Fulcrum: V Plague Book 12 (29 page)

I heard Rachel answer my message, but was too busy trying to
sight in the man holding the Stinger.  Everyone else was only armed with
rifles, and while they couldn’t be dismissed, they didn’t present much, if any,
danger to the Chinook.

“Shoot the fucker with the Stinger!”  I shouted to
Igor.

He grunted, and both of us began firing slow and steady,
aimed shots.  If we could take out the SAM, we could throw out enough
suppressive fire for Vance to come in and pick us up. 

We kept at it but weren’t having any success.  There
was some wind creating small waves on the surface of the lake, and while the
ski boat wasn’t bouncing too much, it was enough to throw us off.  Even if
we’d had a stable platform to fight from, the pursuers’ boat was also jinking
around in response to the water conditions.

The boat suddenly slowed, catching Igor and me by
surprise.  But a second later that surprise changed to an
oh fuck
moment.  The guy with the Stinger stood up and pointed the business end of
the missile tube directly at us.

“Will work?”  Igor shouted.

“Shoot that fucker!”  I screamed, switching to full
auto and sending a stream of bullets towards him.

No, Stingers are not designed to attack ground based
targets.  But, the targeting system doesn’t know that.  Right now,
the infrared seeker head in the missile was attempting to lock on to the heat
of our engine.  If it succeeded, the operator would be notified and could
fire the weapon. 

While I didn’t have first-hand experience with using one
against anything other than an aircraft, I’d heard stories of it being
successfully done.  As long as the target was hot enough for the missile to
achieve lock, and there wasn’t anything blocking the flight path, in theory, it
should work. 

My only hope was that the heat being emitted by our engine
wasn’t enough for a missile that had been designed to home in on jet engines to
achieve a lock.  But then, we were floating on water that would present a
nice, cool background to the seeker head.  And, we’d be the lone hot spot
in all that coolness.

While I kept emptying magazines at the boat, and getting a
few hits that sent shards of fiberglass into the air, Igor maintained a steady
rate of fire.  One round at a time.  I dropped an empty mag, slapped
in a fresh one and took careful aim.  We were drawing away from the boat
as it bobbed in the swells, waiting for the Stinger to lock on so they could
finish us off.

Igor and I both fired at the same moment.  He, a single
round, while my rifle kept chattering.  A couple of seconds later, the man
with the Stinger pitched backward.  The missile flew out of his hands and
tumbled once in the air before splashing into the lake and sinking.

I released the trigger and Igor and I stared for a moment,
hardly able to believe our luck.  We traded smiles, then looked back to
see the boat surge forward in pursuit.  It was more than three hundred
yards behind, probably more like four, but within a very few seconds it was
obvious it was much faster than we were.

“What the hell did you do to these guys?”  I shouted, a
little surprised at their determination to catch us.

“I kill many,” Igor said, shrugging.

Grinning, I called Rachel with the news that the Stinger was
out of commission.  Vance answered instead.

“Took you long enough,” he cracked.

“Fuck off, flyboy,” I said.  “I’ve still got a boat on
my ass, and he’s faster than I am.”

I flinched when a bullet struck a few inches to my right,
pinging off a stainless steel rail.  From within the boat, there was a cry
of pain as the ricochet found one of the girls.  I started firing again,
in full auto, Igor joining in.  It must have helped as no more rounds
found us, but our pursuers were gaining.  They were inside three hundred
yards and drawing closer.

“On my way!”

I heard Vance’s voice on the radio but didn’t have time to
respond.  Changing magazines, I began firing three round bursts.  One
of the occupants slumped to the side and stopped moving, but the remaining pair
kept shooting.  A moment later there was another cry of pain from within
the boat, then a round slammed into my rifle.

The impact was vicious, shoving the weapon into my face as
pieces of the receiver turned to shrapnel and tore into my arm and
shoulder.  I was briefly stunned, then looked down at the ruined rifle
still gripped in my hands.  Only one eye was working, and I reached up to
touch my face, my hand coming away covered in blood. 

Before I could check myself further, a roar from behind
caught my attention, and I looked up as the Chinook overflew the boat that were
chasing us.  Vance was low over the surface, the huge rotors kicking up
rooster tails of spray.  The bad guys disappeared in a cloud of water,
then it was our turn.

Vance came right over us, continuing on without slowing and
rapidly pulling away.

“What the fuck are you doing?”  I screamed into the
radio.

“Gonna scoop you up, dogface,” he answered.  “Keep
going straight.”

Now far ahead, I saw the Chinook slow to a hover and
descend.  The rear ramp was all the way down.  I could make out a
figure that I was sure was Rachel, standing at the top of the ramp.  As we
approached the now static aircraft, Vance continued to descend until the ramp
was submerged and water was washing into the interior.  I finally realized
what his plan was. 

“Grab something and hold on!”

I shouted the warning to Igor, then slithered backward off
the engine cover and onto the top of a girl.  Scrambling over legs, arms
and heads, I made it to the wheel and grabbed Chelsea’s arm, pulling her out of
the seat.  Dropping in, I swiped at the blood that was starting to block
my one good eye, then shoved on the throttle.  It was all the way
forward.  We couldn’t go any faster.

Through the stinging spray of water, I squinted at the open
maw of the Chinook with my good eye.  From behind, Igor’s rifle began
firing again.  The bow of the ski boat reached the ramp with a jarring
impact.  The tail dipped as our weight came onto the ramp, then we
screeched our way up and into the aircraft, slamming against the bulkhead that
protected the cockpit.  Hammering the throttle to idle, I ripped the wires
apart that were keeping the engine running.

The Chinook shuddered and tilted back and forth as Vance
struggled to regain control after the sudden change in weight and balance of
the aircraft.  The rear ramp whined audibly over the roar of the rotors,
finally sealing with a dull thud. 

The ski boat, with a sharp keel, was leaning to the right at
a 45-degree angle.  I sat there, my body having decided it was time for a
break.  Rachel, Tiffany and Dog were looking at me from the protection of
the far side of the bulkhead, then all three hurried forward.

Rachel came around to the low side of the tilted boat and
leaned in.  I smiled at her, but it felt like it was someone else in
control of my face.  I couldn’t see out of my right eye, and my left was
looking through a red film of blood.

“Sit still,” Rachel said, a grim expression on her
face.  “You’ve got a bullet sticking out of your head.”

Despite her warning, I raised my hand, intending to find it
and pull it out.  She grabbed my hand, stopping me, then I fell down a
deep, dark hole and didn’t know anything else.

The Thor satellite, in geosynchronous orbit over the north
Pacific, woke up and responded to Jessica’s command.  It only took a few
seconds for the targeting data to load, then eleven rods were pushed out of
their tubes.  Small guidance pods on the base of each gave them an initial
downwards thrust, also making slight adjustments to their trajectories.

“Rods are away, sir,” Jessica said to Admiral Packard. 
“Eight minutes, twenty-seven seconds to impact on target.”

Packard looked at the main screen in the room, verifying
that the Russian fleet was staying on course, the bow of each ship pointed
directly at the inbound Tomahawks.  In the lower corner, a small clock
counted down the time to target for the lead missile.  -00:09:18. The Thor
rods would arrive fifty-one seconds before the first cruise missile.

“Admiral!  Message from the North Carolina, sir!”

Packard turned as a young Lieutenant dashed up and held out
a piece of paper, still warm from the laser printer.  He read it quickly,
then looked up at Captain West.

“Get a message to our consulate in Sydney,” he said, handing
the paper to his aide.  “They’ve got Marines.  It’s time for them to
earn their pay.  I want them out the gate and helping our boys.”

“On Australian soil, sir?”  West asked in surprise.

“Don’t give a shit about anyone’s panties getting in a
bunch,” the Admiral growled.  “Help our men!”

“Aye, aye sir!”

The Captain raced away, heading for the closest
communication terminal.

“Seaman,” he said, turning to Jessica.  “Can you show
me our Sydney consulate?”

“Yes, sir,” she said. 

She worked quickly, taking over a display on the side
wall.  It took her a couple of attempts, but she persisted, succeeding in
establishing a real-time link with an NSA satellite over Australia. 
Manipulating the imaging feed, she paused to look up the coordinates of the US
consulate.  Plugging them in, the image smoothly zoomed until the large
building was centered on the display.

“There,” Packard said immediately.

He pointed at a large swath of ground that was a black
splotch in the middle of the densely concentrated city lights of Sydney. 
Within the darkness, bright pinpricks of light could be seen.  There was
one area where they were tightly concentrated, then a long line of them to the
east.  They were seeing the muzzle flashes from lots of rifles being
fired.

Jessica zoomed some more, then made adjustments to the
software that allowed them to clearly see the battle being fought. 
Packard stepped around a console for a closer view of the screen.

Eight SEALs were running across a broad, grassy field. 
Three of them were obviously injured but were still fighting as they all fired
towards a broad skirmish line of soldiers that were in pursuit.  Packard
squinted, looking at the attackers.  They were all in Russian uniform.

The SEALs were making for a narrow street that bordered the
Royal Botanical Gardens, separating them from a large hospital complex. 
After that, there were three blocks of downtown Sydney before they would make
it to the skyscraper that housed the consulate.

“Sir, the consulate is sealed off by Australian police,”
Captain West said, hurrying to Packard’s side.  “The Marines can’t get out
without fighting.”

“Show me!”  The Admiral snapped to Jessica.

She adjusted the satellite view slightly to the west, then
put a red marker on the top of the tall building that housed the consulate. 
An entire city block surrounding the location was closed off, dozens of official
vehicles filling the streets.  At least fifty armed men, wearing police
uniforms with body armor, formed a cordon around the area.

“They can’t stand to our Marines, sir,” Captain West
prompted.

“No, but they can,” the Admiral said.

He pointed at a convoy of military trucks that was moving
through the city streets at a high rate of speed.  Several of them stopped
at the north edge of the consulate building to disgorge Australian soldiers,
the bulk continuing on past the hospital and spreading along the street that
bordered the gardens.  Over a hundred men jumped down and quickly formed
up to prevent the Americans from exiting the open field.

“Get the Australian PM on the phone,” Packard said. 
“Now!”

He kept watching as Captain West dashed away to place the
call.  The SEALs were still fighting, but they’d slowed when they saw the
Australian forces formed up to cut them off.  One of them fell, having
been shot, before they all dropped to the ground and continued firing at the
advancing Russians. 

The Aussies weren’t there to join in the fight, just to make
sure it didn’t spill into the city center.  And, almost assuredly, to make
sure the Americans didn’t escape.

“Sir, the Australian PM,” Captain West said, extending a
headset towards the Admiral.

Packard snatched it out of his hand and settled it in place
without taking his eyes off the screen.  The SEALs, apparently out of ammo,
had stopped firing and were running at the line of Australians.  The
Russian troops, with no more fire coming their way, began charging across the
open ground.  The Americans came to a slow halt when the local soldiers
guarding the edge of the field raised their weapons to prevent them from coming
any closer.

“Mr. Prime Minister, are you aware of what’s happening in
Sydney?”  The Admiral said through clenched teeth.

“If you are referring to the illegal incursion onto
Australian soil by the American military, Admiral, yes I am.”

“Then arrest them, Prime Minister!  Do not allow the
Russians to take them.”

“I’m afraid that’s out of my hands at this point,” the PM
replied smugly.  “My understanding is that your men were attempting to
gain entry to the residence of President Barinov.  That makes this a matter
best handled between the United States and Russia.”

“You son of a bitch!”  Packard said, no longer
attempting to control his anger.

The PM was saying something in response, but the Admiral’s
attention was drawn fully to the screen.  The SEALs were now completely
surrounded and on their knees as Russian troops held them at gunpoint. 
Motion to the side resolved into a Hind helicopter entering from the eastern
edge of the view.

It was flying low and fast, flaring into a hover and
touching down in the middle of the large, open field.  The side door opened,
and several uniformed Spetsnaz jumped down to set up a defensive
perimeter.  A moment later, a squat figure with white hair stepped out and
paused to adjust his suit.  Barinov!

The Australian PM was still speaking, but Packard stabbed a
mute button on the headset and whirled to Jessica.

“Do we have a Thor platform over Australia?”

She spent several seconds working on her console before
answering.

“No, sir.  We can hit parts of southeast Asia, but
Sydney is too far south.  Guess no one ever thought we’d need to attack
the Aussies.”

He grimaced, then took a second to check the screen showing
the progress of the Tomahawk missiles.  -00:02:31. A little over a minute
and a half before the Thor rods arrived on the Russian fleet.  Another
second to satisfy himself that the enemy ships had not changed course, then he
looked back at the screen as Barinov strode across the field towards the
captured SEALs.  He was accompanied by three aides and surrounded by a
large squad of soldiers.

“Sir, targets are launching defensive weapons,” the duty
officer called.

A glance back at the Russian fleet.  Blooms of fire and
thick smoke from every ship as anti-missile missiles were fired.  Noting
the time to target, he turned back to the view of Sydney and noted that the PM
was still talking.  He listened for a moment as the man continued to try
and justify his complete capitulation to the enemy.  Packard unmuted his
headset.

“Mr. Prime Minister, shut the hell up!”  He barked,
silencing the protestations of the politician.  “You have troops standing
less than two hundred yards away from my men.  It is time for you to make
a decision.  Sir, if you allow the Russians to take them, or harm them, I
will consider it an act of war by Australia against the United States of
America.

“We’re hurt, as you well know, but we’re not out by a long
shot.  If you don’t believe me, I suggest you have one of your aides set
up a satellite view of the ocean, 200 miles northwest of Oahu.  But, you’d
better hurry, or you’re going to miss it.”

For a moment, all he could hear was the soft breathing of
the man on the other end of the call.  Then there was a muted click as he
was put on hold.  Packard stood waiting, watching as Barinov stepped
through the ranks of his men and stood looking down at the captured
Americans.  He seemed to be talking to them.

Turning his attention to the main screen, he watched as more
defensive missiles were fired.  By now, the majority of the enemy fleet
was obscured by dense clouds of smoke from repeated launches.  He glanced
at the timer, then back at the vague shapes of the Russian ships.

Three seconds later, the first Thor rod arrived on the lead
ship, a guided missile cruiser nearly as long as an aircraft carrier. 
From within the blinding smoke, there was a brilliant flash, then a concussive
wave raced out in all directions, blasting the air clean of the rocket motor
exhaust.  Three more flashes heralded additional strikes, then there was a
sudden burst of atomized seawater that completely hid the entire fleet.

Another flash, then two more eruptions from the ocean as
millions of gallons of water were instantly boiled to steam.  A few
seconds later, three more flashes within the roiling aftermath of the Thor
strikes.  The entire CIC was silent as the men and women intently watched
the screen, waiting for the air to clear.

“Seaman?”  Packard spoke quietly to Jessica.

“That’s all of the Thor rods, sir.  From what I saw, I
believe we had eight direct hits and three misses.  The misses should be
what put all the water into the air.  I’m switching to thermal so we can
see through it.”

The screen blinked, but before the imagery could update, the
Tomahawks began arriving on target and detonating.  The Russians had
successfully shot down slightly more than 100 of the inbound cruise missiles,
and would have perhaps splashed most of the remainder of the weapons were it
not for the Thor attack.

Now, in rapid succession, missile after missile screamed
into the maelstrom and detonated.  There was so much heat energy expended,
and additional smoke and atomized water thrown into the air, that all modes of
surveillance were useless. 

The barrage of Tomahawks continued for several
minutes.  When it was over, a dense layer of smoke and water vapor covered
more than forty square miles of the ocean’s surface.  The mist quickly
cooled the area, and the satellite’s thermal imaging began to give them a view
through the cloud. 

Everyone waited, holding their breath and riveted to the
screen.  Jessica changed back to normal mode when nothing substantial was
visible on thermal.  Water and smoke still obscured the view, but it improved
by the second.  Initially, no one understood what they were seeing. 
Or not seeing.  Commander Detmer was the first to recognize it for what it
was.

“There’s only debris left,” he began in a quiet voice that rose
in excitement, loud in the stillness of the CIC.  “All of their ships have
been destroyed and sunk!”

Stunned looks were exchanged, then shouts and cheers
suddenly erupted throughout the room.  Hugs were exchanged by people with
expressions of relief and joy.  Admiral Packard took a deep breath and
slowly let it out before turning back to the view of his SEALs.

Barinov was apparently in the mood to hear himself
speak.  He was walking a slow circle around the captives, his hands behind
his back.  His head was turned to face them as he moved.  As he was
finishing a circuit, an aide with a phone to his ear dashed forward and leaned
close to speak.

The Russian President’s body language showed shock and
surprise as he leaned away from the man, then thrust his head back forward with
what had to be a question.  The aide spoke briefly into the phone before
nodding his head to confirm the news he’d just delivered.

“Merry Christmas, asshole,” Admiral Packard said under his
breath as he watched Barinov learn of the destruction of his invasion fleet.

He saw several more exchanges between the two men, taken
aback when Barinov suddenly looked straight up.  The image was so crisp,
Packard could see his rheumy eyes searching the sky.  So, the bastard knew
he was watching.

The Russian stared for several, long seconds.  The
Admiral experienced an eerie feeling, as if his enemy was able to look through
the satellite camera and see him standing in the CIC. 

Finally, Barinov turned away and strode to the closest
soldier.  Reaching out, he snatched the man’s sidearm out of its holster
and strode towards the captive SEALs.  Packard watched in horror as he
walked behind the Americans, methodically shooting each one in the back of the
head.

“Captain West.  Order the North Carolina to put a
Tomahawk on Barinov’s location.  Now!”

---

“Captain, flash traffic coming in!” 

Talbot and Adrienne rushed to the console and leaned in as a
high-speed printer chugged out the message.  The skipper reached past the
sailor manning the station and ripped it free the instant it was
completed.  Adrienne moved next to him, reading over his shoulder.

With Battlespace restored, they had been able to access the
feed from the satellite and had seen what had happened to Fulcrum team. 
Expressions in the control room were grim as the Captain and XO read their
orders.  Tears were in Adrienne’s eyes, as well as many of the sailors who
had watched in horror as their brethren were executed.