The Eagle's Last Stand Page 6

  “Hey, running low on ammo,” Sledge said. “Can't believe that prick didn't give us any guns.”

  “I wouldn't be so sure,” Dagos said, catching sight of a few M16s in the backseat.

  He extinguished the rest of his ammo then she covered him while he loaded an M16.

  The SUV swerved at them again. Dagos took the opportunity to blast their rear-view and a chunk out of the steering wheel. That did the trick. Suddenly, the SUV spun back and forth, banging into stationary cars. Dagos got some distance and Sledge shredded their right side.

  The SUV fell behind them, this time not purposefully. Dagos watched them slow down noticeably then winced at the cuts on her left arm.

  There was a rush of movement in the rear-view mirror. She snapped to attention and watched a van plow directly into the side of the SUV. The crunch sounded nasty.

  “Watch it!” Sledge shouted.

  She hit the brakes as two faded red vans cut her off. The next thing she knew half a dozen figures in paramilitary uniforms and face masks had their guns trained directly on them. That's when she noticed the Komodo symbol on the side of their vans.

  “Nobody move!” one yelled.

  Sledge froze, his hand inches from a new magazine. Dagos's hands hovered over the steering wheel, nowhere near a weapon.

  11

  “You've been out for an hour,” Overseer Drekken said as the cell formed around her. Courtney blinked and rubbed her eyes. Her neck ached and her whole body felt sore. She could've survived or gone to hell. She wouldn't have known the difference.

  “I've learned the names of the helicopter crash survivors if you're curious,” the Anunnaki said with cool interest.

  She shifted and tried to wrap her throbbing head around that. Her heart skipped a beat. She didn't want to know anyone's name right now. It would only up her anxiety.

  She made a noise to stop him, but the overseer either didn't hear or didn't care. “Sledge and Dagos. The last one you know better as the Eagle, of course.”

  She recoiled as if he'd spit at her. Her heart raced again and pinpricks rolled across her arms and neck. She had to slow her breathing.

  “I have to be honest, I don't think they'll be able to save you,” the overseer said, applying the coup de grace. The words lit another fever in her. Randomly, muscles spasmed.

  She gazed at the overseer, willing him to take mercy, but he felt a million miles away. As far away as the life Conifer deep in the Mariana Trench. She wiped the cold sweat off her forehead, wondering if she'd thought that or said it.

  Don't tell him, she thought. Don't tell him.

  Pain stabbed in her left rib. Her lungs clenched for a second that never seemed to end. What if I told him just one? The question popped into her head followed by a rush of defiant anger. She couldn't break.

  Raw agony bit at her throat and lungs. The pain was so pervasive it was as if she'd never lived without it.

  She reached out for Menendez's advice, but the words jumbled together in her frantic mind. He'd told her something about remembering friends. Loved ones. A dull dread surfaced when she thought of her husband, memories of their cherished days corrupted by his death.

  Her mind grasped for another source of relief.

  Sledge.

  His name evoked a memory that felt like a lifetime ago. Dazed in pain, she couldn't filter out the good from the bad.

  A large dark room surrounded her, the walls framed with giant screens of weather patterns, live images of different combat zones, and various other satellite-based diagrams. Rows of desks topped with PCs, phones, and the occasional personal effect ringed around her. Commander Ham took a sip of his whiskey.

  “Looks like it’s a matter of mopping up,” he said with a confident, authoritative tone.

  “Right you are,” Menendez said over the radio.

  Ham nodded, fighting back a smile and pressed the talk button on his microphone. “Good work. I'll see you soon.”

  “Over and out.”

  The radio cut to static.

  “Well, congratulations,” Ham said, taking Courtney by surprise. “Who could've thought a teenager's plan would work.”

  “I-I...” Courtney stammered, but she didn't know what to say. She'd never been good at taking credit. Not even for acing math tests back in middle school when most of the other students failed.

  “Has anyone ever told you that you could go far here? As long as humanity survives, that is,” Commander Ham said with deadly inflection. Then his features brightened. “Here. I'd say you've earned this. Outsmarted a damn Ascendi.”

  He placed a bottle of vodka on his desk and poured a shot glass for her. “The Eagle snagged this from the Kremlin many years back.”

  “Is it wise for me to kill my brain cells if my intelligence is such an asset?” Courtney asked.

  A tight grin split Ham's sharp-jawed face. “My brother used to say the same thing. You know where he ended up? Teaching biology to high-risk kids in some underfunded school. He could hardly afford his car payments.”

  “Is he still alive?”

  “Oh yeah. Made sure they found him space in a refugee camp out east. Maybe he can teach them alien biology.” Ham seemed to find that hilarious. Without warning, he nudged her in the arm with the shot glass. A few drops specked onto her hand.

  “Come on, take it. Won't kill you, I swear.”

  She bit her lip. She didn't know the appropriate response. Maybe she should humor him? She'd never tried alcohol before. A tiny voice warned her not to, though. Something about the look in his eyes rubbed her the wrong way.

  “I have to go,” she said, pitching to her feet. As she strode by him, his hand cut her off.

  “See that scar?” he said, referring to a grizzled bump on his thumb. “I got that saving a hospital in Kabul from the Taliban.”

  “You must be proud,” she said dully, a slice of unease cutting up her shoulders.

  “Sit down. Let me tell you about it, alright?” he said. An order, not a question.

  He placed a hand gently on her arm, and she swallowed dryly. Suddenly the commander felt as alien to her as the dead Anunnaki she'd seen dissected a month before. It occurred to her that he and the Eagle were no longer a couple.

  Conventionally, Commander Ham's high cheek-bones, deep-set blue eyes, and muscular physique were attractive. But not to her personally. Did he actually believe she'd be interested in him? He was old enough to be her dad. He probably would've been gray-haired if he didn't shave his head completely bald.

  “Ever heard the saying, you scratch my back, I scratch your back?” he said.

  She froze in that moment, totally vulnerable. She'd only ever seen Ham call the shots around here. If she upset him....

  Then there was movement at the edge of her vision.

  “Can't you see she ain't interested?” Sledge grimaced, strolling down the aisle toward them, his left arm in a sling.

  Ham's mouth became a thin slit.

  “I thought you didn't want to listen to your teammates having all the fun?”

  “Changed my mind,” Sledge said, pulling a seat up for himself.

  Ham tilted his head and his eyes sharpened. “You look tired, Sledge. Go get yourself some rest, huh?”

  The tension between commander and soldier was palpable.

  “I think I'll sit right here,” Sledge replied, glancing at Courtney and nodding almost imperceptibly.

  Days later, he'd passed her in the hall. She'd thanked him and asked if he wasn't worried about getting fired. Sledge had laughed, but he explained that it would've been MAD. Mutually assured destruction.

  All that flashed through her head in a matter of seconds. Gratitude for Sledge eclipsed her fear at dying. Gratitude for all the Snake-eaters. They'd gone through so much for her, for humanity. She owed it to them to fight this out until the bitter end.

  12

  The Komodos tossed them into the back of the van. Because her arms and ankles were bound by ropes, Dagos tripped inside a
nd barely managed to break her fall with her shoulder hitting the wall. It hurt a lot more than it should've. Someone yanked her up and twisted her around so she could see the soldiers in the back of the van with her. Two couldn't have been older than sixteen. Scrawny teenage boys. The other was a red-faced man almost as big and muscular as Sledge. It was easy to compare them, sitting side by side.

  All three wore a tactical vest with a revolver tucked into a stomach holster.

  She looked at Sledge, but there wasn't a whole lot to communicate. No guns, no backup. Yet some intense stubbornness flickered in his eyes. His expression told her he didn't plan on staying a prisoner in this van. She nodded and his eyes began working around the van. Sledge was “the big guy” on their team, but every Snake-eater possessed skills in environment analysis and tactical planning. Right now, he was concocting something, making mental measurements.

  She'd just have to do her best to catch on as soon as he initiated it.

  One of the teenagers pulled out a tattered iPod complete with earphones. The other muttered to him. The taller one shoved him playfully and made a crude joke in Spanish before sharing the earphone. Dagos listened to some old pop tune about a girl who everyone loved a little too much.

  As much as she tried, she couldn't get a good view of the driver and co-pilot in their bulky seats. But she noticed hunting rifles poking off their laps.

  “Hey bucko, I got an itch on my ass that I can't scratch,” Sledge murmured. “Mind untying these ropes?”

  The red-faced guy chuckled, baring a toothy grin. “You're gonna have a lot worse problems than that soon.”

  “If you won't untie my ropes, will you scratch it for me?” Sledge said, deadpan.

  “You're lucky I don't knock you unconscious,” the red-faced guy growled.

  “I'm a little deaf in my right ear. Too many gunshots. Mind speaking up?”

  The heavyset red-faced man leaned over, his voice raised, “I said you're—”

  With a momentum betraying the fact that he was sitting down, Sledge slammed his head to the right. His forehead smacked against the man's nose and he cursed, clutching it. In a heartbeat, Sledge shoved him to the floor, and they were mass of wrestling bodies.

  You always were headstrong, Dagos thought as the teenagers beside her scrambled for their pistols.

  Generating intense torque only possible because of too much training, Dagos spun around and brought her feet up. Her boots crashed directly into one teenager's groin. Then she leaned back and her boots connected with the other's face. He slumped over, eyes wavering. The iPod and earphones fell to the floor of the vehicle.

  In the corner of her eye, Sledge was jerking his feet into the man's left knee in rapid bursts. Enough to keep him from pulling his gun out.

  Still cursing and grabbing his crotch, the teenager next to her ripped out his pistol and raised it with a trembling arm. But she curled her body up and bit down on his wrist as hard as she could. Red hot liquid dripped from her mouth and she dug in with her teeth. A fist smashed against her head. But as her vision blurred, she ripped outward with her jaw. Blood spilled all over the seats and the pistol dropped.

  Sledge howled a curse from the floor. Dagos didn't have to look to know he couldn't last long there with his ankles and wrists tied up.

  She pivoted around and tucked her arms over the teenager's head, squeezing it in against her waist. In a single rush, she felt his body go limp and he collapsed, unconscious.

  She moved to help Sledge, when she heard the unmistakable cocking of a bolt-action hunting rifle.

  “Now everybody calm down,” the pale, skeleton of a co-pilot said, adjusting his aviators.

  The big red-faced guy wiped the blood from his nose, released Sledge, and got to his feet.

  “Good try, though. I must say the Eagle lives up to her legend.” Aviators motioned to the seats with his gun and Dagos reluctantly sat. Sledge stayed down.

  “If you know who I am, why not let me go? The war effort needs me.”

  “Because the Anunnaki will kill us if we don't hand you over. It's self-sustainability,” he said, drawing out each syllable of the word.

  “For how long?” Dagos said, not surprised by his naivete. “You don't think they'll let you live if they win the war, do you?”

  “Do me a favor and kick me over that iPod, would you? Looks like the two amigos won't be listening to it any time soon.”

  “Take it yourself.” Dagos invited him by shifting her feet away.

  “Now don't play games with me, woman,” Aviators grinned. “I gave you an order. You're a military type, so I'm sure you know how to follow those.”

  “Alright,” she said, placing her boots around the iPod and squeezing.

  “Nothing fancy. This ain't soccer. Just slide the damn thing over,” Aviators grumbled.

  “Bitch isn't giving you trouble, is she?” the driver muttered. Suddenly, the car jerked violently and Dagos's head banged against the wall.

  Asshole.

  “Watch it,” Aviators protested. “Gonna throw my back out.”

  She still held the iPod flat between her feet. Kicking it over might be a crazy and reckless move. Exactly what the situation called for.

  She flicked her legs and the iPod flew toward the co-pilot. As he reached out and caught it, she swung her legs again and wrapped her boots around the barrel of his rifle. In one fatal instant, the co-pilot panicked and yanked back. Dagos tugged at the gun and prayed she didn't aim it at the wrong person.

  In the chaos of the struggle, it went off. The red-faced guy with the bloody nose gave a pained breath, put his hand to his stomach slowly, and dropped to the floor.

  Aviators cursed.

  Dagos exploited his sudden guilt and twisted the hunting rifle out of his grip. On cue, Sledge rose to his feet and grabbed it from her boots. Even holding the gun awkwardly behind his back, a single shot put Aviators on permanent silent mode.

  The car screeched to a halt. “Hostages are loose,” the driver hollered into the radio. “I repeat, hostages are—”

  Another gunshot and he began coughing up blood instead. Sledge let the gun drop, knelt and drew a tactical blade off the red-faced guard and severed the ties on his wrists then cut Dagos loose. In a couple of seconds, they were both armed and dangerous.

  Sledge gave her a long look. “I saw you kick one of them in the groin. That wasn't nice.”

  Her ankle stung suddenly, and she realized the designator was cutting into her circulation.

  “I took both kids out of the battle,” she said, removing the designator from her ankle and securing it on her wrist. “They'll have some scars, but they'll live to tell the tale. Now can we focus on the mission. I'm guessing there's about to be quite a few guns trained on us.”

  “Not if I take the wheel,” Sledge said, lumbering over to the driver's seat. He placed a hand on the dead driver's shoulder to push him aside and paused. Dagos followed his gaze out the windshield and cursed. They weren't dealing with just Komodos anymore. They were dealing with Anunnaki.

  13

  Sledge threw the driver's body down, scooted to the back of van, and checked the windows. “Yup. Seven of them.”

  “I should probably be flattered, huh?” Dagos said, her eyes locked on the three Anunnaki soldiers standing in front of the van. A mere fifteen feet away, she could clearly see the chrome combat armor that covered everything up their over-sized, hairless gray heads. At an average of nine feet, an Anunnaki soldier possessed obvious strength and size advantages over a human. The combat armor only accentuated those differences. Still, they had weaknesses. A series of knobs, grooves, and discs occupying square spaces on the Anunnaki's chests served as their breathers. Oxygen filtration apparatuses to help them manage in a different kind of air than their home planet's.

  They could shoot those and, theoretically, weaken the Anunnaki. It wasn't an instant change, though, and weakening didn't mean killing.

  The other option was to aim for their heads. They
were big, obvious targets.

  And yet as these thoughts skipped through her mind, the Anunnaki pulled dark-gray metal sheets off their backs. With flicks, the sheets expanded on all sides to form giant shields.

  That's when the Anunnaki began approaching.

  “You seeing what I'm seeing?” Sledge asked.

  “Wish this thing had a moon roof,” Dagos muttered, stepping back from the wheel. “Get over here. I'll ride shotgun this time.”

  In a single stride, Sledge was settling in beside her and revving the engine. Ahead of them, the Anunnaki mounted their shields on the street.

  “The sooner the better,” Dagos said, clipping her seat belt and adjusting her hold on her bolt-action hunting rifle.

  Sledge kept one hand on the wheel and rested the other on the dashboard with a pistol. The next thing she knew they were plowing at the line of Anunnaki shields. Dagos had broken through shields like this before. Granted, she'd been riding in MRAPs or Hummers. Would a street van muster the power to break the line?

  The answer came with a violent crunch of the bumper, and they swung forward, their seat belts digging into their chests. Dagos's entire body tensed at the impact. She only hoped the van could still function.

  “Piece of crap,” Sledge said, putting it into reverse.

  A slice of unease cut into Dagos as the dark-gray of Anunnaki shields dominated the passenger side mirror. They were on the verge of surrounding them.

  Sledge revved the engine and they barreled at the narrowing gap between two shields in front of them. A split-second later, the shields scraped against the van on either side, sparks jumping into the air as the side mirrors snapped off.

  Somehow, they cleared the barrier. The familiar crackle of gunfire and whines of Anunnaki pulse surges sounded. Metallic tapping in the back of the van invited pockets of sunlight. Piece of crap, indeed. At this rate, the Komodos and Anunnaki would shred their ride in a few minutes.