Fulcrum: V Plague Book 12 (28 page)

“Battlespace comms with Pearl are restored, ma’am!”

Lieutenant Commander Adrienne Cable rushed to the side of
the sailor who had just reported, double-checking the monitor he was looking
at.  She stared for a couple of seconds before turning away.

“COB,” she shouted to the Chief of the Boat, the most senior
NCO aboard.  “Inform the skipper.”

“Ma’am,” the communications specialist continued. 
“Pearl is requesting a status update on our mission.”

“Stand by,” she said, waiting for the Captain to arrive and
dictate their response.

While she waited, she moved out of the control room, past
the sonar station and to a cramped space where another sailor was working on a
console.  He was responsible for communications with the SEAL team that
had gone into Sydney, and now that Battlespace was back up and running, he was
working furiously to establish a link with them.

The North Carolina had heard nothing since the SEALs had
departed, but there had been no other options.  Even now, reaching them on
the encrypted, digital radio was proving to be problematic.  This was
mostly due to the fact that the sub was still submerged, with only a few inches
of antenna, supported by a buoy, floating on the surface.  The buoy was
tethered to their sail and could be reeled back in at a moment’s notice.

A high-gain satellite antenna comprised most of it, with
only a stubby, black fiberglass mast sticking up for local area comms. 
The whole unit was stealthy as hell, and extremely difficult to spot in the
daytime.  And if anyone who didn’t know what it was happened to see it,
they’d pass it off as a small chunk of debris.  At night, it was
invisible, floating on the waves.  But, its range for anything other than
satellite comms was very limited and intermittent.

When a wave passed under it, lifting the antenna higher in
the air, they had a good shot at reaching out several miles.  But when it
slipped into a trough between the swells, it was completely masked, and the
signal would drop.  The only consistent link was from an orbiting satellite
that was looking directly down at the point in the ocean where the buoy floated.

“Anything?”  She asked the sailor.

“No, ma’am.  Not yet,” he said, never taking his focus
off the equipment he was manipulating.

“Let me know the instant you have something,” she said,
turning and dashing back into the control room before he could acknowledge her
order.

Commander Talbot was arriving as she stepped through a
narrow hatch, the COB calling out loudly that the Captain was present.

“Battlespace is back up, sir,” Adrienne said.  “Jones
has a message from Pearl, requesting a sitrep.  Figured you’d like to
handle that.”

“You figured right, XO.  Any word from our SEALs?”

“No, sir.  Not yet.”

Talbot nodded and moved to the secure comms console, quickly
read the message from Hawaii, then began dictating a reply in a low
voice.  As he spoke, the sailor transcribed his words into a computer that
would first encrypt them, then compress the entire message into a data file
that would be sent out in a burst transmission that would last less than half a
second.

“Conn, radio room.  I’ve got Fulcrum team!”

The shout galvanized both Adrienne and Talbot, and they
dashed through the hatch to where the sailor was seated.  There wasn’t
room for either of them to enter the small workspace, so they stood in the
passageway and leaned in.  The operator was pressing one side of his
headphones tighter to his ear as he spoke into a microphone in a loud voice.

“Fulcrum one, repeat last.  Repeat last!”

“On speaker!”  Talbot ordered.

The operator flipped a switch, an overhead speaker blaring
to life with the sounds of a raging battle.  Rifles were being fired, and
men were screaming at each other. 

“We’re in contact with…”  Commander Sam began to
broadcast, his voice rough as he was obviously running, then the transmission
cut out and there was only silence.

“Buoy’s in a trough,” the operator said, though both
officers knew what had happened.

The wait for the next swell to lift it high enough to
restore the link was excruciating, but they endured the time stoically. 
With no warning, the sound of a weapon firing on full auto suddenly blared out
of the speaker.

“…Bay.  We’re trying to…” there was a much shorter
interruption.  “… men down.  We’re trying to reach… sulate.”

The transmission went silent again, and Talbot suppressed a
curse.  He wasn’t one to let the crew see his frustration.

“They’re trying to reach what?”  He asked.

“I didn’t get it, either, sir,” Adrienne said, shaking her
head.

“Begging your pardon, sir, but is there an embassy in
Sydney?  One of ours, I mean.”

The operator looked over his shoulder at the skipper.

“Sulate is consulate?”  Talbot asked when he realized
what the sailor meant.  “Maybe…”

He was cut off when the transmission restored.

“…you copy?  We… off from the RIBs… … … in Royal Bo…
Gard…”

“Get me a map of Sydney!” 

Talbot shouted towards the control room.  Thirty
seconds later, COB appeared and extended a large, paper map, folded over to
show the area where the SEALs had landed. 

“Here, sir,” he said, pointing at a spot on the map.  “Sounded
like he was saying Royal Botanical Gardens.  And here’s the US
Consulate.  They’re making a straight line for it, cutting through the
Gardens, from where their target is located.”

He tapped locations on the paper as he spoke, Talbot and
Adrienne looking closely.

“Thank you, COB,” the skipper said.  “XO, stay with the
radio and find out as much as you can.  I need to get this message
out.  Maybe Pearl is in contact with the consulate and can give them a
heads up about what’s heading their way.”

He rushed down the passageway to the control room as the
signal restored.  Commander Sam was no longer speaking, but his breath
sounds were heavy from running, gunfire loud over the speaker.

“Are we armed?”  I shouted at Vance.

“Negative,” he said, looking around at me.  “Aircraft
is naked.”

“Shit!  OK, see that Hummer?  That’s one of us,
and he’s in trouble.  Get over him.  I’m going back to the ramp and
see if I can slow those assholes down with a rifle!”

“Oh, hell yeah!”

His enthusiasm surprised me, but then he was a combat
pilot.  I held on as he banked sharply and began descending towards
Igor.  The Chinook had just leveled out when an alarm in the cockpit began
screaming.

“Fuck me, they’ve got a lock on us!”  Vance yelled.

Before I knew what was happening, the helicopter tilted far
to the side and only the firm grip I already had kept me from being thrown
around like a rag doll.  It felt like he kept rolling until the deck was
vertical, then twisted to the side and dropped alarmingly.  Tiffany,
already strapped back into the co-pilot position, fared much better.

There was nothing I could do other than hold tight.  A
second later, in my peripheral vision, something trailing fire and smoke
flashed past our nose.

“What the fuck was that?”  I shouted.

He didn’t answer, just kept bouncing us all over the sky as
he brought the big helicopter down and into the cover of a series of tall
hills.  With a vibrating roar, our speed bled completely off, and we came
into a hover.

“SAM,” he said in a much calmer voice than I could have
imagined at the moment.

Shit.  I’d seen these guys raiding the armories at
Nellis.  Not only had they gotten their hands on a Surface to Air Missile,
but they also had someone that knew how to use it.

“What can we do?”  I asked, not releasing my grip in
case he had to make any more sudden maneuvers.

“Do?  Not a damn thing,” he said.  “We don’t have
any countermeasures, no weapons… nothing.  We’re a fucking sitting duck up
here.  We just got lucky as hell, and can’t count on it twice.”

I looked around in frustration, seeing Rachel peering around
a bulkhead at me.  She was on the opposite side of the aircraft from where
I’d left her.

“You OK?”  I shouted over the roar of the engines.

“Bumped and bruised, but OK,” she shouted back. 
“What’s going on?”

“Bad guys got some air defense,” I answered, not taking the
time to go into details.

“Vance,” I said, turning back to the pilot.  “Can you
circle around, staying low, and come in over the lake?  Pick up our guys
at the shore?”

“I can do that,” he said, shaking his head.  “But,
while were sitting there loading, the bad guys are going to close in and blow our
asses off.”

I was quiet for a bit, chewing on my lower lip in
thought. 

“Did you see that marina?”  Tiffany asked.

“What marina?”

“About four miles south of where the Hummer is heading,
there was a marina.  If they can get there and escape on a boat, maybe we
can pick them up once they’re clear of the area.”

“There were boats?”  I asked in surprise.

I had noted that the level of the lake had dropped
significantly.  But, it was still draining.  Maybe it hadn’t dropped
so much that a floating dock wouldn’t still be serviceable.

“Looked like it,” she said.  “Only saw them for a
second, but it looked like at least a dozen tied to a dock.”

“Think we can get there without getting shot down?”  I
asked Vance.

“Maybe.  What you got in mind?”

“Drop me, then get clear.  I’ll get a boat ready to
go.  All they’ve gotta do is pile out of the Humvee and jump in. 
It’ll save them time they don’t have.  I’ll head up the lake and find a
place that’s in cover so you can pick us up.  Now, can you get me to the
marina?”

“Hold on to your ass,” he said, grinning.

The deck tilted as he spun the helo around.  Accelerating,
he kept the hills between us and what I was pretty sure was the militia. 
I watched through the windscreen for a minute, not liking seeing the ground
rushing past, seemingly close enough to scrape the aircraft’s belly. 
Vance was keeping us low.

As he flew, I called Igor on the radio and told him what his
new destination was.  He responded with a long string of Russian curses,
then confirmed in English that he understood.

Moving to the back, I kept a grip with my hands in case of
any sudden maneuvers.  Rachel looked like she’d been through a washing
machine on spin cycle.  She sported a bruise on her cheek that was already
spreading and would become a nice shiner before it was done.  But, she
wasn’t bleeding, and there weren’t any broken bones.  Dog lay on his
belly, legs splayed out in anticipation of his world turning upside down again.

I spent half a minute filling in Rachel, then returned to
the cockpit.  As I stepped in, we banked hard to the left and if I hadn’t
been gripping an overhead handle, would have wound up on my face. 

We were over the lake now, and it felt more like riding in a
really fast boat than a helicopter.  The water couldn’t have been more
than ten feet below the Chinook’s belly.  Ahead was the marina Tiffany had
spotted.  From this perspective, I could see that it would soon be
unusable. 

The dock was one of the floating variety, tethered to the
rocky shore.  The chains were stretched to the limit, and most of it was
already resting on dry lakebed, along with a large number of boats.  Only
the outer twenty feet was still afloat.  Fortunately, there were three
boats that still had water under their keels, tied to the outermost edge.

A couple of miles to the right, I could see the dust plumes
made by the approaching vehicles.  They were coming fast, and would be at
the marina within three minutes. 

“I’m coming in hot,” Vance said.  “Brace yourself, then
as soon as we’re in a hover, get your ass out the door.”

“Got it,” I said, slapping him on the shoulder and running
for the back.

Rachel saw me activate the ramp and reached forward to wrap
Dog in her arms.  I was glad she did as there was a good chance he’d
follow me out.

The ramp reached its lowest position, and I dropped to my
knees, grabbing a handle next to the opening.  I was braced none too soon,
the helicopter suddenly flaring and whipping around, nearly tearing my grip
free.  A few seconds later the deck leveled out, the edge of the ramp only
a foot above the wooden dock.  Standing, I raced to the edge and jumped.

My boots had barely thudded onto the wooden planks when
Vance hit the throttles and roared away, skimming the lake’s surface.  I
ran for the closest boat, a large craft set up for water skiing.  It would
have a huge engine and be fast, and once Igor and company were on board, we
needed all the speed we could get.

Of course, there were no keys in the ignition, but I was
getting to be an old hand at this.  Whipping out my Ka-Bar, I pried the
lock cylinder free and cut the wires attached to its back.  Twisting them
together, I hit the starter and breathed a sigh of relief when the engine
rumbled to life and settled into a steady thrum.

“Igor,” I shouted into the radio as I released the lines
holding the boat to the dock.  “I’m in position!”

“Cannot see!”  He shouted back.

I looked up and saw the problem.  I was well below the
level of the surrounding desert.  If the lake was full, the marina would
be several feet higher and visible over the lip of terrain.  Now, unless
you were standing on the edge, it was hidden.

Tearing through the boat, I found an emergency kit and
ripped it open.  A bright red flare gun was held to the inside of the lid
by two spring clips, four shells neatly contained in the lower section.  Yanking
it free, I loaded in a shell, held it at arm’s length above my head and pulled
the trigger.

“I’m the flare!”  I shouted as it streaked skyward,
trailing a brilliant, fiery tail that was clearly visible even in full
sunlight.

“See you,” he answered.

Ten seconds later I could hear the Humvee’s straining
engine, punctuated by distant gunfire from the pursuers.  The boat had
drifted a few feet, a current created by the continuing outflow of water pulling
it towards the dam, so I bumped the throttle and steered until it nudged the
dock.  With the nose against the wooden planks, I left the throttle
partially advanced to keep it in place for boarding.

There was a screeching of tortured brakes and the grinding
of tires on sand and rock from above.  A huge cloud of dust boiled up,
slowly starting to drift towards me.  An instant later, Igor appeared at
the top of the slope and stopped, turning to wave at someone to hurry.

I recognized Chelsea when she ran down the steep embankment,
then had no idea who the next girl was.  Right behind her came another I
didn’t recognize, and it dawned on me that Igor hadn’t been sitting on his
hands while I was gone.  He’d rescued the captured girls.

They kept coming, Chelsea pounding down the dock as the last
one crested the top and started down with Igor right behind her.  Holding
the boat as steady as I could with the throttle, I glanced to the side and
recognized another problem I’d overlooked.  The other two boats! 
What was to stop our pursuers from using them to chase us out onto the
lake?  And if they brought a SAM with them, Vance would be a sitting duck
when he came to pick us up.

Tearing two grenades off my vest, I pressed them into
Chelsea’s hands and held on as I met her eyes.  She looked back at me like
I was deranged. 

“When I tell you, pull the pins and throw them into those
boats,” I said, turning my head to look at the targets.

“I… I…” she stammered.

“Pull a pin and throw, then pull the second pin and
throw.  Underhand, just like a softball!  You’ll be fine. 
You’ve got five seconds once the pin is out.”

She nodded, appearing less than confident.  I released
her, looking around as the last girl jumped in, landing on top of the pile of
girls that had already boarded.  We were overloaded, the boat riding low
in the water, but at the moment I didn’t care.

Igor came running backward, rifle aimed at the top of the
slope.  Turning at the last possible instant, he leapt and crashed onto a
cushioned seat at the stern.

“Now, Chelsea!”  I shouted.

A spoon clanked as it hit the deck, then the first grenade
arced across forty feet of open water and landed in the cockpit of one of the
boats.  A heartbeat later, another clank as the second spoon hit the deck
and I jammed the throttle forward.  By Chelsea’s excited shout, I was
pretty sure she’d put both grenades exactly where she wanted them.

The ski boat’s engine roared, but our acceleration was
sluggish.  Either it wasn’t as powerful as I’d expected, or we were even
heavier in the water than I’d thought.  Glancing around, I saw all the
bodies crammed in, then looked up as the first grenade detonated.

The boat that had been next to the one I’d taken shuddered, chunks
of debris ripping through the air, then flames began to appear as it started to
settle in the water.  That left the boat at the opposite end of the dock,
and I kept waiting for the blast that would take it out of commission. 
And waited.  It never came.

It’s a rare thing, but not unheard of, for a grenade to have
a faulty fuse.  I knew this wasn’t Chelsea’s fault as I’d clearly heard
two spoons hit the deck of our boat.  She’d pulled the pin, there was no
doubt, but the grenade hadn’t done its job.

There wasn’t time to turn around and try again.  As we
slowly accelerated out into the lake, dust billowed above the marina as the bad
guys began arriving.  Quickly, figures appeared along the edge of the
overlooking terrain.

Immediately, I began sawing the wheel back and forth to
present a more difficult target.  I don’t know if they started shooting at
us, but that’s what I would have done.  Regardless, a little insurance
never hurts.  And if they were firing, it must have worked.  Neither
the boat nor any of the people in it took any incoming fire.

“Here come!”  Igor shouted.

I threw a glance over my shoulder.  He was lying across
the stern, body on top of the engine compartment, aiming towards our
pursuers.  At the marina, men were swarming around the boat that hadn’t
been destroyed. 

“Chelsea, drive!”  I shouted.

With a frightened look, she slipped behind the wheel when I
jumped up and headed for the stern.  I had to climb over the girls that
were still trying to sort themselves out, then stretched across the engine
cover next to Igor.

“Pissed off the natives, didn’t you?” 

I yelled to be heard over the bellowing motor.  He
looked at me and grinned.

“Igor need fun, also,” he said, then it was time to get
serious.

We had opened up close to three hundred yards of space from
the dock, but I could clearly see the activity through my rifle scope. 
They had the boat started, and four men climbed aboard as those remaining
behind released the lines and shoved it clear.  I wasn’t terribly
concerned over most of them but didn’t like it when I saw what one asshole had
carried with him.  He had a Stinger. 

The Stinger is a shoulder fired, heat seeking, Surface to
Air Missile.  The launcher consists of a long tube that houses the
missile, with a box-like housing near the front that contains the targeting
system.  They’re simple to use, with minimal training, and the sight of
the weapon reminded me how incredibly lucky, or good, Vance had been to avoid
the one that had been fired at the Chinook.

“Rachel!  Can you hear me?”  I shouted into the
radio.

I had to try three more times before she answered. 

“Tell Vance there’s a boat chasing us, and they have a
Stinger.  He’ll know what that means.  He has to stay clear!”

As I was speaking, Igor began firing.  He no longer had
the sniper rifle I’d taken from Groom Lake and was having to make do with an M4
rifle with a low power scope.  But, after his third shot, the boat
suddenly swerved, losing a little bit of ground.  I don’t think he’d hit
any of the occupants, but he’d apparently given them something to think about.