David Golemon - Legacy

“Impossible!” he shouted. He was being inundated with fire from the attacking force.

His men were being shredded by a Special Operations unit that could not be Ecuadorian. These men were running toward them crazed but with purpose. They were taking aim and laying down a swath of destruction that would soon render his attack moot and assure his defeat. Before he even knew what was hitting him, he froze. Two jets streaked overhead and four explosions rocked the trees where his men were trying to take cover. As he scanned the sky with his glasses he was amazed to see the jet aircraft climb out of their dive and head back into the blue sky.

“F-18 Hornets!” Where did they come from?” he asked no one. Two more Hornets made a low-level strafing run with their twenty-millimeter cannon, decimating a large group of his men who had exposed themselves far in advance of his orders to do so. “Allah be merciful!”

“We have to leave this place or die here,” one of his men said as the group of attackers in the rear grew closer.

The Mechanic thought fast. He looked up at the ridgeline where the well-disciplined troops continued to fire instead of celebrating their rescue, and then he looked at the mine opening. He turned to the man on his right.

“Get my men together. Just from my twenty security personnel and the nearest group. Make it no more than ten. We will go to the river and backtrack to the waterfall, then we will enter the mine at that point. That is where the Americans escaped last week and that is where we will go.”

As the man followed his orders, the Mechanic looked at the front line on the ridge. He tried to see who was there, determine who was directing the fight, but all he could see was fire coming from that position.

“You have been blessed for the moment, but God will allow me the final victory.”

Jack slapped the wounded lieutenant on his shoulder, careful to avoid the still bleeding wound on his leg.

“Well,” Jack said, laying his radio down in the pile of expended shell casings, “say hello to elements of the Second Special Polish Parachute Brigade and two teams of U.S. Navy SEALs.”

“A grand sight indeed, Colonel. Now where did the air support come from?”

“Compliments of the U.S. Navy, and the Enterprise battle group, which finally decided to get into the fight.”

“I never thought I would be pulled from the fire by a Polish brigade and the U.S. Navy, Colonel. Remind me to send them a note of thanks.”

“I think we better include the president in that. It took him a while, but he came through.”

Jack helped the lieutenant to his feet and handed him off to a dirty but smiling German comrade. Collins looked around at the Polish soldiers as they checked the dead and wounded of the attacking element. The parachute brigade had done its job, and was now learning that being nice to terrorists, either unharmed or wounded, was not an easy task.

“Colonel Collins?”

Jack turned and saw a man with thick green greasepaint covering his face. His bush hat was crumpled and only the whites of his eyes stood out.

“That’s my name,” Jack said, looking at the man and his two companions.

“Compliments of the president, sir. Lieutenant Commander Scott Englehorn, U.S. Navy, relieving you.”

Jack ignored the salute from the SEAL and just held out his hand.

The young officer was taken back. He looked uncomfortable at first, and then he smiled as he took the colonel’s hand in his own and shook it.

“I think you may have a buddy up there on the ridgeline somewhere. I think that’s where I put the Navy, anyway.”

The commander looked around and nodded his head. “We heard there were other ball bouncers around these parts.”

Jack smiled at the familiar term the SEALs had for each other, referring to a seal balancing a ball on its nose.

“You can tell them how you liked commanding Polish paratroopers.”

The lieutenant commander leaned into Jack and whispered, “Sir, those sons of bitches are fighting fools. I’ll take them into combat anytime.”

“Pass on to them my thanks, Commander. Now I have to get going. Secure the area and please take care of these men. They deserve it. Bring up the Polish company and make sure that mine entrance is secure. Deadly force is authorized without warning-be sure no one gets in.”

This time the Navy SEAL did salute and Jack returned it. As he was moving off the line, he looked at his gathered defense team. They were limping down from the upper ridge, assisting their wounded or carrying their dead. They stopped as one and looked at the man who had held them together for an hour and a half of pure hell. Colonel Jack Collins simply nodded his head at his men. For their part, the men stood watching Jack for the longest time, then slowly moved off to the aid station that the SEALs and Polish paratroopers had set up.

Jack turned away, always proud of the way men acted in the toughest of situations. He had started climbing back up toward the mine opening when he ran straight into the Vietnamese sergeant and his lone surviving private-the sniper from the upper ridge. The smaller man laid the now empty and still hot M-14 at Collins’s feet and nodded his head. Jack smiled and handed the boy private his M-16.

“Sergeant, can I borrow this man for a few hours. I think I would feel safer with him along.”

The Vietnamese sergeant half bowed and interpreted the colonel’s request to his man. The kid smiled and nodded his head.

“Private Tram, am I correct?” Jack asked. He gestured for the kid to follow him toward the entrance to the mine.

The private nodded, understanding Jack’s small bit of English.

“I think this is the start of a long and fruitful relationship, kid.”

The command module Falcon 1, with attached Altair lander, passed extremely close to the insertion path the ESA spacecraft had traveled just five hours previous. The crew listened as several large and small pieces of insulation from the French-made Astral lander struck their spacecraft. The damage the ESA vehicle had sustained in the recent attacks had been enough to leave a continual debris trail in her wake as she approached the Moon. Every time the spacecraft was peppered with those floating particles, the crew cringed at the thought of the damage they might sustain to the fragile lander and the command module that was the only way home for them.

Sarah was in the umbilical tunnel that connected the two spacecraft when a loud bang was heard aft of the crew module on Falcon 1. Mendenhall, who was busy exercising on the bicycle in the lander, saw Sarah stop and tense as a slight rumble was felt throughout both modules.

“That didn’t sound good,” Mendenhall said. He turned and faced the mission commander. Colonel Kendal reached out from where he had been doing isometric exercises with hand grips and pulled Sarah free of the tunnel. He immediately floated into the large command module.

“He seemed a little worried too,” Mendenhall said. He looked over at Ryan, who was drinking a Dr. Pepper from a small Mylar package.

“Attention, we have some red warning lights up here. I want all nonessential crew members to take station inside Altair for the time being. Seal all access hatches and go to separate life support until we get a grasp on what’s happening.”

After the command module’s pilot stopped talking, Ryan floated over to the large triangular window at the pilot’s station. As his eyes roamed over the exterior face of Altair, he saw several large pieces of gold and silver insulation pass by no more than three feet away.

“No wonder the ESA lost contact with their lander,” Ryan said, sipping his Dr. Pepper through a straw. “Most of it seems to be floating right into our path. A lot of that debris is insulation from their oxygen and water tanks.”