“Yes. Team three.”
“Why haven’t we seen them?”
Stafford grabbed his radio. “Team three, this is Major Stafford. Report your position.”
“Copy, Major. We’re in the southwest corner, passing bunker 22, over.”
“Status?”
“All quiet, everything locked up tight as a drum.”
“Copy,” Stafford replied. He looked at the bunker number: 127. Team three would be at the opposite corner of the bunker farm. He unlocked the steel doors and pulled them open. Jake and Honi aimed their flashlights into the bunker. The light reflected off the bright white paint on the bomb. The back of the bunker looked bumpy. Jake and Honi approached. The bumps were under a camo tarp. Jake grabbed the corner of the tarp and yanked.
Five bodies in army uniforms were laid out on the bunker floor, blood smeared on their clothes and on the ground.
“Major Stafford,” Jake called out. “How many members on team three?”
“Six,” Stafford replied walking into the bunker.
“And only one with a radio, right?”
“Dammit!”
Jake walked to the front of the bomb and shoved. It rolled back two feet. Jake set his flashlight down and wrapped his hands around the nose cone of the bomb. He lifted the bomb up an inch and set it back down.
“It’s empty.”
Stafford knelt down and examined the hand and fingers of one of the dead soldiers. “Cool, but not cold,” Stafford observed. “No rigor. This was recent, an hour, maybe less. Suppressed weapon or we would have heard it.” Stafford examined the wounds. “Shot in the neck, close range, stippling on the skin. These two were shot from the back, this one from the side, and these two in the face.”
“Where’s the nearest gate?” Jake asked.
“Northwest, about four miles.”
“Call them.”
Stafford grabbed his radio. “Northwest gate, this is Major Stafford. Status check.”
“No activity, sir. All’s quiet.”
“Copy.”
“You wanna bet?” Jake asked.
“One guy left with the radio, I know,” Stafford replied as they ran for the HUMVEE. Stafford pulled his cell phone and checked for bars. “Weak, but it should work.”
“Using the radio will alert the guy at the gate, right?” Honi asked.
“Exactly,” Stafford replied as he dialed. “This is Major Stafford. We have a security breach at the northwest gate. I want two UH-60 Black Hawk helicopters in the air searching that road, probable heavy truck. Half hour head start.”
Stafford disconnected and stared at his phone. “This is the call I never wanted to make.” He dialed the National Military Command Center.
“NMCC,” a woman’s voice said.
“Listen carefully,” Stafford said. He gave his name, rank and service number.
“Verifying…Voice print verified, Major Stafford. Patching you through to General Ward.”
“General Ward, this is Major Stafford, US Army Intelligence and Security Command. We have an incident, sir. Code word PINNACLE, BENT SPEAR. I say again, PINNACLE, BENT SPEAR. Fort Hood, northwest gate, we are in pursuit of a truck, estimate a half hour ahead of us.”
“Confirm. PINNACLE, BENT SPEAR,” General Ward said.
“I confirm. PINNACLE, BENT SPEAR.”
“What assets do you need?”
“I need IR satellite coverage of the area, two loaded F-16’s in the air. I need every connecting road blocked off by any means necessary. I have two Black Hawks inbound from Fort Hood, heading northwest. I do not want those shot down by accident, sir.”
“Affirmative, Major. Two friendlies inbound heading northwest from Fort Hood. Two F-16s, everything else is no-fly.”
“Thank you, General.” Stafford disconnected. He took a deep breath as the HUMVEE bounced along the gravel road.
“Okay,” Honi said. “NMCC is the National Military Command Center. What is PINNACLE and BENT SPEAR?”
Stafford had a grave look on his face. “PINNACLE is the code word for our nation’s highest adverse incident, one that threatens our national security. BENT SPEAR is the code word for a lost or missing nuclear weapon with the potential of starting a nuclear war.”
The HUMVEE slowed as they approached the gate in the line of two fences with razor wire on top. Stafford drew his .45 automatic. The gates were standing open, no one in sight. Even the K-9 units were gone.
“Go on through,” Stafford ordered. The driver accelerated through and took the gravel road to the right. Eight minutes later they arrived at the northwest gate to Fort Hood. It, too, stood open and unguarded.
Jake looked around. “Five more bodies back in the shrubs?”
“Probably. Let’s go!” Stafford shouted. “We’ve got to catch that truck!”
Just then two Black Hawk helicopters swooped overhead, searchlights illuminating the road. The downwash from the blades filled the air with dust. The HUMVEE driver slowed until the air cleared sufficiently to see the road again, and then he hit the gas.
Stafford’s secure phone rang. “Major Stafford,” he answered. “Thank you, sir.”
“All available avenues of escape have been blocked. We have them boxed in.”
Five minutes later Stafford’s radio crackled to life. “Major Stafford, this is Black Hawk Alpha. We located the target. We laid down a stream of live fire in front of the truck. It has stopped. We can see two men in the front of the vehicle. No one else visible at this time, sir. Holding here until you arrive.”
“Affirmative, Black Hawk Alpha. Hold there. How far are you from the gate?”
“Twenty-five clicks, Major.”
“Copy that, Black Hawk Alpha. ETA is fifteen mikes.”
“Clicks and mikes?” Honi asked.
Stafford grinned. “A click is a kilometer, about six tenths of a mile. A mike is a minute.”
Fifteen minutes later they approached the back of the large truck. Camo colored canvas covered the cargo area. The truck was bracketed front and back by the two Black Hawk helicopters. The choppers held a sideward position to the truck, each one with an M-60 machine gun aimed at the vehicle on the road. Stafford, Jake and Honi exited the HUMVEE, weapons drawn. They ran in a crouch and spread out amid the swirling dust and downwash, encircling the truck. The two soldiers in the front of the truck rolled the windows down, and extended their arms out of the openings.
The sound from the helicopters was deafening. Jake motioned for the soldiers inside the truck to exit. The doors opened and the two men slid out of the truck, arms raised in the air. Jake pointed to the ground. The two men dropped to their knees and placed their hands on the top of their heads. Jake and Stafford came up from behind, placed the two men in handcuffs, and patted then down for weapons, while Honi kept them covered.
“That was easy enough,” Stafford said.
“Yeah,” Jake replied. “Too easy.” He went to the back of the covered truck and threw open the canvas. The truck was empty.
CHAPTER 10
Jake, Honi and Major Stafford flew back to Fort Hood on Black Hawk Alpha, while the two prisoners were transported on the second helicopter. Black Hawk Alpha landed in the parking lot in front of the Tactical Command Center. Once inside, they connected to the Infra-Red satellite image General Ward had initiated.
“Okay, here we are,” Stafford said pointing to the heat signature of the HUMVEE at the northwest gate. “Out here is the truck, and here,” Stafford pointed to the two fast-moving heat sources crossing over the gate, “are the two Black Hawk helicopters in pursuit of the truck.”
“But the truck was empty,” Honi said. “Can you back the image out so we can see a wider area?”
“Sure.” Stafford made the adjustments. They stood, examining the complex image that covered 400 square miles.