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Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781477276365 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | AuthorHouse |
| Publication date: | 11/05/2012 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 210 |
| File size: | 291 KB |
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STRIKE AT THE HEART
The First MissionBy L. W. Berrie
AuthorHouse
Copyright © 2012 L. W. BerrieAll right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4772-7638-9
Chapter One
12 January 2002
Kenya
CPT John Harris's orders were clear and succinct: Escort a convoy of ten-ton trucks carrying medical supplies from the port of Mombasa inland to Nairobi, the capital, then deploy his Special Forces A Team to seize Jomo Kenyatta International Airport and open it to traffic. The field was in the hands of Abu Simba terrorists who had attacked Nairobi witha mysterious biological agent, killing thousands. Countless more remained at risk and Abu Simba, armed with Stinger surface-to-air missiles, threatened to shoot down any aircraft that attempted to land.
The first two hundred thirty miles from Mombasa were uneventful. Then the skies opened. A rain of Biblical proportions pelted the Special Forces humvees and the trucks they escorted. As the road dissolved into dark mud, Harris ordered his team to deflate their humvee tires to fifty percent. Water lapped at their doors as the sturdy vehicles moved forward.
The heavy trucks were another matter: Their tires could not be deflated, then re-inflated on the march; the five heavily—laden trucks slipped and slid all over the swamp that had once been a road. Unwilling to risk losing a truck, Colonel Breene, the convoy commander, had called a halt at the base of a hill. Atop this grassy knoll he and his staff would wait out the storm in a hastily-erected command tent.
At an inch under seven feet and 270 pounds of bone, muscle and sinew, Harris had a hard time getting comfortable in the humvee's cramped front seat. Shifting his weight, he peered at the surrounding jungle through the wet windshield with an infrared sniper scope.
Except for a ghostly, greenish glow that might be a distant herd of elephants, he saw nothing but rain and jungle.
Harris keyed his radio headset.
"Five, Six."
"Six, Five," came the reply from CPT Jerome Roundtree, Harris' second-in-command and Lakota Sioux blood brother. Roundtree's humvee brought up the convoy's rear.
"Jerome, do you see anything back there?"
"Negative. Only a few animals."
As suddenly at it had begun, the wind slackened, the rain petered out and the sky brightened. Harris peered at the clouds, hopeful that the convoy could get back on the road again soon.
Then he saw it.
It was an enormous funnel of black nothingness near the horizon, growing larger and larger as it approached at incredible speed. Harris had spent his youth on America's Great Plains and tornadoes were no mystery to him—but never had he seen a funnel like this one. It must be a mile wide at the base, he thought, amazed. Preparing for this mission, Harris had studied African weather patterns; he knew that the continent was virtually free of tornadoes. So then what the hell is that, he thought.
"What the fuck?" he said into his headset radio "It's coming right for us."
His words were torn from his mouth as the funnel enveloped the convoy in a maelstrom of swirling blackness. Harris grabbed at the door handle as the humvee shot forward and slammed him against his seat as if pushed by a giant hand.
He turned to his driver, MSGT Raymond Reed.
"Ray, drive! Get us out of here!"
Reed never heard him. The deafening roar grew louder until Harris could not hear even his own voice. He shouted into his radio headset, "Jerome, are you still with us?"
Nothing. Was anyone else still with him? The sensation of speed grew stronger as he was pushed further and further back into his seat. He felt his cheeks flatten as his flesh oozed toward his ears. Is this how an astronaut feels on takeoff? he thought, struggling to control his emotions.
Harris tried to look at his hands, but could see nothing in the blackness. Was he alone?
For uncountable moments Harris floated in a sea of nothingness. He fingered the letter in his shirt pocket, a "Dear John" from Morning Star, his fiancé. Former fiance, he thought. It had arrived hours before he left Ft. Bragg for Africa, and he'd put it in a zip-lock bag to keep it dry.
Harris had shared the letter with no one, not even Roundtree. He didn't want his right-hand man to know that Morning Star, his cousin, had broken their engagement, because Harris was sure that when this mission was over he could patch things up with her. If she'd just let him explain that he'd made Jerome his second-in-command not to put him down but to prove the Army wrong about him, it might change things. But, thought Harris, would he ever have that opportunity?
Harris feared that if the Army knew why he'd selected Jerome his own leadership might be called into question. After all, Roundtree had been relieved as Team Leader because of "visions" he said he'd had at Fort Bragg.
But perhaps, thought Harris, such fears are useless. Trapped in swirling blackness, he might never get a chance to explain. What was this thing? Would it ever release them? Would he still be alive?
Abruptly acceleration ended. The humvee floated in a sea of blackness. After what seemed eons, the blackness slowly dissolved into a deep indigo just as abrupt deceleration slammed Harris against his seat belt, bruising his chest. Air was forced from his lungs and he struggled against suffocation. The indigo lightened to azure, then vanished.
Gasping for breath, Harris shut his eyes against brilliant light, then squinted as his eyes adjusted to blazing sunshine. He saw the hill where Col. Breene had pitched his tent. Everything appeared the same—the hill, the tall grasses on the veldt, the copses of trees. Except that the tent was gone.
"Ray, you all right?" said Harris.
Unable to find his voice, Reed sat frozen, a statue.
"Ray?"
"I think I'm okay. I'm here—wherever we are. But what the fuck hit us? And don't tell me that was a tornado. I've seen tornadoes. Besides, Africa doesn't have tornadoes."
"I don't have a clue. But it looks like we're still in the same location."
Harris keyed his headset. "Jerome, you there?"
Roundtree's voice quavered. "Yeah. I'm here and so is the whole fucking convoy. I can see every vehicle in front of me. Guys are climbing out of their trucks. The ground is dry and hard, John. Like it never rained. What the hell happened?"
"Beats the shit out of me. Do a head count. Verify that everyone made it."
"Copy. I'll check out the Medical Unit, too. Over."
Harris turned to look at the two noncoms in the back seat. SFC Anthony Castaneda, the Communication Specialist, and SFC Francis Taboney, Intelligence/Operations Specialist.
"We're okay," said Taboney.
"Tony, check out our radios and get me a position fix," said Harris. "I want to know if that thing moved us to a different part of Africa. Frenchie, check our supplies—especially fuel. I want to know how far we can drive."
"Right away," said Taboney.
Harris stepped out on the hard ground. Struck by a sudden wave of dizziness, he steadied himself against the humvee.
"What should I do?" asked Reed.
"Get the humvee ready to move," replied Harris. "Remember to ramp up tire pressure again. And check for structural damage. That wild ride might of torqued the frame."
"Right."
Harris glanced at his watch. They were forced off the road at 1545. His watch read 1605. Add the fifteen minutes spent in the vehicles waiting for the storm to subsided only five minutes had been lost to their encounter with the black cloud.
Castaneda set the mesh antenna on the roof of the humvee as Taboney opened the trunk and counted the cans of fuel they had, Then he proceeded to the other vehicles. Reed increased tire pressure to maximum, an easy task in a humvee—start the engine and raise a lever and the humvee did the rest.
Accompanied by Colonel David Walsh, a doctor and the senior medical officer, Roundtree arrived on foot.
"I've tried calling you on the radio," bellowed Walsh. "You have not answered."
Harris turned to Castaneda. "Tony, did you check the radio?"
"It's fine, John," replied Castaneda. "It got turned off. Must have happened in the blackness."
"Right," replied Harris, suppressing a smile "Must have."
Everyone in his humvee knew that Harris had turned the radio off before the funnel hit because he was tired of hearing from Walsh.
"When do we leave for Nairobi?" shouted Walsh.
"We're doing a position check now to see if we were moved by whatever it was that hit us," said Harris. "How's that going, Tony?"
Castaneda shrugged, "It's not. Seems like the Global Positioning Satellite is down. Also, I tried raising the Pentagon via the satellite link. Nada. Just static."
"Impossible!" snapped Walsh. "You guys are supposed to have the best communication equipment in the world. The best."
Harris couldn't recall Castaneda being stymied on any previous communication problem. "Keep working on it, Tony."
He turned toward Walsh, "We have to know where we're at before we can head for Nairobi, sir." When the Pentagon formed this task force, it was recognized that Walsh, a world-class authority on viruses and commissioned solely for this mission, was no field leader. Colonel Eddy Breene, an infantry officer, was in overall command. When Breene wasn't around, however, Walsh tested Harris's patience by behaving as if everyone in the convoy came under his personnel command.
Walsh scowled up at Harris, a foot taller. He must hate really looking up at me, thought Harris. I hope he gets a stiff neck.
"When will we be back on the road to Nairobi?" repeated Walsh. "Your assignment, Captain, is to escort my medical unit to Nairobi. The sick of Nairobi need these medical supplies and our services. The longer we stay here, the more people will die."
"Just before that thing hit we were at 37 degrees 21 minutes, 10 seconds east and 1 degree 57 minutes 2 seconds south. That would put us two hundred and thirty miles out of Mombasa and fifty miles from Nairobi," volunteered Roundtree.
"Well, Captain," Walsh growled, "That makes it simple. There's the hill. You don't need to be a West Point graduate or Special Forces trained to figure this one out. If we head in that direction, we should be in Nairobi in an hour. The ground is dry so we should make good time. What's your problem?"
Harris's temper flared, "When I was growing up on a farm, everyone called me a 'dumb country hick.' When I played football in high school, I was a lineman because I was bigger and stronger than anyone else. The other kids called me a 'dumb jock.' Yet I scored higher in math and science than anyone else and passed the competitive exams to get into West Point. I know enough science to know things are not right, sir. What if that's not the same hill?"
"That's bullshit. Look around you. We're next to the same damn hill, just where we were before." Walsh realized he had struck a button.
"But the fact that we can't get a satellite fix on our current position when, before the funnel hit, we could indicates a problem."
"What kind of problem? Nairobi can't be more than an hour away. That way in case you can't guess." Walsh pointed toward the northwest. "So let's take off."
"Why is the ground dry, sir? There is no sign of water. Yet it was up to our doors just minutes earlier."
"The ground is dry because that funnel sucked up all the water. Now stop wasting time. I really don't care why the ground is dry. All I care about is getting to Nairobi. Maybe you don't know anything about hemorrhagic viruses. No one has been able to contain them when they occur naturally. How terrorists synthesized a derivative and used a hemorrhagic virus on Nairobi is nothing short of a medical miracle. But minutes and seconds count."
Said Harris, "Yes, sir. Jerome, have you checked the convoy?"
"Roger that. Everyone and every vehicle made it—except for those who were in Col. Breene's command post tent. The tent, Col. Breene and his staff are gone."
"Gone?" said Harris, raising his eyebrows.
"No tent, no command group, no Col. Breene."
Walsh was too amazed to speak.
"I set a perimeter guard," continued Roundtree. "All the humvee tires have been re-inflated and Frenchie tells me we have enough extra fuel to drive about a thousand miles, if need be."
Walsh found his tongue. "Ah-ha! So, even if we got moved a little, we've got enough fuel to find a city or town where we can refuel. So why are we staying here? That doesn't make sense. Report to me when we're ready to leave." Walsh stalked off in a huff, Harris shaking his head.
"What a jackass," whistled Roundtree. "I don't care if he really is the world's leading authority on viruses, which is why the Army gave him those eagles. He's used to bossing nurses and staff around, but this is the Army, not a medical lab."
Harris let out a pent-up breath and turned to Castaneda, "Any luck?"
Castaneda shrugged his massive shoulders, "Nothing. It's like there's no Pentagon and no satellite."
"Keep trying," said Harris. "Maybe the satellite moved and we'll have to wait for a link-up to occur. Meanwhile, Jerome, did Ben Akintunde make it through the vortex with us or was he in Breene's tent?"
"He's sitting in Breene's humvee. He's sort of claimed it."
Harris thought a moment, then keyed his radio transmitter. "Ben, John Harris. We need your help. Can you come to my humvee?"
After a moment the radio squawked, "Be right over."
Harris regarded Akintunde as a great asset. An Oxford-educated native Kenyan, he spoke several East African languages and served as the Kenyan government's director for coordinating land-use between farmers, herders, and wild-life preserves. He often helped track down poachers. In case he might need a Kenyan army unit to assist him in carrying out his duties, he was also a colonel in the Kenyan forces, empowered to commandeer whatever unit he might need to carry out his duties. For this mission, Akintunde was Kenya's official observer and liaison officer between US military and native communities.
"I wonder if he knows what hit us?" mused Roundtree.
"At least he knows the land. If he says Nairobi is just around the hill, I'll take his word for it," said Harris.
"Well, how about if I take a couple of men and reconnoiter the area? Maybe we can find the road."
"First, put the vehicles in a tight perimeter. And Jerome—be careful. Things may not be what they seem."
"No shit."
Roundtree headed off asAkintunde arrived. The son of a Kikuyu chieftain, he was stocky and muscular. Judging by touches of gray in his thinning, curly hair, Ben was in his late forties. He spoke with the upper class English accent of his school days, peppered with bawdy slang he'd picked up working with the SAS, Britain's elite commandos.
Harris briefed him on the GPS and communications problems. "If we can find the road we can get to Nairobi and use their radio to contact the Pentagon. In the meantime. I think we have to assume that we're lost," said Harris.
Akintunde thought for a moment, "John, I brought my telescope. And my laptop, with a program that can compute a location anywhere on earth based on the stars—pretty much what your GPS system does."
"You're an astronomer?"
"My hobby since boyhood. All we need to do is set it up. Once the stars come out, I can shoot them and compute where we are. And then we'll know how to head for Nairobi."
"Walsh is already screaming bloody murder about the delay. To wait a whole night will make him come unglued."
"It won't take all night. Maybe just until ten o'clock. But I agree that it's too dangerous to proceed without knowing more about our situation. Uh, with Col Breene gone, who's in charge now?"
"I am. Even if Walsh thinks he's the big dawg."
"Then it'd probably be best if we bring him in on everything. Even if he's not in charge, he'll still feel that he has input and is being consulted."
"Right. How much help do you need to set up?"
"I'd say four men. The telescope alone weighs 250 pounds. It has a twenty-four-inch lens and an integrated digital camera. The computer will read the images and compute our location. Also, my computer has a limited battery supply. I'd like to plug into one of your generators, if you can spare one." Akintunde could see that the convoy was already setting up for the night. The main radio had been unloaded and lights were set around the perimeter. Men were placing generators at strategic locations.
"No problem. You've got four men and a generator."
"Then we shouldn't have any problem getting it ready by nightfall. The best location would be on the top of that hill." Harris studied the hill. He wanted to check to see if he could find any traces of Breene and those who were in the tent. He was beginning to doubt that he would.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from STRIKE AT THE HEART by L. W. Berrie Copyright © 2012 by L. W. Berrie. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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