The Seraphs Call - Chapter Nine

CHAPTER NINE

 

0215 Hrs, March 04, 2049 – General Xian Po’s office – Peoples

Party Headquarters

 

The confines of his office were a welcome solitude.  General Xian Po had come to the Peoples Party Headquarters to escape the dinner party at his home.  Mechanically, he had greeted his guests, all high-ranking members within the party. 

It was his turn to host this week’s events and he could not stand their company, sneaking away when their attention was drawn elsewhere.

His taste for their corruption, quest for power, and domination over the masses had soured long ago, leaving a most bitter taste in his mouth.  He had played his role well, following in the footsteps of his father, another great Chinese General, a picture-perfect member of the People’s Republic Communist party. 

He was a young lieutenant, at Tieneman Square, heavily under the party influence. Believing all the propaganda his superiors fed him, all he wanted to do was impress them with his dedication and commitment to the ideals of the communist party.  He was ordered to roll his tank into the Square and push the demonstrators back. 

Po’s most vivid recollection was that none of the demonstrators was armed. They where rowdy in their marching, demanding more rights for the people, intent on televising their plight to the world, but they threatened no one. 

Premier Deng Xiaoping, Great leader of the Chinese people had announced to his senior officers that anarchy was getting worse, and must be stopped.  The People’s Republic could no longer tolerate the embarrassment.  On that day, two thousand demonstrators died. One most important to Xian was his sister. He never saw her fall, pressed under the mass of falling bodies, as members of his own tank division opened fire on the demonstrators 

His mother died shortly after, the grief brought on by the death of her daughter and betrayal of her son left her heartbroken.  Xian had no one.  He had never married, leaving no legacy to follow in his wake. 

He dreamed many nights about that day, wishing for an opportunity to set things right.  He could never bring his sister or his mother back, but an opportunity to correct the injustice would present itself.  He would take it with relish and be able to die with a clear conscience, free of the burdens he had carried in his soul for so long. 

0218 Hrs, March 04, 2049

Twelve Minutes had elapsed.  Derek checked the altimeter.  The dial read 2500 feet.  Only three minutes away from their drop point.  He transferred the right steering toggle to his left, holding both in front of him to steadying the parachute. 

With his right hand, he keyed the throat microphone and spoke, “Longreach, Team Leader, three minutes to touchdown.  Begin stacks formation separation”.  This was a signal for each member to pull back away from the one below, lining up horizontally on an angled approach to the water.  They would enter the water twenty yards apart to keep their chutes from being tangled. 

The three minutes passed quickly.  At 100 feet above the surface of the water, all team members released the lanyard holding their 100 lb rucksack to their body.  Instinctively they all pulled on the steering toggles, flaring the chute to brace for the force of the rucksack’s weight pulling on their harness. 

The rucksacks, suspended from their harnesses by the twenty-foot lanyard, contained all their equipment, including an inflatable black raft carried by the team leader, which would be used to carry their weapons on the way in.  Derek, team leader and strongest swimmer would tow the raft from fifteen feet below the surface. 

At twenty-five feet, they pulled on the quick release handles, shedding their chutes, the weight of the rucksacks pulling them quickly into the water. 

The rucksacks, specially designed for special operations forces, auto inflated on contact with the water, keeping the equipment on the surface.  The five-mile swim to the Chinese mainland would take a little over thirty minutes, putting them only one hundred miles from their main objective: the People Communist Party Headquarters, Beijing, China. 

0221 Hrs, March 04, 2049 Peoples Party Remote Coastal Radar Station

Sergeant Ling Tao of the Peoples Liberation Army sat silently watching his screen.  His assignment to the remote coastal radar station was not of his choosing.  Missing two morning muster calls, his platoon Captain had taken it on himself to assign Ling to this post for three months, isolating him from his family and friends.  Maybe, he would learn a lesson.

The twenty-five-year-old soviet-made long-range air search radar was outdated, only displaying contacts up 150 kilometers (90 Miles) away, unable to provide course and speed information. 

Although he had learned this radar two years ago; but was not an expert in its use.  This was his second night on-the-job when the blip appeared.  It was intermittent, appearing and disappearing.  Ling checked the settings and everything was normal. 

Ling began to track its progress; it couldn’t possibly be an aircraft.  It was moving too slow, traveling at what he estimated to be 33 Km/hour (20mph).  If he reported it and it was nothing, he would be in trouble.  If he didn’t report it and it was something, he would be in more trouble.  He knew that protocol dictated that any air contact in Chinese Airspace would be met with full aggression, two Mig-29 fighters, fully loaded with weapons, would be scrambled to intercept the target.  He didn’t want to be responsible for falsely scrambling those jets.

Reluctantly, he picked up the phone, and called the Radar Station Commander at his home.  It was 2:30 A.M. 

“Captain, this is Ling Tao, Radar Operator. 

“Yes, Ling Tao.  What is it?  It better be important to have awoken me at this hour.”

“Sorry Sir.  I have detected an intermittent contact bearing 090 degrees, range 30 kilometers and closing.  Speed 30 km/hr.”

“Sergeant Tao, you called me at 3:00 in the morning to tell me this.  It is probably a flock of birds.  Don’t worry about it, and don’t call me again”

The line went dead. 

0230 hrs, March 04, 2049 Two Miles off the Chinese coast

Derek inflated the rubber raft attached to his rucksack.  The small raft measuring three feet by four feet was big enough to hold all of their equipment.  Each member swam to the raft, depositing the contents of their rucks, ensuring their weapons were on top and ready for use.  Should they face any resistance at the shoreline, they would be ready.

They left the drop point, all in groups of two except for of Derek who led the underwater excursion and towed the raft on the surface.  Schmidt had been his partner and he would have to swim alone. 

Checking his compass and GPS unit, he headed towards the shore, bearing 270 degrees, and began the scissor kicks, counting as he swam.  If his guess were right, they would arrive in less than 25 minutes.

They swam silently.  The only noise, that of their labored breathing, the hollow sound of the rebreather recycling the carbon monoxide.  There were no telltale bubbles on the surface, and no lights to give away their position to a passing fisherman or coastal patrol boat.

0252 Hrs, March 04, 2049 Chinese Coastline

Twenty-two minutes elapsed, the distance calculated perfectly by Derek.  One hundred yards from the shore, he released the latch that held the rebreather to his back, watching it sink to the ocean floor. 

He followed the tether line to the raft, slowly breaking the surface, scanning in all directions for any sign of contacts.  There was none. 

He pulled the clicker from his pocket.  Two clicks, the metallic sound traveling through the water rapidly, and seconds later the remaining thirteen silently broke the surface of the still lagoon waters, moving in slowly taking a position near the raft. 

They recovered their weapons, all wrapped in waterproof plastic, chambering a round for their approach to shore. 

A thumbs-up from Derek and all members re-submerged, swimming the remaining hundred yards with only masks and fins.  Free of the cumbersome rebreathers, they covered the distance in less than thirty seconds.  They edged their way to the sand,   scanning the shoreline for any signs of movement. 

Derek was last to approach, towing the raft with the rest of their gear.  The two point members removed their fins and took positions on the beach.  After a careful reconnoiter and quick hand signal, the remaining eleven removed their fins and ran to the edge of the woods near the shore, helping Derek drag the raft out of sight. 

They undressed quickly, shedding their wet suits, masks and gloves, and covered it with branches and leaves, hiding it well from any passersby.  The possibility of discovery was slim, but they would take no chances.

Derek called up the waypoint on the GPS unit strapped to his wrist.  It showed them only five kilometers from their first objective, the coastal radar station where they would acquire transport. 

Intelligence reports had indicated that fully staffed, the station members numbered ten, but at this hour, there were only four on duty.

They were to enter the station with being detected, neutralizing any interference with extreme prejudice.  They would steal one of the two reported five-ton trucks for the hundred-mile trip to their final destination.  Derek turned to Sergeant Johnny Walker and spoke, “Comms?”

“Already set up, we have mother on the line.” 

Walker, always given a hard time about his name, the same as the old Tennessee Whiskey, was the team’s communications specialist.  As soon as they were under cover, he had unpacked the MPSU (Manned Portable Satellite Communications Unit) and established a link with the MILSTAR communications satellite network. 

There were ten satellites in orbit, but from their current position, he could only contact one. 

“Mother, this is Longreach, Copy”

“Longreach, this is mother.  Roger.  Read you five by five.” 

0300 Hrs, March 04, 2049 Longreach Aircraft

Gregory Kovax sat uncomfortably, trying to relax in the hard plastic seat built for durability not comfort, when the SatCom operator stepped into the forward compartment.

“Excuse me, Sir.  We’ve established the SatCom link with Longreach.  They have made it to the shoreline.”

Kovax stretched in his seat, and yawned, “Thank you Sergeant.  I’ll be right there.”  He glanced at Janus, fast asleep in the chair across the aisle.  Damned If I’ll wake him up.

As he stepped into the communications suite of the aircraft, he heard Walker’s voice over the sitcom unit.

“Mother, Longreach.  We have landed.  All secure, over.”

Grabbing the microphone, he responded, “Longreach, Mother.  Roger.  Advance to Alpha one.”  Good, they had made.  Too bad for Schmidt” he thought.  Now came the hard part.

 

0330 Hrs, March 04, 2049 - Chinese Army Coastal Radar Intercept Station

Each member of the team donned their night vision goggles, giving their vision an eerie green glow.  Each backpack they carried held supplies, food for three days, and enough ammunition to engage a small battalion.  Most of the hundred pounds they carried, 75 %, not including their weapon, was ammo. 

The half hour-long trek through the woods was uneventful, no sign of sentries or monitoring devices.  Within minutes, they reached the outer perimeter of the coastal radar station without being detected.  Schmidt, their sniper, was a crucial loss to the team.  Without him, they couldn’t easily eliminate the two guards at the gate.  They would have to get close. 

With all eyes turned on him, Derek jabbed his finger in the air, pointing at Sergeant Kassandra (Kassie) Wilkes, and to Corporal Toby (Redneck) Anderson, the good ol’ boy from Alabama.  He motioned with his first two fingers to his eyes for them to look at the guards and again held his two fingers up.  They understood.  They were to neutralize the guards and cover the team’s entrance into the compound.

The two, eyed each other suspiciously, each having come to the opinion the other was a racist, but this was business, a team operation.  Either they would do the job or the mission would be compromised. 

Anderson took the lead, moving away from the team in a low crouch making his way through the edge of the tree line, keeping his eyes on the two guards at the gate.  Wilkes fell in close behind, mimicking his movements, making no noise on their roundabout approach to the fence. 

The distance from the trees to the fence was twenty yards, an open twenty yards.  They would have to crawl slowly.  Rapid movement might draw the guards’ attention and bring trouble for all of them.

0335 Hrs, March 04, 2049 - Chinese Army Coastal Radar Intercept Station

Derek saw Anderson and Wilkes at the edge of the tree line stopped, lying flat on the ground, their weapons cradled in their arms they belly crawled to the fence.  From his position, he could see their approach was out of direct line of site of the guards. 

Turning up the magnification on his night vision goggles, he scanned the compound for any sign of movement.  Should anyone venture outside the building, Anderson and Wilkes would surely be spotted. 

He keyed his throat microphone and whispered, “Anderson, you’re clear to the fence.”

Anderson heard the Captain’s voice come over the headset.  Stopping his crawl, he looked back at Wilkes, motioned at the compound, and gave the all clear.  In the darkness, he could barely recognize her nod.  He tapped the microphone twice to signal his acknowledgment. 

It took them ten minutes to cover the twenty yards, inching their way to the edge of the fence.  Anderson reached the fence, saw the sign, and froze. 

Though he couldn’t read Chinese, the lighting bolt on the sign was warning enough.  He whispered into his microphone, “Captain, we have a problem.  This fence is electrified” his strong Georgia accent coming through at this low volume.  This they hadn’t expected. 

Derek responded, the frustration coming through, “Ok.  Stop.  You and Wilkes will have to make it to the guard shack.  There’s no other way in.”  Two clicks was the only thing he heard.

Anderson nudged Wilkes with the toe of his boot, getting her attention and pointed at the sign.  She nodded.  With his index finger, he pointed at himself and at her and made the crawling sign in the palm of his hand. He pointed towards the guard shack.  The look on her face was one of irritation, but again she nodded.  Once they moved down the fence line there would be no cover separating them from the guards.  A move neither of them would have preferred to make.

0338 Hrs, March 04, 2049 - Chinese Army Coastal Radar Intercept Station

Derek pointed at Staff Sergeant Gerald (Stumpie) Smith, a short stocky boy from Kansas, and Staff Sergeant James (JJ) Jackson, the tall skinny black man from Memphis.  He motioned to the two, pointed to the lights near the gate, and ran his fingers across his throat.  They understood to take out the lights when the time came.  They would use their silenced weapons to do the job. 

This would give Anderson and Wilkes time to take out the guards, allowing the rest of the team to enter the compound unnoticed, or so the plan was. 

The two men, both Force-Recon trained, disappeared into the darkness of night, barely visible through Derek’s night vision goggles.  From where they would have to approach, it would mean crossing the road leading to the gate, risking possible exposure.

After they disappeared into the darkness, Derek turned his attention back to the compound, scanning for any signs of movement, watching Anderson and Wilkes working their way to the gate.  Both had removed their NVG’s as they approached the guard shack, the bright lights causing flare spots in their eyes. 

Anderson stopped and held up a closed fist motioning for Wilkes to stop.  They had reached the closest point of approach to the guard shack.  Any closer and they would be seen.  They had all gone over this contingency before they departed and the two waited for the lights to be extinguished. 

The seconds turned into agonizing minutes, each pass of the guard, putting them closer to being discovered.  They were close enough to hear the guards talking, unable to understand a word, but could tell from their relaxed tone that they suspected nothing.  If the guards or anyone from building looked in their direction, it would all be over.

Derek scanned the far tree line and saw the outlines of Smith and Lee crawling to the edge of the woods.  He saw them crouch and take aim at the lights, Smith aiming for the left, Lee aiming for the right. 

The muted clack-clack-clack of the Ingrams rang out in the dark, the halogen lights exploding into plumes of brilliant dust as they were blown to pieces. 

Within seconds, another series of soft clacks was heard from Anderson and Wilkes’ direction, as they took aim at the guards and fired.  Anderson took out the far guard with two well-placed shots, one to the head and one to the throat.  Wilkes fired, putting two bullets between the eyes of the second guard.  Both were dead within seconds.

Anderson and Wilkes jumped to their feet and ran to the gate, taking positions on either side of the adjoining guard shacks.  Smith and Lee ran from the woods, taking up cover fire positions on either side of Anderson and Wilkes. 

This was Derek’s signal.  Keying the microphone, he shouted to the second squad, “Move.”  They were ready. 

On his command, the second four-member squad ran to the gate entrance, taking up defensive positions near and back from the four members already there.  As soon as everyone was in place, Wilkes stepped into the guardhouse and activated the controls for the gate, causing it to swing inward.

The first team entered the compound in twos: Anderson, Wilkes, Smith and Lee.  They leap-frogged as they moved into positions around the main radar transmitter building.  The second team: Lt. Zakowski, Staff Sergeant Jorge Vasquez, Sergeant Billy Frost and Sergeant Reginald Lee, did the same, moving towards the motor pool. 

0341 Hrs, March 04, 2049 - Radar Intercept Station Perimeter

Lt. Jake “Zak” Zakowski, the second in charge for the Longreach team, took point for the four-member team he was leading to the motor pool.  Directly behind him was Sergeant William “Billy” Frost, the tall dark-skinned Native American from Yuma, AZ and Sergeant Reginald (Reggae) Lee, Chinese American from San Francisco, the only Chinese-speaking member of the team.  Bringing up the rear defensive position was Staff Sergeant Jorge “George” Vasquez from Phoenix Arizona, a mechanical wiz with any vehicle. 

Three guards down--according to their Intel only one remained.  Zakowski hoped he was in the main transmitter building.  The motor pool was to the rear of the compound containing, from what the satellites photo had shown, two trucks and one car.  The only thing left to do – find the best one suited for their purposes.

They quickly entered the motor pool and fanned out, carefully checking the entire area.  As Vasquez crept to the first truck, using the barrels of fuel and crates to hide his movement, he heard the muted sound of a radio, the Chinese voices dancing into the night.  He glanced around the corner and saw the emanations of the light from beneath the truck, but could see nothing else.  He would have to get closer. 

The banging startled the entire team.  The tirade in Mandarin Chinese that followed filled the compound.  Intel had been wrong.  There was someone else. 

Vasquez crawled silently, inching towards the truck and could see a pair of feet protruding from underneath.  The sound of the radio grew louder as he approached.  The man, apparently cursing, continued his barrage, directed at part of the truck he repeatedly struck with a tool. 

Vasquez keyed his throat microphone, “This is Vasquez, One bad guy under the truck.”

Lt. Zakowski replied, “Roger.  Eliminate”

Vasquez clicked his throat microphone in acknowledgment.

He placed his M4 Carbine to the side and pulled the combat knife from the sheath attached to his leg.  The darkened compound allowed him cover as he moved closer, to within arms reach of the man’s feet.  The bright droplight, hooked beneath the truck, was facing the man, giving Vasquez the advantage.  He moved to a crouch, careful not to kick up any dirt, and positioned himself directly at the end of the man.  Placing the blade of the knife between his teeth, he grabbed the man’s legs and pulled, yanking him from under the truck. 

The first movement startled the man, causing him to rise and strike his head on the bumper.  He didn’t see Vasquez until it was too late. 

As the man’s forehead bounced off the bumper and slammed into the ground, Vasquez grabbed the handle of the knife and in a swift arcing motion, beheaded him.  The man’s head rolled to the side in a grotesque fashion as the razor sharp steel sliced through muscle and tissue, blood spreading in all direction.  Vasquez dragged the dead man behind the barrels, searching the body and hiding it. 

He recovered his M4 from the ground, and slung it over his shoulder, as he scanned the compound and saw no movement.  The first truck was out of commission, leaving the second as their only choice. 

0343 Hrs, March 04, 2049 - Radar Intercept Station

Anderson and Wilkes still had point.  They moved silently to what they thought was the main door of the building.  Anderson, to the left of the door, had his back against the wall, as Wilkes pulled a small cordite explosive and miniature detonator from her vest-pocket. 

As she was planting the detonator, a bright light pierced the darkness of the compound.  A Chinese Guard stepped out of the building into the darkness, shouted, and pointed his Russian made AK74 at Wilkes and fired. 

Anderson reacted.  Diving away from the door, he rolled, coming to his feet, firing his weapon from the hip on full automatic.  The guard, distracted by his Anderson’s quick movements, was startled, missing Wilkes by inches.  He watched in horror as the bullets traveled up his own body, Anderson’s Ingram spitting death into him, as the .45 caliber rounds shattered bone and tissue. 

Anderson looked at Wilkes who mouthed a “Thanks” and he nodded and turned his attention back to the compound.  The door open, he waited, anticipating company from inside.  He crept to the edge of the door and peeked in.  There was no one and he nudged the door shut, backing towards Wilkes’ position.

Wilkes rescued the dropped detonator from the ground and placed it into the cordite plastique explosive.  The detonator, when ignited would cause the cordite to explode, blowing the lock from the door.  She turned her attention to Anderson who was watching the other door and tapped him on the shoulder.  He turned his head and she pointed at the lock.  He took up an offensive position directly in front of the door, far enough away that when the lock blew, she would swing the door open giving him a clear field of fire into the building.     

As Anderson watched, Wilkes pushed the button on the detonator and stepped to the side crouching, holding her hand out, fingers extended, counting down from five.  When her fingers closed, the cordite exploded, echoing a loud pop into the courtyard of the compound, the door rattling on it hinges.  Before the smoke cleared, she had reached over and pried the door open, swinging it away from her, allowing Anderson to see into the building. 

Inside it was dark.  Anderson adjusted the night vision goggles and was able to see more clearly into the darkened hallway.  No sign of movement.  Quickly he trotted inside, crouching five feet from the opening and waited for Wilkes to catch up.  Within seconds, she was behind him and tapped him on the shoulder.  He gave the quick “ok” and they started their trek down the hallway to the far intersection. 

From the intelligence they had received, they knew the layout of the building, the hallway intersecting with another which led to the left to the main transmitter room, and to the right to the operations room.  That was where they would find their prey.  With three down, there should only be one remaining.  The removed their NVG’s, inching their way to the door, the light seeping from the operations room beyond, illuminating the hall enough for them to see.

0345 Hrs, March 04, 2049 - Radar Intercept Station

Sergeant Vasquez moved around the front of the first truck to the second parked directly next to it.  He turned his head from side to side, taking a quick look around the compound, and beneath the truck.  He didn’t want any more surprises. 

He popped the latch on the door and inched it open, waiting for the light inside to come on, but it didn’t.  Either the light was burned-out or the battery was dead.  Not wanting to alert the entire compound by flipping on the lights, he pulled his red-lensed mini maglight from his belt, aimed it at the floor of the truck, only turning it enough for a fine beam of light.  He scanned the interior of the truck quickly, keeping the beam away from the windows, hoping to find the keys.  Damnit he thought, when he realized they weren’t there.

The interior of the truck was littered with trash and leftover food.  As if routine, He placed his M4 on the seat and unholstered his pistol, an HK MK23 Silenced .45 caliber, and placed it on the floor.  As he climbed in, he pushed the refuse to the passenger side floor, and twisted his body so his head was beneath the steering column, making sure his sidearm was within easy reach. 

If I can’t hot-wire this, we’re all up s**t’s creek, without the damn boat.  

A faint clinking outside the truck startled him.  With no time to think, he grabbed his pistol and pointed it towards noise, but the steering column was in his way.  The impact with the column caused his neck to snap back, giving him an instant headache.

He felt a handgrip his wrist and he tried to fire, but the weapon was yanked from his hand and he heard a voice.  As he turned his head to look, a pair of keys appeared in front of his eyes, and he heard Sgt.  Reggie Lee say, “I thought you could use these,” as he chuckled softly. 

“Funny, a*****e,” he replied, “how long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough” came the reply from the Tall Chinese American.

Vasquez pulled himself from out underneath the steering column, snatched the keys from Lee’s hand, and stuck them in the ignition.  Keying his microphone again he announced, “Transport is ready.”

Lt. Zakowski came over the radio, “Report Status.”

Each of the second team members responded with an “All clear” signaling the compound was secured.

“Get to the truck” was Zakowski’s reply.

Vasquez would wait until they all arrived and they received the all clear from the first team before they moved out.

0345 Hrs, March 04, 2049 – Inside Radar Intercept Station

Sergeant Ling Tao heard the noise.  It had come from the direction of the transmitter room.  He hoped the equipment wasn’t failing again.  He looked at all of his screens and saw no problems, but he would still have to check.  He called out to the guard, Sergeant Jun-Li Huang, “Jun, I’m going to the transmitter room for a minute to check on the equipment.”  Jun did not answer.  He called out again, this time a little louder, “Jun, I’m going to the transmitter room.”  There was still no response.  Probably stepped outside to smoke, Ling thought. 

Anderson and Wilkes heard the voice and froze in position, carefully eyeing the door.  Seconds later, they saw movement, the light from beneath the door partially obscured by someone approaching.  Anderson spoke softly over the comm. “One bad guy inside”

The response came, “Eliminate.”

Ling pushed away from his seat and walked through the door leading to hallway.  The last he saw were the two crouched figures, both weapons pointed in his direction.  He tried to scream but the heavy lead bullets ripped through his body.  The first entered at the base of his ribs, deflating his lungs, passing through the soft flesh and left a hole the size of a grapefruit in his back.   The next shattered his windpipe passing through his neck and blowing out a chunk of his vertebrae, and the last, pierced his brain through his right eye, sending blood, bone, and brain matter in all directions behind him.  He was dead before his lifeless body hit the floor. 

Anderson and Wilkes stepped over the body into the operations room, scanning for any sign of movement.  This time, intelligence had been correct.  Wilkes checked her watch, “Two minutes, and by the way, thanks for saving my a*s back there.”

The good ol’ boy from Georgia smiled at her and spoke, “No problem.  That’s definitely an a*s worth saving” and chuckled as he turned and trotted out of the room into the hall.  Wilkes shook her head and smiled as keyed her microphone, “Leader, Wilkes.  We are all clear.”

Captain Derek Wilson, having kept progress of the whole operation spoke, “Team Bravo, Go.  Team Alpha – Get to the gate ASAP”

Wilkes fell in behind Anderson, running to the gate.  Maybe he wasn’t such a bad guy after all. 

0348 Hrs, March 04, 2049 –Radar Intercept Station Compound

The second teamed arrived at the truck and waited.  Two minutes hadn’t elapsed before they heard Wilkes” voice. 

Vasquez fired up the truck and checked the gas.  Full Tank.  It might get them there, if they were lucky.  Slamming the gearshift into first, he popped the clutch, throwing Lee out the back.  He smiled as he saw Lee tumbling in the bed of the truck, trying to regain his balance.  As they approached the gate, he glanced off to his left and saw the members of Alpha Team running to meet the truck.  He slowed to a crawl, and after they jumped in the back, he punched the accelerator to the floor, barreling out the gate down the road to the remaining members of the team. 

Derek Madison saw the truck heading down the road and motioned to the other team members. They grabbed the rucksacks the Alpha and Bravo Team had left behind and began the quick sprint through the woods to the road, getting there before the truck arrived.  The team members waited, all with two rucks except Madison.  He would ride in the cab with Vasquez. 

Vasquez saw the Captain standing on the side of road and slowed the truck, reaching across and opening the passenger door.  As he passed, the team on the ground broke into a full run behind the truck, tossed the rucks in the back, grabbing the tailgate, helped in by Lee and Anderson.  Captain Derek Madison ran alongside the slowly moving truck and grabbed the open door, pulling himself onto the step and into the cab, slamming the door behind him.  The two knocks he heard on the window was the signal to go, and Vasquez gave the truck full throttle, shifting through the gears until they had reached its top speed of 100KM/hour. 

Madison checked the time, 03:45, and did a quick calculation in his head.  At this rate, they would arrive at their destination one hour before sunrise.  Long enough to get in and get out.