Synbat

Chapter 16

Powers had the four men in a tight perimeter, back to back. The low ground of Fords Bay was growing darker as the sun went down, and soon the night would surround them. They had two sets of night vision goggles, but Powers didn't feel safe here, goggles or not. Besides their M16s, they also had an M21 sniper rifle with a laser night scope. Cartwright stirred next to Powers, his eyes riveted on the cliff face.

"What's the matter?" Powers asked in a low voice.

Cartwright gestured up toward the cliff. "We're being watched. I can feel it. We've been watched ever since we pulled in here."

There were enough cracks and crevices in the rock wall to hide a hundred Synbats. Powers had to admit he'd had that same feeling for the past ten minutes. After discovering the woman's body, he'd pulled everyone in tight and they hadn't done any more exploring. Each man had his M16 and sidearm, but they were at a disadvantage in the low ground. It wasn't the time to go looking for trouble, especially since trouble might come looking for them soon.

Powers opened his rucksack and turned on the PRC-77 radio.

A young lieutenant appeared at the door of the humvee where Riley had been kicked back, trying to get some sleep. "Mister Riley, you're needed at the TOC."

Riley grabbed his M16 and double-timed over behind the lieutenant. The two generals were clustered around a radio along with Colonel Hossey, who gestured with his good arm for Riley to come over. Riley recognized the voice on the radio as soon as he heard it.

"I say again, I've found the body of a woman along with three horses. The bones of several other small animals are gathered here too. Over."

Trollers had the mike. "How were they killed? Over."

"It looks like they were run off the cliff. Over."

"Get the grid," Hossey advised.

"What is your location? Over."

"North side of Fords Bay. Wait one." Powers's voice disappeared with the squelch and then came back on. "Grid one two four, six four three. I say again: one two four, six four three. We need some reinforcements here. Over."

Riley looked at his map. It made sense. Powers was only a couple of klicks away to the south. The Synbats weren't running. They were hiding. Merrit had said they had no place in particular to run. The cliff was the most secure location for them within miles. Powers had found the Werners' horses.

"Any sign of the Synbats there other than the bodies? Over," Trollers asked.

"Negative." There was a brief pause. "But I can feel them. They're here. We're being watched. Over."

Trollers turned to Colonel Hossey questioningly. Hossey looked up from the map where he had been plotting the grid. "Sergeant Major Powers is a good man. He wouldn't have said that if he didn't think we needed to hear it. He's seen some heavy action and he's still alive. I'd trust his instincts."

Trollers looked at Riley. "You have the location. Get going." He keyed the mike. "We've got help on the way. Hold your position. Out. Break. Nighthawk, this is Search Base. Over."

The small red dot probed among the rocks. Looking through the night scope, Powers could see both the dot and the surrounding rock clearly despite the gathering darkness. The AN/PAS-6 night scope mounted on the M21 was a vast improvement over all previous systems he'd ever worked with. The point of aim of the rifle was wherever the emitted laser beam touched.

As darkness fell, Powers had decided on a tactical retreat — General Trollers's order to hold fast notwithstanding — loading everyone back on the Zodiac and anchoring twenty meters offshore. They could do the same job from the boat, and Powers felt safer with the water between him and the shore. Of course, if the Synbats had weapons, as the men had been briefed, this position was more exposed, but Powers had decided that the move was worth it. If the Synbats were on the rock wall, the creatures had the advantage of the high ground. Powers was hoping to partially decrease the vertical angle by putting some space between his men and the base of the cliff.

Something moved at the edge of the scope. Powers overcorrected and then swung back. A Synbat! It was high up, about ten feet below the lip of the cliff. It slipped out of sight, melting into the rock. Powers watched carefully for it to reappear. There it was, moving swiftly! Powers placed the red dot and fired. Sparks flew as the round hit the rock, and the wall exploded with screeches.

Powers cursed as he tried to pin the creature with the laser beam. The scope mounting must be off slightly; he hadn't had a chance to zero it in, which accounted for the miss. The Synbat scrambled over the lip of the cliff and was gone before he could pin it down. A shot roared right next to him and Cartwright yelled out: "I spotted two going up. They're over the cliff. I don't think I hit." He slapped his M16. "Can't aim this thing worth a fuck with the goggles."

"Damn," Powers muttered to himself. All they'd managed to accomplish was to scare the Synbats out of their lair.

Louis turned away from the fire and looked out to the east as two shots cracked the night air. They were camped with the rest of their "regiment" — all forty-three of them along a wood line. The sixteen horses were picketed in the trees. They'd been hearing numerous helicopters and vehicles moving around ever since the sun started to go down.

"That didn't sound like no musket," Jeremiah said.

"What were them yells?" the regimental sergeant at arms, Buford P. Lister, asked no one in particular.

The screeches after the first shot had caused the hair on the back of Louis's neck to stand up. "Don't know."

"Don't care," threw in Billy Pates. The man was what Louis would label the regimental fool. He made everyone around him look intelligent. Pates lifted his canteen cup to his lips. "As long as we got some of this here firewater, everything'll be all right."

And for a while everything did seem all right. For at least ten minutes. Louis was sitting through the third rendition of one of Buford's jokes when Jeremiah plucked at his sleeve.

"What?"

"Listen."

Louis looked at his brother in irritation. "To what?"

"The forest."

He gave it ten seconds, tuning out the noise of the camp. "I don't hear nothing."

Jeremiah nodded. "That's what I mean. It's quiet. Can't hear no night animals. Remember earlier today? That thing that attacked us? This is just how it got before it came on us from the trees. It's coming back."

Louis wanted to smack his brother over the head. The damn fool had always acted weird. "You don't even know what it was. How the hell can you know it's coming back?"

"It's the devil. He's come to claim our souls."

"Ah, goddamnit, Jer. You're going off your rocker. You listen — " Louis paused as a horse whinnied and then another. The animals were pulling at the picket line, straining back.

The men who had mounts left the fire and moved into the trees, trying to calm the horses. Louis's horse, Jezebel, had almost pulled her halter loose; he was retying it when he noticed his brother standing nearby, musket in hand, ignoring his own horse, just staring at the woods.

"Want to give me a hand here, Jer?" he asked, the irritation plain in his voice.

"There it is!" his brother yelled, throwing the musket to shoulder and firing. With the deep roar of the powder going off, all hell broke loose. Figures exploded out of the dark, firing rifles at the disbelieving men. Buford Lister and Billy Pates were among six that went down in the first ten seconds, their screams tearing the air.

Jeremiah and Louis ran, Jeremiah reloading on the run, Louis grabbing his musket and kit as he raced by the fire. A few more rounds ripped through the air around their heads and then the firing ceased. They halted two hundred meters away in a field and turned back, Jeremiah with musket at the ready, Louis reloading. Other shaken men of the 7th Cavalry were scattered around, breathing hard from the run and yelling senseless questions.

Soldiers from other campsites came running up to ask what had happened. But no one headed back into the tree line where the 7th U.S. Cavalry had been camped. The last of the screams died out.

Eight hundred meters away, the three humvees of ODA 682 were rolling down a trail, the occupants oblivious to the destruction occurring close by. The headsets for radio and intercom, along with the rumble of the diesel engines, effectively deafened the entire team.

Riley had heard Powers report that he'd fired on the Synbats and that the animals had scaled the cliff and were running. Other units were closing in. The TOC was trying to throw together a hasty net to try and sweep up the Synbats.

The radio crackled. "This is Nighthawk. I've got multiple contacts on LLTV, vehicle and dismounted. I've also got horses on my screens. Impossible to find the target. Over."

"All elements, this is Search Base. Mark yourselves for identification by Nighthawk. Over."

Riley slid down into the humvee and reached into an outer pocket on his rucksack, retrieving a black watch cap. He turned the cap inside out, exposing the fluorescent tape sewn there, and put it on. Standing back up in the hatch, he knew that the tape would show up clearly on the low-light television (LLTV) of the Spectre gunship and the thermal sights of the OH-6s.

"This is Nighthawk. I've got small arms firing. Grid one two five, six five three. I say again. Small arms firing. Grid one two five, six five three. Over."

Riley shined a red-lens flashlight down on his map. "Take the next right, John." As the vehicle turned, Riley released the safety on the trigger of the .50 caliber.