“Copy, Bravo One, Alpha out,” she replied, feeling a sense of weariness. How was she ever going to find V, if no one got any intel from the enemy? Yet she understood Martin’s call. With nearly 450 desperate civilians in tow, they couldn’t deal with prisoner transport and interrogation. By all laws, the Russians were terrorists, caught in an act of terror. They deserved to die. She looked at Blake, shivering, lying in a pool of blood, and felt a lump in her throat, a wave of suffocating anger. Yes, they did deserve to die. Screw the intel; she’d find another way.
She kneeled next to Blake and Adeline, feeling tears coming to her eyes, not knowing what to say.
“You’ll be all right, you’ll see,” she whispered. “You’re tough. You drive people crazy with how tough you are. You’ll be fine.” She touched Adeline’s arm and added, reassuringly, “He’ll be fine. We have doctors here, good ones, the best.”
Dr. Gary Davis followed behind two men carrying a gurney, running toward them.
“See? Help is here,” Alex said, then stood up to make room for the doctor and the gurney.
Dr. Davis kneeled and checked the wound briefly, then instructed the men.
“Let’s load him up, gently. We need to stop by the lab. I have what I need to stabilize him in there. I’ll pack us some first-aid kits too.”
She walked briskly behind them, but then headed out of the dome, while they went to the lab. Outside, the trucks were pulled in front of the silo’s entrance, and pure chaos ruled. Bravo teams tried to mark people off the manifests as they loaded them in the trucks, but it wasn’t working all that well. People were desperate to secure a place on the trucks, and were boarding the trucks as fast as they could, paying little or no attention to the Bravo teams giving instructions.
Then it suddenly got worse.
Two trucks filled with armed Russians approached fast on the road coming from the mountain, not giving them much time to react.
She yelled into her comm, “Take cover!”
Then she fired her Tavor, sending a few shots in the air, to get everyone’s attention. People ran shrieking, some toward the field, most of them toward the forest. Those who had already climbed inside the trucks didn’t dare get off and run for cover, but the trucks were not going to shield them against bullets. It was going to turn into a massacre.
“All Bravo teams,” she yelled into her radio, pressing the laryngophone against her throat, “Russians cannot get to the trucks, no matter what. Copy?”
“This is Bravo One, copy,” Martin’s voice responded.
“Copy,” Lou’s reply came in next.
They had already started shooting. Most Bravos took positions around the front of the building, taking cover behind tree trunks or big rocks. Alex crouched behind a large tree trunk, her Tavor in position to fire, waiting for the Russians to come close enough. She saw Lou running toward the incoming Russian trucks, behind the tree line, holding a grenade in his hand. As soon as the first truck drove by, he threw it in the back of the truck. Seconds later, it blew up, sending smoldering pieces everywhere.
The second truck stopped and dozens of Russians climbed down, scattering toward the building and shooting their AK47s on automatic fire. Despite the total chaos, Alex remembered Lou’s training in the firing range. “Slow is fast when you fire your weapon,” he had said. “Pick your man and take him out. One bullet is all it takes.”
She aimed her Tavor at one of the first Russians, and squeezed the trigger. The man fell on his back, firing his Kalashnikov as he fell, sending a stream of bullets in the air. She aimed toward a second Russian, and her bullet hit him in the leg. She fired again, and took him out. A third one started shooting in her direction, providing cover for the rest of the Russians, but one of the Bravos killed him within a second.
She saw another Russian approach, and aimed carefully, then squeezed the trigger. She missed. Cussing under her breath, she fired again and the second time she didn’t miss. Focused on the targets in front of her, she completely missed the Russian who approached from her left side, hiding behind trees as he drew near.
She heard footsteps really close and froze, adrenaline shooting up her spine, her heart pumping hard and fast. She turned and saw a Russian holding his weapon trained on her chest, only a few feet away. She didn’t get the chance to decide what to do. Lou crept up on the Russian and stabbed him in the ear with one swift blow.
“Thanks,” she whispered.
“Anytime,” Lou replied and disappeared behind the trees, looking for another target.
She resumed her position, searching for another Russian to kill. She didn’t see any; slowly, carefully, she headed closer to the silo, using every tree as cover.
Then she heard the “all clear” message come in by comm.
She looked up at the sky and frowned. Still cloudy, but toward the west she could see a few stars. The sky was clearing, which meant the enemy could have satellite eyes on them soon.
She found Lou.
“Where’s Sam?” she shouted, trying to cover the commotion.
“In the first truck. A doctor is with him.”
“Let’s go,” she said, and climbed in the back of the truck.
The truck’s canopy, moist and smelly, didn’t do much for comfort. The earlier rain had soaked it and water was dripping here and there. Sam lay on a gurney toward the front of the truck, near the cabin, and a tall, distinguished-looking man she vaguely remembered from before sat by his side.
“How is he?”
“He needs a hospital,” the man replied with a thick German accent. “He’s bleeding internally. I’ve done all I could here, but that’s not enough. He needs surgery.” The man averted his eyes and lowered his voice. “It’s urgent; he won’t last much longer.”
Oh, no! Where? Where could they go? Sam would know.
“Sam?” she called gently, reaching out and holding his hand. “You in there, somewhere?” she tried to joke, but felt her eyes well up with tears.
“Yes, I’m here,” he whispered faintly.
“Sam, I need your help. We’re going to head out to the coast in these trucks. We have the maps and everything. Where would I take you to a hospital?”
He gave a long sigh, then closed his eyes.
“You wouldn’t, kiddo. The Russians would kill all these people. Not worth it. This is the end of the line for me.”
“Sam!” she protested. “Not an option, you hear me? Think of something, please!”
She couldn’t bear the thought of losing Sam. No… there had to be a way.
“If we make it to the coast,” Lou intervened, “we might have a chance. There’s an American base on Hokkaido, near Wakkanai. There’s a Wasp-class ship there we could call in for help. It could come and get us.”
“Confirmed, I’ve seen the Wasp,” Martin added. “The USS Okinawa.”
“What’s a Wasp?” Alex whispered, trying to contain her sobs.
“It’s an amphibious assault ship,” Lou said, “Wasp class. It’s big, and it has helos, six or eight Super Stallions at least. It’s almost like an aircraft carrier for helos and a lot of Marine Corps Expeditionary forces. They could evac all these people in one move. They’d also have surgeons on board.”
She felt a surge of hope swell her chest.
“What does it take to call them? How do you get a military warship rerouted here, near the Russian shore?”
Martin and Lou looked at each other, and Lou pursed his lips before speaking.
“You mean, in Russian territorial waters? We’d need—”
“A presidential order,” Sam whispered. “It’s technically an act of war against Russia.”
“Shit…” she muttered, thinking hard. “Well, what the hell, I’ll give it a shot,” she decided. “Got nothing more to lose at this point. Time to pray is now, people.”