Adam Baker - Juggernaut

Near East Division TO: 12MF-3-57-8U

RESTRICTED DOS-01

SPEKTR 12 GROUP OPERATION DOSSIER

WARNING! This is a TOP SECRET SPEKTR GROUP EYES ONLY document containing compartmentalised information essential to the national security of the United States. EYES ONLY ACCESS to the material herein is strictly limited to personnel possessing SPEKTR 12 CLEARANCE LEVEL. Examination or use by unauthorised personnel is strictly forbidden and is punishable by federal law.

Doc ID: 575JD1

Page 01/1

08/25/05

MEMORANDUM TO: Project Lead, D.Ops

SUBJECT: Spektr

Colonel,

We conducted a Predator overflight of the contamination zone at first light this morning, and I am forced to conclude that our attempts to contain the infection have failed.

Analysis of 11th Recon surveillance images confirm a fire-fight of considerable ferocity has taken place. Scorch marks and cratering suggest grenade detonations. Some of the ancient temple buildings have suffered significant blast damage. Both helicopters have been destroyed.

We have been unable to make contact with the incursion team for twenty-four hours. Their last transmission suggested exploration of the valley was proceeding as planned. We then received a series of unintelligible communications we attributed to damaged sat-com equipment.

We must conclude that the incursion team is lost. Any further attempts to retrieve the virus flask are beyond our current back-channel resources, and risk exposing agency involvement in the Spektr project.

I respectfully suggest we initiate CLEANSWEEP.

Doc ID: 575JD10

Page 01/1

08/25/05

MEMORANDUM TO: Project Lead, D.Ops

SUBJECT: Spektr

Colonel,

Our pilot reports successful detonation of the Sentinel device over Valley 403 at 09:57.

Joint Special Operations Command has been informed that the explosion near the Syrian border was an operational matter and no further investigation is required.

The incursion team were mercenaries. A multinational squad of second tier special forces. They were not affiliated with any of the major security contractors currently operating in this sector. They had no agency connection and were unaware of the true purpose of their mission. We do not expect their disappearance to attract undue attention.

TO: Project Lead, D.Ops

FROM: R. Koell

08/25/05

14:46 AST

Colonel,

I have just received a bulletin from Joint Special Operations Command, Qatar. They say they have detected movement within the contamination zone. They report a locomotive heading out of the blast area along an old mine track.

JSOC have personnel in the Western Desert as part of Delta operations targeting foreign mujahedeen along the Syrian border. They have re-routed an air patrol from 160th Special Ops to intercept the locomotive.

We have made Operational Command aware of our wish to debrief the occupants of the vehicle and we are assured of their cooperation. We are currently monitoring radio traffic to determine if a member of the incursion team has survived.

The locomotive roared headlong through a rippling, caramel sandscape. A dust-streaked behemoth jetting black diesel fumes. A plough welded to the forward buffer bar scoured the dune-choked rails in a series of sand-bursts, like a speedboat smacking through chop.

The engine looked like it tore out of hell. A shattered cyclopean nose lamp. Bodywork pitted, scarred, scorched black. Maintenance panels ripped away. Cables trailed and sparked.

The windshield was smashed. The cab was empty. The throttle was jammed at full power and lashed with rope. Rev needles at max. A tool box wedged the trip-brake pedal open. Every surface dusted in sand: the console, the drivers bar-stool seat, the plate floor.

The track ahead was blocked by a high fence half submerged in sand. Rusted chain-link propped up by metal stakes. The barrier stretched to vanishing point north and south.

Corroded stencil signs. Alternate English/Arabic. A warning to coalition troops and camel-driving Bedouin:

The locomotive punched through the barrier. It wrenched fence stakes from the sand. The plough blade sheering through chain-link like it was paper.

The Blackhawk flew low over dunes, chasing its shadow. It drew parallel with the locomotive.

Captain Flores held the chopper steady. She lifted her visor and surveyed the cab. Smashed windows. An empty drivers chair. She adjusted her helmet mike.

The bridge at Anah is out. That thing is going to drop into the fucking ravine.

Sergeant Tate sat in the cargo compartment. He had a goatee, and a big tattoo on his forearm: the Pegasus insignia of the 160th SOAR. Night Stalkers Dont Quit.

He tossed his rifle to Frost, the combat medic. He unbuckled his harness. He pulled on sand goggles and adjusted the earpiece of his radio.

Put me down on the roof.

The Blackhawk banked and hovered over the five-hundred-ton juggernaut. Flores adjusted airspeed, lowered the collective and nudged the cyclic forward.

The starboard tyre of the chopper gently touched down on the locomotive roof. Tate stepped onto the blackened, wind-scoured metal and the chopper pulled back. He crouched, lashed by downwash.

Tate crawled on his hands and knees along the cambered cowling. He climbed over louvered intake grilles and belching exhaust stacks.

He reached the roof of the cab. He climbed down onto the nose, holding the smashed air horn for support. He spat sand, crouched and peered through the broken windshield.

Anything?

Ghost train.

He swung his legs through the windshield. He slid across the engineer console into the cab.

Suede desert boots crunched on broken glass. He crouched and inspected debris that littered the floor. He examined Glock pistol clips and US STANAG magazines. He scooped up a handful of brass cartridge cases and let them spill through gloved fingers.

Spent rounds. Plenty of them. AK. Nine mil. Muzzle burn round each window. Fucking war zone.

Better cut the power. Few more miles you are going to run out of track.

Tate pulled off his goggles. He examined the lashed controls. He reached for the combat knife strapped to his webbing. Then he noticed the door ajar at the back of the cab. An access hatch with a big voltage zag. The engine compartment. He drew the Sig from his quick-release chest holster. He flicked the safety and chambered the pistol.