that the Lieutenant is still wearing his stripes and not a silver bar on his collar which would most likely mean that he just received word of his promotion recently. Probably today even. Unless, of course, she made a mistake. Sir.”
Dowling frowned at the suggestion like a spoilt child and folded her arms. The old-man smiled and dismissed me.
Two weeks later, I was assured of two things: firstly, I didn’t strike-out like I had thought. I had passed the interview. And secondly, Ms. Dowling, call-sign: ‘Cougar,’ never made mistakes…
Chapter 3
The Present
April 20th 2021
0435 hours
Some-where over the Pacific
For the three days following Ox’s death the higher-ups kept me and Cougar busy filling out reports and attending “specially convened” post-‘op’ de-briefings on what would later become officially known as the “Stanford Incident.” According to the report submitted by the “Clean-up Team” sent to Stanford they only found two bodies; Ox and Molly. The bodies of the three attackers dressed as janitors, according to the report, had ‘melted’ into a jelly-like pink translucent sludge. A fate also suffered by the thumbs Cougar had collected. Only their clothing and weapons remained in tact for forensic examinations that revealed next to nothing.
For the next week, the C.D.C. (Centre for Disease Control) quarantined Stanford University and stories about a failed biological terrorist attack on the campus were leaked to the media .Needless to say the next few days were an endless barrage of interviews, paper-work and blood-tests for Cougar and me. So when the opportunity to re-join our unit in the field arose we didn’t hesitate. Although, in retrospect, sometimes I wish we had…
Priest roused me from my impromptu nap and signed to me with his hands.
“Ten minutes to the L.Z.”
I nodded, checked my OICWv.2 assault rifle and chambered two rounds. One, a standard 5.56mm, the other a computerized trajectory enabled 16mm explosive round.
The two other A.C.E. unit members, also dressed in full tactical ‘kit’, in the red-lit cabin did the same.
The four other passengers, technicians, silently wet themselves. Their pink- faces were fraught with tension. They must have been thinking:
“What the hell have we gotten ourselves into?”
The noise from the modified AH743 Arch-Angel’s combination of rotors and vector-thrust jet-engines were deafening. Yet, somehow during the two-hour sub-sonic flight, I had managed to fall asleep on Priest’s shoulder.
Joel “Huck” Moody shouted over the din.
“So does this mean you two are going steady?!”Huck was Ox’s replacement. An ex-L.R.R.P. (long range reconnaissance patrol), gunnery Sergeant fist-class. A first class dick too.
“Well, yo’ momma always said she wanted to try a threesome!”
My response elicited a chuckle from all within earshot except Priest, who it was said was all business when on an ‘op.’ Samuel ‘Priest’ Gabriel, ex- USMC Sniper corps, Lieutenant. I didn’t know if he had a sense of humor or not because he never smiled. He rarely spoke. Rumor had it that his tongue was cut out by a South American drug-lord when an ‘op’ he was on went bad. And as such his only means of verbal communication came via Stephen Hawking like voice synthesizer wrapped around his neck. Nevertheless he preferred to use sign language when communicating face to face.
Huck gave me the finger and our wrist P.D.A.’s vibrator alarms went off. Play-time was over.
“Gentlemen,” a live digital video of our unit Commander appeared across the two inch LCD plasma screens of our PDA’s. “Welcome to the Dragon’s Triangle.”
He was forty-six years old, bald and sported a stylish razor-sharp goatee. His name was Nathan Alexander Bishop. An ex-Navy S.E.A.L. He was once a commander of the legendary S.E.A.L. Team Six. When he joined A.C.E. he kept his operational call sign: Rogue 1; and ‘Matilda.’
Everything the Colonel said was transmitted to our wireless ear-pieces.
“The situation is as follows: at approximately 2200 hours a passenger Cruise-liner called theGossamer Muse radioed to the Coast-Guard that it was going to the assistance of a downed aircraft, possibly a civilian passenger jet-liner in the vicinity of the Dragon’s Triangle. The Coast-Guard immediately dispatched S & R cutters but lost contact with the Gossamer Muse less than an hour later.”
“Sounds to me Chief…,” the video image panned across to Jeffrey “Soul-Train” Ross. The big black Alabama native sat hunched uncomfortably in the confined space of the jet-copter’s cabin between siblings, Blade and Sabre; opposite the Colonel, “…like a job for the Coast-Guard.”
“It was,” the camera panned back to the Colonel, “until the Coast-Guard S.R.T.’s failed to check-in after their scheduled rendezvous with the cruise –liner. That was just over four hours ago.”
The Colonel nodded at some one off-camera.
“Now the good-news: D.O.D., NASA and SAT-Com have confirmed that no aircraft or satellites have been lost or reported lost within last twenty-four hours. SAT-Com analysts and our own Intel-people have confirmed the there was zero air-traffic within a five hundred mile radius of the Gossamer Muse between 2200 hours and 0100 hours. A twelve man, Chinese Special forces team, from Hong-Kong, landed on the Gossamer Muse twenty minutes ago and have secured an L.Z. for us. After dropping us off our three ‘Angels’ will land and re-fuel on the USS Stennis air-craft carrier, which is currently en-route to our position.”
“I don’t get it, Sir, two S.F. teams? What exactly does Intel believe we’re dealing with here? Pirates? Terrorists?” Huck asked a slight quiver in his thick southern drawl.
“Son, that’s the bad-news…,” a dark cloud came over the Colonel’s face,
“….And that’s why we got the call: Intel has no idea.”
I couldn’t help but get a bad feeling as watched the last of the three Arch-Angel transports slowly lift-off from the cruise ship’s heli-pad and dart off into the distance.
The ship was in total darkness. With no power the ship Gossamer Muse drifted in the black ocean-void like a lame duck. The only source of lighting came from the blue chemical lanterns purposely strewn across the deck and heli-pad. The sun was due to come up soon and the Chinese special forces team had taken up strategic positions along the deck and had formed a defensive perimeter around the heli-pad. Some knelt some were prone. Guns, facing away from the heli-pad into the darkness, ready.
While the four technicians un-packed their equipment the members of A.C.E. unit-Alpha assembled at the center of heli-pad. We stood shoulder to shoulder in single-file before Colonel Bishop and the Chinese Commander. Our black battle-dress body armor and black-camo face-paint contrasted with the light desert-camo combat gear worn by the Chinese.
Catherine ‘Cougar’ Dowling.
Alex
