I felt a hand slapping my face and then the feeling of a damp cloth
dabbing my forehead. I opened my eyes and saw Duke's concerned face
staring down at me. I groaned and tried to sit up, to quickly as a
splitting headache cut into my brain. I ignored it and let Duke help haul
me to my feet.
I became aware of a faint whup-whupping in the distance and looked up to see a Blackhawk helicopter coming in on our position about five miles out. McAllen was kneeling on the sand, waiting to guide the chopper in when it got close enough. I looked around for my G-36 but couldn't find it. Duke produced it and handed it to me.
The Blackhawk was close enough to start moving sand around in swirls and blind most of us. I waited for the large machine to start to move horizontally in an attempt to land until I came forward to board it. The aircraft touched down on the sand and sunk a few inches. I walked up to the door as hopped in, the rest of my squad following me.
I grabbed a seat on the stretched canvas frames and buckled up my safety belt. I felt someone tapping my shoulder and looked over to see the loadmaster hand me a headset. I took it and slipped it over my ears. Immediately the deafening roar of the rotors was lessened to a manageable level and I could hear the two pilots talking.
One leaned back and looked at me. "Mr. Clark wants a word with you!" He yelled into the headset.
I nodded and the pilot made an adjustment to the communications panel. Instantly I heard John Clark's voice. "Molnar, are you there?" He asked. "Yes sir, I am." I said back.
"Good, listen. Something big is happening in China. We don't know what. The US and them just had a major fight in the UN, next thing we knew, China's forces were invading Taiwan, Russia, India, Pakistan and into Burma. All opposition forces in the region were quickly wiped out. We've got us a real problem here; please tell me you recovered that weapon."
"Well sir, not quite." I explained what had happened and then waited for him to speak. The line was silent for so long I almost thought we had lost connection. Then he spoke. "Get back to base then, we have to find that weapon."
"Yes sir"
The flight back to Hereford, England was difficult. We had to cut through layers and layers of red tape just to get a flight into England. The airports were all closed because of the advancing Chinese and it took every bit of John Clark's diplomatic power and then some to get us back to base.
Once there we didn't even have time to change, the entire team was ushered into the mission prep room. We all sat down in the theater-style room and waited. In a few minutes, John Clark accompanied by Ding Chavez stepped to the podium.
"There is very little time." Said Clark as an opening. "Chinese forces have occupied most of the middle east and some of Russia. The Russian Army is holding them back, but only for a matter of time. The Russians in no condition to fight a war with what little military power they still wield. The whole thing started when the US accused China of stealing this bio-weapon from them, it wouldn't be the first time either, but it's not true. The Chinese have now accused the US of lying and have invaded several portions of Asia claiming they are retaliating to American subterfuge. Now they're holding position, giving America twenty-four hours to give China a complete apology. The President went on national TV a few minutes ago and said to the American people that the Chinese would be waiting a hell of a lot longer than twenty-four hours for an American apology."
Clark picked up a small remote control and pushed one of the buttons on it. The black screen behind him lit up with a design schematic of what looked very much like a biological weapon delivery device.
"We're talking nuclear war over this." Said Clark, gesturing towards the screen. "The weapon itself is American. Stolen two months ago, it is the machine that actually releases the virus into the surrounding area where it disperses into the atmosphere and begins to infect people."
I looked over at Duke, who had his hand up. Clark gestured towards him to state his question.
"Sir, we know about the delivery device, what kind of virus is loaded into the canisters in it?" He asked.
Clarke looked down at his feet. "It doesn't have a name yet, only a number. L47-5G9. It's the newest in genetically engineered weapons. Essentially the genetic information in the virus is extracted and a much more powerful and dangerous pathogen is used in place. Once injected into a person, the virus delivers its genetic information to every cell in the body, reprogramming it to produce more of the virus."
"What kind of damage does it do?" Asked Burke, sitting in the back row.
"The virus has no antidote and kills within three days of exposure. The worst part is that one canister has enough of the virus to wipe out every man, woman and child on the planet with more to spare, the exact amount that was stolen."
The theater was silent.
"Now for the good news, while you were on your way out, we located the weapon. A satellite thermal image found it onboard an oil tanker leaving the Middle East. The biological component must be kept at a very low temperature to survive, one of the drawbacks of the genetic reprogramming. The satellite found it in the lower decks of the ship. Were sending all of rainbow's available operatives in on this one. Ransack the ship, recover the weapon, and make sure that not one person on the tanker gets away alive."
There was another uncomfortable silence in the room. "Briefing concluded. We leave in one hour."
We all got up and walked out of the room. I walked back to my room and retrieved my gear and then to the armory to check out one of the weapons. I went with the M4 Carbine this time. I took that, ammo, frags, and a Berretta M9, which I chose not to silence.
The hour was quickly used up and we loaded into black SUVs and headed out to the nearest airport.
The next sixteen hours was a daze of dead runs and sitting still. We caught two flights to get to Kuwait City and then waited an hour for a helicopter to take us to the USS Carl Vinson, an American Aircraft carrier in the Persian Gulf.
The mighty ship was sitting in the middle of the gulf, a testament to American military strength. Nearly a kilometer long, the floating weapons platform was also a floating airport. I moved next to the gunner in the Blackhawk to get a better look at the machine as we buzzed the control tower.
The Blackhawk floated above the deck for a moment then slowly descended to come to a rest on the tarmac. The rear door opened and we grabbed our bags. I stepped out onto the deck. The wind blew through me and I looked around at all the activity going on on the flight deck.
It had always been a dream of mine to visit an Aircraft Carrier the mighty machines had fascinated me since I was a boy.
I looked back, my team was looking at me kind of funny, but I didn't really care. I looked over at the base of the control tower where a man was exiting a hatch. He was wearing the standard khaki uniform. He came up to John Clarke and tossed him a salute.
Despite some objection, John Clarke had decided to come on this op. He was cleared in all areas of operation and could fight, but he was the leader and we didn't want to see him die, as it could very well mean the end of Rainbow.
The man was the skipper of the boat. He showed us below to the ready room where we could throw on our gear.
We quickly did. I threw on the black combats then the CQC vest and helmet with goggles, and then picked up my M4 gripping it tightly.
We ran up on deck, two ranks jogging out to the waiting Blackhawks that were being fueled. We needed no instruction; each rank jogged up the cargo ramp and sat down in the stretched canvas seats.
We all had our weapons with the muzzle down on the deck, holding them up by the stock in the air. Waiting.
The wait wasn't long. The rotors started up and we were off the deck in a flash. We raced low along the sea. The chopper ahead of us crisscrossing into our path. The side doors were open and the door gunners had their weapons ready to go.
I stuck my head out the side and could see the tanker as a dot on the horizon. A dot growing bigger as we were almost on top of it when I looked out again.
I reached onto my gear and found my binoculars, then scanned the bow of it. Several men patrolled it. They were all dressed in green and held AK-47s in their hands, many wore turbans.
I replaced the binoculars on my gear and then watched as we drew closer. The terrorists soon saw us and opened fire on the choppers. Rounds hit the armored skin of the aircraft, but it shrugged them off as it nothing was happening.
The door gunners of both aircraft opened up at the same time, raking the ship with twin streams of 7.62mm ammunition. The lead zingers cut into terrorists, tearing them apart on the ships deck. They dug into the siding of the ship, pock marking the paint and metal.
The pilots took the choppers into twin runs on either side of the ship, running up and down the length, showering it with the door gunner's M60 light machine guns.
After the bow was thoroughly cleansed of enemies, the helicopters hovered near the bridge, firing their machine guns into the windows.
When they were sure that no one stirred on the bridge or bow, the pilots maneuvered the gunships into position and a strong nylon rope was thrown out the side of both choppers.
I was first out. I threw on my heavy gloves and then grabbed the rope and threw myself out the side of the chopper.
Many people think that when we do this it is just like rappelling. That is wrong. Rappelling is using a strong harness and a thin rope against a rock face. Fast roping out of a chopper is no more that a controlled fall with the only way of stopping being to squeeze tightly on the rope. When you are falling out of a chopper at sixty-five miles an hour, squeezing a rope causes friction, so much in fact that when my feet hit the ground the palms of my gloves were literally smoking.
My feet hit the deck and my hands went immediately for my M4 assault carbine strapped to my back. I brought it up and covered the landing of the rest of my team.
Duke came flying down the rope, then Krystal, then the rest. We all spread out, covering each other until we were all down the rope. Then we were on the move. We entered the ship through a hatch at ground level, then proceeded into the ship and split up. John Clarke's team moved upwards to take the bridge; Chavez and I went for the bio-weapon in the bowels of the ship.
It took us nearly an hour to clear the way down to the weapon and then move it back to the weather deck. We dropped it off there, leaving most of the team to cover it, then Chavez and myself moved to the bridge to report back to Clarke, not wanting to risk the use of radios.
We went up several staircases, then down a corridor, then up a flight of stairs that was more like a ladder. We poked our heads up and climbed the rest of the way onto the bridge. The team was there, with Morris covering the hatch we were coming out of, and DuBerry and Clark at the helm, stopping the ship dead in the water.
Clark looked over his shoulder and saw us standing there, "Get on the radio to the Carrier, and tell them to send the gunships back for pickup of the weapon."
I nodded and Chavez grabbed the system on a desk and started to put the radio message through.
I looked back and saw that Clarke had disabled the engines and set the ship to a dead stop in the water. He activated the radio he had with his system and spoke into the mike. "Set the charges and get ready to blow the ship."
I didn't hear the reply, but I could be sure that Rodger McAllen gave an affirmative reply and was moving to set his hull breeching charges on decks that were below the waterline.
"Chavez, you have those helos on the way?" Asked Clarke.
"Yes, sir. They just lifted off the deck of the carrier with a biological weapons specialist team on board. ETA is five minutes." Chavez called back.
"Good, lets get this weapon to the helipad and secure for dust-off. Police up everything you need, we won't be able to come back." He said, jumping up and grabbing his M4 Carbine.
We evacuated the bridge and then ran down the stairs to where we left the bomb.
When we got there, Duke Morgan was unloading the clip of his M4 Carbine at some unseen enemy down the hallway that we couldn't see.
As we watched, he pulled back and let the magazine drop out of the Carbine and then slapped another in, yanking back the T-Bar and letting the round chamber with a satisfying snap-click.
"What happened?" I yelled.
"They rushed us, probably trying to take back the weapon, they've been dancing back and forth ever since." He said, leaning out for another look.
A burst from an AK-47 was sent back, marking the wall next to Duke. He pulled back in sharply and then returned with a long burst.
The problem was that we had to transport the bomb from here to the helipad, but if we couldn't control the fire coming at us we could easily be cut down. We didn't have time to take it around.
"Come On!" I yelled and grabbed one of the handles on the outer case of the bio-weapon, holding my M4 in one hand Rambo style.
We all grabbed a handle and started to move it out. Chavez stayed near the corner to provide covering fire to protect us. The rest of us could spray covering fire around with our weapons, but with questionable accuracy, as it would be fired with one hand.
We moved the bomb as fast as possible, trying not to think about what would happen if an enemy bullet hit one of us, or even worse, the bomb.
I could hear the choppers in the distance. We doubled our pace, running along all hunched over and trying to stay low. I fired blindly behind me as I heard an Uzi open fire.
We were nearing the helipad now. We jumped up on it and set up a perimeter. We could still be shot at from where the terrorists had cover, so it was important to be ready.
The sound of the chopper was now loud and I could see it running lights as it skimmed the sea, making ready for a touch down. It ran along the ship, raking it with its door mounted M60, cutting the terrorists down where they were hiding.
Chavez took the break in the firing to sprint towards us. I covered him, firing bursts from my M4 as more terrorists came out and tried to gun the running operative down.
The chopper was setting down now, creating a ruckus with its noise and wind. I fired some more as Chavez reached the stairs and started to run up them. He had cleared the top step, that's when I saw the terrorist, then things started to move in slow motion.
I saw the man raise his AK-74, then his finger started to take up slack in the trigger. I tried to raise my M4 and destroy the man, but my arms were so heavy, so tired.
I managed to bring the muzzle up as I saw him open fire. The rounds hammered out of the barrel, I watched as the bolt threw out several spent bullet casings, one after the other. Then I could feel the bullets cut through the air around me.
One went too high, slicing through empty space above my head, the other went too low, hitting the helipad about a meter away from my foot and ricocheting off in another direction. The third was the one that drove home.
I saw Ding Chavez stumble forward, the bullet driving itself right between his shoulder blades. The armor he wore was no match for the full metal jacket rounds and they cut right through the Kevlar and through the flesh beneath, then exploded out the front of him at shoulder height, right in the center of his chest.
He yelled out and reached for me. I grabbed him just as a fountain of blood came out of his mouth and spilled onto his gear. He fell into me. I held him with one arm and opened fire with my M4 one handed.
My clip emptied itself and I dropped the assault carbine on the pad and then hauled Chavez out of the fire zone and eased him up into the chopper with the help of the door gunner.
I ignored their calls for me to board the machine as well and ran back to where I had dropped my M4, freeing another clip for it from my pouch.
I ran out, dropped and rolled for it. I dumped the clip out of it and jammed the new one it, worked the T-bar and came out of the roll ready to fire.
I looked through the flip up peep sight and saw the bastard that had shot Chavez poke his ugly head around the corner. I slowly drew back on the trigger and emptied a three-round burst at him, stitching him across the head.
Blood splattered onto the wall behind him, he dropped to the ground, broken pieces of his head falling out of his cranial cavity as he hit the ground. A spreading pool of blood christened his passing into the afterlife.
I looked back and saw my team yelling at me to get on the chopper. I ran forward and grabbed an outstretched hand to help me jump into the machine.
I dropped onto the floor, then struggled up and over to Chavez. Duke and Clarke were working on slapping field dressings on the entry and exit wounds that the communist weapon had made in my teammate. Chavez was pale and coughing uncontrollably, bringing up blood with nearly every hack.
Duke looked up at me and shook his head.
Chavez went into a final series of racking coughs and then passed his final breath, straining against Duke and Clark as he fought for the last tendrils of life, then he fell back into them and lied still.
I looked away as Clark reached to Chavez's face and pulled his eyelids closed. I fought against the tears streaming against my eyes and the knot in my throat. I pulled off my ballistic goggles and helmet and let them drop to the deck and put my hands on my face.
I felt a nudge and accepted the canteen that Duke offered. I opened the cap and took a long drink off of it. It helped work the knot out somewhat.
The three-man team of bio-weapon specialists were studying the weapon as we were in flight, making sure that it was disarmed and posed no threat.
The pilot turned around in his seat and yelled towards us in the back. "We're way over-weight. I don't know if we can make it back to the carrier. We have to dump something."
We looked around and then dumped everything we wouldn't need. We dumped armor, vests, weapons, helmets everything we could find out the side, the pilots dumped their flak vests and the door gunners threw the M60s off their mounts and into the ocean below. Lastly McAllen detonated the charges on the ship and threw the detonator out the side.
We flew away into a sunset with the smoke and burning wreckage of the tanker to give us a send-off.
I became aware of a faint whup-whupping in the distance and looked up to see a Blackhawk helicopter coming in on our position about five miles out. McAllen was kneeling on the sand, waiting to guide the chopper in when it got close enough. I looked around for my G-36 but couldn't find it. Duke produced it and handed it to me.
The Blackhawk was close enough to start moving sand around in swirls and blind most of us. I waited for the large machine to start to move horizontally in an attempt to land until I came forward to board it. The aircraft touched down on the sand and sunk a few inches. I walked up to the door as hopped in, the rest of my squad following me.
I grabbed a seat on the stretched canvas frames and buckled up my safety belt. I felt someone tapping my shoulder and looked over to see the loadmaster hand me a headset. I took it and slipped it over my ears. Immediately the deafening roar of the rotors was lessened to a manageable level and I could hear the two pilots talking.
One leaned back and looked at me. "Mr. Clark wants a word with you!" He yelled into the headset.
I nodded and the pilot made an adjustment to the communications panel. Instantly I heard John Clark's voice. "Molnar, are you there?" He asked. "Yes sir, I am." I said back.
"Good, listen. Something big is happening in China. We don't know what. The US and them just had a major fight in the UN, next thing we knew, China's forces were invading Taiwan, Russia, India, Pakistan and into Burma. All opposition forces in the region were quickly wiped out. We've got us a real problem here; please tell me you recovered that weapon."
"Well sir, not quite." I explained what had happened and then waited for him to speak. The line was silent for so long I almost thought we had lost connection. Then he spoke. "Get back to base then, we have to find that weapon."
"Yes sir"
The flight back to Hereford, England was difficult. We had to cut through layers and layers of red tape just to get a flight into England. The airports were all closed because of the advancing Chinese and it took every bit of John Clark's diplomatic power and then some to get us back to base.
Once there we didn't even have time to change, the entire team was ushered into the mission prep room. We all sat down in the theater-style room and waited. In a few minutes, John Clark accompanied by Ding Chavez stepped to the podium.
"There is very little time." Said Clark as an opening. "Chinese forces have occupied most of the middle east and some of Russia. The Russian Army is holding them back, but only for a matter of time. The Russians in no condition to fight a war with what little military power they still wield. The whole thing started when the US accused China of stealing this bio-weapon from them, it wouldn't be the first time either, but it's not true. The Chinese have now accused the US of lying and have invaded several portions of Asia claiming they are retaliating to American subterfuge. Now they're holding position, giving America twenty-four hours to give China a complete apology. The President went on national TV a few minutes ago and said to the American people that the Chinese would be waiting a hell of a lot longer than twenty-four hours for an American apology."
Clark picked up a small remote control and pushed one of the buttons on it. The black screen behind him lit up with a design schematic of what looked very much like a biological weapon delivery device.
"We're talking nuclear war over this." Said Clark, gesturing towards the screen. "The weapon itself is American. Stolen two months ago, it is the machine that actually releases the virus into the surrounding area where it disperses into the atmosphere and begins to infect people."
I looked over at Duke, who had his hand up. Clark gestured towards him to state his question.
"Sir, we know about the delivery device, what kind of virus is loaded into the canisters in it?" He asked.
Clarke looked down at his feet. "It doesn't have a name yet, only a number. L47-5G9. It's the newest in genetically engineered weapons. Essentially the genetic information in the virus is extracted and a much more powerful and dangerous pathogen is used in place. Once injected into a person, the virus delivers its genetic information to every cell in the body, reprogramming it to produce more of the virus."
"What kind of damage does it do?" Asked Burke, sitting in the back row.
"The virus has no antidote and kills within three days of exposure. The worst part is that one canister has enough of the virus to wipe out every man, woman and child on the planet with more to spare, the exact amount that was stolen."
The theater was silent.
"Now for the good news, while you were on your way out, we located the weapon. A satellite thermal image found it onboard an oil tanker leaving the Middle East. The biological component must be kept at a very low temperature to survive, one of the drawbacks of the genetic reprogramming. The satellite found it in the lower decks of the ship. Were sending all of rainbow's available operatives in on this one. Ransack the ship, recover the weapon, and make sure that not one person on the tanker gets away alive."
There was another uncomfortable silence in the room. "Briefing concluded. We leave in one hour."
We all got up and walked out of the room. I walked back to my room and retrieved my gear and then to the armory to check out one of the weapons. I went with the M4 Carbine this time. I took that, ammo, frags, and a Berretta M9, which I chose not to silence.
The hour was quickly used up and we loaded into black SUVs and headed out to the nearest airport.
The next sixteen hours was a daze of dead runs and sitting still. We caught two flights to get to Kuwait City and then waited an hour for a helicopter to take us to the USS Carl Vinson, an American Aircraft carrier in the Persian Gulf.
The mighty ship was sitting in the middle of the gulf, a testament to American military strength. Nearly a kilometer long, the floating weapons platform was also a floating airport. I moved next to the gunner in the Blackhawk to get a better look at the machine as we buzzed the control tower.
The Blackhawk floated above the deck for a moment then slowly descended to come to a rest on the tarmac. The rear door opened and we grabbed our bags. I stepped out onto the deck. The wind blew through me and I looked around at all the activity going on on the flight deck.
It had always been a dream of mine to visit an Aircraft Carrier the mighty machines had fascinated me since I was a boy.
I looked back, my team was looking at me kind of funny, but I didn't really care. I looked over at the base of the control tower where a man was exiting a hatch. He was wearing the standard khaki uniform. He came up to John Clarke and tossed him a salute.
Despite some objection, John Clarke had decided to come on this op. He was cleared in all areas of operation and could fight, but he was the leader and we didn't want to see him die, as it could very well mean the end of Rainbow.
The man was the skipper of the boat. He showed us below to the ready room where we could throw on our gear.
We quickly did. I threw on the black combats then the CQC vest and helmet with goggles, and then picked up my M4 gripping it tightly.
We ran up on deck, two ranks jogging out to the waiting Blackhawks that were being fueled. We needed no instruction; each rank jogged up the cargo ramp and sat down in the stretched canvas seats.
We all had our weapons with the muzzle down on the deck, holding them up by the stock in the air. Waiting.
The wait wasn't long. The rotors started up and we were off the deck in a flash. We raced low along the sea. The chopper ahead of us crisscrossing into our path. The side doors were open and the door gunners had their weapons ready to go.
I stuck my head out the side and could see the tanker as a dot on the horizon. A dot growing bigger as we were almost on top of it when I looked out again.
I reached onto my gear and found my binoculars, then scanned the bow of it. Several men patrolled it. They were all dressed in green and held AK-47s in their hands, many wore turbans.
I replaced the binoculars on my gear and then watched as we drew closer. The terrorists soon saw us and opened fire on the choppers. Rounds hit the armored skin of the aircraft, but it shrugged them off as it nothing was happening.
The door gunners of both aircraft opened up at the same time, raking the ship with twin streams of 7.62mm ammunition. The lead zingers cut into terrorists, tearing them apart on the ships deck. They dug into the siding of the ship, pock marking the paint and metal.
The pilots took the choppers into twin runs on either side of the ship, running up and down the length, showering it with the door gunner's M60 light machine guns.
After the bow was thoroughly cleansed of enemies, the helicopters hovered near the bridge, firing their machine guns into the windows.
When they were sure that no one stirred on the bridge or bow, the pilots maneuvered the gunships into position and a strong nylon rope was thrown out the side of both choppers.
I was first out. I threw on my heavy gloves and then grabbed the rope and threw myself out the side of the chopper.
Many people think that when we do this it is just like rappelling. That is wrong. Rappelling is using a strong harness and a thin rope against a rock face. Fast roping out of a chopper is no more that a controlled fall with the only way of stopping being to squeeze tightly on the rope. When you are falling out of a chopper at sixty-five miles an hour, squeezing a rope causes friction, so much in fact that when my feet hit the ground the palms of my gloves were literally smoking.
My feet hit the deck and my hands went immediately for my M4 assault carbine strapped to my back. I brought it up and covered the landing of the rest of my team.
Duke came flying down the rope, then Krystal, then the rest. We all spread out, covering each other until we were all down the rope. Then we were on the move. We entered the ship through a hatch at ground level, then proceeded into the ship and split up. John Clarke's team moved upwards to take the bridge; Chavez and I went for the bio-weapon in the bowels of the ship.
It took us nearly an hour to clear the way down to the weapon and then move it back to the weather deck. We dropped it off there, leaving most of the team to cover it, then Chavez and myself moved to the bridge to report back to Clarke, not wanting to risk the use of radios.
We went up several staircases, then down a corridor, then up a flight of stairs that was more like a ladder. We poked our heads up and climbed the rest of the way onto the bridge. The team was there, with Morris covering the hatch we were coming out of, and DuBerry and Clark at the helm, stopping the ship dead in the water.
Clark looked over his shoulder and saw us standing there, "Get on the radio to the Carrier, and tell them to send the gunships back for pickup of the weapon."
I nodded and Chavez grabbed the system on a desk and started to put the radio message through.
I looked back and saw that Clarke had disabled the engines and set the ship to a dead stop in the water. He activated the radio he had with his system and spoke into the mike. "Set the charges and get ready to blow the ship."
I didn't hear the reply, but I could be sure that Rodger McAllen gave an affirmative reply and was moving to set his hull breeching charges on decks that were below the waterline.
"Chavez, you have those helos on the way?" Asked Clarke.
"Yes, sir. They just lifted off the deck of the carrier with a biological weapons specialist team on board. ETA is five minutes." Chavez called back.
"Good, lets get this weapon to the helipad and secure for dust-off. Police up everything you need, we won't be able to come back." He said, jumping up and grabbing his M4 Carbine.
We evacuated the bridge and then ran down the stairs to where we left the bomb.
When we got there, Duke Morgan was unloading the clip of his M4 Carbine at some unseen enemy down the hallway that we couldn't see.
As we watched, he pulled back and let the magazine drop out of the Carbine and then slapped another in, yanking back the T-Bar and letting the round chamber with a satisfying snap-click.
"What happened?" I yelled.
"They rushed us, probably trying to take back the weapon, they've been dancing back and forth ever since." He said, leaning out for another look.
A burst from an AK-47 was sent back, marking the wall next to Duke. He pulled back in sharply and then returned with a long burst.
The problem was that we had to transport the bomb from here to the helipad, but if we couldn't control the fire coming at us we could easily be cut down. We didn't have time to take it around.
"Come On!" I yelled and grabbed one of the handles on the outer case of the bio-weapon, holding my M4 in one hand Rambo style.
We all grabbed a handle and started to move it out. Chavez stayed near the corner to provide covering fire to protect us. The rest of us could spray covering fire around with our weapons, but with questionable accuracy, as it would be fired with one hand.
We moved the bomb as fast as possible, trying not to think about what would happen if an enemy bullet hit one of us, or even worse, the bomb.
I could hear the choppers in the distance. We doubled our pace, running along all hunched over and trying to stay low. I fired blindly behind me as I heard an Uzi open fire.
We were nearing the helipad now. We jumped up on it and set up a perimeter. We could still be shot at from where the terrorists had cover, so it was important to be ready.
The sound of the chopper was now loud and I could see it running lights as it skimmed the sea, making ready for a touch down. It ran along the ship, raking it with its door mounted M60, cutting the terrorists down where they were hiding.
Chavez took the break in the firing to sprint towards us. I covered him, firing bursts from my M4 as more terrorists came out and tried to gun the running operative down.
The chopper was setting down now, creating a ruckus with its noise and wind. I fired some more as Chavez reached the stairs and started to run up them. He had cleared the top step, that's when I saw the terrorist, then things started to move in slow motion.
I saw the man raise his AK-74, then his finger started to take up slack in the trigger. I tried to raise my M4 and destroy the man, but my arms were so heavy, so tired.
I managed to bring the muzzle up as I saw him open fire. The rounds hammered out of the barrel, I watched as the bolt threw out several spent bullet casings, one after the other. Then I could feel the bullets cut through the air around me.
One went too high, slicing through empty space above my head, the other went too low, hitting the helipad about a meter away from my foot and ricocheting off in another direction. The third was the one that drove home.
I saw Ding Chavez stumble forward, the bullet driving itself right between his shoulder blades. The armor he wore was no match for the full metal jacket rounds and they cut right through the Kevlar and through the flesh beneath, then exploded out the front of him at shoulder height, right in the center of his chest.
He yelled out and reached for me. I grabbed him just as a fountain of blood came out of his mouth and spilled onto his gear. He fell into me. I held him with one arm and opened fire with my M4 one handed.
My clip emptied itself and I dropped the assault carbine on the pad and then hauled Chavez out of the fire zone and eased him up into the chopper with the help of the door gunner.
I ignored their calls for me to board the machine as well and ran back to where I had dropped my M4, freeing another clip for it from my pouch.
I ran out, dropped and rolled for it. I dumped the clip out of it and jammed the new one it, worked the T-bar and came out of the roll ready to fire.
I looked through the flip up peep sight and saw the bastard that had shot Chavez poke his ugly head around the corner. I slowly drew back on the trigger and emptied a three-round burst at him, stitching him across the head.
Blood splattered onto the wall behind him, he dropped to the ground, broken pieces of his head falling out of his cranial cavity as he hit the ground. A spreading pool of blood christened his passing into the afterlife.
I looked back and saw my team yelling at me to get on the chopper. I ran forward and grabbed an outstretched hand to help me jump into the machine.
I dropped onto the floor, then struggled up and over to Chavez. Duke and Clarke were working on slapping field dressings on the entry and exit wounds that the communist weapon had made in my teammate. Chavez was pale and coughing uncontrollably, bringing up blood with nearly every hack.
Duke looked up at me and shook his head.
Chavez went into a final series of racking coughs and then passed his final breath, straining against Duke and Clark as he fought for the last tendrils of life, then he fell back into them and lied still.
I looked away as Clark reached to Chavez's face and pulled his eyelids closed. I fought against the tears streaming against my eyes and the knot in my throat. I pulled off my ballistic goggles and helmet and let them drop to the deck and put my hands on my face.
I felt a nudge and accepted the canteen that Duke offered. I opened the cap and took a long drink off of it. It helped work the knot out somewhat.
The three-man team of bio-weapon specialists were studying the weapon as we were in flight, making sure that it was disarmed and posed no threat.
The pilot turned around in his seat and yelled towards us in the back. "We're way over-weight. I don't know if we can make it back to the carrier. We have to dump something."
We looked around and then dumped everything we wouldn't need. We dumped armor, vests, weapons, helmets everything we could find out the side, the pilots dumped their flak vests and the door gunners threw the M60s off their mounts and into the ocean below. Lastly McAllen detonated the charges on the ship and threw the detonator out the side.
We flew away into a sunset with the smoke and burning wreckage of the tanker to give us a send-off.