The Dragon Awakens

         

The Dragon Awakens

Prologue

         The African skyline turned a brilliant shade of pink as the last rays of sunlight curved at the edge of the horizon. The absence of the sun offers a minor respite from the immense summer heat in Senegal. A gentle breeze swept across the tundra ruffling the fur of a newly woken tiger just rousing to do some evening hunting.
         Ambria noted the waking tiger through binoculars from the crest of a ledge giving a bird’s eye view of the northern landscape. The edges of her mouth creased up just a bit as she took in the beauty of night falling.
         “Ghost One, report,” crackled her earpiece.
         She touched the transmit button clipped to her vest. “I’m two clicks south of the objective.”
         “This is Major Donovan, Ambria,” said a familiar voice. “There’s been an adjustment to the objective. Lethal force has been authorized. Do you copy?”
         “Affirmative, Major.” Her voice carried a calm even tone. She bit her lower lip and she retrieved a silenced pistol from the holster under her arm. She pulled the slide back putting a live round into the firing chamber. She shrugged the strap of her rifle into a more comfortable position and took off in a sprint down the side of the embankment.
         Ambria put her back against a cascading birch tree and caught her breath. In less than twenty minutes she’d covered the remaining distance towards the objective. She peaked around the edge and surveyed the perimeter of the encampment just out of the tree line. The remaining light allowed her to see the perimeter. Ten guards stood firm on the closest side protecting four large tents. She noted each guard carried a state of the art M16 assault rifle. Her breathing normal, she lowered herself into a prone position and brought the sight of her sniper rifle up.
         The wide open space encompassed an area of a quarter mile, but the camp only took up a fraction of the space in the southern half. She noted targets in the distance passed the camp and assumed the upper portion served as a training field for the small band of mercenaries. In a methodical motion from right to left she took in each of the tents and the faces of everyone in sight. She stopped her rifle on a woman holding a baby.
         She sucked in a sharp breath and blinked the dust from her eye. The muscles in her neck popped as she twisted her head both ways to its full extent. The resumed view through the scope didn’t change and she noted a small boy, perhaps six or seven years old, standing next to the woman.
         “Crazy son of a bitch has his whole family out here,” she whispered to herself. She moved to press the button on her vest, but stopped shaking her head. She resumed her search of the camp, but didn’t locate her target, William Gentry, anywhere.
         Ambria moved to a crouched position and slung the rifle back over her shoulder. She crept along the edge of the camp keeping cover in the trees. An eastern view of the encampment would give her a chance to scan the remaining hiding spots. The soft rustle of leaves brought her movement to a halt. She caught the sound from above and slid the K-bar knife from her belt and simultaneously spun to the right. The knife slashed out above her and the head of a saw-scaled viper went hurling from a now dangling lifeless body. She flipped up the bottom of her pant leg and wiped the blade across it removing the small amount of blood. Knife sheathed, she continued her movement.
         The path she followed zigzagged from tree to tree ensuring she stayed in the shadows. A replay of Gentry’s dossier ran through her head. A mercenary with formal training from the British SAS, Gentry left service after the first Gulf War and plied his trade with anyone who could foot the bill. After a few years of being a free agent for hire, he formed a band of mercenaries to specialize in regime takeovers. A bloody decade ensued on four different continents fattening Gentry’s pockets and setting up three ruthless dictators and toppling a couple others.
         The latest intelligence compiled by the Central Intelligence Agency indicated a faction in Senegal wanted to invade the small country of Gambia, located literally in the middle of Senegal. The CIA tracked Gentry’s entry into the county three months early with his entire mercenary force. The latest satellite pictures outlined four different camps, including the one in front of Ambria. The signs were clear an attack on four different fronts would proceed within the next week.
         She’d closed the file knowing exactly what the next words out of Major Donovan’s mouth would be: “You’re going in.”
         The CIA believed removal of William Gentry would avoid the hostile invasion, but they felt as a target he would be more valuable in custody. The recent change in orders simplified the directive considerably.
         Ambria moved into position in between two trees and started a new scan of the camp. The camp sat in darkness now and she powered on the night vision feature of her scope. Scanning the camp this time she found a shape matching Gentry’s description. She adjusted the focus clearing up the green shades outlining the man’s body. “Gotcha,” she whispered. Using her right forefinger, she disengaged the safety and placed the crosshair on Gentry’s forehead.
         In the split second before she pulled the trigger, a question crossed her mind and she removed her finger from the trigger. She continued looking through the scope. Why isn’t he moving? Ambria scanned his body up and down before a stranger approached him. The two men exchanged words before Gentry caught the butt of a rifle across the face. The twist and stationary reaction from Gentry confirmed the binds holding him to the chair.
         She moved the scope around the scene to track the others. The first three men standing nearby weren’t faces she’d committed to memory, but the fourth man she recognized as the self-proclaimed General Dubau. More bodies entered view as a man corralled Gentry’s wife and children into view. She recognized the man as one of Gentry’s trusted mercenaries, Flynn Spalding. If Gentry represented Hitler, Spalding would be his Heinrich Himmler. Her mind raced back through the information she’d studied on Gentry and the mercenary team. All accounts from trusted sources believe the mercenary team to be finished after the last contract in South America ten months earlier.  Gentry’s offshore bank accounts were estimated to swell past one hundred million Euros and rumors circulated an immense fortified palace in a destination unknown awaited his retirement.
         Ambria shook her head and resumed her line of fire. No honor among thieves. Spalding operated as a soldier for thrill and Gentry being a businessman at his core could never understand such obsession for blood. She watched the two men argue back and forth in the distant encampment. Spalding needed Gentry to command the mercenary force she surmised. No one would follow direction from a maniac from Spalding and unfortunately he was smart enough to know it.
         She coddled the rifle against her shoulder and eased her breathing into a smooth cadence. The crosshairs moved across the scene searching for Gentry’s head. His death would still halt the action against Gambia, whether or not he acted as a willing participant. She froze her view on Spalding as he brandished a knife before Gentry. It appeared if she waited a second more, she could save the bullet in the breach.
         “Oh, hell no,” she whispered. She watched Spalding grip Gentry’s son by the collar and place the knife to his neck. Gentry, responsible for hundreds of thousands of lives, deserved to die, but the young boy didn’t.
         She pushed the button on her vest. “Ghost one to base, over,” she said, keeping the scene in view of her scope.
         “Objective secure, over?” asked Major Donovan.
         “Sir, we have a situation. The objective is being held by force. There is collateral damage to consider, Major, over.”
         The reply came too fast. “Not our concern, Soldier.”
         Through the scope she watched Spalding trace the blade along the boy’s cheek drawing a rich red line of blood.
         “Ghost One, do you copy? Proceed with Objective, over.”
         Spalding thrust the boy into Gentry’s face and pulled his head back exposing the boy’s throat to his father. She could see the two men yelling back and forth before Spalding raised the knife into the air.
         “Ghost One, complete your mission, over,” demanded Major Donovan.
         She tuned the earpiece out and firmed her grip, squeezing the trigger with precise pressure. The round exploded from the barrel and ripped through the distance entering Spalding’s head through the right eye socket. The impact altered his swing and the knife twisted right missing the boy’s heart and instead nicking his left shoulder.
         Ambria fired again, sending a second round through Spalding’s chest, before sighting at the stunned General and hitting him with two rounds in similar fashion. The surrounding soldiers ducked for cover, disoriented by the silent rounds. She kept the rifle steady and located the three soldiers closest to Gentry and his family, neutralizing each of them with a round to their head. She slung the rifle over her shoulder and pulled the silenced pistol from her shoulder. Plucking the squawking earpiece out, she switched off the power and stuck it in her vest pocket.
         The camp erupted in spotlights and shouting ensued while the soldiers attempted to regain some order. Ambria used the confusion to her advantage and penetrated the eastern perimeter unnoticed. She slid under the edge of a large tent and moved silent behind a soldier peaking out of the entrance. She kicked over a chair in the corner and watched the soldier spin in a hasty fit. Her pistol erupted in two brief reports and the man fell forward with blood dripping from his chest. She moved to the front of the tent, which afforded her a view of Gentry and his family who were huddled together directly ahead.
         She dove forward, rolling to the left and taking aim with her pistol. She stopped in a controlled crouch and fired three times hitting two soldiers moving in to subdue Gentry’s wife and son.
         “Quickly, free him!” Ambria yelled, tossing her K-bar knife at Gentry’s feet.
         Gentry’s wife lowered herself to the ground and picked up the knife with her right hand while holding her baby with the left. She didn’t say a word, but sliced through the plastic ties binding Gentry’s right hand. He took the knife from her and continued to free himself.
         Ambria checked the exit route back through the tent and saw the soldiers were reforming in two groups. In seconds, a new perimeter would close around them and seal off any exit route.
         “We have to go, now!” Ambria commanded.
         Gentry cut the last bond holding him and grabbed his son, clutching him to his chest. He motioned for them to follow Ambria.
         She led them back through the tent. The distance from the camp to the tree line looked miles longer now bathed in bright lights. Soldiers approached from both directions making escape impossible without a firefight.
         “We need a distraction,” she said, looking at Gentry. “Any ideas?”
         “The camp is running off a generator located on the south perimeter,” Gentry said, setting his son on the ground. He ducked down and moved away with an M16 he’d procured from one of the dead bodies.
         Ambria pondered the scene as she waited for the distraction. The family didn’t ask any questions, which she’d at first appreciated, but it seemed odd how little they communicated with one another. She examined the woman who married a monster and bore his children. Gentry’s wife kept her baby tight to her with one hand and pulled her son close to her with the other. It dawned on Ambria the poor woman didn’t fit the usual look of someone who gets involved with a man like Gentry. Her curled brown hair, straight figure, and plain facial features coupled with meek personality seemed at odds with a man of power and wealth.
         The boy held out his hands and made several signs which his mother responded to with a shake of her head. Ambria’s jaw slackened a touch. The file never mentioned Gentry’s wife was a deaf mute. Perhaps the CIA didn’t find the information important, but it would have been helpful.
         “Don’t move,” a voice commanded from behind her. Ambria felt a gun barrel against her neck and calculated the best course of action. She waited to assess the number of attackers and when she heard him click the transmit button on his radio, she assumed he was alone.
Ambria twisted right throwing her right elbow into the weapon and causing the fired round to go wide and away from her and Gentry’s family. She kicked out with her left leg and struck the man’s kneecap. He fell to the side bouncing off the nearby tent and before he could recover, she took aim with the pistol and fired two shots through his skull.
         The lights flickered off and all electronics died with a metallic whine as if on cue. Ambria motioned forward with her hands and the group took out across the open space in a quick crouch. They could hear fits of gunfire erupt from different sides of the camp indicating the clear confusion. She waved Gentry’s family forward as she scanned the distance behind them with her scope. The soldiers left in the camp were moving towards the generator now and no one appeared to be following them.
         She turned back towards the trees another hundred feet ahead and caught movement to her right. Shouldering her rifle, she zoomed in on the movement and  tracked someone moving towards their exit route. She eased her finger gently onto the trigger before recognizing Gentry as the approaching man. He joined the group as Ambria entered the trees.
         “Keep moving, southeast,” she said and Gentry nodded without a word.
         Ambria pulled the earpiece from her vest pocket and engaged the power button, before placing it in her ear. “Ghost one, report, over?” crackled the immediate request.
         “Original objective secured. Need an evac from rally point beta, over.”
         She watched Gentry for a reaction to what she’d said, but he continued to lead his family ahead without word.
         “Confirmed. ETA 5 minutes, over.”
         “Affirmative, over.”
         The group continued moving without any sign of pursuit until they reached a small clearing. The space would give the helicopter enough room to land comfortably.
         Gentry pulled his wife close and kissed her and his baby on the cheek. He held his son close to his side and looked Ambria in the eye. “Thank you. My family owes you everything.”
         She nodded in response before adding, “Just doing my job.” She turned and faced the shallow thump of the helicopter’s rotors as it approached. Not exactly doing my job.
         The helicopter touched down and the group wasted no time entering the opened door. Ambria jumped aboard last and closed the door behind her. “Wheels up!” she yelled to the pilot, holding her right thumb up.
         She sat down against the rear wall and noticed the man sitting across from her for the first time. “Major Donovan,” she said, glancing at the Gentry family huddled close by. “I wasn’t expecting you to put yourself in a hot zone for me.”
         He shook his head. “You disappoint me, Ambria.”
         Ambria shrugged. “I couldn’t let Spalding kill the man’s family. He’d surely have killed them if I shot Gentry and he was already in motion to stab the boy.”
         Major Donovan raised a pistol and shot Gentry in the forehead.
         Ambria jumped towards Major Donovan, striking him in the face with her right fist before two large Marines toppled her to the ground and weighed her down.
         “Open the door,” Donovan commanded.
         “No, no, you can’t!” Ambria screamed. “They’re innocent.”
         One of the Marines opened the left side door of the helicopter and Major Donovan pushed Gentry’s wife and son out the door. The woman fell silently over the side, terror masked over her face. The boy managed to catch hold of Donovan’s boot strap.
         Ambria watched the boy shake his head wildly and understood he, like his mother, couldn’t speak either. The boy clawed at the metal floor before Major Donovan brought the stock of a rifle down on his panicked face and it disappeared out the door.
         “No, they’re innocent!” Ambria screamed, while trying to wrestle free of the man holding her.
         “Relax, Captain,” Major Donovan said, kneeling down beside her. “You’re going with them.”
         She stopped her struggle and locked eyes with her superior. “You son of a bitch! You can’t do this!”
         “Don’t worry, Sweetheart,” he said, brushing a couple of lose strands of her blond hair. “You will die a hero. Your helicopter went down outside the camp. Damn RPGs are everywhere.”
         Ambria fought the instinct to ask questions and sized up the two men holding her. They appeared standard Marines chock full of brawn. She put up a meager struggle as they raised her to a standing position and began inching her forward towards the opening.
         “This is no way to treat a fellow soldier,” she said, forcing her voice to tremble. “I don’t deserve to die this way.” She felt the grip on her arms soften.
         “Sorry, Captain. Orders Ma’am,” replied the Marine to my left.
         Her feet were almost at the edge of the open door and she heard Major Donovan chuckle behind her. She looked down and judged the height of the helicopter at about five hundred feet. The two Marines tugged her back to get momentum for pushing her out the door. She struck out with both legs when she felt them changing direction. She locked her feet behind each Marine’s closest calf muscle and pitched herself forward allowing her arms to slip from their burly grip. Ambria’s body fell forward out the open door and she rolled right, letting go of the Marine on the left and gripping the one on the right with both legs.
         The latched upon Marine instinctively gripped the handle by the frame of the door as Ambria struck up with her left leg and dealt a crushing blow to his groin. He released his grip and reached down to attempt removing her legs from his thigh.
         “Push them both out,” Commanded Major Donovan.
         The other marine charged them.
         The first Marine looked in shock at the Major giving Ambria leverage to twist his body to take the impact of the charge. The two Marines collided above her and she used the opportunity to grip the rails underneath the pilot’s seat. She released her grip on the Marine and coiled her body upward before launching a horizontal strike with both feet towards the struggling men. The blow caught each man in their ribs and sent them sprawling down and out the helicopter door. Her firm grip served to keep her from following them out the door.
         “Damn good men,” Major Donovan said, leveling an assault rifle in her direction. “Dumb though, they underestimated you. I won’t make the same-“
         Ambria jerked a small concealed knife from her belt and flipped it at him.
         He jumped right and caught the blade in his shoulder, five inches from the intended destination of his throat. His finger squeezed the trigger sending a fully automatic barrage in her general direction. His pained misjudgment landed several rounds into the controls and one of the pilots who slumped forward into the controls pitching the helicopter into a dive.
         Major Donovan lost his footing and crashed forward into the other pilot seat, landing face to face with Ambria.
         She punched him in the face with her right hand twice before he managed to move the butt of the rifle to block her. She struck out with a knee sending the rifle butt back into his body and catching the hilt of the knife protruding from his shoulder.
         Donovan screamed out in pain and clutched at his wounded shoulder.
         The remaining pilot struggled with the controls and managed to pull the helicopter out of the dive, but the bleeding hydraulic lines caused the machine to pitch left.
         Gravity snatched at Ambria’s body and her body slid out the door towards the rapidly approaching ground. She continued to hold fast her grip as her body dangled free.
         Major Donovan also slid with the pull of gravity and his feet came down striking Ambria in the head.
         She lost grip with one hand and deflected a second blow from the Major. She looked out below her and saw a glimmer reflecting back. Her gripped hand took a blow from the major’s foot and the pain and exhaustion of the moment almost overcame her. Summoning the last strength she possessed, she used her free hand to reach up and grab Major Donovan’s belt. She released her grip on the pilot’s seat and used the Major as leverage to propel her palm up smashing him in the nose. The blow ended with a solid crack and she released her grip and let her body slide out of the helicopter.
         Ambria shot through the air with her feet directed straight down below her. She took one last look at the helicopter and noted with satisfaction Major Donovan’s limp body tumbling out of the door. As impact approached, she took a deep breath. The speed of descent pushed her deep through the water of the Atlantic Ocean. She curled her body to lessen the impact and attempt to gain neutral buoyancy. Time seemed to stretch from seconds to minutes as she slowed and began to swim back towards the surface. She felt the pressure in her lungs and thought certain she would explode before she reached fresh oxygen.
         A few rays from a crescent moon cascaded down on Ambria as she broke the surface. She drunk in the oxygen and floated on her back. An explosion sounded in the distance, but she remained on her back ignoring the sound of the helicopter’s inevitable crash.  She closed her eyes to calm the adrenaline coursing through her body, but the image of the boy shaking his head on the edge of the helicopter forced them open. She didn’t feel tired anymore.
         Ambria started paddling towards the distant shoreline, knowing with certainty she would never enjoy true rest again.