Chapter 39

 THIRTY-NINE

Palmer looked at the footage on his laptop. Aside from the lights of the city and the HUD, there was very little orientation apparent from the mostly dark greyscale image.

“Hey, you wanna see what a dumbass is capable of?” asked a tinny voice over the laptops speakers.

“Son of a bitch!” cried out another pilot over the radio as something shot past the screen for a fraction of a frame

There was a strained breathing heard as the picture shifted to a 90-degree angle. Parts of the HUD lagged as the F-2A turned to follow the target. He watched as the HUD’s symbology changed as the fighters Radar locked onto the small aircraft. “I got him locked!” the voice of the Pilot flying boomed over the speaker.

“Shit, I’m too close. Two’s breaking off!” the other pilot reported. Palmer watched as the wingman’s F-2A pulled away from the aircraft, a white box outlining the jet marked ‘FRIENDLY’. The pilot maneuvered his plane for the shot as the enemy’s aircraft flew over the Anchor Bay Bridge.

The HUDs Symbology changed briefly until a mechanical growl was heard before it quickly changed into a high-pitched squeal. “Yokai One-One, Fox Two!” the pilot yelled. Palmer watched the target aircraft fly towards the Anchorhead Tunnel before a bright explosion was seen.

“Yokai One-One, Splash one.” The pilot reported, pulling the F-2A up from its attack.

Hitting the space bar, Palmer paused the video and turned his attention to the pilot sitting across from him. He sighed and steepled his fingers. “Captain Polarski, I hope you understand why we just watched this.”

The pilot solemnly nodded. “Yes sir. I had my fangs out and broke numerous rules of engagement, put the people of Anchorhead Bay at risk.”

Palmer nodded his head to the side at consideration of what the pilot had to say before continuing. “Normally Captain, yes I would be on you for that. But today that isn’t the case.” Palmer opened his briefcase and shoved a newspaper to the Pilot. “That aircraft you engaged wasn’t shot down.” He said, stabbing a finger into the picture on the front page.

“That’s impossible.” Polarski replied astonished.

“Evidently not. But don’t feel bad, there’s only like, a dozen or so people in the world who would pull off a stunt like that.” Palmer explained.

“But I had him dead to rights. Shit!” Polarski said tossing the paper down.

“Captain, is there anything else you can remember that the tapes don’t show?” Palmer asked, changing the subject. “Anything at all? Something out of the corner of your eye, Bad feeling, Anything you can remember.”

 

The pilot thought for a moment before shaking his head in defeat, “Aside from the jamming we already saw, no.”

Palmer jotted down a note and shook his head. “Thank you, Captain. Your dismissed.”

The Pilot nodded and made his way to the door. As he exited, a young woman entered. Her blond hair was tied up into a ponytail, and her black polo had the crest of the OADF Office of Special Investigations embroidered onto the breast. “Here’s the documents you requested sir.” She said, handing him a folder. She had been a last-minute replacement from OSI’s Headquarters, Lieutenant Melissa McKay was fresh from the Academy and had been sent to Palmer for her training in the Field as an unsworn Agent. While she was a pale replacement for Palmer’s deceased former partner, Baxter, he did have to admit she was more than capable of doing the groundwork of gathering information and was easy on the eyes to boot.

 

Palmer flipped through the dossier McKay had collected. “And this is the records from Air Traffic Control?” he asked.

“Yes sir. Unfortunately, when the incident began, any transponder signal, or radio communications we’re jammed. From what we gathered from local Police, we can identify which of these radar returns was their helicopters, leaving the last one as the target aircraft.” She explained, pointing out individual markings on the picture. She rifled through the stack until she pulled out one screen. The Time stamp was after the air-to-air engagement had ended.

Palmer studied the image for a second, Unlike the previous pictures, each radar target now had information associated with it, save for one. “So that unknown is our tunnel pilot?”

McKay nodded “Indeed. They egressed north into Erusea. Former successionist territory to be exact.”

 

Palmer frowned. “I see. It would line up.” He muttered. “What do you mean?” McKay asked.

 

Sighing, Palmer dug though his briefcase, pulling out two sets of images. One had been a photocopy of an all-points bulletin for the Gracemeria Police Department, dating to the beginning of February, with the photos and names of five men involved in a home invasion and murder. The second was stills from the CCTV in the Aurora Nightclub that had been attacked earlier in the week. He shifted both documents to the Lieutenant. “You think they’re related?” She asked incredulously.

 

Palmer nodded pointing to two pictures on the APB. One was of an older Asian man with the name of Thomas Nagase, and a younger white man named Kelly Johnson. “Take a close look. These two were in Emmeria seven months ago. The woman they killed? She was a known commander in the Free Erusea movement a decade and a half back. Now fast forward, they just so happen to attack a Nightclub that just so happens to have affiliations with those who armed the new Free Erusea movement? Do you honestly believe in coincidences Lieutenant?” Palmer explained. Without waiting for a reply, he continued.

 

“What I think? These guys were the first wave of those attacks we saw back in May. The new Free Erusea guard was tying up the old loose ends by killing the Butcher of San Marco, and then killing the guys who sold them the weapons in their ploy to kill the Princess.”

“But what about Three Strikes?” McKay asked.

Palmer frowned. “You’ve read his record. He’s always been flagged considering his family history. It was no surprise he went to prison the first time for Harling. Then with him working alongside the Radicals in Farbanti? I’m not surprised they got him out. He’s still useful to them evidently.” Palmer explained.

“The only thing I can’t figure out is, what does that bastard have to gain by helping them?” he muttered.

 

“What do you mean?” McKay asked.

 

“AFOSI has been trying to track this defector down since he got onto the Intelligence stage. Theres all these seemingly random attacks across Usea that’s been cropping up these past few months. His fingerprints are on each of the documents we manage to intercept. He’s been doing something, but what exactly?” Palmer elaborated.

***

Bandog looked out over the office. To the casual observer, the rows of cubicles resembled almost any other soulless corporate environment. It was for this reason it provided the perfect cover for what he needed to have done.

 

David heaved the two garbage bags of computer parts onto the conference table.

“Hey! Be gentle!” Bandog admonished.

“Sorry” David said sheepishly, taking a step back.

 

Standing in the conference room with the two men stood the relatively short, ginger haired Amber Gilbo. She stared at the pile of computer parts unimpressed, pushing her glasses higher onto her nose.

“Lemme guess, another rush job?” She asked.

Bandog nodded. “You know it.”

She sighed. “Well, Given you’re a repeat customer, We can get all this cataloged and over to you in-“She paused for a moment “- Four days, give or take.”

“That would be fine.” Bandog replied politely.

“Standard fees apply. Plus, you’ll be picking up the overtime costs and everything else involved. Will you want the bill now or later?” Amber asked.

“You know I’m good for the funds. I’ll have the money in your account at the time-of-service completion.” Bandog replied.

 

She rested her hands on her hips. “Fine. I’ll have them start on this right away.” She said dismissing the two men, ushering them through the cubicle rows towards the sterile, stainless-steel doors of the elevator. Jabbing the call button, she quickly walked back to the conference room to delegate the work ahead for her staff.

 

Bandog chuckled at the sight when the elevator chimed, and the doors slid open. A group of employees silently trudged their way past the two men, leaving them an empty elevator to ride to the lobby.  With the doors closing, the sounds of jazz muzak could be softly heard over the elevators speakers.

David cleared his throat. Shifting slightly, the closest Bandog ever saw to an uncomfortable reaction in the man.

“What is it?” Bandog asked.

“Well, I’ve been wondering. Why do you use these guys anyways?” He asked.

“Easy, when you look at a banks internal auditing staff, what are you expecting to see? Financial crime. Those interested would never suspect this forgotten department of the Bank of Centeral Usea to be involved in the trafficking of intelligence secrets.” Bandog explained.

“So how do you make sure that they won’t run their mouths off?” David asked.

“Simple, I just tell them that I would send you to deal with it. If you couldn’t tell, you freaked most of them out.” Bandog half-jokingly said.

“Charming. So that’s why its so hard to make friends now.” David said sarcastically.

“Whatever. You keep people in line, and I keep the lights on. That’s our lot in life.” Bandog said dismissively as the elevator came to a stop.

David pulled out and threw on a pair of sunglasses as he and Bandog exited the elevator into the Lobby of the Bank of Usea’s central office, the echo of their footsteps on the polished marble floors reverberating on the slate granite walls of the elaborately decorated and furnished room.

 

“So where to now boss?” he asked.

Bandog sighed “Airport. Need to run some tests on the Saab.”

“Alright Boss. Still don’t know why you needed to buy that thing anyways.” David remarked as they exited the building.

Bandog shrugged. “What can I say? Old habits die hard.” He replied.

***

Knocker walked into the air groups briefing room.

“Room, Tench-hut!” barked one of the pilots from the rear of the room.

“At ease.” Knocker replied dismissively waiving his coffee mug as the pilots returned to their seats. Knocker took his position at the head of the room behind a podium, awaiting him was a clipboard of papers that he flipped through. He took a sip of coffee as he read.

“This everyone Hades?” Knocker asked.

“Yes Sir.” The young Lieutenant replied.

“Ok who’s not here?” Knocker asked, not taking his eye off the roster.

“Just Athlete, but flight doc has him grounded for food poisoning.” Reported IRIS. Knocker smirked “How exactly do you get food poisoning in the second cushiest assignment in the military?” he asked rhetorically.

 

Knocker quickly went through the opening of his briefing checklist. The Mission was the same and had never changed since the first day they arrived to Selatapura five months prior. Mage and Golems entire job was to provide airborne security for the Space Elevator, a job once exclusively held by the Arsenal Birds until Osea’s shield had been turned against them.

 

The only change in the mission came with the one-year anniversary of the failed rescue of former President Harling. Knocker had just returned to the cockpit when, for some cruel joke, he was tapped to fly in the memorial formation. It disgusted him to even be assigned back to the sight of where his career had been destroyed by one idiot who thought he was hot shit. Seeing that same idiots face in Selatapura, when so many other better pilots survived had set Knocker over the edge. It was because of Trigger he had to be hard on the new pilots. Knocker had firsthand knowledge of how much damage a nugget could do without supervision.

 

Knocker snapped out of his trance as the airman from the bases weather group finished his potion of the briefing. Knocker returned to the stage. “Alright ladies and gents, terminal NOTAMS for the area are all the same. We are to continue enforcing the restricted area around the space elevator, Flight commanders can individually brief your routes later. Be advised, just got a new warning from Intel to all units in western Usea. Sounds like something is cooking in Erusea and they want us all on our A Game.”

 

One of the pilots raised their hand, It was IRIS. “Any indication what it might be?” she asked.

Knocker shrugged. “Didn’t say, my guess is to read the tabloids though. Sounds like it was political in nature, instead of another military uprising.” He replied.

 

“Moving on, the airport-“ Knocker continued his briefing. After what felt to the pilots like an eternity, the briefing concluded and the airmen were released to their duties for the day; Funneling out of the wooden shack that stood as their briefing building, making their way to their individual aircraft or back towards the hangars to prepare for their flights. As Knocker exited, he was hit with the hot summer air. While Selatapura was generally held at a comfortable temperature due to the sea, today it was unbearable.

“Jesus these flight suits don’t breathe for shit.” He muttered to himself.

Walking back towards his office, he could hear running from behind him.

“Ah, IRIS, something you need?” he asked cordially.

The young F-16 pilot nodded, taking only a second to catch her breath. “Yes Captain. I was wondering if there’s any news on us getting a chance at the training air space?” she asked.

 

Knocker frowned as he motioned her to follow him. “Sorry kid, every time it gets submitted, someone from higher up knocks it down.” He replied truthfully. What he didn’t add was his own suspicions on why. There was a rumor going around between the squadrons on strange events occurring over Chopinburg. Knocker prayed that they would remain rumors and that his pilots wouldn’t have to get involved. He had lost enough friends for a lifetime.

 

IRIS sighed, dejected. “I see Captain, thank you for trying though.”

“Don’t sweat it kid. You all have at least enough experience to survive combat. That’s all I, or anyone else can ask of you.” Knocker reminded her.

He watched the young officer crack a smile at the remark. It reminded him of another nugget he had trained and lost to the war.

 

One more folded flag and condolence letter. His mood soured at the thought. No more bullshit. No more folded flags or condolence letters. Not for these kids.

***

Colonel Mancuso read the report sent from Lieutenant Fick. His Cigar burned bright as smoke filled his office.

Major Stanton coughed slightly; lungs irritated from the acrid smell.

“Major. Am I reading that number correctly?” Mancuso asked.

“Yes sir. Three dozen noncritical injuries to civilians and local law enforcement. Another half a dozen civilians and law enforcement killed. Six dozen likely hostiles dead sir. Four in the target location, and then another two on the extraction, plus the pilots of those jets who engaged the Air Asset.” Stanton reported.

 

Mancuso took a puff from the cigar. “And they eliminated the target?”

“All but one sir. One of Troy’s subordinates was not in attendance. The team is currently gathering intelligence and should be executing on it shortly.” Stanton replied.

 

Mancuso chewed on the edge of the cigar. “what’s this operations body count so far?” he asked.

“Are we including the figures from the May attack?”

“Just direct action please.”

“North of two hundred.” Staton replied.

“My god.” Mancuso muttered. “So much for Plan 114 staying under the radar. Any indication that OIA has connected the dots?”

“Unknown since most of their targets are not ones that they keep their eyes on. Only reason this came to their attention was due to the massive movement of Cartel assets.” Stanton explained.

“I see. What is the word on the street?”

Stanton shrugged. “The only crime family that has the resources to pull this level of coordinated attack is the Yukes. They were one of the first to say it wasn’t them either. Which narrows it down to more official units like us to take the blame.”

“Has anyone linked it to Osea yet?”

Stanton shrugged. “Our contacts at the OIA are looking into it. Theres about half a dozen Yuke units that could pull it off. Emmeria has their Archangel unit. As well, not all the rats went down with the ship with the Free Erusea movement. Chasing down those leads might buy us just enough time for them to finish the job.”

***

Adams sat at the table in the compounds living room, working the slide on a M200 rifle that he had ordered. It was a specialized weapon, instead of the standard .408 Cheyenne Tactical round it had been chambered in, Adams and the other Basilisk Snipers had a run of the rifle’s chambered for 338 Lapua Magnum to simplify their logistics. While the round performance was comparable, it did also mean that the rifle tended to be frustrating with its availability of spare parts when things did break. As he gently adjusted the stock, he was startled to hear the slamming of a door and a rush of footsteps down the hallway. Seconds later Trigger appeared at the top of the staircase

 

“Where’s the fire?” Adams asked jokingly.

Trigger shot him a glare “Where the hell is Morgan?” he growled

Adams was taken aback “Not here – what’s up buddy?”

“I need to talk to that son of a bitch” Trigger replied, Adams could hear a blind rage in his voice.

 

Standing up, he closed the distance as Trigger made his way down the stairs “Come on, take a seat and we will talk this out.” Adams offered pointing to the couch.

“No, I need to talk to Morgan now!” Trigger repeated forcefully. Adams could see the pilot had something crumpled in his hand.

“Hey what do you have there?” Adams blurted out, reaching for the paper, in one quick motion Trigger forced the Marine to the side, stunning Adams momentarily, before storming out the front door.

“What the fuck?” Adams hissed to himself confused as he picked himself up. Trigger normally wasn’t violent, and Curt, like most of the marines in the team, had written Trigger off in a hand-to-hand fight.

 

Adams ran out the front door to see a cloud of dirt rolling its way down the main road. Desperately he looked around the main yard of the compound and found Kyle.

“Hey! what the hell was that?” Kyle shouted, as he ran over to Adams.

Adams shrugged and ran his hand through his hair astonished “No clue, he just snapped.”

“Well, he just stole our fucking truck.” Kyle noted. “You gotta be-“ Adams voice trailed off “Well we have to definitely tell the el-tee when he gets back. Probably should warn Morgan too, Trigger wanted to talk to him pretty badly.”

***

True to her word, Amber had the files delivered to Bandog’s secure server within four days. He didn’t mind her steep multi-million-dollar price tag. While the money helped keep her and her staff quiet, it also paled in comparison to how much he would make selling it to interested intelligence agencies around the world, not to include other law enforcement, and even rival gangs looking for an edge against the Machados.

 

“What do we have here?” Bandog muttered as he started to scroll through some of the documents Amber had highlighted for him on his tablet.

 

He chuckled as he read through the pages. It was obvious that Troy kept meticulous records of the Machado’s as leverage. Likely hoping that if the authorities apprehended him, he could be played off as a simple cog in the much larger machine of the organization, instead of an integral member. There was months’ worth of communications between Troy and the lower echelons of the organization, quotas, reports. If it hadn’t been for the added context of drugs, guns and violence, the reports could have easily been mistaken for belonging to any one of a hundred regular corporations.

Kicking his feet up on the coffee table, he finally found the files he was searching for.

“Alright Miss Park, let’s see who we’re dealing with.” Bandog said as he took a sip of coffee.

 

As he read, his blood start to cool. Frantically he opened other documents he had collected on the Machados. Searching to see if his theory had been correct.

 

In horror, he dropped his mug and the tablet.

“David!” he bellowed in a trembling voice.

“What is it boss?” David replied, running from the other room.

“I fucked up. We need to go. Now.” Bandog said as he picked up the tablet and punched in a command.

“How bad?” David asked.

“You still have the kitchen gun?” Bandog asked, motioning toward the counter.

“Of course.” David replied incredulous at the question.

“Grab it, leave your phone and tablets here.” Bandog ordered.

David nodded and quickly rushed over to the closet, he pulled out two plate carriers and chucked one to Bandog. “Probably better if we bring these too.” David quipped as he tore the sink cabinets door open, He leaned to the back of the cabinet and retrieved the rectangular P90 submachine gun.

Bandog clipping on the vest, reached under the coffee table, and pulled out his own handgun.

“Ok Boss, I’m ready to go.” David replied, cycling the charging handle to the snub-nosed bullpup.

Bandog checked the chamber of his own handgun, a Jericho 941, and nodded towards the door

“What about Amber and her team? Shouldn’t we warn them?” David said approaching the door cautiously.

Bandog shook his head “It’s probably too late to be any help anyways.” He said grimly “Lets go, Theres probably enough time to warn the Marines and Belkans.”

“And if there isn’t?” David asked.

Bandog sighed. “Then I guess I have a favor to cash in.”

***

Guzman sat alone unnoticed in the cab of his pickup truck as he monitored the exterior of his target

building from the parking lot. Over the past four days, he had become very familiar with the sight of the

bar. The yellow paint on the exterior of the bar had long since faded and was chipping, exposing the

brick that laid underneath. The sign that hung above the door was not faring any better, the wood had

long since begun to rot and warp in the brutal humidity of Chopinburg.

 

The sun had just set over the region when a lone pickup truck pulled into the crowded parking lot of the bar. He watched as the lone occupant turned off the engine and climbed out of the vehicle; From his stance it was obvious that he was military, likely one of the dime a dozen deserters that Gioiello Verde looking for mercenary work. He pulled out the picture he was given. The grainy photo was from a CCTV Camera from a gas station. He held the photo up as he watched the man make his way into the bar. Guzman had seen enough.  He pulled out his flip phone and hit speed dial. The phone rang twice before the line opened.

 

“Soy yo, dile a la hermanita que está aquí.” he said quickly. Its me, tell Little Sister he’s here.

There was a pause

 

“ve con Dios.” Before the line went dead.