked over at Crossley, who was snoring softly, oblivious to the noise from above. Jackson shook his head at him and stood up, shoving the book back into his pants pocket. Cal Jackson had flown with Nate Crossley for several years. Crossley was a great pilot but a lousy conversationalist.
Could be worse
, Cal thought. At least Nate overlooked his drinking and choices in books.
"Coming!" Jackson shouted towards the ceiling as he stepped over to a small, portable ladder that led to the roof hatch. The sniper was still stomping on the top as the co-pilot started to undo the hatch. Wu could feel it start to move and stepped back. Jackson pushed it open and stuck his head out. "Damn it's hot up here!"
"No shit!" the sniper growled. "Can I come in now?"
"Be my guest, Sarge." Jackson hurried back down, followed by Wu. The soldier closed the hatch behind him and locked it back up. "Anything exciting out there?"
"Not much, Mister Jackson." Wu wiped some sweat from his face. The cool air felt great. "You can go ahead and drop the rear. The major and the rest are on their way back."
"Will do." Jackson grabbed Crossley by the shoulder and shook him. "Wake up, Nate!" Crossley groaned. "Wake your ass up! The commandos are coming back in!"
"Okay, Mom, okay!" Eyes closed, Crossley wiped some slobber from his cheeks. Blindly, he fumbled for the aft ramp remote. "I'm awake! I'm awake!"
Hale grabbed the SAT phone out of its hardened case and found himself a spot in the cargo bay away from the others. They were busying readying the vehicles and their own personal gear and weapons. The major quickly inputted a phone number into the SAT's handset and was gratified when, after two rings, someone picked up.
"Black Hat," Hale said into the handset.
"Go ahead, Black Hat. This is Mother," a voice said from somewhere around the world.
"We have a problem. We are at the airstrip, and it appears to have been compromised by another party."
"Contact with target?" The other voice was emotionless.
"No. Transmitter and cell towers are disabled."
"Proceed as planned. We have no knowledge of a second party. Use extreme caution and prejudice. The only friendlies should be at the target. You have a green light on all others."
"We believe they may be Russian."
Silence for a few long seconds. Then the voice returned, still emotionless. "You cannot fail on this, Major." Another few seconds of silence as Hale took this all in. "Do you hear me, Major? Failure is not an option. This is for America, Major."
"Copy that, Mother." Then Hale said quietly, under his breath, "For America."
"Good luck, Black Hat." The phone clicked off.
"Shit!" Hale stared at the silent SAT phone in his hand. This was not going to end well.
"Sir," Lieutenant Wickham said from several feet behind him, "we're ready."
"Good, Lieutenant." Hale turned slowly towards the junior officer and shoved the SAT phone into a side cargo pants pocket. "I want to brief everyone before we unass. Get them all together please."
"Yes, Major." Wickham turned to get the team together. Hale grabbed his rucksack off the alloy floor and slung his mini-14 over his shoulder. He reached for the .45 at his hip and made sure it had a magazine in it. Satisfied, he reached inside his Kevlar vest and found the small .40 Beretta tucked inside a pocket. He smiled. You could never have too much firepower.