The Fate Of Nations: F.I.R.E. Team Alpha: Book One (8 page)

              “OK Mac,” Carter said, “But this time the honor is yours.”

              McNamara raised his glass. “To the
Fast Intervention Raiding and Espionage
teams,” McNamara toasted. “And to FIRE Team Alpha; good fortune,” he added.

              With the toast over Carter began the briefing. “Alright, you’ve known for a while that this mission is in Europe, and you’ve probably figured out that it’s some kind of rescue mission. But, until know, you haven’t been told what our specific target will be,” Carter said. “Our target is the central detention center for the WCA’s Directorate for Public Safety.”

              “The secret police,” Sergeant Sharron Roth observed.
Carter turned to her, seeing hatred in her bright, hazel-colored eyes. “That’s right, Roth. The facility is where they hold their most important political prisoners.”

              Roth passed a hand through her brown hair. “They torture and kill their prisoners,” she said.

              Carter looked at her for several seconds. Roth’s parents had both been captured and killed by the DPS in Israel as that country finally fell to invading WCA armies. Her body tensed visibly at the mention of her parent’s murderers. For her, the mission was now fiercely personal.

              “What they do to their prisoners is well known,” Carter said. “This mission will give some of them a fighting chance to live. But we’re only here get one man out.”

              Carter called up several photographs of a bearded middle aged man on bulkhead-mounted view screen. "This is Alec Mertens. Until his capture, three months ago, he was the leader of the underground resistance to the WCA in Brussels, Belgium. Our job is to extract him and, in the process, allow as many prisoners as possible to get away.”

              “So we’ll be using the larger prison-break to as a diversion to get Mertens out?” a bearded American sergeant asked. He was dark haired, broad shouldered, and stocky; a wrestler’s build.

              “That’s right, Sains,” Carter said. “But we’re not just throwing the prisoners under the bus. The local underground has been alerted and will be ready to help them evade recapture, and we’ll destroy most of the vehicles and aircraft that would have been locally available for pursuit,” he added. “Most of them will probably be recaptured or killed, but they’ll have a fighting chance.”

              The next to speak was Christopher Burgett: a tall, slim American First Sergeant with short black hair. “Sir, if the enemy has had Mertens for three months what good will he be to us? I mean the resistance must have completely changed their organization and procedures after he was captured. Besides that, even if they haven’t broken him mentally, he’ll sure as hell be broken physically.”

              “That’s not our problem,” Cater responded. “We’ve been tasked with getting him out. However, you should consider this. We’ll be blowing the hell out of a prison that represents the power of the WCA; a place whose very existence is used to terrify people into obedience. We’ll be showing that the WCA, and the DPS isn’t as powerful as everyone thinks. On top of that, we’ll be showing the European resistance fighters, who have been fighting the WCA with very little outside help for thirteen years, that they aren’t alone anymore.” Carter’s eyes panned over the team. “Are there any other questions?”

              A question came from Okesa Nagura; an FNF First Sergeant originally from the Kyoto, Japan corporate exclusion zone. “Sir, what are our orders concerning Mister Mertens if things should go badly and we are on able to extract him”

              Carter met her eyes; which were an extraordinarily light shade of green. “If, for any reason, we are unable to extract Mertens; he is to be killed.” Carter replied. “We’ll be doing him a favor. I don’t even want to think about what the enemy would do to him after a failed rescue attempt.”

              Nagura nodded. “Understood,” she said, brushing aside a strand of ink-black hair that had escaped the restraint the elastic band that held it a long ponytail.

              “Alright, let’s go over the assault plan one more time” Carter said. “Then it will be time to gear up and get going.”

                                         
[][][]

              Hangers were usually noisy places alive with sound of aircraft engines, power-tools and metal clanging against metal reverberating off of bulkheads and decks. But the forward hanger of the Phantom was quiet. Work was done with rubber coated tools so, in the event that one was accidentally dropped or struck another piece equipment, the sound would not betray the submarine’s presence to listening enemy sonar. Carter noted the difference between the Phantom and the conventional carriers he had been aboard. It was almost surreal to see dozens of crewman performing task that would normally produce a great deal of noise being accomplished in nearly total silence. Adding to the strangeness was the red light that illuminated the hanger. The red light had replaced the normal lighting twenty minutes ago so that Team Alpha and the flight crews eyes could adjust to the darkness they would have to work in when the Phantom surfaced and launched the helicopters.

              The Phantom’s two forward hangers currently housed Team Alpha’s two Mohawk assault helicopters, the aft hanger held the Cheyenne attack helicopter that would provide welcome air support for his team during the coming mission. The Phantom and her three sister ships were submersible helicopter carriers built from the keel up to insert and extract special operations forces. This was the Phantom’s first operational voyage.

              Carter and his team waited in a ready-room adjacent to the hanger. From the hatch’s threshold he watched for the deck safety officer’s permission to cross the deck and board the Mohawks. Chief Warrant Officer Alan Donner, the mission’s flight leader, and his pilots carefully inspected each of the sleek, slate-gray aircraft, paying particular attention to the missile and rockets in the bays recessed into the fuselage housed in pods protruding from the aircrafts’ sides. When they were satisfied, they closed the bay doors and gave the deck officer a ‘thumbs up’ sign. The deck officer waved the team over and they crossed the deck to board the aircraft. They were laden with eighty pounds of weapons, ammunition, armor and equipment, but were seemingly unencumbered by the weight.

              Carter let his team pass by him as they walked to the helicopters. He looked at each of them in the eye as they passed; the red lighting combined with the camouflage paint on their faces, and the black jumpsuits and body armor they wore gave them a fierce, almost demonic appearance. Nagura smiled slightly as she passed, but the others either simply nodded or allowed their own eyes to acknowledge him. He stopped the last in line; sensing the woman was unusually ill-at-ease.

              “You’ve been pretty quiet the last few days, DeFontain. Is there anything I should know about?” he asked the young Jamaican woman. She seemed so tense that her spine might snap.

              “No, Sir,” she answered, in thickly accented English. “It is just first battle nerves.”

              “You’ve seen lots of action in your old unit,” Carter said.

              “Sir, you know that I declined to have my para-gene activated when I first joined the Army. It didn’t realize how many lives I might save with my gene activated until I’d actually seen Team Bravo in action when Sacramento was liberated. Back in my old unit I was the team medic and I didn’t even carry a weapon. When I volunteered to go through the activation process, I had never considered even trying out for a unit like a FIRE team. Then, before I knew it, I was through the FIRE team selection process and my para-gene had been activated. I got two weeks to get a handle on my new abilities, and then I went through eighteen months of operator training and was assigned to Team Alpha. My head is still spinning. I’m afraid that I will let you all down.”

              “Sherri,” Carter responded, placing a hand on her right shoulder. “You’ve been training with us for six weeks. You wouldn’t be here if I didn’t have full confidence in you. I wouldn’t have brought you along for this mission if anyone on the team had objected; not one of them did. Trust your training and trust the team. You’ll be fine."

              Defontain smiled slightly and relaxed a bit. “Thank you, Sir.”

              She climbed aboard the lead helicopter and Carter followed her, looking back to see Williams closing the large sliding doors of the passenger compartment of the second aircraft shut. Although each Mohawk could accommodate ten fully equipped troops, dividing the team into two aircraft guarded against loosing the entire unit in the event one was shot down or simply crashed. Even if that should occur, the surviving team members would attempt to carry out the mission. Additionally, if one Mohawk should be somehow disabled the second could still extract the entire team along with Mertens.

              The Mohawks’ co-pilot turned and handed a communication headset to Carter. “Sir, Commander Owens for you,” he said.

Carter accepted the headset. “This is Carter; go ahead Commander.”

              “We’ve just got fresh telemetry from our drone,” Owen said.

              “We have clear weather and calm seas for launch. Moon light is negligible. I’m going to take her up.”

              “Thanks commander,” Carter told the Phantom’s commanding officer.

              “Good luck and good hunting,” Owens added.

              “Same to you Commander; thanks for the ride,” Carter said and handed the headset back to the co-pilot.

              Carter felt the air pressure lessen as the Phantom began to ascend. Even as the sub was rising, the Mohawk pilots started the two turbo-jets that were mounted above the passenger doors either side of the fuselage. In seconds the main rotors would begin to turn. Even in the sound dampened crew compartment the vibrations could be felt as the machine came to life.

              Great steel and carbon composite doors opened above helicopters; retracting into the hull. Cool, fresh air rushed into the hanger. The Mohawks’ main rotors came up to speed and produced a wind in the hanger that drove all but a few necessary crewmen off of the hanger deck. Finally, the helicopters rose from the deck and into the sky; their rotors clearing the edges of the sub’s bulkheads by only a few inches.

              Using a video screen built into the arm of his seat, Carter saw the second Mohawk take position behind the lead craft, and the Cheyenne gunship dart ahead. He watched the Phantom submerge and disappear. The whole launch had taken place with the Phantom on the surface for less than three minutes; it was fully submerged again less than ninety seconds after the choppers were aloft. Carter was impressed by the efficiency of the Phantom’s crew.

              At first, only the ocean could be seen from the small window next to Carter. He knew that most people wouldn’t be able to see even that with the naked eye. Forty minutes later a beach could be seen. Minutes after that, the motion-blurred form of trees and the occasional building were visible. Flying at nearly three hundred miles per hour at heights no greater than seventy-five feet the Mohawks were well below enemy radars, and would be there and gone before and observes on the ground could visually identify them as aircraft. High efficiency mufflers silenced all but the sound of their rotor blades slicing into the air. The pilots were paranormals and the advanced avionics were designed to complement their enhanced reflexes. This meant that the entire journey could be could be made at minimum altitude and maximum speed.

              “Five minutes out, Sir,” the pilot told Carter through the chopper’s intercom.

              “Right,” Carter replied. He turned to the part of the team that was with him and opened a secure radio channel to the members on the second Mohawk “Listen up! We’re five minutes out. Remember, the enemy has random, roving patrols for fifty kilometers out from the target. There is no telling if we’ll run into one or not. If we do, avoid detection if possible. If we have to engage make it quick and quiet.” His order was acknowledged and the team began making last minute equipment checks.

              The Mohawks did not land when they reached the forest clearing that the team would land in. They merely slowed to seventy kilometers per hour and descended to forty feet. The team simply jumped; two operators leaping from each side of both helicopters. They hit the ground and rolled into a prone firing stance; forming a circle.

              Using the thermal imaging feature of the micro-electronic scopes mounted on each of their personal weapons and multi-optic goggles the team scanned the tree-line for any activity. Carter, however, used only his eyes. His night vision was not only superior to any electronic device, but was also not subject to the limited field of vision imposed by such devices. No one found an enemy.

              “Form on me,” Carter ordered. “We’re twenty clicks from the target. We should cover that in about an hour. Brains, you have point; Grumble take the rear; Bandaid you stay close to me,” Carter said, using each operator’ tactical call sign. “The rest of you form up and move out. We’re on strict noise discipline and watch your spacing.”

              Sains sprinted away for a full minute before the team, followed him at slightly slower pace. The forest was thick, having not been managed my human hands in many years. Team Alpha moved through it like wraiths; their enhanced reflexes allowing them to move at what would have been a sprinting pace for unenhanced humans without compromising silence. Half an hour later Sains stopped and took cover behind a fallen tree. The rest of the team instantly went to cover as well.