The IX (5 page)

Lex scanned the plains, surprised to discover a strange cluster of clouds forming only half a mile from their location. As he watched, the mass thickened and darkened. It started rotating, and a distinctive swirling vortex distended toward the ground.

You don’t get tornados this far north. The weather’s all wrong . . . .

He looked about again.

What the hell is going on?

Lex jumped as someone tapped him on the shoulder. He whirled to find Surgeon Major Samuel J. Clark, and his second, Surgeon Captain William Anders huddling close. “Can I help you, Sirs?”

The eldest and most distinguished of the two officers — a portly man with long silver-grey hair and a matching goatee beard and mustache — replied, “You certainly can, young man. It would appear Mr. Houston wants us to ride along with your party. Look after the princess, and all that . . .” He paused to tip his hat toward her before continuing, “. . . and to be quite honest, I’ve never been all that good in a shootout. My specialty is sorting out the mess you guys cause.”

“No problem with me, Sir. As far as I’m concerned, the more the merrier.  It might put the Cree off attacking us in the first place. Do you mind acceding to my orders if it comes to a fight?”

“Son,” the older gentleman replied, “I’m a doctor first and foremost. I leave the shouting and the shooting up to capable young men like yourself. If you’re half as competent as this here Indian fella says, I’ll not only do as you say, hell, I’ll happily dance a jig at your birthday party. You just tell us what you need, and we’ll do our best not to get in the way. Sound like a deal?”

Lex grinned. The thought of the major’s offer was uncannily appealing. “I may hold you to that, Sir. Just be ready to move at a moment’s notice. If what Stained-With-Blood said is true, we need to be leaving . . . now!”

Lex’s gaze was drawn back to the strange bank of clouds. A tingle, which had nothing to do with their current predicament, skittered along his spine.

In fact, we should already be gone
.

Without warning, the long grass about them erupted with howling and death.

CHAPTER THREE

By Strength and Guile

(May 4 2052)

“Gold Command, emergency hatchway has been breached and preliminary seal established. We now have access to pylon three. Repeat, pylon three is secured. Beginning final appraisal.”

“Roger that, Sunray,” a muted, metallic voice acknowledged. “You are
go
for tactical ingress, on your mark.”

Lieutenant Alan “Mac” McDonald, officer commanding SBS Four Troop, UK Special Forces Anti-Terrorist Wing, remained a shadow in the dark. His night optics brought the scene around him to life in lurid, silver-green detail. As he began his final assessment, he could clearly see the seven other members of his team bobbing about in the swell beneath the Husker-Trent oil and gas platform. Each of them was silent, alert, and professional. Highly trained killers. But skill and training weren’t the only things on their side tonight. Thanks to their reactive micro-com network and chameleon armor, they were also invisible from prying eyes, eavesdropping, and covert surveillance. Scanning their arcs, each specialist waited patiently for their leader to complete his evaluation and give his final affirmation.

From their briefing of only two hours ago, Mac knew this gravity-base derrick, situated nearly a hundred miles out into the North Sea, was the very latest in platform design. A floating, self-sustained city in one of the harshest environments known to man, she was also the apple of the Corroco Corporation’s eye. And the Corroco Oil and Technologies Corporation were not happy at being the latest targets of White Dawn, a group of eco-terrorists who had kept a number of security agencies around the world busy over the past thirteen months.

No one knew who the leaders of this faction were, or indeed how they were funded. The only facts available tended to support the theory that White Dawn operatives were highly trained, incredibly motivated, and skilled in a wide variety of scientific disciplines. Their goal appeared to focus on public embarrassment, rather than financial gain. More worryingly, if cornered and unable to achieve their objectives, they weren’t above making the ultimate gesture for their cause. Suicide.

The group was also thorough when it came to researching possible targets, and this evening’s venture was no exception. Husker-Trent was fitted with the very latest in AI camera-motion detector recognition technology. If unidentified persons approached, they could either be blown out of the water by .50 caliber rail-mounted cannons, or the rig would go into safe mode. Security bulkheads would lower to seal off the strategic centers of operations, emergency valves would cut off oil and gas pressure, and automated distress signals would be sent via com-sat and wireless. Additionally, the platform was constructed in such a manner that the drilling module was entirely separate from the run off vents, and the combined work-cum-habitat ring. The only way on or off was via the central helipad, accessed by any one of three retractable gantries. These safety features should have made it almost impossible for anyone to breach her security measures. The fact that White Dawn had done so this easily smacked either of exceptional planning and execution, or an inside job. Gold Command were hedging their bets and treading cautiously.

Mac zoomed in on a number of the defensive systems as he made his assessment. The thermal and electronic heads-up display emblazoned across the left side of his visor showed they were primed, tracking, and ready to deploy.

Difficult to get past, but not impossible. Not for my team . . . especially with what’s at stake.

He glanced at his radiological detector. The glowing red patches confirmed the presence of the real reason why Special Forces had become involved so quickly.

When it was realized Husker-Trent had been taken by an unknown number of assailants, contact between the derrick and the outside world was suspended. Negotiators and law enforcement agencies were put on alert and, as a precaution, the Special Forces Directorate notified. Standard procedure, especially where oilrigs were involved. However, when an opening dialogue was offered by trained mediators, they were resolutely ignored. Each subsequent attempt at communication was met by a similar wall of silence. No ensuing ransom demands or political statements were made, neither was a release of hostages offered. The prime minister was extremely worried.

When a high altitude fly-by was ordered, the drone quickly picked up the telltale signs of suspicious activity and the unmistakable signatures of a scattered number of nuclear devices. Odd; especially when White Dawn purported to be ecologically sympathetic. Needless to say, the discovery of such ordnance guaranteed a swift response. One with an aggressive focus.

As the lead team on the duty roster, Four Troop were deployed to gather intelligence, ascertain the reason for the attack, secure all radiological materials, and bring the standoff to an end.
And we’ll do that all right!
Mac thought as he completed his assessment,
by strength and guile
.

Smiling over his reference to the SBS motto, Mac gave a thumbs-up to his team and depressed his throat mike. “Gold Command, this is Sunray, do you copy?”

“Go ahead, Sunray.”

“Traffic lights are at green. Repeat, traffic lights are at green. Waiting for final authentication.”

“That’s a go, Team Four. Use of lethal force authorized. Gold Command authentication — Alpha, six, six, six, omega.”

“Alpha, six, six, six, omega, confirmed. From Sunray, we are now going dark. See you when this is all over.”

“Roger that, Team Four. See you on the other side. Good hunting.”

The radio went dead. Turning to face his section, Mac motioned for radio silence. Each team member moved to adjust their equipment to ensure they were cut off from all forms of outside communication. Once done, they switched to covert internals before checking back in again.

Facing his second-in-command, Mac said, “Mark, take Bravo Squad and tag the location of each radiological device. Let me know if they’ll be suitable for tactical removal or deactivation. Secondary protocol, ascertain strength and deployment of the enemy.”

Throughout the entire process, Mac didn’t have to raise his voice. The covert set enhanced his vocals until the whispers rang loud and clear in his teammate’s ear.

Sergeant Mark Stevens, a nine year veteran of special operations, raised his left index finger and tapped the side of his head twice. “Roger that. I am
Bravo-one
. Primary objective, locate and tag radiological devices. Secondary, ascertain strength and deployment of the enemy.” Addressing his squad members, he added, “Bravo confirm?”

Specialists Sean Masters, Richard “Fonzy” Cunningham, and Andy Webb both replied in the affirmative, going through their call-signs and orders in turn to confirm they fully understood their operating procedures.

Twisting, Mac continued with his own squad. “Alpha, we will be concentrating on the hostages. Preliminary sat-recon shows almost the entire complement of ninety-seven rig personnel are gathered together within the dining and kitchen areas. At least half a dozen managers have been relocated to the operations and radio rooms. Verification of their well-being is our priority. Secondary objective is intelligence, namely: rescue and casualty viability. I am
Alpha-one
. Alpha confirm?”

Specialists Stu Duggan, Sam Pell, and Den“Jumper” Collins sounded off in turn.

Once they had done so, Mac addressed them all again. “During the first stage, we will not engage the enemy unless forced to do so. And then, only in order to save life. If we
do
go hot before phase two, take them down. No quarter . . . understood?”

Seven thumbs rose into the air.

Moving his own hand in a circular motion twice, Mac clenched his fist and opened his fingers wide. Each of them moved to their designated points for insertion through the lining of the gravity-base pylon.

Forming an outward facing fan about the hatchway, each specialist paired off. They made sure to cover the movement of their teammate as they gained access. Having entered, the respective partner likewise kept on the watch for his buddy.

Mac was quietly complimentary of his men. Moving covertly was a time-consuming process. However, they were so well rehearsed that the maneuver was over in less than two minutes. Fast going, considering the change in conditions.

As last man in, Mac remained in the water the longest. When they had started to breach, the area was relatively calm, exhibiting a mild chop that had them bobbing up and down through six- or seven-foot swells. Nothing unusual. However, in the time that had elapsed since then, the sea had begun to heave alarmingly, as if agitated by a leviathan stirring in the depths. Mac was also sure he could hear the distant roll of thunder.

That’s odd.
 
How did it move in so quickly? It wasn’t on satellite.

Adjusting his optics to get a better look, Mac let out a gasp. A solid wall of cloud and rain was moving toward them. Darker than the surrounding star-filled night, it was still a few miles out. Even so, he could see it seethed with a powering menace that gave him goosebumps. Mac couldn’t shake the impression that the approaching tempest was a missile, with the rig as the bullseye on its target.

“Alpha-one? What is it, Boss?” Being the first in, Mark was higher up inside the platform’s structure and had totally missed the change in weather.

Mac paused to check he was seeing things right.

A seething maelstrom of midnight black punctuated by bursts of lurid brightness charged toward them. Where it touched the sea, the water churned and frothed as if being distressed by a thousand propellers. Even at this distance, Mac was sure he could see the entire storm front rotating, both above and below the surface.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake!”

“Alpha-one? What is it?” Mark repeated.

“Trouble,” Mac replied. “I think we’d better crack on, gentlemen. Our evening might get complicated . . . real soon.”

CHAPTER FOUR

The Lost Legion

Spinning his horse about in a frenzied dance, the general tried to rally his troops. “Form up! Form up on me,” he bellowed. The legionnaires closest to him rushed to obey. Slashing and stabbing their way forward, they attempted to counter the heaving mass of attackers swarming them from all sides.

Despite the mayhem, Quintus was well defended. Seeing this, Marcus chose to ignore the call. Instead, he fought his way back along the line to see how the rest of the column fared. Their professionalism made his heart sing. Although the swirling mists added to the confusion, having a tangible enemy in front of them had galvanized the men. They now had something to focus on. Barbarians to kill. Despite the hit-and-run tactics, his soldiers were at last able to vent their frustrations.
And they’re doing it well
.

Marcus flinched as an unseen arrow sped past his ear, taking yet another rider from his saddle.
They’re targeting the mounted officers. These savages aren’t stupid. If they can remove the advantage of our cavalry, they’ll have us.

Catching Flavius’s eye, Marcus waved his sword in the air made a chopping motion toward the ravine. He knew they stood a better chance of surviving the ambush if they  controlled the chokepoint across the river. The trees would also give any remaining archers an opportunity to increase their elevation and keep the approaches clear.
Hopefully, they’ll get a better view through this damned fog. Why will it not disperse?

He watched as Flavius cast his gaze toward the chasm. Grasping Marcus’s intent immediately, he barked orders. In moments, more than thirty warhorses were battering their way through the intervening press of bodies. As they moved, Flavius organized them into a tight phalanx that Marcus noted with satisfaction decimated everyone in its path. He was also pleased to see Flavius commandeer every mounted sagittaria he passed.
A wise decision. Their arrows will keep more of the enemy at bay while they consolidate a defensible position amid the rocks.