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Description
Drastic Measures

"What do you mean?" said Reilly. He ripped Winston's sleeve near the tear and motioned toward me. "Get the pack." I snatched it from the floor and handed it to him.

"They are terrorists. But they are not just any terrorists," said Winston.

Reilly took a water bottle and poured some water over the wound—a bloody slash across Winston's shoulder.

"They're a new terrorist group. But they've been operating for at least several months. And they're widespread."

"Here. Sit down so I can do this better."

Winston sat in the chair. Reilly swabbed some alcohol over the wound, Winston wincing slightly.

"This is their base—one of their main bases. They are using it for something important—I'm not sure what yet.
They are an offshoot of al-Qaeda, and have broken away to form their own operation."

Reilly wound a bandage around Winston's arm. Winston set his jaw against the pain, but kept speaking.

"They're al-Qaeda trained, and they're not your ordinary terrorist. They are professional. They are fanatics, but not just low-level suicide bombers. They have a brilliant leader by the looks of it. They are intelligent, with a well-thought-out strategy well on its way to maturity."

"It's a good thing we found them then." Reilly sat down in the chair with a sigh.

Winston leaned forward, his new bandage showing white under the tear in the black fabric. "Reilly, it's not going to do any good knowing unless we can get off this island."

"We'll just have to get off of it, then."

"As soon as possible. Any progress?" He motioned to the radio sitting on the 'dashboard'.

"Not exactly."

"I'll take a look at it. The radio is one of our best chances of getting rescued."

"Doesn't look too good for our side, then."

Winston picked up the radio, inspecting its glittering innards.

"What happened?" said Reilly.

"I found their base, in a cove near the north side of the island. It's a cave embedded in the rock a few hundred yards past the beach, next to the sheer cliff on the north shore. The only way to get to it is by water; from the outside the entrance looks like a fissure in the cove rock."

"How did you find it?" I asked.

"I swam next to one of their patrol boats—several camouflaged motor boats guard the island. I followed it, and it docked inside the cove while the guard changed.

"A man came to meet the two guards, and talked with them about the 'situation.' He was tall, with dark hair and eyes, young—about 30—well-built. Probably ex-military. They called him Leader in Arabic.

"He told them to go with the boat to guard a site on land. I followed them to a place in the middle of the swamp. They plan to attack us in about an hour."

"An hour," said Reilly. "How many are there?"

"At least a dozen. There are three boats with two guards each, and they take shifts every five hours."

"Do you know why they're waiting to attack?"

"I don't know for sure. It will be dusk in about an hour."

"What else did you find out?" said Reilly.

"Not much, besides what I've told you. I ran into a guard, and I had to get out of there."

"He shot you?" I said.

"Yes. The rest tried. Two of their men are down."

"So we may only have nine to deal with?" said Reilly.

"Plus the leader."

"So, one hour. We'd better get to work." Reilly looked at me. "Ready, Allen?"

I nodded.

They directed me to watch out the window for terrorists. Winston worked on the radio. They discussed terrorists' tactics and a possible counteroffensive. They had a plan half hammered out when something unexpected happened.

Winston fixed the radio.

He turned the dial. I heard a screech, static—then, Winston said: "Hello?"

"We copy. Identify yourself."

"HQ, this is Agent 116. Request assistance from HQ."

"Your position, Agent 116?"

"Unknown. Small island in South Pacific, near Kiribati."

"Copy. Your situation?"

"Craft damaged, about thirteen terrorists present."

"Copy. Nature of assistance?"

"Request two choppers, two full units."

"Copy. Anything else?"

"Yes. Get here ASAP."

"Copy, 116. We'll be in touch. HQ out."

"So the cavalry is coming," said Reilly. "That changes our plans."

"Does it?"

"We will be leaving sooner than we thought."

"It will take them some time to find us," said Winston.

"Not much more than five hours, I'd say."

"They could be delayed. And the terrorists will attack us in half an hour."

"If their plans haven't changed. I think we should act, soon."

"Attack them first?"

"No, let them mount their assault," said Reilly. "We're prepared for that. They'll fall back, regroup, but by their next attack, we can be out of here."

"Leave the craft?"

"Yes. Blow it up. Then we can mount an assault of our own."

"Why do you want to blow it up?" I asked.

"Keep it out of the terrorists' hands."

"What if no one comes?"

"We'll have to find another way off the island. But our people will come. Just in case, though—we should capture some transportation."

"What kind of transportation?"

"What else? A boat."

The next half hour, we spent preparing for the attack. The agents rigged the helicopter with explosives. I wondered, how would we be able to withstand even one full assault? We had just three against over a dozen, and one of us didn't count for much in battle. My twin brothers, who had been in the military, would have been much better assets right now.

The sun set, throwing golden rays across the sky. It was 8:00. I felt like I'd just gotten up, but also that a week's worth of days had gone by. The orange light that had drenched the island faded into purple dusk.

I was on the lookout, but Reilly, who stood near the door, saw them first. Several dark shadows moved at the base of the hill. Suddenly, gunshots rang out, muffled from inside the helicopter but still loud angry 'cracks'. Winston returned fire from beside the helicopter.

The shadows moved closer. Reilly stood still near the door in the dark.

Shots rammed into the helicopter. One dented the "bulletproof" glass. The forms reached the rim of the hill.

Two quick raps tapped the door from the other side. Reilly told me, "Stay here. If I tell you to come, bring the pack and the radio. If HQ calls, answer it. Tell them the situation. Tell them who you are."

I nodded. He swept out of the door, rifle raised.

Shots rang out behind the helicopter, while the three forms in front advanced, firing. Close to the front of the helicopter. One form dropped. The terrorists drew back, dragging the other between them, back down the hill through the tall flattened grass.

The radio warbled. I jumped.

I fumbled for the radio in the pack on the chair. "Hello?"

"This is HQ," said the same steady tenor male voice from before. "Identify yourself."

"Uhm—" My voice shook. "Allen McConnell. I'm with your agents. We're under fire."

"Copy."

"They're attacking us and—"

"Listen. Tell the agents when you have the chance that we're on our way. The choppers are looking for you--it could take as little as an hour, or as many as five. What we want you to do is to gather as much intel possible."

"Me?"

"And the agents. In the meantime—hang in there! And good luck."

"Thanks."

"HQ out."

I looked out the window. Not a terrorist in sight. Was that a good sign? Maybe we did have a chance after all.

The door swung open. Reilly stepped inside. "Come with me."

"But—"

"Now." He turned and headed back out the door. I took the pack and slung it over my shoulder, following him. Cool air hit my face after the stuffy warm air inside the helicopter. I stepped to the ground and felt Reilly's hand on my arm. "Do exactly as I tell you," he whispered. "Follow me."

He crouched next to the helicopter and slid toward its tail, gun raised. I lifted my own rifle and followed him. He stopped near the tail, and looked around.

"Okay. We're going for those trees." He pointed toward the trees yards ahead of us.
He bent below the tips of the grass. And ran. I followed him as he zigzagged through the grass.

Then—BOOM!!! A blast of heat hit my back. I slammed into the ground. I smelled crushed grass, its blades pressing against my skin. A wild crackling roared behind me.

"Allen," said Reilly.

I rose to my knees and turned around. Fire raged across a molten lump where the helicopter had been. Shining debris reflected the light like embers. Smoke billowed into the sky.

"Come."

I turned. We left the helicopter's smoldering remains and headed toward the black silhouettes of palm trees.

Description
Drastic Measures

"What do you mean?" said Reilly. He ripped Winston's sleeve near the tear and motioned toward me. "Get the pack." I snatched it from the floor and handed it to him.

"They are terrorists. But they are not just any terrorists," said Winston.

Reilly took a water bottle and poured some water over the wound—a bloody slash across Winston's shoulder.

"They're a new terrorist group. But they've been operating for at least several months. And they're widespread."

"Here. Sit down so I can do this better."

Winston sat in the chair. Reilly swabbed some alcohol over the wound, Winston wincing slightly.

"This is their base—one of their main bases. They are using it for something important—I'm not sure what yet.
They are an offshoot of al-Qaeda, and have broken away to form their own operation."

Reilly wound a bandage around Winston's arm. Winston set his jaw against the pain, but kept speaking.

"They're al-Qaeda trained, and they're not your ordinary terrorist. They are professional. They are fanatics, but not just low-level suicide bombers. They have a brilliant leader by the looks of it. They are intelligent, with a well-thought-out strategy well on its way to maturity."

"It's a good thing we found them then." Reilly sat down in the chair with a sigh.

Winston leaned forward, his new bandage showing white under the tear in the black fabric. "Reilly, it's not going to do any good knowing unless we can get off this island."

"We'll just have to get off of it, then."

"As soon as possible. Any progress?" He motioned to the radio sitting on the 'dashboard'.

"Not exactly."

"I'll take a look at it. The radio is one of our best chances of getting rescued."

"Doesn't look too good for our side, then."

Winston picked up the radio, inspecting its glittering innards.

"What happened?" said Reilly.

"I found their base, in a cove near the north side of the island. It's a cave embedded in the rock a few hundred yards past the beach, next to the sheer cliff on the north shore. The only way to get to it is by water; from the outside the entrance looks like a fissure in the cove rock."

"How did you find it?" I asked.

"I swam next to one of their patrol boats—several camouflaged motor boats guard the island. I followed it, and it docked inside the cove while the guard changed.

"A man came to meet the two guards, and talked with them about the 'situation.' He was tall, with dark hair and eyes, young—about 30—well-built. Probably ex-military. They called him Leader in Arabic.

"He told them to go with the boat to guard a site on land. I followed them to a place in the middle of the swamp. They plan to attack us in about an hour."

"An hour," said Reilly. "How many are there?"

"At least a dozen. There are three boats with two guards each, and they take shifts every five hours."

"Do you know why they're waiting to attack?"

"I don't know for sure. It will be dusk in about an hour."

"What else did you find out?" said Reilly.

"Not much, besides what I've told you. I ran into a guard, and I had to get out of there."

"He shot you?" I said.

"Yes. The rest tried. Two of their men are down."

"So we may only have nine to deal with?" said Reilly.

"Plus the leader."

"So, one hour. We'd better get to work." Reilly looked at me. "Ready, Allen?"

I nodded.

They directed me to watch out the window for terrorists. Winston worked on the radio. They discussed terrorists' tactics and a possible counteroffensive. They had a plan half hammered out when something unexpected happened.

Winston fixed the radio.

He turned the dial. I heard a screech, static—then, Winston said: "Hello?"

"We copy. Identify yourself."

"HQ, this is Agent 116. Request assistance from HQ."

"Your position, Agent 116?"

"Unknown. Small island in South Pacific, near Kiribati."

"Copy. Your situation?"

"Craft damaged, about thirteen terrorists present."

"Copy. Nature of assistance?"

"Request two choppers, two full units."

"Copy. Anything else?"

"Yes. Get here ASAP."

"Copy, 116. We'll be in touch. HQ out."

"So the cavalry is coming," said Reilly. "That changes our plans."

"Does it?"

"We will be leaving sooner than we thought."

"It will take them some time to find us," said Winston.

"Not much more than five hours, I'd say."

"They could be delayed. And the terrorists will attack us in half an hour."

"If their plans haven't changed. I think we should act, soon."

"Attack them first?"

"No, let them mount their assault," said Reilly. "We're prepared for that. They'll fall back, regroup, but by their next attack, we can be out of here."

"Leave the craft?"

"Yes. Blow it up. Then we can mount an assault of our own."

"Why do you want to blow it up?" I asked.

"Keep it out of the terrorists' hands."

"What if no one comes?"

"We'll have to find another way off the island. But our people will come. Just in case, though—we should capture some transportation."

"What kind of transportation?"

"What else? A boat."

The next half hour, we spent preparing for the attack. The agents rigged the helicopter with explosives. I wondered, how would we be able to withstand even one full assault? We had just three against over a dozen, and one of us didn't count for much in battle. My twin brothers, who had been in the military, would have been much better assets right now.

The sun set, throwing golden rays across the sky. It was 8:00. I felt like I'd just gotten up, but also that a week's worth of days had gone by. The orange light that had drenched the island faded into purple dusk.

I was on the lookout, but Reilly, who stood near the door, saw them first. Several dark shadows moved at the base of the hill. Suddenly, gunshots rang out, muffled from inside the helicopter but still loud angry 'cracks'. Winston returned fire from beside the helicopter.

The shadows moved closer. Reilly stood still near the door in the dark.

Shots rammed into the helicopter. One dented the "bulletproof" glass. The forms reached the rim of the hill.

Two quick raps tapped the door from the other side. Reilly told me, "Stay here. If I tell you to come, bring the pack and the radio. If HQ calls, answer it. Tell them the situation. Tell them who you are."

I nodded. He swept out of the door, rifle raised.

Shots rang out behind the helicopter, while the three forms in front advanced, firing. Close to the front of the helicopter. One form dropped. The terrorists drew back, dragging the other between them, back down the hill through the tall flattened grass.

The radio warbled. I jumped.

I fumbled for the radio in the pack on the chair. "Hello?"

"This is HQ," said the same steady tenor male voice from before. "Identify yourself."

"Uhm—" My voice shook. "Allen McConnell. I'm with your agents. We're under fire."

"Copy."

"They're attacking us and—"

"Listen. Tell the agents when you have the chance that we're on our way. The choppers are looking for you--it could take as little as an hour, or as many as five. What we want you to do is to gather as much intel possible."

"Me?"

"And the agents. In the meantime—hang in there! And good luck."

"Thanks."

"HQ out."

I looked out the window. Not a terrorist in sight. Was that a good sign? Maybe we did have a chance after all.

The door swung open. Reilly stepped inside. "Come with me."

"But—"

"Now." He turned and headed back out the door. I took the pack and slung it over my shoulder, following him. Cool air hit my face after the stuffy warm air inside the helicopter. I stepped to the ground and felt Reilly's hand on my arm. "Do exactly as I tell you," he whispered. "Follow me."

He crouched next to the helicopter and slid toward its tail, gun raised. I lifted my own rifle and followed him. He stopped near the tail, and looked around.

"Okay. We're going for those trees." He pointed toward the trees yards ahead of us.
He bent below the tips of the grass. And ran. I followed him as he zigzagged through the grass.

Then—BOOM!!! A blast of heat hit my back. I slammed into the ground. I smelled crushed grass, its blades pressing against my skin. A wild crackling roared behind me.

"Allen," said Reilly.

I rose to my knees and turned around. Fire raged across a molten lump where the helicopter had been. Shining debris reflected the light like embers. Smoke billowed into the sky.

"Come."

I turned. We left the helicopter's smoldering remains and headed toward the black silhouettes of palm trees.