The Lazarus Moment (18 page)

Red jumped up in excitement, slapping Jagger’s back. “They’re
alive!”

Jubilation
erupted in the hold of the C-17, Red holding up a hand to quiet the noise. “Can
you repeat that, Colonel? I didn’t get the last part.”

“We lost
Spock.”

Red
dropped back into his seat, cursing. He turned to the rest of his team, covering
the mike. “Spock’s dead.”

Jagger
hugged Wings, the two pressing their foreheads together in remembrance, Jimmy
wrapping his arms over their shoulders and joining them. Red felt as if a
little bit of his soul had been torn from him. Spock was one of his best
friends, they were all best friends, the Unit tight. But Spock had been with him
from almost the beginning of his assignment. The bond formed under combat,
relying so heavily on your teammates, was deep, something most civilians never
experienced.

They had
lost a brother.

“What
about the President?”

“The
First Family is safe, but the First Lady is badly injured. It looks like they
lost about forty in the crash.”

“Jesus.
How can we help?”

“Is that
offer to jump still on the table?”

“Absolutely.”

“There’s
a rebel force about seventy strong heading for the crash site from the north.
They’re about four hours out. The SAR team is about five or six out, coming in
from the south. We can’t let those rebels reach the survivors first.”

“So you
need a little delaying action.”

“I can’t
ask you to do this, it’s seventy against four.”

Red
smiled at the Colonel’s concern. “It hardly seems fair, but I promise we’ll
take it easy on them.”

He could
almost hear the Colonel smile.

“Good
hunting, Sergeant.”

Maggie Harris Residence

Lake in the Pines Apartments, Fayetteville, North Carolina

Maggie sat curled up on her couch, sobbing, Shirley holding her as
everyone sat in shock. Niner was single and Atlas had a girlfriend who hadn’t
been read in yet, so was oblivious to the fact she had lost the man in her
life. Spock’s wife Joanne was being consoled by Wings’ wife Robyn, everyone in
the room whose husbands hadn’t just been killed feeling a mix of relief and
guilt.

Maggie
was fortunate. She felt horrible for the other girlfriends who were blissfully
unaware of what had just happened. She especially felt bad for Atlas’
girlfriend Vanessa. They had been dating for some time now and it was clearly
serious. Atlas loved that girl to death and she clearly felt the same, BD
mentioning only recently that he thought there might be wedding bells in the
near future, the big man head over heels.

Maggie
was the exception. Because of her job, she knew what her boyfriend did for a
living, just like the wives. She desperately wanted to reach out to Vanessa though
knew she couldn’t. None of them were supposed to know what they knew, the
Colonel breaking the rules only because it was her.

There
was a knock at the door, Jagger’s wife Angela opening it.

Maggie
cried out as she saw the Colonel standing there with the Chaplain. They stepped
inside as sobs filled the room, the fact he was there making their privileged
information real.

He
nodded at her, yet to her surprise turned to Spock’s wife Joanne. “Mrs. Lightman.
I want you to know that I have not given up hope, and the only reason I am here
at this time is because I made the foolish mistake of jumping to conclusions
earlier, and sending that message. We received a message a short while ago. BD,
Niner and Atlas are okay”—Maggie yelped in relief, clasping her hands over her
mouth in shame as she realized there was a name missing from that list.
“Unfortunately, at this time we believe your husband was killed. We haven’t
confirmed this yet, and I don’t want you to give up hope, but I felt you
deserved to know what was going on.” He looked at Maggie. “All of you.”

Maggie
smiled her thanks, tears of relief pouring down her cheeks, mixed with the
sorrow she felt for Joanne, the woman collapsing onto a chair, the Chaplain
immediately at her side.

Clancy
looked at the gathered wives. “This is a rapidly evolving situation. There will
be no more communications from me on this matter, I shouldn’t have done what I
did already. Just know that everything that can be done is being done. Now I
have to get back to the Unit.” He turned back to Joanne. “Ma’am, you have my
deepest sympathies, and I will see you again as soon as I can.”

Clancy
left, the Chaplain and Angela helping Joanne to her feet as everyone expressed
their condolences as the stunned woman left the apartment. When the door
closed, everyone looked at each other, it clear they felt just as Maggie did.

Relieved.

And
ashamed.

Ashamed at
the joy they felt it wasn’t their loved one that had died.

Air Force One Crash Site, Mozambique

First Lady Melanie Starling gasped in pain as four men lifted her
onto the makeshift stretcher, the leaves and bamboo shoots expertly woven
together about to be tested. One of the Airmen had volunteered to be a guinea
pig and the two stretchers for the wounded had held up nicely.

Now the
question was how navigable the jungle was with a six-foot long stretcher
carried between two people.

Dawson
turned to see the fire doused with dirt, all the supplies gathered, the
pittance they had collected able to fit in the emptied duffel bag that had
carried the weapons. He pointed at Atlas and Niner. “You two scout ahead, make
sure we don’t stumble upon anyone.”

“Yes,
Sergeant Major.” Both headed out, weapons drawn, Dawson turning to the gathered
Secret Service and Air Force personnel. “Agents, I want you to trail the group
by about one hundred yards, covering our six. If you spot anything, don’t
engage. Rejoin the group and we’ll make a stand together. Understood?”

“Yes,
sir.”

He
turned to Jane, she seeming to have taken natural command of the Air Force
personnel, she the highest-ranking member still alive, but also good at giving
orders. “Airman, you and your crew need to keep this group moving and together.
We’re only as fast as our slowest person, and if we lose someone, we’re even
slower. I want every single person who leaves here to arrive stateside, got
it?”

“Yes,
sir!”

“Good.”
He turned to the group. “Okay, we’re moving out now. Those who’ve volunteered
to be stretcher-bearers, don’t be heroes. If you get tired, hand off to someone
else. There’s no shame in it. If you hurt yourself overdoing it, then you’re
useless after that. We’re going to do this slow and steady. If you need help,
ask for it. And whatever you do, don’t wander off on your own. If you get
separated from the group, listen for the river and head toward it, then walk
upriver, that’s the opposite direction of where it’s flowing for you
landlubbers.” He raised his hand over his head, then dropped it, pointing
forward. “Let’s go!”

Stretchers
were lifted and the entire procession began to shuffle forward.

Dawson
waited for the last person to leave the clearing, remaining with the Secret
Service personnel. He checked across the river to see the small group there
moving forward as well. He hoped farther upriver there might be a spot where
they could cross and join the main party, though as long as they kept within
sight of each other, they’d be okay.

He stared
down the river one last time, then began the trek with the others.

Goodbye,
old friend.

Downriver from Air Force One Crash Site, Mozambique

Spock’s eyes fluttered open to a strange sensation. His entire body
was floating, gently bobbing up and down, and for a minute, he could be
forgiven for thinking he was actually home, floating in his parents’ pool,
having fallen asleep.

Unfortunately
reality elbowed itself in front of the comfortable memory as he realized his
entire body was aching, especially his forehead. He reached up, gingerly
touching the source of the pain and felt a good-sized egg.

I’m
alive.

He glanced
about and realized he was floating on something, a seat cushion by the looks of
it. He remembered going over the falls, managing to get a grip on the doorframe
just before the plane hit the bottom, then little else.

In fact,
nothing else.

The sun
was blaring down on him and he was dying of thirst. He spotted the shore, only
feet away, and gently kicked toward the trees, the river wide enough to actually
give him a view of the sky for the first time since they had crashed.

He
grabbed some roots and pulled himself clear, rolling onto the jungle floor,
catching his breath as he stared at the trees overhead, the cushion continuing
to float away. Gently moving all his limbs, he thanked God he had nothing
broken, though he was badly bruised and scraped. And his head pounded.

You’re
alive, that’s all that matters.

He sat
up, his head swimming slightly. He squeezed his eyes shut then opened them,
focusing on a single point.

The toes
of his boots.

Things
settled.

Might
have a concussion.

He’d
have to monitor it. If he started to feel tired then he might be in trouble. He
stood, using a tree trunk for support, then looked upriver. The falls were at
least a couple of miles away. It was going to be one hell of a trek to catch
up, but he had to do it. Right now he was certain everyone thought he was dead,
and the last thing he wanted was to get to camp and find everyone already
rescued and gone.

He
picked up a branch, a little better than waist height, and put some pressure on
it.

You’ll
do.

And with
his walking stick in hand, Spock, risen from the dead, began the painful walk toward
his team, already planning how he’d scare the shit out of them.

Approaching Air Force One Crash Site, Over Mozambique

Red had spotted the river on the way down, guiding his chute toward
the water, then cutting himself loose just above the surface. Surveying the
trees overhead, he was convinced it had been a wise choice, despite them all
being soaked.

We’ll
dry out.

“Everyone
good?”

Jagger
nodded. “Yup. My balls are gonna chafe, but at least nothing’s broken.”

Mickey.
“Really? Your balls are gonna chafe? Not your inner thighs?”

“You’ve
seen my balls. What do you think’s gonna chafe first?”

Jimmy
shook his head. “You’re the only man I know who can actually spin in the shower
and smack someone beside him.”

“You
love it.”

“Yes,
big boy, and don’t you forget it.”

Red turned
away, grinning as he took a GPS reading. “Okay, looks like we’re right where we
want to be, between the survivors and the rebels. If everyone’s balls are
ready, I suggest we establish comms and get a bead on our hostiles.” He pressed
his earpiece. “Control, Bravo Zero-Two, come in, over.”

“Bravo
Zero-Two, this is Control, what’s your status, over?”

“We’re
on dryland, Control, team intact. Request update on rebel position, over?”

“Sending
it now.”

Red glanced
at his tactical computer’s display and nodded. “Roger that, update received.
Check-in in thirty mikes, out.” He pointed west, away from the river. “We’ll
head inland about half a klick.”

“Booby
traps?” suggested Jagger, patting a pocket containing some C4 as they began
their march.

“Negative,
we don’t know how many civilians use this area. This is strictly harass and
evade. A delay op. We’re facing a massively superior force. Our job is to
obstruct, hinder, and inflict maximum damage so they don’t reach the crash site
before the rescue team does.”

“But
first we’ve gotta find them,” said Jagger, pushing aside some heavy foliage.

“Seventy
guys walking through the jungle in a hurry? I think we’ll hear them no
problem.”

Jagger
grunted. “Let’s just make sure they don’t hear us first.”

Jimmy
slapped Jagger on his back. “Just make sure they don’t hear those balls clanging.”

“You can
always hold ’em if you’re concerned.”

Jimmy glanced
over at Red. “Sarge, I think Jagger’s hitting on me.”

“
I’m
going to start hitting on someone if you two don’t cut the chatter.”

“Yes’m!”
squealed Jimmy.

Red
stifled a laugh. They were nowhere near the enemy and their light banter would
help pass the time. He figured they had about half an hour before first
contact.

Then the
rest of the day was going to be hell.

Landing Zone Alpha, South of Air Force Once Crash Site, Mozambique

Lt. Commander Rich Jacobson jumped to the ground and cleared the
helicopter blades, quickly turning to direct the others unloading the
equipment, pointing to where he wanted things. The clearing they had managed to
find could barely fit a chopper, though it would do—it would just delay things
until it was expanded. His job was to get the advance team on the ground and
moving north as quickly as possible; his second in command, Lieutenant Maria
Lopez, would be left behind to coordinate efforts here.

Lopez was
last off the chopper, it immediately lifting off, the second chopper already
banking toward the clearing as the first arrivals carried the equipment to the
edge of the clearing and into the trees.

“Lieutenant,
keep this area clear. I don’t want anything to delay a chopper being able to
land. The advance team will depart in ten mikes with light equipment. We’re
going to find the President and secure him until the rest of the team arrives
with the supplies. I want comms up and a perimeter established just in case
there’s hostiles in the area.”