Synbat (21 page)

*Chapter 16*
_Land Between the Lakes_
_7:34 P.M._
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.
* * * *

7:38 P.M.

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."
* * * *

7:46 P.M.

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.
* * * *

7:48 P.M.

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.
* * * *

8:14 P.M.

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.

*Chapter 17*
_Land Between the Lakes_
_8:33 P.M._
Doc Seay and Martie Trustin were working on the wounded under the glare of headlights from various pickup trucks and rigs. Riley had the rest of his team deployed in a loose perimeter, supplemented by almost a hundred men with Civil War muskets. It would have almost been humorous except for the four bodies laid out under ponchos nearby and the wounded who were being tended.
Riley had already called the situation in to Search Base. Other than holding a perimeter to prevent the Synbats from coming in again, he was at a loss as to what to do. Going after the Synbats wasn't possible because they had no idea where the creatures were. By the time they'd gotten here, the Synbats had already disappeared and no one was sure in which direction.
Riley had ignored the numerous questions thrown his way by the reenactors. There wasn't anything he could say, except to tell everyone to stay inside the parameters of the open field.
Military vehicles were now rolling into the field as reinforcements arrived. General Trollers and Colonel Lewis hopped out of one humvee and hurried over to Riley's location.
Trollers's eyes were flashing in the glint of the headlights. "Where did the Synbats go?"
Riley shrugged. "I don't know, sir. They hit coming from the west, but I haven't been able to find anyone who could tell me which way they left."
"What about Nighthawk?"
"It's picking up multiple targets. Our people are marked, but these reenactors are all over the place."
Trollers turned to Colonel Lewis. "Let's clear these people out _now_."
"Yes, sir."
* * * *

8:57 P.M.

Few wild animals have had a more devastating encounter with man than the bison, commonly miscalled the American buffalo. From an estimated peak strength of thirty million to a low of five hundred at the turn of the century, the herds have slowly increased to a present size of approximately thirty-five to fifty thousand.
With a half moon rising in the eastern sky, the herd of fifty-three bison at the Buffalo Range at Land Between the Lakes had just increased by one. The mother finished licking the newborn calf to clean it off, and it immediately suckled up.
The bachelor groups of massive males, some weighing almost two thousand pounds, ignored the maternal efforts. It would be two more months until breeding season, when they would mingle again with the cow-calf herds to initiate the reproductive process.
This particular evening one of the males, an old bison that had seen the turn of many seasons, was alert, but not because of the events going on inside the fence of the range. There was something outside that disturbed him.
He turned his massive head from side to side, shaggy long hair drooping to the ground. His nostrils flared as he took in a deep breath of dark air: There it was again, just on the edge of his smell range, coming from the east. Synapses clicked in the bison's brain as it tried to recall ever smelling that particular odor.
The bull waited with growing agitation. The smell was getting closer  --  an incoming tide of danger. Other bulls were aroused, shaken by the old one's movements. A ripple of unease ran through the herd. Instinctively the mothers pushed their young calves to the center and the males spread out in a semicircle, facing the Trace that ran along the fence on the east side of the range.
The old bull's beady eyes narrowed, searching the dark tree line on the far side of the road. Something tentatively left the safety of the darkness and crept out onto the road. Another joined it. The intruders were drawn by the smell of fresh blood from the birth. The bulls began snorting and stomping at the earth, huge horns swinging back and forth.
The newcomers crossed the road, skulking up to the fence, sensing that the barbwire was the range of their safety. They looked over the thousands of pounds of horned protection between them and the newborn calf.
Tonight would not be the night. The intruders turned and slunk back into the woods in search of easier prey.
It took the herd almost an hour to calm down. Soon all but the old one were asleep, the newborn curled up with its mother. The old one walked slowly along the fence. He was troubled. This was something bad and he didn't like it. He knew that those predators would be back.
* * * *

10:15 P.M.

Riley put his team on 50 percent alert. There was a long night ahead and tomorrow would be a critical day. His men needed rest. He doubted that the Synbats would attack Search Base, but at this point he was past trying to figure out what they would and would not do.
He'd received Kate's last message from Powers when the NCO had returned to the base camp after his adventure at the cliffs. Although Ward was no longer an issue, Merrit certainly was. How much of what she said could be believed? Riley hadn't been overly impressed with the videotape. Although it was certainly possible that the Synbats had been trying to trick Merrit into opening the cages, it was more likely that she had overreacted. Riley shook his head. The issue wasn't Merrit; the issue was the Synbats. He needed to concentrate on what he knew for sure.
He lay back on his rucksack outside the glow of the lights at the TOC and took stock of the situation. About half of the reenactors had been moved out, but there were stragglers here and there. It was also unknown how many other people were still in the park. Tomorrow would be the big clearout and then tomorrow night the shoot.
It was all looking too easy. The Synbats had been one step ahead of him from the start, mainly because he'd thought of them as animals, never as intelligent opponents. Now that he knew the truth, it was time to correct that operational fault. To anticipate the enemy's moves was a tenet of operational planning. Riley decided to review the facts in his mind, see how they fit together, then try to project a course of action for the Synbats.
As he started to concentrate, a figure appeared in the darkness. "We need to talk."
Riley unwrapped himself from his poncho liner and followed Colonel Hossey over to the DIA van. A single man sat at the communications console, monitoring it. A small figure bundled in a blanket in a chair was the object of Hossey's search. He tapped her on the shoulder, waking her. "We need to talk to you."
"Stop!" she cried out. Merrit blinked the sleep out of her eyes. "Another contact with the Synbats?"
Hossey led the way to the door. "No. I want to discuss what's going on. Let's go outside and talk."
The sky had cleared up somewhat and a few stars poked through. The weather report called for intermittent showers through Saturday. The temperature was down into the low fifties and Riley could see his breath puffing as they talked.
Hossey started out with the one remaining question Riley had about the past events. "How did the Synbats escape?"
Merrit looked at Hossey, then glanced around furtively. She spoke in a low whisper. "There was a power failure on Sunday night  --  actually early Monday morning. In response to the loss of primary power, the security guard lowered the status on the containment on the Synbats. Then those three escapees that Colonel Lewis is using for his cover story arrived at the lab. I don't know why, but they killed the security guard and then broke into the lab. We found all three of their bodies the next morning. The security guard was gone, but they found his body in a van driven by the sister of one of the escapees."
"Shit!" Riley exclaimed. "You mean you already had four dead people when we showed up here Monday morning?"
Merrit moved closer. "The security guard was killed by the convicts, but the three of them were killed by the Synbats."
"Great. That's just fucking great." Riley clenched his fists. He wanted to hit someone or something very badly.
"We thought the collars had terminated them by the time you showed up," Merrit reminded him.
Riley closed his eyes and did a slow count to ten, trying to control his anger. He knew that Merrit was not responsible for making the decision to withhold information from his team.
Hossey summed it up. "So right now the Synbats have killed a whole bunch of people and we've managed to get only one of them, losing a helicopter in the process."
Riley pointed at the TOC. "Doesn't anybody in there realize that it isn't just luck that these things have been a step ahead of us the whole time? The Synbats have had some sort of plan, while we've been pulling stuff out of our hat in reaction to them."
Merrit was confused. "I thought you had a plan now."
Hossey tried to make her understand. "We do, but we're still leaving a lot of initiative up to the Synbats. I've tried telling General Trollers that it isn't as simple as it appears, but he sees it differently. He feels that the attack on the Civil War reenactors was a sign of desperation because Sergeant Major Powers flushed them out of their lair. Trollers thinks they're on the run now. What do you think about the attack on the reenactors?"
Merrit was quiet for a few moments. "I don't think they would have attacked without a purpose. Every move they've made so far had a reason. I think they probably considered the reenactors part of the force that was after them and attacked to strike back. Those men were armed and acting in a military manner. I think it's reasonable to assume that the Synbats couldn't tell the difference between real and simulated."
"But the bottom line is that they are intelligent creatures, right? And they know they're being hunted," Hossey interjected, cutting to the heart of the matter.
"There's no doubt of that," Merrit replied.
"As intelligent creatures who want to survive, what do you think they will do now?"
"They have to find a new lair. They'll need a source of food for the young and someplace to hide for several days at least."
"Then the plan for tomorrow should work?" Hossey wanted to know.
Merrit shook her head. "I really don't know. They know they're being chased, but they certainly can't know the extent of the net around them. As I said before, I think they will try to hide. They already did that once at the cliffs."
"What about escape?" Riley asked.
"To where?" Merrit replied.
"I don't know." Riley thought for a few seconds. "Maybe we ought to go look at the cliff where they were hiding and get an idea of what they were doing. That might help us figure out where they might try to hide next."
Hossey quickly warmed to that idea. "We'll send you in at first light."
* * * *