Genesis (Extinction Book 1) (8 page)

Max tossed the money back on to the table. “Write down his name and location in the camp.”

“My friend was old when you were young.” Al Qassimi did not touch the money, but he did take out a small scroll of paper and began to write. “Even if he has survived life in the camps, what would you have him do?”

With the paper in hand, Max turned to leave before al Qassimi shouted him down. “What of my granddaughter? Do you have any honor in you?”

Considering the man could have led him down a false trail to save his own hide, Max thought about holding it over him until he verified the information. Instead, he shook his head. “You and your granddaughter have nothing to fear from me. And the Genesis your friend spoke of wasn’t a slur again Islam. I watched that very device kill hundreds in a small town in Mexico.”

“Why do you seek it?”

“I’m going to kill the man who funded it.” With that, Max turned and worked his way back through the market. If he found a cab, he could be at Sonapor in as little as twenty minutes.

Al Qassimi called after him, his voice echoing through the narrow halls. “Then go with Allah. May he guide your hand.”

Melanie Edwards thrilled over the stealth of the modified Sikorsky Black Hawk. The beauty was so quiet she could even hear Gunny hyperventilating in the co-pilot’s seat. It was a shame she had to wait until they were in a warzone before she could play with it. “Easy in, easy out, then we’ll be heading back to the U.S.S. Garrote for some down time.”

“From you lips to God’s ears, Mel.”

“If you don’t calm down, I’m going to turn this car around and go home,” she grinned. “You’re freaking me out.”

Gunny pulled the chewed up stub of a cigar out of his mouth. “I hate flying up here with you. You have to push everything to the limits. I’d rather be in the back, pretending someone else is flying.”

“Please, this girl handles like a Lamborghini on the autobahn. Even if we’re spotted, we’d be back to the Garrote before the Chinese could get off the ground.”

Ignoring Mel, Gunny thumbed his headset to go ship-wide. “Eagle, you got ears on the front?”

Eagle’s voice filled Mel’s headset. She looked at Gunny and laughed. The kid in the back sounded bored. “Got it, Gunny. All the action is still focused on the Parcel and the Spratly Islands. Sounds like our guys are starting to make headway pushing the Red Army out of the Philippines. We should have clear sailing.”

The Anambas and Natuna Islands were situated at the southern end of the South China Sea. As one of the final pushes in China’s massive reclamation and territory-stealing project, the two small island chains had been filled in and joined, to create one massive island. While there had been no secret that the Parcel’s and Spratly’s had been destined to become military bases, the Anambas Natuna had lain dormant prior to China’s military take-over of the Philippines and Malaysia. Though new, the large stretch of island had already been taken over by the jungle.

“I still don’t understand why we’re here and not on the front lines,” Eagle complained.

Gunny turned in his seat to look back at the kid. “I guess you’re young enough you’re allowed to be stupid. And
that
isn’t a war-zone, it’s a pissing contest. The Chinese are only holding on, they’re not pushing back.” He turned to look back at Mel. “That bothers me.”

“You sound like a paranoid old man, Gunny,” Mel said.

“You’re not young enough to be stupid.”

“Don’t get me wrong,” Mel added. “I agree it’s strange they haven’t done anything with Anambas Natuna, but you act like they’re sitting on America’s doorstep. You thought Russia would jump in at the first chance they got. They didn’t. They’re still focused on expanding their Ukraine territory. You thought terrorist activity would sky rocket. It’s at an all-time low. Has been for nearly ten years. Just because you were around for the action in the Gulf doesn’t mean World War Three is on the horizon.”

“I trust my gut, kid. And so should you. Things aren’t adding up. We know China, Korea, and Russia have been building up their military platforms. Now’s their chance, so what are they waiting for?”

“You act like you want all hell to break loose.”

“I don’t like waiting. That’s what it feels like. We’re waiting for the real shit to hit the fan.”

“There’s a word for that.” Mel shook her head. Telling Gunny to relax was like telling a bull not to buck when a cowboy dug in his heels. “Paranoia.”

Gunny hit the switch so it was just he and Mel on Comms. “You remember what I told you?”

“Yeah, Gunny. I got it.”

“Tell it back.”

“I got it, I said. Give it a rest.” Mel hit ship-wide coms as they approached the southern tip of Anambas Natuna, silencing Gunny. “Eagle, how’s the weather?”

Knowing she was talking about radio chatter rather than the skies around them, Eagle worked his magic on his console before answering. “Still quiet. This should be just another Sunday cruise.”

When Mel looked over, Gunny was shaking his head. She was sure he would have smacked the kid if he had been sitting in back with him.

Twinkling lights could be seen up and down the coasts of the Malaysian islands. Nothing but darkness loomed ahead of them. The black mass of land, surrounded by a moonlit ocean, was the only indication they had they were nearing their target.

Gunny straightened up in his seat, flipped down his infrared goggles and began scanning the ground as it passed beneath them. “Get your eyes on it, Eagle. If it’s man-made, we need to see it.”

“Copy that,” Eagle acknowledged. “Eyes on.”

The boredom in his voice had taken a hiatus, at least for the moment. With Eagle, it was never far away. As soon as they came up empty handed, he’d be back to grating on Gunny’s nerves. Forcing her hands to relax on the controls, Mel slid the Black Hawk lower.

“We’ve got a problem,” Eagle called from the back. “I’m getting some strange signals.”

“No heat signatures, wait... INCOMING! Two o’clock, one degree down!”

Mel looked right even as she worked the stick to move right. Dropping the nose forward, she worked the foot pedals to swing the nose around. Twin missile tails scarred the dark horizon, on an intercept course for the Black Hawk. She reached down next to her seat, grabbed the collective control and put on as much speed as she could get out of the old girl while taking her up, out of their strike zone.

The missiles changed direction to follow. “They’re tracking, Gunny. Can’t outrun or out-climb them.”

“Heat seeking.” Gunny popped his harness and crawled to the back. Within seconds the gun door on the starboard side of the bird opened. “Right below us. I need line-of-site.”

Mel rolled the chopper, trying to put Gunny’s door directly over the missiles, praying he was strapped in. Speed was a problem. As much as they updated the Black Hawk, it still had to follow the laws of physics. Fighting the stick and pedals, she yelled, “You got two seconds!”

Red lights lit up the control panel and alarms began screaming. Even as a flare left the gun door, Mel was forced to barrel-roll the helicopter. The downdraft created by the rotors pushed them toward the missiles, and the ground below, at breakneck speeds.

Mel forced the helicopter to move laterally while struggling to get the old bird upright again. She lost the battle when the flare lured a missile off course and caused it to detonate. The explosion set off the second missile and the pressure wave shoved the Black Hawk across the sky as if it had no more substance than a paper airplane.

Mel slammed against her harness and the rotors flexed hard enough to scrape the metal skin and windshields of the chopper, cracking the Plexiglas in front of her eyes. With the rotors damaged, alarms screaming, the chopper had all the graceful handling of a giant toaster oven.

Fighting to get the bird back under control, with Mel’s eyes fixed firmly on the console, she almost didn’t see the twin tails racing up out of the dark forest below. Losing altitude and unable to maneuver, it was all she could do to keep the bird from falling from the sky.

Light flashed out the window as Gunny fired another round of flares. Firing blind, the flares traced a pattern across the bow of the missiles. They were half a football field away from their tips but it was enough to grab the attention of the sensors, pulling them off course.

The cigar shaped bombs chased the flares into the tree tops where they exploded. There was no new damage to the chopper, but it was too late. The Black Hawk was a wounded duck and there was no saving her.

Mel hit the coms. “We’re going down!”

Working the pedals with her feet, she managed to get the chopper turned, to try to minimize damage to the superstructure by the rotors. Just before slamming into the jungle, she released the stick and covered her face and head with her arms.

Even with the bird turned, the sound of the rotors ripping into the jungle’s canopy was deafening. Shrapnel, thrown off as the rotors slammed into the shell of the superstructure, flew through the cockpit, tearing through her flight-suit and biting into her flesh as she was tossed around like a ragdoll in her straps.

If they had hit the ground head-on, it would have killed them all. As it was, slamming through the trees softened the final impact as the ship dug nose-first into the ground. Once the shrieking cacophony of the damaged craft stopped, Mel pulled her helmet off and tossed it to the floor before hitting the release on her harness.

Grabbing the red-lensed flashlight from the cubby, she used the subdued light to check out the damage. The console was a smoking mess.

Ringing, loud as a fire alarm, filled her ears as she struggled over the center console to get to the back of the bird. Eagle sat motionless at his surveillance board. The harness that had held Gunny as he fired his flares was empty. She shook her head to clear it and rubbed the tender flesh next to her ears. The ringing was fading, but not fast enough. It would mask the approach of soldiers if they were near.

Kicking the release on Eagle’s chair, she spun him around. Part of his harness had given way, letting him slam into the console. Blood covered the lower half of his face, his nose was twisted out of true. She felt for a pulse and when she found it, pulled his headgear off and smacked him.

Groaning, Eagle leaned forward, one hand moving toward his broken nose while the other grabbed tight to his thigh, where a piece of steel an inch and a half wide stuck out of his leg. “What the fu—”

“Ssshhhh!” Mel clamped a hand over his mouth. The Red Army had to have seen where they crashed. If they weren’t already close, they would be soon. “Can you walk?”

“Not with the new body piercing.”

Mel grabbed the Leatherman from her belt and cut off a swath of harness. She tied it just above the skewer, grabbed the metal and said, “On the count of three.”

In the dim red light she saw his jaw muscles bunch as he clenched it tight. After a quick nod of his head, Mel grabbed the metal and said, “One…” before pulling it free.

He didn’t scream. For that she was thankful. He did, however, lurch forward and puke on her pant leg. Thinking about Gunny, the way he had walked on his dislocated knee sixteen years before with barely a limp, tears slid down her cheeks. She would have teased Eagle about being a girl, but she was pretty sure if she’d been in his position, she would have screamed and passed out.

Releasing what little harness was still holding him, she grabbed him by the front of his flight suit and hauled him to his feet. “We’ve got to move. Now.”

With Eagle’s arm around her neck, they got across the cabin. Mel pulled him to a stop at the gun door and Gunny’s empty harness. There was no damage, no broken straps, nothing.

His words, whispered over and over again during the past six months came back to haunt her. She didn’t think he’d actually abandon her. “Damn you, Gunny!” she hissed. Shoving the flashlight into Eagle’s hand, she pulled the release from the ceiling and threw the harness across the cabin.

“Mel, what’s going on?” Eagle whispered.

“Gunny’s dead. He didn’t strap in and fell out of the bird when I lost control of it.”

“But he—”

She grabbed his face and turned it to hers. “He’s dead.”

Before he could argue, she shoved him out the door. Eagle tucked and rolled, protecting his injured leg and she landed beside him. When he was back on his feet, his arm around her shoulders, she pulled her sidearm. “The extraction team is probably already on its way. We need to get to the southern coast.”

Mel dragged Eagle into the jungle, getting out of the chew path left by the Black Hawks rotors. The lush underbrush made moving both fast and quiet impossible. Exertion and high nighttime temperatures had them both soaked with sweat in a matter of minutes. The saturated air prevented the sweat from evaporating to cool them down.

They had been on the move fifteen minutes when Mel froze, dropped to her knees next to a Balau tree and pulled Eagle down beside her. Somewhere in the darkness, another twig snapped.

There was a chance she was wrong about Gunny, a chance he hadn’t taken the opportunity to go AWOL. A chance he was out there now, keeping an eye on them, covering their six as they made their way to the extraction point.

She couldn’t be sure and she couldn’t risk being wrong. Moving in front of Eagle, she put most of her weight on her back knee, using the other leg as a stand to balance and pivot if she needed to. With a two-handed grip on the gun, she tried to track where the sound had come from.

It was useless. As they sat quietly, the jungle around them became a symphony of nocturnal sounds. The buzzing of bugs, the rustle of leaves – it was impossible to distinguish a man from a Bushbaby.

A darker shadow among dark shadows moved to her left. She pivoted, but held her fire. If the soldiers were already out there, surrounding them, it was all over but the crying. If it was just her over-active imagination, she didn’t want to draw soldiers to them.

More movement to her right. She spun and took aim at nothing.

Disoriented, she registered Eagle go down beside her before she heard the shot or even realized she was returning fire. Lights flashed in the darkness and gun smoke filled the air. The tree behind her took hit after hit, spraying bark and pulp into the air, before she finally felt the punch of a round in her chest.

Slammed against the tree, gasping for air, the gun fell from her hand. Shadows moved on all sides, growing, lengthening, becoming men holding assault rifles aimed at her head before she welcomed her own escape into darkness.