The Alpha Chronicles (39 page)

Motioning for the armed guards to follow, Lyndon lead the men on his side of the trailer like a mother duck trailing a line of her offspring. T-Bones
’ side of the big-rig was more of a gaggle, the excited sentries eager to see what was in the sack.

Inside the trailer,
wedged in a three-foot wide welded compartment, Nick, Deke and the Darkwater operators sat in silence, cramped in the tiny space by their number and the heavy assault packs full of equipment. The hidden section at the very front of the trailer was Bishop’s idea, his concept of using the “ol’ Trojan Horse routine,” initially drawing laughs and chuckles. The deft touch of T-Bones’ welding and manipulation of sheet metal had changed everyone’s opinion, the boneyard owner creating a nearly invisible hidden compartment, which included peepholes and slots in the roof for circulation.

As the driver and his son occupied the guards with their bags of liquor, Nick and Deke observed the situation through the tiny, cleverly disguised opening on each side of the trailer. “I’m good over here,” whispered Deke.

“Let’s do this,” came Nick’s hushed response.    

The man
who was squeezed into the middle reached down and twisted a latch and then shoved against the wall. A section opened, and the contractors began pouring out of their hide.

The first
dockworker they encountered was hefting a side of beef onto his shoulder, the man’s eyes opening wide when he looked up into the barrel of an M4 carbine, the owner of the rifle whispering, “Make a sound and die.”

The remaining work
ers were subdued without a peep, the group of frightened men locked inside a large freezer. “We probably should remember to come back and get those guys,” one of Deke’s men noted.

The comment was met with a shrug from his
buddy, “Let’s hope there are enough of us alive to come back and let them out.”

Nick and Deke watched T-Bone and Lyndon outside, each
man joking with the huddled security men. T-Bone handed the remains of his bottle to a guard and announced, “We’ve got to get going. You guys finish that off,” as he turned to walk back to the cab. “Lyndon! Let’s get moving.”

“Okay, dad. Let me see if they’ve finished unloading.”

T-Bone climbed into the cab, revving the truck’s diesel engine and reaching for the horn.

Nick nodded to Deke, both men
pulling canisters from their vests, readying to spring on the distracted guards. In unison with T-Bone’s noisy manipulation from the cab, the two flash-bang grenades arched through the air, their metallic impact the last noise the surprised guards would hear for several minutes.

Two brilliant strobes flashed, the white light accompanied by a thunderous wave of sound pressure that completely overwhelmed the nervous systems of the huddled sentries. Some of the victims fell over while others maintained statuesque poses, unable to command their bodies to move.

The assaulters fell upon them, kicking away weapons and shoving the stunned men to the ground. Nylon ties bounded legs and hands in a flurry of activity, and they soon joined their co-workers in the walk-in.

Lou had moved away from the window, his view of the semi blocked by the outline of the warehouse
’s facade. The sounds of the diesel racing its motor caused him to glance up for a moment, the big truck’s loud horn blasts even more noteworthy. He had just taken a step toward the window when the muffled reports from the grenades reached his ears. Unable to identify the source of what seemed like small explosions, he hurried to the window, but couldn’t see anything but small puffs of black smoke rising over the warehouse roofline, evidence of the diesel’s exhaust.

Keying his radio, Lou requested a status report and waited for a response. He repeated the transmission after a minute, his heart rate increasing when no one answered the inquiry. The rattle of distant gunfire brought home the realization that something was terribly wrong.

Bishop, with Terri at his side, stayed at the back of the formation approaching downtown Midland Station. His emotions had been on a rollercoaster ride all day. A strong desire to be in the thick of the entire affair, an almost uncontrollable urge to lead the assault had been squelched by Terri’s rather clever manipulation.

“You can do anything you want,” she had stated, “
Just keep in mind that the baby and I are going to be right at your side. You can charge in like a one-armed tornado of death and destruction for all I care – but I’m going to be standing right beside you. Your risk will be shared by your child and wife. Your call.”

“That’s bullshit,” had been his response. “I’m feeling much better and getting stronger every day. I can do this. Those guys going into Midland Station need me… we need every man we can get.”

Terri had crossed her arms, the look in her eyes making it clear her decision was granite reinforced with steel – unyielding and immovable. “I’m not telling you what you can or can’t do. I’m simply stating that I’ll be right at your side. Right where a good, loving spouse should be. So whatever role you take, include me in the deal. I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

Bishop had
rumbled around pissed the rest of the day, his disposition ranging from pouting to outright anger. He eventually settled on taking charge of the reserve unit, which unless something went horribly wrong, wouldn’t be in danger.

The busloads of
fighters from Alpha had split into three groups. Team A was comprised of 35 shooters and assigned to assault the headquarters building from the south.

Team B, also 35
marksmen, would strike from the west. Nick, Deke and the Darkwater operators had the job of creating a diversion, hopefully tying down a large number of Midland’s security forces.

Bishop led the final group of 15
rifles - the reserves. If A or B got into trouble, were flanked, or about to be overrun, Bishop’s team would come to their aid.

All of the Alpha planners with combat experience had demanded a simple approach. Complex plans always failed in the fog of battle. Simple, flexible schemes worked. Every single person carrying a rifle knew not only his job, but the objectives
and position of the other teams. Nick had drilled everyone on the operation repeatedly, the rehearsals taking place at an abandoned building in Alpha for three days prior.

The reserve forces stayed back from Team A and B, those groups rushing forward to their
jump-off positions. In addition to riflemen, three medics accompanied Bishop’s team.

As the last man in Team B’s column disappeared around a corner, Bishop’s radio announced, “A is staged,” followed a minute later by “B is staged.” Less than 30 seconds after that, all hell broke loose in Midland Station.

Nick’s earpiece buzzed with the reports that the two primary teams were in position, he and Deke making momentary eye contact and nodding.
Here we go,
thought the big man.
Let the party begin.

The men with Nick had a very simple job – keep the enemy tied down.

Despite being a full block away from the headquarters building, the storage warehouse had been chosen as Nick’s Alamo for several reasons. The first was the obvious utility associated with Bishop’s idea of using a Trojan horse. Secondly, the walls were constructed of poured concrete, an excellent barrier against light weapons. Finally, there were very few windows or doors built into the facility. All of those factors made it a solid base for defense.

Most of the indigenous security presence in downtown Midland Station was concentrated around the Lewis Brothers Oil high-rise office building. Sandbagged outposts
were staged at many street corners, with mobile patrols randomly moving around the downtown streets. Whoever had designed the defense was clearly willing to give up everything but the actual HQ building - the scouting reports indicating a 30-member quick reaction force barracked within the main structure.

Once A and B were in place,
Deke wasted no time signaling his men, two of whom promptly aimed their rifles at the outpost on the next block and opened fire.

There were six Lewis Oil guards stationed at each intersection
around the HQ building. Each post had built “V” shaped, sandbag fortifications, primarily designed to protect against projectiles thrown by rioters.

The defenders
had no clue of Nick’s presence in the warehouse. Some of them were leaning on the waist-high wall of sandbags, while others huddled in a small group, waiting for the next vehicle to approach their position. Less than 100 yards away, four of the guards went down with the first burst from Deke’s shooters, the other two falling into the pit, more from being startled than any reaction to take cover.

Gunfire erupted from the opposite end of the warehouse at the same time, the target being another checkpoint one street over.
The defenders’ causalities began mounting quickly.

Lou pulled the earphone from his head, thoroughly frustrated by the device. The two-way radios being used by his men weren’t designed for military operations
, and the channel quickly became overwhelmed by the garbled cries of frightened, confused men.

From
his top floor window, Lou could see his people scrambling for cover at several different locations. One intersection, only a block away, told a different story – the pavement littered with unmoving men lying in pools of blood.

By the time he re-inserted the earpiece, the radio chatter had died down somewhat
, and he seized the opportunity to transmit. “If you aren’t being shot at, stay off the fucking air. I repeat, stay off the air unless you’re under fire.”