They grabbed their duffel bags, checked that everything was in place, then proceeded to the young PFC waiting for them.
The PFC, Klein, handed them the paperwork they needed for free reign of the base, and keys to two unmarked Volkswagens. They split up, pairing three to a vehicle, and made their way off the base and through the picturesque streets of Landstuhl.
John rode with Roger and Deion. Roger drove the unmarked car around the neighborhood, circling the block twice before stopping fifty meters from their destination. John watched in the side view mirror as the other vehicle did the same.
John checked his M11, nodding as Roger did the same. “You ready?” he asked.
Roger grinned. “I’d say I was born ready, but then I’d sound like an asshole.”
“That’s the only thing that makes you sound like an asshole?” Deion said.
John laughed. He barely knew Roger, but their shared experience in Denver lent them a familiar camaraderie. Through their ear-pieces they heard Eric question the surveillance team. “Any updates?”
“No movement,” the man helming the surveillance team responded.
“Let’s do it,” Eric said.
Here we go. John got out of the car, and strolled down the street with Roger, chatting about the scenery. They came to the alleyway next to the apartment building, turned quickly, and headed for the side door. They paused for a moment to allow the others to reach the front door and waited for Eric to reach the call.
“On three,” Eric said.
Roger pulled a flash bang from his jacket pocket and on three, John kicked the door as hard as he could, right above the doorknob. Whether it was from the drugs or exercise, the door splintered around the lock and swung, hitting the wall and ricocheting back.
Roger caught it with his shoulder and threw in the flashbang. They entered the room with drawn pistols as the flashbang exploded, followed by another flashbang from Eric in front. They each took a predetermined quadrant, pistols moving with practiced precision, looking for targets.
Eric yelled, “Clear,” and they rushed forward in a tight group, Deion kicking in the door to the bathroom. “Clear!”
They took the stairs two at a time and hit the bedrooms and then the shared bathroom. “Clear!” Nancy yelled.
They swept back down the stairs and hit the basement, Eric flicking on the light. When they reached the bottom Eric stopped them with a raised hand. “Oh shit,” Eric said, pointing to the multi-color wiring that splayed across the squat wooden table like spaghetti.
The materials filled John with dread. “Oh shit,” he breathed.
“Clark,” Eric said, “Abdullah was here. We think he’s made another bomb.”
“I’ll alert the base,” Clark said. “Any intel in the apartment?”
Eric kicked at the living room table. “Wiring in the basement. Prayer mats. Looks like grooming supplies in the bathroom.”
“Any ID?”
“It’s clean. Did you have any luck with the apartment manager?”
“He works for a Berlin firm. He claims he rented it to three American soldiers. A white guy, a black guy, and a Latino.”
Martin rolled his eyes. “Sounds like a bad joke.”
“I don’t think these guys are joking,” Clark responded. “What’s their target? What at Ramstein is worth hitting?”
“Delta has an office here,” Eric said, “to keep tabs on their wounded.”
Deion joined in. “CIA has offices, same thing. Could be supply planes?”
John listened intently. He knew the base ran a constant string of supply planes to military bases across the world, including Iraq and Afghanistan, but hitting the supply planes would only disrupt logistics, not stop them.
“Call it in,” Eric ordered. “Put the base on alert. THREATCON Delta. Lock it down.”
“Karen’s on it,” Clark said. “Nobody will be allowed in or out.”
John glanced around the apartment. “No computers anywhere. No notes.”
“This site’s blown,” Nancy agreed. “We can have forensics sweep it later. Do we have satellite imagery?”
There was a pause. “The latest overfly is days old. Karen is backtracking now.”
“No sense staying here,” Eric said.
They loaded into the Volkswagens and headed back to Ramstein. They were within eyesight of the entrance, a long line of cars backed up as people waited for the inspections and the THREATCON to lift, when they heard the explosion off in the distance, a crack and a deep whoomp.
There was a moment of silence and then klaxons blared to life. John turned to Roger who stared off in the distance, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. Roger nudged him and pointed toward the mushroom-cloud blossoming into the sky.
“Fuck me,” Deion said in a hushed tone.
John’s stomach churned and he tasted bile in the back of his throat. They had failed.
“Clark, you getting this?” Eric asked.
“It’s the Regional Medical Center,” Clark said. “We’re getting video online.” There was a pause before Clark sucked in his breath. “Oh god.”
Ahead, Eric’s car gunned the engine and executed a sharp U-turn, Roger following suit. They raced down the winding narrow streets of Landstuhl, tires squealing as they cornered hard, screaming west until they came in view of the hospital’s north entrance.
John surveyed the damage. The front of the building was devastated, open to the world, smoke and fires everywhere. Bodies were strewn throughout the rubble, a head here, exposed legs there. Soldiers ran, screaming.
“What. The. Fuck.” Roger breathed.
John stared, uncomprehending. “Why would someone do this?”
Humvees roared up behind them, blocking the narrow road. Airmen jumped out and started yelling at them, surrounding their cars.
“Clark,” Eric said. “We’ve got a problem. People, don’t make any sudden moves.”
“I’ve got the Installation Commander on the phone. It’s going to take a few minutes before it filters down to the Chief of Security Forces. Just do as the nice Airmen ask and sit tight until we get it sorted,” Clark said.
They got out, their hands raised, as the soldiers approached. Eric spoke softly to their commanding officer, and, after much communications back to their base, the Airmen released them.
They milled about. “Clark,” Eric said. “We need something to go on.”
“They let you go?” Clark asked.
“Yeah. You pulled the right strings.”
“Good, because Karen has something. The last overfly shows a car in the alley at the apartment. She’s matched that against another photoset, the same car was at a barn not far from there, in the countryside. I’m sending you the coordinates.”
Eric glanced down at his cell-phone, then lifted it to show the rest of them. “Okay, people. We’ve got something to go on. Let’s get the bastard who did this.”
Eric approached the barn slowly. It sat nestled among the trees, its red paint long since faded from time and weather, the white car parked alongside. He pulled the Volkswagen over and watched in the rear-view mirror as Roger did the same behind him.
Martin tapped him on the shoulder, turning off his radio and motioned for Eric to do the same. “I hate to point it out, but we don’t have any gear,” he said quietly.
“We’ve got the MP5’s and our handguns,” Eric said. “That’s enough.”
“No body armor. We’re out of flashbangs. I’m just saying, maybe we should bring in the locals.”
“We bring in the locals and we lose control,” Eric said. “Then they start asking questions.”
Martin sighed. “They just blew up a hospital. This’ll hit the news, big. If you really want to keep the OTM on the down low, we need to split.”