Kilo-29 (Damned of the 2/19th, Book 15)

Part 38

Site Kilo-29
Winter-1993
Day Three-Night

Donaldson was laying next to me, behind a low pallet of fertilizer, his helmet resting against the top of the feeder tray for the M-60. Like me, he was probably half-dozing, waiting for the CIA direct action team to arrive.

I'd hallucinated the HEMMITs, and Donaldson had insisted I take my medication once I'd told my now reenforced squad how to set up the welcoming gifts at the egress tunnel. Kincaid was fully refueled, and the Gypsy Wagon had another five sets of tanks in the back of it where it was sitting on the heavy steel grate that would pull it back up the main mechanics area.

The Major had sent a squad with us to loot the armory so his men had weapons and ammunition. He'd decided on 3 CUC-V's and a 5-ton, to cut down on the number of vulnerable vehicles. He planned on grabbing snow tires, and one of his meat-heads had located the snow-plow blade in one of the storage rooms off the maintenance section. It meant that he'd have to get one of the forklifts up and running, he'd decided against the pallet-jack, knowing his men were exhausted, and that exhausted men made mistakes. He'd had them rotate sleep shits when we left.

We'd driven the Gypsy Wagon into the Event Tunnels, heading to the egress point, and from there hauled the equipment we'd planned on using. Kincaid escorted the two men who took the Gypsy Wagon back to the steel grate elevator, and double timed them back.

It was snowing in the hallway, the same as it was in the cavern we were currently waiting in.

The cavern was huge, as wide as a football field, at least twice as long, the ceiling easily fifty feet high in the middle of the slow vaulted ceiling. It was full of temporary buildings, fertilizer, farming vehicles circa 1950's to 1060's, sacks of seed and feed, and everything you'd need to start a couple of farms.

The egress point had been opened manually, and was still stuck open. Twenty feet high, thirty feet wide, and over a hundred feet deep. A heavy shock absorber, drop grill, heavy duty doors, recessed lights, everything it needed to survive a near hit.

I hadn't checked outside.

I was sort of awake, but dreaming of years gone by. While it snowed around me I was dreaming about 2/19th again. In my dream I was laying on Nancy's bed while she was sitting on it, my head in her lap while she held my hand and had her other hand on my forehead.

"How's the shoulder?" She was asking me.

"Hurts." I told her. I was drowsy from the sunlight coming in the window and bathing the bed and the painkillers rushing through my system. I ignored the pain and reached up to cup her cheek with my right hand. "Love you, Nancy."

"I know." She said, running one finger down the side of my face. She sighed. "Ant, you can't keep doing this."

"It's OK." I told her, dropping one hand to cup her breast.

"No, it's not." She sighed. "You had surgery, what, a week ago?"

"Yeah." I squeezed gently.

"You're supposed to get 15 or 30 days convalescent leave." She shook her head. "It's a week, and you've been on light duty since they released you from the hospital." She put her hand on my cheek. "Ant, it isn't right."

"Mission essential." I quoted. "Who else is going to run the point?"

"Jackson had it in hand. We were just taking inventory." She touched my face and I smiled. She tapped one of my capped front teeth with her fingernail. "You should be somewhere healing up."

"It doesn't matter." I told her. I smiled at her, feeling a little hazy. I'd taken my pain killers about a half-hour before lunch, and we'd been in Nancy's room about 15 minutes, the painkillers kicking in. "I'm just a waste anyway. It doesn't matter."

Irritation flashed across her face, quickly vanishing. "Honey, you matter to me, you matter to John, you manage to your whole crew."

"Yeah, but I'm just a waste, Nancy. Better I go down than someone who's actually worth a shit." I let go of her breast and folded my arms over my chest, sighing and closing my eyes. "I'm not worth a damn, never will be."

Her fingers kept stroking the side of my face. "Honey, stop, please."

"Face it, Nancy, I'm just a boy. Boys die when they blow the bugles, boys hold the line while everyone else falls back, boys stand and deliver." I sighed with pleasure as the warmth moved to tingling. "It doesn't really matter, Nancy, no matter what anyone says. I know what I am."

"What would your Father say?" She asked me. We'd had this argument before, and would have it again and again. "Is that all your Father is?"

I shook my head slightly. "No. He's better than I am, like you. Like John. Like Jackson." I kind of huddled up without really moving. "Face it, Nancy, I'm just born to die in some ditch somewhere. All I can hope to do is make it expensive."

I was slipping deeper, starting to doze, and I yawned. It was silent for a long time, and just as a dream started to form I heard her whisper from far away "I love you, Fifty Foot."

Another voice mingled with hers. Heather. "I love you too, Fifty Foot."

I jerked awake, staring through the snowflakes. I could still feel Nancy's touch on my skin, still hear Heather's voice.

There were shapes moving in the snow, coming out of the tunnel. I counted six right off the bat and sighed, kicking Donaldson's boot to wake him up. Donaldson jerked, his hands moving back to the ready position on the M-60.

"You might want to stop right there before you hit a wire and blow yourselves in half." I called out, pitching my voice to be heard over the wind.

"You're already inside the pipe, and if you don't put your hands in the air, we'll blow you to fucking dog food." I called out, watching them freeze in place. I held the clacker in my right hand, the wire trailing behind me.

The shapes had resolved into men, my NVG's throwing them into sharp focus. There was nine of them, all wearing black and fake military gear, carrying rifles.

"Hit a flare, K-Bar!" I called out.

NVG-7's had flare-compensation built into them. The early ones didn't, and a flare would overload them for a few seconds, but the newer ones went blank for a half a second. The illumination round kicked off, bathing the whole area in stark magnesium white. The NVG's compensated in less than a second, but everything was bright green and I could tell from the distortion at the left hand side of my vision that the illumination round was on the edge of overloading them.

"You're bracketed by mines, and we've got an interlocking..." I started.

One of them turned, aiming his weapon at my voice, and I ducked back behind the fertilizer without bothering to finish my sentence or pause for a second.

"Light 'em up!" I yelled.

The mines had been set in 3 layers, the first rounds was angled at the mouth of the tunnel, the second set was ten paces back, angled to cover the front of the tunnel as well as the arc in front of it. The last layer was interlocked blast fields that would cover the entire area and fifty feet in front of them.

The clacker's tension popped and I snapped the lever down three times out of habit, knowing there was no way for the CIA team to get out of the carefully prepared killing field I'd set up.

I'd used almost the same setup in Kuwait, Africa, and other places.

I squeezed quickly, clacking it another three times, before dropping it and grabbing at my rifle.

Nothing happened.

I never relied on a single wire, I always ran two more, running them in parallel so that if one wire didn't work the others would fire the charges. It was a trick that I'd learned in 2/19th during Wed. training. Hell, we even wired them that way at the range.

The mines just sat there.

A low liquid chuckle slithered through the snow to run icy fingers down my spine.

"K-Bar, kick 'em off, then fall back to point Bravo!" I yelled. "Shads, make sure the boys fall back."

Sirens kicked on, loud klaxons that I'd only heard one other time inside the facility. I'd heard it in others, though, and knew what it meant.

The tunnel was closing, the heavy outside and inner doors, the shock absorber would be rolling into place to completely fill the tunnel. In less than sixty second the mountain would be completely sealed up again.

Who the fuck had triggered the door controls? They'd been hotwired, the casing pulled open and a bypass run. How in the hell had the doors closed?

Someone started screaming, Donaldson's M-60 cut loose, the heavy chugging distinctive from the SAW or a fifty, and another chuckle wound its way through the air.

It'd all gone to crap in less than ten seconds.

"Let's go, fall back to Bravo." I told Donaldson, smacking the back of his helmet before he'd pull through a quarter of the belt.

"I can't see them." He told me.

"Let's go." I told him. He grabbed the 60 and followed me as I scrambled up and headed back toward where we'd decided point bravo was. We hustled past the two temporary buildings that had already been set up.

Gunfire sounded behind us and a bullet cracked by our heads as we put the buildings between us and the egress point, hustling for the arc of construction vehicles that we'd piled fertilizer bags around and used to block the gaps between the vehicles.

There was a loud boom, then a muffled thud that I knew was the shock absorber dropping into position. The egress point was closed.

"United States Army Special Forces, drop your weapons!" sounded out.

"Fuck you, liar!" I tossed over my shoulder, still running. I hurdled over the fertilizer bags, stumbling and going down, landing on my bad shoulder and screaming in pain as the bruised flesh took the impact and the whole joint compressed, already punished nerves squeezed. Something inside crunched.

The klaxons cut out.

"Stand down, that's a lawful order!" Came from the snow.

That dark chuckle floated through the snow.

"Get on your knees, hands behind your head!" sounded from somewhere toward the egress tunnel.

I looked at Donaldson, who'd outsprinted me, who was in the middle of taking a quick headcount.

"Get down! Not another step!" rang out.

Donaldson looked at me and gave me the thumbs up.

We were all accounted for, who the fuck were they yelling at.

"Stop right there!" the same voice.

"Get on the stick. Assigned positions. Move it." Donaldson hissed out. Shads, Kincaid, and the meat-heads all nodded, scrambling to the four gaps between vehicles. I dropped down next to Donaldson and one of the meat-heads that Dee had assigned to carry ammo for the pig as well as the loader bag.

"No closer, get down, I won't warn you again!" Sounded out, same voice.

"Who the fuck are they yelling at?" The meat-head asked. I shook my head.

"I hope I'm wrong." I said.

"Morris, I got one!" Someone called out.

"Oh, shit." Donaldson breathed.

"Fall back, point Charlie, he's here." I said. Donaldson nodded. "Lead the way, Corporal, I'll pull drag."

"You heard the Sergeant, Jacobs, let's go." Donaldson said, getting up and pulling the 60 with him.

"I said get down!" sounded out. "What the fuck!" the voice turned into a scream.

"That's our cue, let's get the fuck out of here." Kinciad said. He'd been waiting at point bravo, in his armored J-Suit and armed with his flamethrower.

The screaming was going up in volume, turning bubbly.

"Hang on, Bellings, we're coming!" Someone called out.

Kincaid led the way, jogging in the suit. I'd seen him put it on, he'd lost at least 10 pounds while he wore it the last time, and I'd shown him how to fill and use the drinking system and made him eat two MRE's. He'd be burning calories like mad.

There was another chuckle as I swapped the wires out off the clacker and hooked up the Claymores at the access points for our little fallback position.

If it had just been the CIA guys we would have stayed and fought, but with Tandy out there in the snow, we didn't stand a chance. We had to get somewhere else, somewhere he couldn't just materialize out of the snow to take us one at a time.

...stumbling and staggering through the snow, heading for lower post...

...Tandy coming out of the snow, taking two of us as we headed for safety we might no make it to...

...not caring that we might not make it, just wanting it to all be over...

One hundred seventy-five yards didn't sound like much. Hell, that was short/medium range for a rifle. Through the snow and dark, even with NVG's, Kincaid couldn't hustle too fast, even though he was doing his best, weighed down by the J-Suit, the flamethrower, and the fuel tanks.

Not to mention the snow and wind, which was picking up.

"Get off him!" the cry echoed through the cavern. "Get the fuck off of him!" Gunshots sounded out, flat snaps soaked up by the snow and wind without a single echo. "Get off him!"

More gunshots, and that chuckle again.

Point Charlie was a row of sandbags in a semi-circle around the entryway to the Event Locker we were in, the main hallway that we'd brought the Gypsy Wagon in. There was a fifty there, with one of the meat-heads we'd been given on it. It was one of two I'd had on the floorboards of the Gypsy Wagon, barrels pulled, tripods folded up. Now the barrel was back in it, the 250 round belt locked into it, and sitting on the deployed tripod.

I'd drifted to the left of the spread out staggered line of troops in front of me, Kincaid had fallen back, shuffling next to me, breathing heavy. His rib was bruised badly from the bullet that had hit him earlier. He'd laughed it was his first cracked rib, and now it was slowing him down. If you'd never had one you didn't know how to breathe around it, you'd start breathing fast and shallow, which would make it hurt worse, which would speed up your breathing, making it hurt more. You had to make slow deep breaths, regulate your breathing, deal with the slow stabbing feeling, and keep breathing slowly and deeply to keep your blood oxygenated.

The snow twirled around as I slowed down a little more to keep pace with Kincaid when he curled over slightly, letting go of the flame thrower ejector to put his hand on his chest.

"Can't breathe." He told me.

"We'll hold up." I answered, squinting through the snow.

The snow swirled, and freak gap in it let me see the fifty and Donaldson slowing down.

Two guys were standing behind the fifty, and the meat-head was down on his knees, his hands up, his fingers interlaced at his neck. One of the guys had what my brain ID'd as an SMG to the back of the kid's head.

"Stay here, be quiet." I told Kincaid, pulling my rifle off my back and handing it to him. I went in low, ducking down and moving forward through the snow.

"Drop your weapons, hands in the air." One of the guys was saying. They were dressed in black too, SMG's in their hands, and I could see one of them grinning. I was only fifteen, twenty meters out. "We're Special Forces, we're here to get you out."

"Do it." Donaldson said. I could hear the anger in his voice.

"That's right, Sergeant, act smart." The one who had been speaking said.

"He's..." one of the meat-heads started to saw, behind Donaldson, but Shads elbowed him in the ribs.

"I'm Sergeant Ant." Donaldson said. "You're with SF?"

"Yeah, we got sent to save you guys, heard their was a problem here." The one said. "Put your hands behind your head, lock your fingers, hands on your neck."

"You guys with First Special Forces out of Dix?" Donaldson asked.

"Yeah." He said. "Now, get on your knees, all of you but you, Sergeant."

Two shadows moved through the snow near me, dressed in black, with two others following carrying a third between them. I hunched down, keeping a stack of concertina wire on a pallet between them and me. Two more followed them, and I ghosted after them.

"Go join the others." The one who had been speaking. I could barely see the kid that was on his knees getting up. I looked down, seeing I was moving in the other men's trails, blood spattered on the snow, already freezing up and being covered by the blowing snow.

I darted to the next piece of cover, a stack of pipes that went for at least twenty feet.

"These all of your men, Sergeant Ant?" One of them asked Donaldson.

"Yeah." Donaldson answered. "Major Dursten is upstairs with the rest of the men."

"That your CO?" Someone asked.

"Yeah, Major Dursten." Donaldson repeated. I saw someone open their mouth and Shads kick their boot from where they were kneeling down.

"What the fuck happened to Bellings?" Another voice asked.

"Some freak jumped him, when I got there the guy was ripping at Billing's face with a razor blade or something in his hands." The voice that I'd heard earlier answered. "I shot his ass and left him there dead. Some asshole in brown camouflage."

Tandy. About time he did something good, but I wasn't willing to bet he was dead.

He liked to do that.

I think it amused him.

"That was Kincaid you killed." Donaldson said. "So what now?"

"This." The guy doing all the talking said.

And shot Donaldson twice in the chest.