Holding Their Own: The Toymaker (16 page)

Today, however, Hack wasn’t interested in acquiring sophisticated equipment or advanced weapons. Other than batteries, always high on his priority list, the toymaker was after something much more primitive and mundane.

Balloons.

On one of his previous visits, the toymaker had noticed a large storage building full of weather balloons. “Those are left over from long ago,” one of the base’s personnel had informed the visiting engineer. “But you know the Army, they keep shit lying around forever. It’s cheaper to build new storage sheds than to dispose of old hardware.”

Hack wasn’t after any old party balloons. Nor was he interested in the beautifully colored variety that lifted people into the sky in their straw basket gondolas.

No, the toymaker wanted high altitude, military-grade units that could reach heights of 15-25 miles above the earth’s surface, and carry a reasonable payload along the way.

That payload, if necessary, could be a leaking container of radioactive dust.

Pleased with the accuracy of his memory, Hack pointed the dump truck’s driver to the precise building where he remembered seeing the inflatable devices years ago.

An hour later, they were heading back north to Caldera country, several crates of silver-skinned, latex balloons in the back of the truck. And there was a bonus as well. Six large tanks of hydrogen had been discovered, along with yellowed instruction guides.

“We now have an Air Force,” Hack informed his Apache friend. “As well as a strategic deterrent. It’s shaping up to be a pretty good week.”

Grim was griping again. “I was just getting used to trees… and grass… and green stuff,” the contractor complained. “Now, not only do I have to behave myself because the top dog is leading the mission, but I’ll be washing the sand out of my hair for a fucking week.”

“I didn’t think you bathed more than once a week anyway, Grim,” Nick pushed back with a grin. “Last time we were on a job, it sure didn’t seem like it.”

Riding in the Humvee’s back seat, Kevin was his usual, stoic self… perhaps a bit more reserved than usual since his dad was along. Butter, the FNG, or fucking new guy, didn’t know what to make of any of it.

“Do they always go at each other like that?” the big ex-rancher leaned over and whispered to Kevin.

“No,” replied the team’s sharpshooter. “Normally, it’s worse. But the day is young.”

Kevin’s statement confused Butter even more. Double checking the passing New Mexico landscape, he spied the fading light of dusk outside the windows.
What does he mean the day is young? It’s almost dark out there.

Grim, with a map spread across his lap while he monitored a handheld GPS, paused from his primary duties to interrupt the FNG’s thoughts. “Ten minutes until we dismount,” he said plainly. “And then we start earning our pay.”

Nick guided the off-road vehicle across the rough terrain, looking for a larger than normal patch of scrub they had chosen from the old satellite photographs on file in the archives at Bliss. From the dated snapshots taken several miles above the earth, it had looked like the perfect place to stash the oversized SUV.

In addition to the limited, aged information from Bliss, General Owens had convinced the brass at the Pentagon to share what information was available from previous missions. Much to everyone’s surprise, the Washington boys had sent what appeared to be a complete package, including video and still photographs.

“Let’s go over it again,” Nick started as the Humvee bounced across a small wash. “We’ll dismount, cover our transport, and then wait for darkness before moving out. Grim and I will form a two-wide point. Butter will be in the middle, Kevin will cover us with that long-range tack driver from the rear. Any questions so far?”

There was none, the team having already heard the same instructions a dozen times before. But no one complained. It was just the way things were done.

“Our number one priority is to avoid contact. If we are spotted, we egress immediately. The rally point is the Humvee. Make sure you can find your way back there in the dark.”

The ex-Green Beret paused, a large berm with a steep downside requiring all of his attention. As soon as it was clear they weren’t going to roll over or get stuck, Nick continued.

“We will be approximately 10 kilometers from where the PJ took the video. The area, even before the collapse, was sparsely populated. There are less than a dozen structures in the vicinity, and most of those appear to be outbuildings or storage sheds. I’ll be surprised if we even hear a dog bark.”

Again the briefing was paused, Grim pointing to a cluster of scrub and cactus off to the right. “That looks like our garage,” he announced.

Nick nodded, altering their direction before continuing with his orders. “We will find a good place to set up tonight. Tomorrow, we’ll stay put and observe the construction activities in the valley. We’ll be running a cold camp – no fires. Tomorrow, we’ll use the cover of darkness to move back to the Humvee and head back to Bliss. Any questions?”

“What exactly are we looking for, sir? I’ve never quite understood that part,” Butter asked shyly.

Grim grunted, and for a moment, the FNG thought he’d asked another dumb question. But the more experienced man in the front seat bailed him out. “That’s a good question, Butter. I’m not quite sure of the answer myself.”

Nick shook his head, a smartass remark forming in his chest. But he let it go. That time was past. “We want to find out who is running the show around here. We want to gain an understanding of how organized they are, what communications methods are being used, and some general knowledge about the size and compilation of the local forces.”

“Isn’t this all Native American land?” Kevin asked. “Isn’t it most likely that it’s the Indian tribes?”

“Yes, it probably is, but we need to be positive. Quite frankly, from what we know, the recent activity in the area doesn’t fit the Native profile. Why, all of a sudden, would they start rerouting rivers? Where did they get the knowledge and wherewithal to take nuclear materials from an armed escort? How in the hell did they catch the PJ’s team, and why shoot it out with them? The council needs to know who and what we’re dealing with.”

“Who else do you think it could it be?” Kevin pressed.

“According to the eyewitnesses at Los Alamos, there was a white-haired, olde
r
Caucasia
n
male in charge when they took down the Department of Energy team at the lab. For all we know, it might be some rogue military unit using the locals for slave labor. For sure, it’s more than just the local tribes that are behind all this.”  

They arrived at the designated parking spot, finding a safe hiding place for the Humvee. Nick had insisted on using a civilian transport, on the off chance that the team was spotted crossing the desert. The locals seemed to be anti-military at the moment.

There was a hustle and bustle of activity, the SAINT team strapping on equipment, double-checking loads and weapons, all along helping each other.

As per routine, the three team members lined up, Nick passing along in front of each man, tugging on gear, asking fundamental questions, and looking into each man’s eye to make sure there wasn’t any problem. Butter, being the FNG, received the most attention.

Satisfied his men had the proper kit, and that they weren’t going to rattle or squeak while walking to their destination, Nick summed it up one last time. “Our top priority is to avoid detection and contact. Even if we don’t learn a single new fact, this mission will be deemed a success if we get in and get out without anyone knowing we’re here. Next on the list of critical parameters is that we leave no one behind. These people aren’t pussies, and they definitely don’t shy away from a fight. If we are discovered, we shoot our way out if necessary. Is that clear?”

A chorus of “Yes, sir,” sounded from the small group.

“Let’s do it, gentlemen. The steaks are on me in Alpha tomorrow night. I’m looking forward to paying for four big meals. Move out.”

The sun had disappeared behind the mountains when they finally formed up. Each man had a small piece of glow tape attached to the back of his pack and hat in order to maintain the unit’s spacing and not get lost. Grim called them “cat eyes.”

Grim and Nick took the lead, each man using night vision to plot the route, avoid dead ends, and make sure the column didn’t stumble into an ambush.

The terrain was rocky and arid and supported little plant life. The predetermined path took them up a small mountain with no name, down into a valley and across a series of lower hills. Nick had pined for an easier access point, but it just didn’t exist.

As they walked, the big man thought about how many times he’d set off on just such a mission. Unlike Hollywood movies and popular lore, the vast majority of Special Forces operations involved similar objectives. Combat wasn’t nearly as common as the tasks of observing, scouting, and gathering hard intelligence.

If discovered, they would engage, and more often than not, would give more than take. Live to fight another day was common wisdom, but sometimes that required putting lead on target.

Like anyone responsible for the lives of others, Nick ran through all of the checklists… again and again. Butter was a worry, only because he was new. Grim was often impatient and trigger happy. Kevin was solid as a rock, but the kid was just 19 and often hesitated just a second too long.

While Nick was confident his team would give a proper accounting for itself if engaged, that wasn’t his primary concern. They needed to be stealthy, calm, and patient. Body control and walking without sound were more important than accuracy with a carbine.
Had he spent enough time with Butter teaching the big kid how to step toe-to-heal and distribute his weight gradually?
Paying attention to their surroundings and noticing details was far more critical than target prioritization.
Had he drilled Kevin enough on suppressive fire tactics used to break contact?

His mind then wandered to each team member’s physical conditioning. No one was going to get any sleep for 36 hours. Kevin and Butter were unproven in that environment, Grim and he both getting a little long in the tooth for such joyrides. He knew the lack of sleep could have a tremendous impact on the human brain, affecting everything from judgment to disposition. How would his team react 20 hours from now? Would Butter go from mellow to lion? Would Grim start getting stupid? Would Kevin just fall asleep at the helm?

Like always, the retired Green Beret eventually reached a point where his mind ceased cycling on the negatives. “Run what ya brung,” he mouthed silently. “It’s done. We’re here. Make the best of it. Do the job, and get these guys back home in one piece.”

Up the mountain they climbed, their progress sluggish and fatiguing. Each man was carrying over 40 pounds of weapons and kit up the steep inclines and loose footing.

Nick was actually pleased by the rugged ground. People were like animals, they almost always took the path of least resistance. If his team was struggling, that meant the locals wouldn’t frequent the area.

Nearer the crest, the foliage and landscape began to change. Elevations weren’t as vertical, the desert scrub and low cacti turning into an undergrowth of vines accompanying a canopy of small trees. The hard sand that crunched under their boots was replaced with a soft carpet of pine needles and spongy ground.

And then they were descending.

One would think that the downhill leg would compensate for all of the pain and strain of going up, but that wasn’t the case. While the punishment was directed at difference muscles, the heavy packs and need for noise discipline pushed the team members to their limits. The high altitude, with its lower oxygen levels, didn’t help.

By the time their GPS indicated they had reached the halfway point, Nick’s confidence and pride in his men was growing. No one had complained, fallen back, or imitated a thundering buffalo charging through a china store. The Alliance crew moved as well as any he’d ever led.

Crossing the valley was child’s play compared to the hike up and down the hills. As anticipated, their speed over ground improved considerably.

At 3:20AM they finally arrived at the designated coordinates, less than 100 meters away from where the U.S. team had been ambushed.

After verifying they were alone and undetected, Nick called his men into a tight huddle. “Good job on the way in, guys. Nicely done. Now, I know everyone’s tired. Hell, my legs feel like I’ve run a marathon. But now is not the time to get sloppy. Let me remind you that two Green Berets and a PJ were taken out not far from this very spot. We don’t know if our foe has night vision, thermal, or some other type of early warning device. So I want everyone under thick cover. I don’t care if you have to chisel out a cave, I want zero visibility from ground level, or above. They could have scouts in the trees for all we know. Is that clear?”