Up From the Depths (16 page)

Chapter 33

Brooks Mountain Range, Alaska

O’Toole and Gorman silently slid around the side to the maintenance building then stopped behind a stack of empty crates. They could hear the rumble of the Snowcat’s engine as it drove past on its patrol route. O’Toole leaned out and looked at the large hangar at the base of the mountain. He couldn’t see any windows in it at all. Leaning back he was about to motion Gorman forward when a high pitched whistle and an explosion echoed across the airfield. O’Toole crouch-walked back the way they had come and looked out around the corner of the building.

The Snowcat was nothing more than a burning hulk on a set of tracks. The Rangers had engaged it with an AT-4. He leaned out further and saw flaming debris had blown as far as the fuel farm which the tracked vehicle was just passing when it was engaged. O’Toole moved back to Gorman.

“Rangers kicked it off early,” he said. He knew that the time schedule for the assault was a little loose. The idea was to engage targets of opportunity to draw the hostile forces that were inside the facility.

The two men looked towards the hangar, expecting to see armed men pour out and they weren’t disappointed. The large doors cranked open and disgorged a fire fighting crew in another Snowcat flanked by a company sized security element.

The firemen rolled up to the Snowcat, assessed the situation, and then focused their attention on the fuel tanks. O’Toole watched as they pulled out extinguishers and moved towards the fire as the security forces formed a loose cordon. Looking back at the hangar, more security forces poured out and formed a perimeter. A series of explosions like rolling thunder rippled across the valley as the fuel tanks sequentially exploded taking with them the firefighting crews and most of their security. O’Toole felt the concussive force in his chest and physically saw the shockwave as it rolled across the open area. Leaning back out, he saw one tank shoot away as if mounted to a rocket and impact into the satellite dishes. The results were more than he could have hoped for as the largest dish was sheared off its mount and fell onto the smaller units mangling them into what looked like a huge, charred erector set.

The hostile units at the main hangar were just picking themselves back up when the SEALs hit them from the left flank. Bodies jerked, twisted and spun as bullets riddled them. Almost hidden in the weapons fire was the single shots of a high powered rifle as the Ranger sniper team serviced targets from the far end of the runway. O’Toole and Gorman moved from cover to support the SEAL offensive. Gillette and Sands were already moving into their secondary positions when Shark Platoon poured an intense and sustained hail of fire into the main opening of the hangar. They stopped firing just long enough to ripple off a barrage of grenades into the interior that consecutively detonated with enough force to spring the large doors off their tracks. Dark smoke was already billowing out of the hangar as the SEALs, with ODA-141 following, entered the building.

***

Chapter 34

Museum of Natural History, New York City

Go! Go! Go!” Luzetski yelled to the people on the roof. “Get inside! Now!”

He pumped his fist in the air then shot a quick look back at the firestorm that used to be Central Park. Watching the police, military, civilian, and Russian contingent, he dropped out the empty magazine in his rifle, tucked the mag into a thigh pocket of his pants then slapped a fresh magazine in place. He turned and walked backward a few steps then spun around, making sure everyone was off the roof, and then jogged to the door.

Once inside, he raced down the stairs, closed the interior roof access door and did a head count. Everyone that was on the roof was accounted for. He caught Doyle’s eye, nodded, then moved to where Sierra-3 stood checking their weapons and reloading.

“That felt good,” Pruitt said. “After all this time, running and hiding. Felt good to throw down some whoop ass.”

“Enjoy it while it lasts,” Ski said. “We just kicked over a hornet’s nest.”

“Sergeant!” Doyle called out over the noise of people moving and weapons being reloaded.

“Warrant,” Ski said, nodding.

“We’re moving out now,” Doyle said looking at her watch. “Most of the civilians are already in the tunnels. The rest...” she shook her head. “They’re determined to stay here. Make sure you fill your canteens and Camelbacks. Once we’re moving, there won’t be any sources along the way.”

“On it,” Ski said as he inserted loaded magazines into his vest then started stuffing the rest into his pack.

“Take your team and head down. I’ll stay behind and make sure we have everything we need,” Doyle said.

“No,” Ski said. “You head down and make sure there’s not a bottleneck of panicked people trying to take everything but the kitchen sink.”

Doyle thought about that for a second. Ski had the combat experience whereas she had engineering experience.

“These people look to you,” Ski said. “You’re their leader now.”

Doyle nodded agreement. If there were any issues with traffic management, the civilians would listen to her as they knew her more than they knew Luzetski.

"Sergeant Winchester!” Doyle called out.

Winchester poked his head around the corner.

“Get the boys moving. We’re heading downstairs to play traffic cop,” Doyle said.

“You heard the Warrant, get your shit together. We’re going down,” Winchester called out.

“Hoo-ah.”

Wiener watched the survivors as they grabbed what they could carry and headed down into the tunnels. If they had listened to him, they wouldn’t need to go into those dark, dank spaces. He shuddered at the idea of going into an area that the city flushed their waste water through. His plan had been simple. The first step would have pushed out their perimeter and retake what they had lost when FOB Ticonderoga had fallen. From there, they could have spread out through the city, retaking it street by street. He knew he should have shot Luzetski when he first disobeyed his orders. The man was a loose cannon. Always had been. It was Luzetski’s fault that he had barely passed jump school. It was his fault as well that Wiener had been passed over for promotion so many times that the only way for him to get in his twenty was to transfer to the National Guard. It was also Luzetski’s fault that there had been a new form of points calculation that had resulted in Wiener losing his jump wings. Wiener had barely passed but when the new regulation had been adopted, he was now one hundred points short of the new requirement for graduation from jump school. Wiener had tried to get his wings grandfathered in but the new regulation was written in such a way that he would have had to take the course again to maintain his wings. Wiener stepped back into the shadows as the last of the group from the roof went past. He was now alone in this section of the museum. There was enough time for him to put his plan in motion.

Luzetski stopped on the main floor and looked at the people that had elected to stay behind. They were members of Reverend Rob’s religious group.

“Hey, Rev,” Ski said. “Staying or going, last chance.”

Rob turned and smiled at the NCO and his team.

“God has told me that we will be safe here. He will protect us. We are his chosen flock.”

“Okay,” Ski said, drawing out the word. He shook his head and turned to go.

“God be with you,” Rob called out as Sierra-3 left the area.

“God’s going to sit this one out,” Pruitt muttered.

Sierra-3 moved through the halls and down into the service area of the building. The sub-basement was crowded with civilians as they all had to slow down to maneuver into the small utility room then climb down the ladder into the service tunnel. Along one wall of the basement, packs, suitcases and bundles had been discarded as too large, bulky or heavy to get down the ladder access space. Ski looked at door to the sub-basement. Unlike the other fire doors in the building, this one was the real thing, steel with a secure lock. DeMillio watched Luzetski study the door then walked over to him.

“It’s the real deal,” he said.

“Good thing. We’re probably going to need it,” Ski said. He looked over at where DeMillio’s Marines were waiting. Stacked along the wall were the Hardigg cases that contained the numerous M136s. Detonation wires ran along the walls to the charges that Doyle’s unit had placed. Once everyone was in the tunnels, she would blow the entrance. That way when, not if, the infected breached the museum, they wouldn’t be able to follow the survivors.

“Had to be a real bitch getting those down here,” Ski said. DeMillio turned and saw what Luzetski was indicating.

“It was,” he agreed. “The ones upstairs are empty.”

Ski nodded. He knew what DeMillio meant. The M136s upstairs had been stripped of their warheads.

“What you got in mind for the rest?” Ski asked.

“Doyle’s stripped most of these as well. The rest we’re taking with us,” DeMillio said. “Should come in handy if we run into something.”

“You taking any with you?” Ski asked.

“No,” DeMillio said bringing his rifle around. “I have this. A Marine and his rifle, the baddest weapon system ever devised.”

Ski raised his eyebrows, smirked and shook his head before he looked at the bottleneck of civilians that were trying to all get down the ladder at the same time and shook his head.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” Doyle called out. She had to repeat herself twice before the crowd stopped what they were doing and looked at her.

“There’s no reason to crowd. We have plenty of time,” she said.

“But what if those things come down here?” someone asked.

“We’ve secured all the doors between here and the main part of the building. There is no need to rush. People will get hurt if you don’t calm down,” Doyle said. She had her men move forward and assist those that needed it. Ski noticed that it seemed as if the entire group had taken a deep breath and relaxed. There was now order and patience as the survivors entered the lower tunnels.

“You do realize that at any moment, those things will undoubtedly reach this area?” DeMillio said quietly to Ski. “When that happens, we’ll affect a tactical withdrawal. Once all of us are clear, the engineers will blow this tunnel sealing it behind us.”

“That’s going to be some real pretty shit. If we can’t clear this area,” Ski shook his head as he thought about what could happen. “We’ll be here when the tunnel is blown.”

He watched as more and more bags, cases and packs were discarded to one side as they were too bulky to get through the access hole. He watched as one woman, who was quite large was having difficulty getting down the ladder. Several people stepped in to assist her, some pushing and some pulling from beneath. It appeared that her bust was the major problem. She tried several times to squeeze into the hole but each time, her breasts prevented her from achieving this. Finally, she pushed herself up, reached around her back and went through the motions as she slipped her bra out one of the sleeves of her shirt. Ski exchanged looks with DeMillio who flashed him a grin then moved off to check on his men.

***

Chapter 35

Brooks Mountain Range, Alaska

O’Toole paused outside the opening to the main hangar and pulled on his M50 mask. Tightening the straps, he checked his SCAR then adjusted the strap for the rifle case Willis had given him. He looked back towards burning the fuel tanks. Flames shot hundreds of feet in the air, the orange gouts reflecting off the white snow. Small forms in the distance assured him that the Rangers were moving in to clear and secure the remaining buildings. He looked over at Gorman, also wearing his mask, nodded, crouched low and moved inside to follow the SEALs. Sands and Gillette followed them and peeled off in another direction once they entered. Inside the hangar, a blue and white executive jet sat on flattened tires, fuselage and engines riddled with bullet holes and shrapnel. The smoke was coming from an aircraft tug. An armor piercing round had gone through the engine block and exited out through the operator’s seat. The heat of the passing round had set fire to the foam cushion before exiting and puncturing the fuel tank. The pool of burning fuel had encompassed the vehicle’s tires creating the black smoke.

Moving quickly along the inside wall, O’Toole and Gorman made use of every item that provided cover, expecting incoming rounds at any time. Reaching the far wall without incident, they stopped and looked around. The cold air outside was sucking out the smoke making this section of the building clear. The shrill sound of a fire alarm and the white flash of warning lights lent a surreal feel to the hangar. O’Toole pulled his mask off and stuffed it back into the carrier pouch on his thigh. Looking over, he saw Sands and Gillette doing the same. Cautiously stepping towards the double doors that led into the facility, O’Toole paused and peered around the corner. The double doors had a large hole blown in them where the lock would have been. Shark Platoon was already inside. Gesturing to Sands, O’Toole let his sergeant take the lead as the NCO was carrying the M249 which would suppress any hostiles they encountered.

Following Sands, O’Toole glanced around the hallway; most of the overhead lights had been blown from the breeching charge used on the doors. The fire alarm was partially muffled inside the hall. The banks of lights that still worked, feebly illuminated empty magazines and spent brass sharing space on the floor with numerous internal security force personnel who had taken double taps to their center mass. Up ahead, O’Toole heard weapons fire.

Motioning Sands forward, he glanced back to see the rest of his team staggered behind and following. Gillette had slung his SASR and had his MP5SD3 up and ready. They paused at the intersection. Spent brass littered the floor leading off to their right where the weapons fire was coming from. Sands went to one knee, 249 up and aimed down the hall. Gillette moved across the hall and took up position aiming in the opposite direction. Flashes of gunfire lit up the far end of the hallway where another intersected with the one they were in.

“What now, Cap?” Sands asked.

O’Toole looked towards where the ongoing battle was taking place then towards the other hallway. The sounds of boots rapidly moving on concrete made them all turn towards the hangar. ODA-141 trained their weapons towards the noise until Harris emerged from the darkness with a group of Rangers. Both groups breathed a sigh of relief as weapons were lowered.

“Secure this intersection,” O’Toole said to Harris indicating towards the hallway that was quiet. He then tapped Sands who stood and started moving towards the sounds of combat. There were no doors in this section of hall which made the Special Forces soldiers uncomfortable to some extent as there were no rooms they could seek cover in but also provided a sense of security as no hostile force could pop up behind them. As they neared the intersecting hallway, they moved faster until they reached the corner.

Bodies of the Conley’s PMC soldiers littered the hallway, fire trails painted the walls in abstract patterns as a steady and methodic cyclic rate of fire from Shark Platoon echoed down the hall. It seemed to be chanting, ‘
die die die
.’ Pause.
‘die die die.’
Pause.
‘die die die die die.’

Chief Petty Officer Rogers ducked back into the hall, dropped out a spent magazine, slapped a full mag in its place then jacked a round into his M4 before looking over as if just noticing ODA-141.

“Glad you could join the party!” he yelled over the firing. O’Toole went down to one knee, leaned out to look into the hallway, ducking back quickly as bullets whizzed by like angry bees.

“How’s it look?” he asked Rogers.

“We got them right where we want them!” Rogers yelled, not realizing that he was shouting from being partially deafened by the heavy firing in a confined space. The metallic twang followed by an explosion that stopped the incoming fire signaled that a SEAL had popped a grenade with his M320 into the hostile forces that were determined to repel the invaders.

“Billy!” Willis called out.

“Yo!”

“We’re good!” Willis yelled out.

“Love to stay and chat but I got to run,” Rogers said getting up, peeking around the corner. “Coming to you!” he yelled out then moved to rejoin his unit. Sands peered around the corner then ducked back.

“God damn,” he muttered.

ODA-141 moved to follow the SEALs, passing through a security checkpoint littered with bodies, blood, broken weapons, empty magazines, spent brass and belt links that appeared to be almost ankle deep in places. They saw the drag from Shark Platoon as he disappeared up a stairwell. Only one of the double doors leading to that stairwell remained in place and it was hanging from one hinge. It looked like Conley’s soldiers had attempted to hold this area but to no avail. ODA-141 raced to catch up with their naval counterparts.

There was no way were they going to allow the Navy to take all the glory; this was a target rich environment and there was plenty to go around.

***