Covert Commando: A Sam Harper Military Thriller Page 18

  I spun him right. Charged him forward at high speed. Fired on the run at the machine gunner to keep his head down.

  Brrpt. Brrpt. Brrpt.

  A sparkle in the infrared display just ahead.

  Tripwire!

  Boom! A long roar. Explosion in the ceiling.

  Debris rained down. Rocks and electrical parts. Flowed downhill toward Robbie and Alpha Team.

  They'd placed a bomb at the central apex of the cavern!

  Robbie's camera feed cut out. Black. No signal.

  The rumble of the explosion and collapse trickled down to us.

  Wipe out.

  Schnier gasped. "Where's Alpha Team?"

  I stood up from the now useless console. "Hopefully, far enough back."

  We sprinted forward. Up the corridor. Through the maze.

  Caught up with Bravo Team, choking on the rock dust.

  Coughed, myself. Air filled with flying particulates. I pulled my shirt over my lower face.

  Hadn't exactly come into this with my full equipment load. Last night, I was a prisoner here.

  Missed my issue mask, though.

  Everyone else put theirs on.

  Squad leader took charge of Bravo Team. Got them shifting rock.

  They pulled boulders down to clear the corridor just around the next corner. Almost to the cavern where Robbie presumably lay crushed.

  The blocked passage before that. Where Alpha Team would've been, waiting to follow the robot.

  Out of the direct blast, but within the rock slide after the ceiling collapsed. All four of them, including Watkins and Madsen, stacked together for mutual support.

  Schnier turned back to me, his normally ruddy face ashen. "Get help. Medic. Tools. Whatever you can."

  I nodded. Turned to depart as fast as we'd arrived.

  He bent his back. Grabbed a boulder two-handed. Pitched in to help clear a path.

  We'd been raked over by this one.

  I ran.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight: Escape Rocks

  Who could he trust with this info?

  Secretary Dorenza lifted a Fighting Cock cigar out of the walnut humidor on his desk. Smelled it.

  Good scent. Not too firm. Not too tightly packed.

  Excellent.

  He pulled a baby guillotine out of his desk drawer. Slid the end cap of the cigar between the blades, right up to where the wrapper began.

  Thwack. Clipped the end off with one solid motion.

  He'd like to do that to the President's neck, but his oath of office to their constitution restrained him.

  As a gesture of good faith in their agreement, or more likely to convince him to approve Captain Larrikowal's initial request for the SAF to assault Lubang Island along with them, their American intelligence contact sent over an encrypted package of data they'd already sorted and collected.

  Not the methods they'd used, although those would come soon, but the culled and refined intelligence they'd produced before the SAF forced them out of their resort.

  Dorenza had read Larrikowal's report with his veins throbbing at their arrogance.

  He scraped a long wooden match alight. Rotated the foot of his cigar to warm the tobacco. Put it in his mouth. Sucked air through it. Lit the foot.

  He needed this ritual of relaxation. Concentration.

  The Americans delivered. He'd only glanced at the internal government documents in their package, but he'd read enough to know their explosive potential.

  For a politician running for President against the now officially almost martyred Speaker of the House, about as explosive as if China nuked Manila.

  He couldn't process it all alone, but who could he trust with it?

  Perhaps no one inside the government. The President's party surely had their spies in his defense department. Maybe not as many in the military, but at least parts of the police force. People whose bread was buttered by his political opposition.

  Should he turn to his political staff? Those running his campaign?

  No, some were really consultants, not patriots, and the others weren't legally cleared for this sort of information.

  He took a long, slow drag and the cigar. Made sure not to inhale, before blowing the smoke across his office in a perfect ring.

  What comes around, goes around, but who could he trust with proof of the President's corruption?

  * * *

  If any Alpha Team rangers remained alive, Schnier had limited time to get air to them.

  Come hell or high water, he wasn't fixin' to let today be the first time he lost soldiers under his command. Not at the hands of those damn terrorists.

  He'd work 'em all git-out, dig up this pile of rocks, until he found them all.

  He hefted another stone boulder. Hauled it back and to the side. Dropped it on the downhill pile he and Bravo Team built from the rubble in the cavern ahead.

  Schnier and two others formed a human excavation chain. Rotated to get a grip on the next stone puzzle piece, and then out of the way to haul it off.

  Their squad leader squatted next to the rubble. Dug smaller debris out of their way. Shoveled it two-handed through his legs. Another of his men tossed it to the side, light enough to throw rather than carry.

  The cave remained cool, its temperature regulated by the underground stone masses, but he perspired freely. Worked as fast as possible.

  Sam returned with a pair of combat medics. The demo guy. Four more rangers from his HQ squad.

  Schnier dropped another boulder. Stepped to the side. Let a couple of the non-tired rangers replace him.

  Panted. "No explosives. Too risky."

  The demo guy held up a shovel. "Just came to dig."

  He replaced the squad leader's manual efforts. Lifted shovel-fulls of detritus and tossed them across the cave.

  Waiting with Sam and the squad leader was like rolling around in cacti, but the new men weren't as gassed. More effective to allow them to work until he recovered a bit more.

  Besides, after leading Alpha Team into this mess, he didn't deserve the relief of manual labor.

  Sam fired up a powerful flashlight. Turned the gloomy cave into day. Cast the remaining shadows to the side. Aimed it between the rocks.

  The fresh team continued their efforts to uncover their brothers. The pair of medics worked to unroll and get stretchers ready.

  They'd surely need 'em.

  Their digging revealed the bottom of a boot. Then a calf. The ranger's legs.

  Flat on his face.

  Schnier pushed forward. Pitched in again. Removed debris from the man's back.

  His squad leader arrived. Cleared him off. "Medic!"

  He rolled over. Coughed. Doubled-up. Couldn't speak, but he pointed at the next man, whose legs he'd covered. Rested his chest on. His face between.

  The two medics piled in. After a quick check, moved him out of the way. Poured him water to clear his throat. Checked his vitals.

  Sam and Schnier worked together to clear rubble off the next man's back, who'd also fallen forward.

  A moment later, when they reached his head, he pulled it out on his own. "More!" He pointed beneath.

  One of the medics escorted him out of the way. He walked easier, his legs protected by the first ranger.

  Sam nodded as he passed. "We know. Madsen and Watkins are in there."

  No stoppin' there. Schnier handed rocks to Sam. He passed them off to the others. The demo guy, all corn fed two-hundred fifty pounds of muscle, shoveled like his pants were on fire.

  They cleared another three feet.

  Madsen was almost as big as the demo guy. More rocks on his back. Others slid down as they removed them.

  Definitely tough enough to survive this. Right?

  Unlike the first two men, his leg rested at an awkward angle. Blood soaked the ground. Bone protruded.

  They uncovered Madsen's broken leg. He screamed beneath the rubble.

  Schnier gritted his teeth. Kept working. Couldn't leave him there. Especial
ly not with Watkins ahead.

  They cleared the scree and fill from off his back. Uncovered his head, tucked into a pocket of stone, and thus protected from the sides and above.

  Lucky.

  A medic jabbed Madsen with an ampule of morphine. Calmed him down. Strapped a loose tourniquet around his thigh.

  Carefully turned him over, stabilized his knee and lower leg in their arms. Lifted him on a stretcher.

  Dragged him away while he rested, babbling about Watkins.

  More to clear. They worked like robots now. Quick, efficient motions.

  One more remained.

  Let Watkins be alive. That's all Schnier prayed for in his heart. To find him alive.

  Sam uncovered his side. He lay closer to the wall.

  Schnier cleared off his legs.

  A boulder rested above his head. The demo guy swept everything off of it with his shovel.

  Sam and the squad leader combined to pull the boulder back, away from the wall. Away from Watkins.

  He lay there, unmoving.

  Schnier looked away. Anywhere but at the broken body of this ranger under his command.

  What had he done?

  Sam leaned over Watkins' back. Ever optimistic.

  "Medic!"

  * * *

  Pahk stood at attention for Admiral Hu. At the Admiral's order, his ride had dropped him off on the PLAN Destroyer which served as his flagship.

  The PC Admiral paced across his opulent flag cabin with his arms behind his back.

  Pahk waited for his fate to be determined.

  Hu stopped. Turned. Gestured to the table he used for staff briefings. "Sit."

  Pahk relaxed. Moved to the indicated chair and sat.

  He might survive this debacle, after all.

  Pushing a buzzer, Hu asked a question Pahk took as a command. "Tea?"

  "Of course. Thank you for your hospitality, Admiral."

  A steward poked her head through the doorway. "Admiral?"

  "Tea for two."

  "Right away, sir." She slid back out into the passageway. Rolled a cart through the hatch.

  Well prepared.

  A red baked clay teapot, the sides covered in subtle thorn bush designs, the lid in rose buds, rested on an oversized square and shallow matching bowl. Two dull red teacups and a pair of similar snifter cups occupied the bowl's corners.

  A red cloth with gold-threaded borders covered the top of the cart.

  She reached beneath the cloth and removed a jar of tea. Lifted the pot's lid. Used a small wooden spoon to scoop long leaves of Oolong tea into the pot.

  A worrisome turn of events. In a navy which ran on face, what had he done to deserve this honor, however abbreviated?

  Pahk didn't trust unexpected good fortune.

  Hu stepped over to join Pahk. Sat across from him. Smiled. "You've given us the excuse we need to finally rid ourselves of troublesome neighbors."

  She removed a glass kettle full of roiling water from the cart's lower shelf. Poured water over the four cups and the pot to properly warm them.

  Unsure what he meant, Pahk remained respectfully silent. His chest and cheeks felt the steam's heat.

  The steward lifted both the pot's flower-covered lid and the kettle. Holding the kettle at shoulder length, she poured a stream of hot water into the pot until it barely overflowed.

  She scooped bubbles and an excess tea leaf from the top of the pot in order to replace the lid securely. Poured more water onto the covered teapot to ensure the internal and external temperature remained the same.

  Hu acted as if her performance was an everyday occurrence for him. Perhaps it was.

  "You've been out of touch, but Comment Crew connected your female prisoner with one of the imperialist rangers. Based on archived social media posts, they lived together at university in their state of Texas. Both collegiate athletes. Rodeo and football for him. Gymnastics for her."

  The steward gracefully flipped over the four cups to expose their mouths.

  Hu leaned forward. "Our analysis is that he will want to come for her, even if she weren't an American, even if she hadn't helped the other soldier escape. A valuable hostage indeed."

  Pahk nodded. "May I inquire as to your plan for the imperialists, sir?"

  She removed a red tea pitcher from beneath the cloth. Smoothly poured clear brown tea from the spout of the pot, filling the pitcher and emptying the pot.

  Poured tea from the pitcher into the two snifter cups. Covered the mouths of the snifter cups with those of the full size teacups.

  Bent in a bow as she rested the warmed paired cups in front of each officer.

  "To destroy them, of course, along with their allies in the Filipino government's forces. They intend to share intelligence. Unite against us. We can't let that happen."

  Pahk and Hu took their pair of cups in both hands. Flipped them over quickly. Tea splashed from their snifter cups into the teacups.

  This action brought prosperity and happiness to guests. Pahk could use both, but would take either.

  The steward lifted their cups to continue the ceremony. She discarded all the previously made tea as unfit for their consumption. Poured more heated water from the kettle into the teapot.

  Re-used the same leaves. Paused this time to allow them to steep inside the enclosed pot.

  "I will provide my complete support in whatever way you wish, Admiral. I have a score to settle with these particular imperialists. Your purpose is my opportunity."

  "Good. You'll be my new go-between with the Filipino President. Arrange for our terms. His reign soon ends. He'll need a retirement package, but must make good on his promises before he leaves office."

  The minute of steeping time had passed, so she gently poured rich, brown tea from the pot's spout into the tea pitcher. Used the pitcher to fill the snifters.

  Once again, they transferred the tea from the snifters to their larger teacups.

  "As you command, Admiral. I will continue to serve as your weapon against the imperialists."

  "I've ordered the female prisoner to the ship's brig and Omar into the infirmary until we decide if he remains useful. Now, drink your tea before it cools."

  Pahk took a sip. Heaven in a cup.

  He nodded to the steward to show his appreciation for her skill and conclude their tea ceremony.

  "Excellent."

  A fine day. He'd get his revenge after all.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine: Escape Life

  I leaned over Watkins, the kid I'd led during Ranger Selection. The one curled up on the cave floor, almost in a ball, right up against the wall.

  The ranger I'd gotten trapped under rubble because I moved Robbie too fast and hit that tripwire.

  Was too eager to respond to contact. To take out the enemy. To follow Schnier's demands.

  The man whose mother and girlfriend would wonder what happened to him if he died here.

  His chest lay still. No breath.

  I wrapped two fingers around the inside of his wrist. Felt for his pulse. Nothing.

  Pressed a little harder. A faint sign of life. Slow, but there.

  "Medic!"

  The rangers with advanced battlefield medicine training left Madsen's broken leg. Ran over to Watkins.

  "He has a weak pulse, but he's not breathing."

  One stabilized his neck with a soft collar. The other began pumping air into his lungs with a tan manual resuscitator. Feeding his brain.

  They shoved me out of the way. I didn't mind, just stepped back.

  How long had he been without oxygen to his brain? His heart could work without conscious direction, despite any brain damage, but his intellect required energy to function.

  A few minutes of holding his breath? Unable to move, but hoping for rescue?

  Or had his rock burden immediately compressed his chest. Stopped his breathing. Suffocated him?

  Schnier stood next to me. Head bowed. Hands clasped. He mumbled something under his breath.

  A p
rayer.

  We could all use one right now, but I wouldn't begrudge his for Watkins specifically.

  One of the combat medics slipped a portable pulse-ox monitor on his finger. Pressed a button. Waited for the reading to determine how much oxygen was getting through to his blood.

  "Low. Keep ventilating."

  His partner pumped away at the bag pushing air into his lungs. Looked over at me. "Can you take this over? Slip your hand in here, then a periodic squeeze."

  "Sure." I watched him for a moment to time his rhythm and then replaced him on the manual ventilator.

  He organized a stretcher next to Watkins while his partner monitored his vitals.

  With a quick count, the two medics and Schnier got Watkins shifted to the stretcher. They strapped him in.

  Unconscious, but alive. Critical condition, for sure.

  Two rangers from Beta Team hoisted the stretcher. The other two helped Madsen. Their squad leader gave me and Schnier a look of… not quite defeat, but not triumph, either. More of a wearied acceptance that his squad's fight that day was done.

  Schnier nodded to him. "Get them to the LZ. Recon doesn't show anything between here and Gozar Air Station, but use scouts anyway."

  One of the medics took over breathing for Watkins while the other stabilized his stretcher. The squad of wounded and whole marched downhill through the cave together, determined to reach the helicopters.

  The rest of us followed them out. No use here. Unless we wanted to try to blast a series of holes, there'd be no passage up into the rest of the jihadi camp any longer from down by the waterfall.

  Morning sunshine filtered through the tall trees to highlight purple flowers in the pool of water in front of the waterfall.

  Not exactly the island paradise Michelle had promised us to take this mission, but better than getting locked up in a jihadist torture dungeon.

  The wounded squad cut through the jungle to the west, toward the air base. We stood at the waterfall to evaluate our options.

  Schnier looked devastated. Like he'd had to put down his favorite horse.

  I took him aside. "Snap out of it, dude. You still have two more squads relying on you out here. Not to mention we need to figure out how to get Raven back. You can feel sorry for yourself later."

  He glared at me. "Easy for you to say."