His teammates in this mission had given him the name Bob. He liked it. It was the first time anyone had given him a name, and for that, he would always be grateful. He hoped that when he got back to base, that they would let him keep his new name.
Bob sat in the back of the shuttle with several cargo containers. He did not wonder what was in them; that was not his concern. He had done his job, which was to load them up and get them home. Bob was the only member of Lightning Squad in the shuttle. Two Impegi crewmembers sat up front in the cockpit, and two were with him in the back, standing between containers.
The shuttle slammed to a halt in the cargo bay of the C-17. The shuttle’s rear door opened; Bob began to climb out. When he looked up, he saw a man, who he instantly recognized to be a Vitahician, pointing a baby .380 at his face. Bob’s first thought was ‘why is this guy pointing a gun at me.’ His second thought was ‘is that a real gun.’
The man fired the weapon at point blank range. Bob wasn’t afraid. He had been shot before, and by much larger weapons. Everything went black, and Bob was dead before he keeled over, face first into the hard metal deck.
What Bob would never know, was that Mike Evans, the Vitahician that killed him, was a scientist at the same lab where Bob had been born and raised. Mike knew that Bob’s weakest point was his eyeball. Mike had shot Bob directly in his left eye, piercing his brain.
What Mike did not know, but it turned out in his favor, was that the jump shuttle had no other armor-clad soldiers in it. The four remaining on the shuttle were Impegi survivors, soft targets not expecting to be shot. In under a minute, all the shuttle occupants could no longer be classified as survivors.
Almost done. If I can get this cargo to the Ondagra, then maybe, just maybe, I can get Nakita back. Hopefully, the flight crew did not hear the shots. The flight crew. I must eliminate them next.
Mike knew that the giant fell where there were no security cameras, not that he could have moved him anyway. Mike only had two shots left in his small pistol, and three flight crew remained. Mike unsheathed the large combat knife strapped to the giant’s leg, and concealed it under his jacket.
I must kill them all before any one of them radios Command. I need to get a head start before Command can dispatch interceptors.
Mike calmly walked up to the cockpit where the three pilots were sitting, paying no attention to him. Mike smiled. They had no idea what had just happened in the back. Mike fired twice in rapid succession. The first bullet struck the man to his right in the neck. He grabbed his throat, trying to stop the gurgling blood. The second bullet struck the other man in the face, just under the eye.
The pilot, realizing something was very wrong, tried to stand up and turn around. Mike lunged at the pilot with Bob’s combat knife. The pilot was able to deflect the lunge, and Mike went toppling over the co-pilot’s bloody body. The pilot pulled from his flight suit a Berretta pistol, but Mike had already recovered and grabbed the barrel of the pistol, pointing it toward the floor. The struggle continued until Mike plunged the knife into the pilot’s chest, causing him to go limp. Mike pulled the three dead bodies from the cockpit and collapsed into the pilot’s seat.
Mike had never flown a C-17 Globe Master. However, he had flown planes in the past. He helped design flight systems in the past, and had read the flight control manual. Not to mention the fact that the now dead crew had been so kind as to show him the flight controls on the long trip to Siberia.
Mike settled down into the pilot’s seat, finding the perfect spot, before flipping the switch to engage the optical stealth, and changing course toward Antarctica. Mike turned off the Mission-Computer-Display and radio panel. He knew it would be a long flight to Antarctica. As he glanced over the gauges and four display screens, he remembered that fuel would be an issue. With a cargo this valuable, he was certain that the Ondagra would take care of the fuel, eventually.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Major Tom had not slept since the Impegi went down. He stood next to General Stone Byrd in the rear of the command center on the Moon Base. Most of the officers were looking disheveled and tired, but Stone Byrd stood amongst the chaos like a chiseled statue with not a hair out of place or a wrinkle on his shirt.
Standing next to Stone Byrd, Major Tom thoughtfully recounted, more to himself than anyone else, “Magadan: The city that Jesus traveled to after he fed the five thousand.”
Stone Byrd nodded his head, “Really?”
“Yes Sir. It was an ancient city on the Sea of Galilee. It’s mentioned in both the Books of Matthew and Mark. Some say that Mary Magdalene was from there.”
Stone Byrd was somewhat amused, “Well, aren’t you a fountain of knowledge. Are you a Christian, Major?”
“My parents took me to Sunday School when I was a kid.”
“You learn all that in Sunday School?” Byrd asked.
“Not really. I also read a lot. Some scholars believe that there may have been an ancient tower or fortress there.”
“Anything else happen there?” General Byrd asked.
“Not that I can recall,” Major Tom replied.
“Well, 2,000 years from now, they will be reading about how the events in Magadan Oblast changed the course of human history,” Stone Byrd said, confidently.
One of the officers loudly announced, “All jump shuttles and cargo planes have cleared the crash site and are heading home,”
“Have all jump shuttles finished boarding the C-17s?” Stone Byrd asked.
“No. They are still trying to board, but there are no reports of problems,” the officer reported. “Wait. No. I see one of the Russian crafts approaching a jump shuttle that has not yet boarded the C-17.”
“Dammit. Fucking Russians,” Stone Byrd muttered. “Keep me posted on that shuttle, let me know when it makes it to the cargo plane.”
“Yes Sir.”
Stone turned to another officer, “How much cargo did our boys leave at the site?”
“According to the last ground report and our sensor readings, it seems that we got about two thirds of the Element 115.”
Stone shook his head in disgust, “So, the Russians and the Grays have a third of our Element 115. Damn. Major Tom, what are my options? Can we destroy that ship and all the remaining cargo?”
Major Tom responded slowly, “Yes Sir. I have four TEPNOS missiles left. One should do it.”
Stone Byrd, sensing Major Tom’s hesitation, asked, “But?”
“Well, Sir. It has been over a day since we launched six TEPNOS missiles at Russia. I’m certain they will have been trying to figure out what hit them, and with the incursion into Siberia, it’s likely they have figured out what’s going.”
“Speak your mind, Major.”
“Sir, two problems. Yesterday, they were not expecting a missile attack; so, they weren’t looking for it, or trying to defend from it. Today, not only are they looking for it, but they may have figured out a way to defend. Second, yesterday we had the possibility of plausible deniability; today, they may be able to track these missiles right back to the Moon Base.”
“I see your point, Major.” Stone Byrd pressed his lips together so tightly that they began to turn white, then he clinched his fists. “Major, do we have any other options?”