Strike at the Heart: The Rescue Mission

By L.W. Berrie

SYNOPSIS FOR - STRIKE AT THE HEART - THE RESCUE MISSION

Colonel John Harris, U.S. Army Special Forces, goes back in time to retrieve the men he left behind - especially Captain Jerome Roundtree, his Lakota Sioux blood-brother. He must retrieve or replace Nomis handmaids by order of Mutwa, the tribal shaman. But someone or something is preventing them from getting past Mount Kenya. Some blame it on the ghost of Harriss adversary, Mhalglami. Some blame it on the land gone wild. Either way he must get everyone to the extraction point IF he is to see Nomi again in this world.

Usa, born of the rape of her Teri mother by a Masai warrior, longs for a world where her mixed heritage does not matter. Although promised from childhood to NGrundbligimi, their marriage is blocked after the murders of her parents. She longs for a world where she can be free to pursue her dreams. But does such a world exist?

NGrundbligimi, almost beheaded as a boy, grows to become the Teri War Chief and protector of the Kings cattle. Although forbidden to marry Usa by powerful forces from both within and outside the tribe, he is determined to follow her to a world where they can be free to marry - even if it means his life.

Judges Comments From London Book festival 2007 (Winner of the Genre Based Category):

I found the premise intriguing and the writing crisp. This old-fashion page-turner that sucks you in.

I definitely feel like I want to see the movie. The author has obviously traveled a bit and has a good eye for scene-setting and plot development. Its not easy to do and involved plot like this, but the author carries it out w/ aplomb.
Judges Comments From Hollywood Book Fair 2006 (Honorable Mention in General Fiction Category):

Film worthy, and definitely worth checking out. A page-turning read.

I enjoyed this from start to finish. What a vivid imagination.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Mar 21, 2007
• ISBN: 9781450046435

L.W. Berrie

Born in Davenport, Iowa, L. W. Berrie was educated in California. Graduated from California State University of Los Angeles with a B.S. in mathematics and science in 1966, he worked twenty-three years in the aerospace industry. He went back to school in the Legal Assistance Program at the University of California at Irvine (UCI) and graduated with a perfect 4.0 grade point average in 1992. He took additional writing courses at UCI to improve his skill as a writer. The UC library system provided the research materials for the story.

Book preview

Contents

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-one

Twenty-two

Twenty-three

Twenty-four

Twenty-five

Twenty-six

Twenty-seven

Twenty-eight

Twenty-nine

Thirty

Thirty-one

Thirty-two

Thirty-three

Thirty-four

Thirty-five

Thirty-six

Thirty-seven

Thirty-eight

Thirty-nine

Forty

Forty-one

Epilog

My thanks to everyone who contributed to the story, either negatively or positively. Special thanks to Les Boston of Boston WordWorks, who encouraged me to go on, in spite of all the negative comments from others. And special thanks to Marvin J. Wolf, whose positive contributions brought the story together. And thanks to my family, who put up with countless revisions and gave positive support in the efforts it took to write the story. Special recognition must be given to the Seventh Special Forces Group, of Fort Bragg, North Carolina. Without their help in providing information on the special forces training, philosophy, and structure of their A-Team, this story would not have been possible.

Principal Characters

Senior Special Forces Command:

Major General Art Murphy

Major Clifford Williams

Special Forces Team Members:

Colonel John Harris—Team Leader.

Captain Jerome Roundtree—Executive Officer

(Second in Command).

Sergeant First Class James Peck—Weapons NCO.

Staff Sergeant Martin Stockdale—Assistant Weapons NCO.

Sergeant First Class Billy Bloody Knife—Medical NCO.

Staff Sergeant Matt Thunderstorm—Assistant Medical NCO

Sergeant First Class Thomas Sakerstrom—Engineer NCO

Medical Unit Command:

Colonel David Walsh, MD

Major Henry Aker, MD Psychiatrist

Captain Susan McDougal, MD

Kenyan Government Representative:

Momagattu Akintunde

African Natives:

Teri tribe:

Nomi (daughter of King N’Ungna)

Kilhani (handmaid to Nomi and married to Roundtree)

Usa Daughter of Umaghala (handmaid to Nomi)

Abagolitta Sister of Masugmini (handmaid to Nomi)

Woyambi (wife of Martin Stockdale)

Misiantbogami (wife of Billy Bloody Knife)

Nyombi (wife of Matt Thunderstorm)

Ghlembilli (wife of James Peck)

N’Grundbligimi (Teri war chief)

King N’Wudiwe (young king of the Teri)

Shaman to the Teri tribe

Mutwa

Slave Trader

Malek

Egyptians:

Aggapi (patrol leader in Crocodopolis)

Ephora (widow of previous captain of the guard)

Rathsepitet (captain of the guard in Thebes)

Masai tribe:

Mhalglami (Masai war chief)

One

12 January 2022

Kenya

Colonel John Harris drove his humvee up the road, the engine laboring under both the altitude and the steep climb. His body felt like the engine sounded: every fiber wracked by tension. Images of his three previous attempts to rescue his blood brother, Captain Jerome Roundtree, flashed through his mind: There was so much that could go wrong!

Once, the dimensional shift had missed Earth completely. That time, he found himself waiting for hours, only to learn that the time gate had opened and closed in a remote, inaccessible corner of the globe. And the last time, he had reached Kenya in 3992 BC, only to discover that the Global Positioning Satellite and personnel locator functions, upon which his rescue attempt depended, had failed; indeed, the satellite itself had tumbled out of orbit. He had counted himself just plain lucky to return empty-handed to his own time.

Parking the humvee just below the crest, Harris grabbed the microphone and keyed it. Five, six here. Over. Harris released the mike button but heard only static.

He waited half a minute before he tried again. Five, six here. Over.

The static quieted, and a pleasant female voice said,"There is a one-minute delay in response time. Please allow one minute for your party to respond."

Major General Art Murphy strode up to lean in the open window. In the darkness, his white teeth shone from a brown face. The new satellites calculate the total time delay between your calling signal and Roundtree’s signal, he said, pointing to the top display in the black box jury-rigged to the humvee dashboard. See, one minute. You have to allow that before calling again.

Yes, sir, said Harris. Then he sat back and relaxed his large frame, although he found it hard to fit his six-foot, eleven-inch frame in the seat.

The radio squawked. Six, five here. Head due north from the hill. The Teri village is about midway between there and Mount Kenya. In the village, go directly to Colonel Walsh’s tent next to the hospital tent. You’ll have no problem finding it. Someone at the hospital will brief you on our situation. I must leave the village now, so no time to explain. I’ll leave my personnel locator device on. Don’t allow anyone except Peck or his son to accompany you. Especially avoid Usa. Several believe she’s the killer. Did you get a package from my uncle? Over.

Roger. I have it with me, replied Harris, patting a leather pouch on the seat beside him.

The time shift appears about daybreak. I’ll be there as fast as I can.

Roger. See you in a couple of days. Out.

Harris keyed the mike again. Five, this is six. Where will I find you?

The female voice replied, Your party has terminated his service at this time.

At least we know the new satellites work, said Murphy. Too bad the previous missions were failures. The air force blamed everything on poor station keeping. That’s why the GEOPOS and personnel locator functions were inaccurate. Each of the new satellites cost twice as much as the old ones combined, but the star maps that Akintunde printed helped NASA and the air force compute better star positions. These new satellites should not spin out of control as the old ones did. The president and the joint chiefs have decided that time dimensional travel is in the national interest because it opens a path to discovering cures to other major diseases. By the way, there were beeps between transmissions indicating there are messages stored in the computer. If you dial ‘7737,’ you’ll retrieve those messages.

Harris did as instructed, and the female voice came on, "There is one new message. Press 1 to play; press 2 to save; press 3 to-. Harris pressed 1.

You have a message from ID 3456. Message received on June 25 at 9:45 pm.

John, this is Thomas Sakerstrom. All our children have been murdered. Butchered. Some people say that my daughter, Usa, did it. She is innocent. There was a noise in the background. Harris strained to hear what it was. So it is you. Why did you let others think Usa did it? There were sounds of a scuffle. Then a man screamed and groaned, and all was silent.

The female voice came on, End of message. Press 1 to play; press 2 to save; press 3 to delete.

Harris looked at Murphy. How do you record that message?

Put a blank CD in the bottom slot. Press Record then replay the message. Sounds like you’re opening a can of worms.

Harris did as instructed then removed the CD and returned it to its holder. The air force doesn’t give me a whole lot of confidence. I was plain lucky to get back from the previous missions. But I thought the air force or NASA could calculate star positions as they existed in the past?

"But this is not the past, John. It’s another time dimension. See, all the science boys agree that if you were in the past, then how could you die before you were born? Yet people died there, and their existence here was not affected. By the way, what’s in that pouch on the seat?"

Roundtree’s last message was marked Personnel and Confidential. He requested that the contents remain a secret, and I honor my men’s requests, sir. Harris’s square jaw was set hard.

Murphy’s predecessor, General Steele, had allowed his men certain privacies, and Harris resented that Murphy often did not respect what he himself believed was an inviolable right. And Murphy’s resentment had also grown since Harris had declined to persuade Nomi to simply give away her blood, with its unique and invaluable antibodies. Instead, Harris had found a patent attorney for her; and in the years since she had arrived in Harris’s dimension, his wife had grown immensely wealthy.

Murphy scanned the inside of the humvee. Where’s Nomi? I thought she was going with you.

She’s decided to stay in Nairobi. She explained her reasons for remaining in this time dimension, and I support her decision.

But why? What’s her reason? Murphy’s neck muscles were taut.

It’s a private matter between me and my wife, sir.

Not when her presence has a direct bearing on the outcome of the mission! As a Teri tribal princess, she lends you clout with the Teri; and that may be vital to your success in bringing those men back. Your own mission report described how useful she was on the first mission. Murphy’s voice reflected his growing internal tension. Harris thought that he was ready to explode.

On the contrary, he replied, trying to keep his voice calm, because of complications among the Teri royal family, her very presence could trigger a civil war.

Murphy’s head jerked backward as though something or someone had struck him. Huh? Come again? How could she do that?

Nomi’s father is dead. The new Teri king is her half brother. If she shows up, the new king, or his advisors, might be inclined to view it as an attempt to claim the throne. It could lead to violence. I might be forced to kill the king or other Teri people to protect her. And that would adversely affect my mission.

Murphy’s face softened. I see. He scanned the list of equipment. I see you have the new liquid armor combat fatigues. They’re incredibly expensive. How did you get purchase approval? I don’t recall signing off on anything like that.

Harris felt his neck muscles tense, and his nostrils flare from his recently acquired aquiline nose—thanks to a parachuting mishap. "Your directive specified that teams were to submit their needs list for a mission six months if operational funds were required for development or purchase of equipment, and two months if NO funding was required. I submitted my lists last November. Colonel Bremmer asked me about the cost, and I told him that Nomi was paying for everything—it would not cost the army a dime. He signed off on everything on my list. If you didn’t get copies of those equipment lists, I respectfully suggest that you ask Colonel Bremmer."

I’ll check with him, said Murphy, still seething. You’ll hear from me later on this.

Murphy took a deep breath and forced a smile. I see that these new fatigues are equipped with scan cameras with map projection, thermal sensors, and heat control, digital camouflage, and liquid armor in the sleeves and pants. And the boots also have liquid armor. I advise you not to go swimming in these. You’ll sink like a rock.

Harris winked. If we sink to the bottom of the Nile, then we’ll run like hell for shore.

Murphy laughed. Harris always deflected his anger with humor. But it was more for his own sake; Harris did not want to go on a mission angry. His men and their families were dying, and he knew that he would need a clear head.

All your vehicles are armored too? Why do you need so much armor for an era before explosives? asked Murphy.

Nomi had a premonition. She says that we will need everything. The Egyptian-style boats were built specially for this mission so that we won’t have to get new ones when we enter Egypt. In fact, we may not even have to stop at Elephantine. We can keep right on going.

Murphy signed the bottom of the list. I’ll approve everything. But keep me informed on all equipment that you’re taking, no matter who’s paying for it.

With all due respect, sir, I went through proper channels. If there’s a glitch, please take it up with your staff. But we’re about to shove off. Why this review now?

"I need to evaluate the impact of your presence on the past. As your commanding general, I’m responsible for your welfare and for supporting the success of your mission. So I wonder, for example, why you selected the XM-109 sniper rifle for yourself and Armalite’s AR-10 for your men. As you know, the army is now replacing the M-16 and M-4 with the Barrett M468."

I want one .50-caliber long-range rifle with enough fire power to stop anyone or anything. I needed the BAR on the first mission to stop a charging bull elephant. The Barrett M469 comes in retrofit model only. They need to be fitted into the stock of an existing M-16 or M-4. My men discarded their M-4s when they ran out of ammo. The Armalite AR-10s fire .308-caliber short magnums. Better for bringing down an animal or a man. Hunters use it.

Murphy shook his head and handed a file to Harris. Momagattu Akintunde. Benedict Akintunde’s nephew. He’ll be your Kenyan liaison.

A slim muscular black man of average height opened the humvee door and climbed inside. I’m Momagattu. I believe that you knew my uncle Benedict.

Delighted. Forgive me, but time is short; and right now we need a GEOPOS position check to verify our position on both sides of the gate.

As Akintunde busied himself with the GEOPOS, he broke out a candy bar and began to eat.

Are you ready for the time gate? asked Murphy.

Not really. No one is ready for something like that. It is an indescribable experience. If it was not for the messages from Roundtree, I don’t think I could do it again.

You have additional medical supplies for Dr. Walsh—including several cases of scotch, food, Bedouin tents and clothing, makeup kit, bolts of cloth, C4, a laptop computer, high-powered radio with directional antenna, and a generator. You have everything but the kitchen sink.

Why no kitchen sink?

No room. Murphy extended a brown hand. Good luck. I’ll check into the misunderstanding.

Harris shook Murphy’s hand. By the way, how large is the time shift zone this time?

No one knows for sure. I’m pulling everyone back two miles. We do not want to go with you—especially if people are being killed.

Murphy returned Harris’s salute then got into his humvee and sped away. Harris turned to Akintunde. Do you have those coordinates? The time gate will be here any minute.

The young Kenyan said, I have thirty-seven degrees, twenty-one minutes, ten seconds east; one degree, fifty-seven minutes, two seconds south. Can you tell me what my uncle was like? He died before I was born.

We’ll talk later. It’s too late now, but you really should not eat anything so soon before the time shift. Brace yourself. It is approaching from the east.

What is it like?

Harris said, Imagine the largest, biggest roller coaster in the world. Then multiply that by ten. You’re still not close to what it’s like.

A faint glow appeared on the horizon, widening and spreading across the land until the sun appeared, first as a sliver, and then larger with every passing moment. Harris returned the mike to its clamp and gripped the steering wheel as he called into his lip mike: Everyone—brace yourselves.

It was suddenly warm in the humvee, so Harris rolled his window down. He glanced up as a huge black finger raced down from the sky and enveloped the four vehicles. HOLD ON, he yelled.

The words were torn from his mouth as the black funnel engulfed the humvees in a maelstrom of swirling blackness. Harris gripped the door handle as well as the steering wheel as the humvee shot forward to slam him deep into his seat. The roar grew deafening; soon Harris could not hear his own thoughts. He was gripped by the sensation of speed, pushed further and further back into his seat. His cheeks flattened. His facial flesh oozed toward his ears. He felt like an astronaut blasting off; but when he looked down at his hands, they were invisible in the blackness.

The feeling of acceleration gave way to a floating sensation. Still surrounded by a sea of Stygian darkness, his mind wandered to trying to picture a reunion with his blood brother.

Since returning from the other dimension, Harris had put his former fiancé, Morning Star, Roundtree’s cousin, behind him. He had made a new life with Nomi but wondered now if Roundtree still had hard feelings about Harris and Morning Star. The blood brothers had never had time to talk about Morning Star or the Dear John letter she had left him when she walked out. But Harris could never forget his last glimpse of Roundtree, a look of pain and hurt on his face as Egyptian soldiers surrounded Roundtree; and Harris had made a desperate dash for the riverside quay on his boat. Was Roundtree angry for not attempting to rescue him? For choosing a different route over Roundtree’s protest?

After what felt like eons, the blackness dissolved into a deep indigo. Forward motion was arrested so fast that Harris was slammed against his seatbelt, bruising his chest and almost suffocating him. The deep indigo lightened to azure then vanished. Harris shut his eyes against the brilliant African sun and donned sunglasses. When he opened his eyes, he saw that the hill was still in front of him. Everything appeared the same—the hill, the tall grass of the veldt, the clumps of trees.

He sat back and looked around. Their humvees and trucks were the only traces of man. The rest was nature.

Shaking his head to dispel the dizziness, Harris caught a glimpse of Akintunde barfing out his window. Harris pulled a pink bottle of Pepto-Bismol from a leg pocket and handed it to Akintunde. This is why I skipped dinner and breakfast. And welcome to the year 3980 BC. When your stomach settles down, run another GEOPOS position check. Before we head out, we must be certain that our geographical position is the same—and if our new satellite checks out. This may be a very dangerous mission. There will be times when you may wish that you had stayed home.

Two

Harris stood, stretching his muscles. One inch under seven feet tall, his 245-pound frame was cramped from sitting in the humvee for most of the night. The warm sun felt good on his aching muscles.

Colonel Harris, there is a Dr. Walsh on the radio for you, said Akintunde.

Harris slid back into the driver’s seat. "Call me ‘John.’ We do not