Project Far Reach

Prologue

Prologue

1982

The blistering sun baked down on Chisi Island, a jungle island right in the middle of Lake Chilwa. It was the last place any one with sense wanted to be. Drops of rain splashed loudly and continuously on tropical foliage, mixing with the chirping of birds and the buzzing of innumerable flies and mosquitoes.

“Private” Jason Hallow, a twenty-six year old Japanese-American, sat waiting for the other members of his squad to return. The long wait had been especially hard since strict radio silence was necessary this far into enemy territory.

He was nearly invisible from his position with high palm thickets on all sides and the fallen trunk of a Mchenga tree leaning over him. The swampy smell of decaying vegetation and wet tree bark filled his nostrils. It was his second year as a Navy Seal, and so far it was making his first year look downright uneventful. Private was the youngest man on the mission. His team had been hand picked by the Director of the CIA.

Their orders were simple: track down an experimental weapon and retrieve it. The weapon used microwave radiation concentrated into a narrow beam to destroy targets. It had been developed in a top secret experimental weapons facility in France. Known only as the microwave emitter, it's twin dishes fired lethal radiation at the speed of light. It could annihilate anything line of sight would permit--instantly. Aside from the Seal Team, and the Director's Office at the CIA, the existence of the weapon was virtually unknown.

Within twenty-four hours of the theft, the CIA identified one of the terrorists involved as an employee of Sunsor Securities. Sunsor, a first class civilian defense company based in Detroit, had on staff a small army that did independent jobs for various governments and apparently terrorists also.

Although vowing to help France recover their weapon, the Director of the CIA had an agenda of his own. The Team was certain that the US wasn't going to give up this weapon if they got their hands on it. It would be locked up tighter than the aliens at AREA 51.

Oh well, he thought, orders are orders. The Seal decided there was nothing he could really do about it. What's one more weapon in uncle Sam's arsenal?

Sweat trickled down Jason's brow and dripped into his eyes; stinging like hell. He took a second to wipe the irritating liquid from his face. He then cautiously reached over and scratched the arm that had been itching for quite some time. He sighed in relief, but was still very uncomfortable. Times like these made him question why he was out here. Jason couldn't help but contemplate what he was going to do if his team didn't return. He shuddered at the thought then shook it off. They were professionals and all more experienced than him at this type of thing. Just relax, he thought, they're coming back.

He took a deep breath to regain his composure and once again returned his concentrated gaze to the muddy path. It was amazing, really, that the rebels actually used this to drive cars on. Being in one of the poorest shit holes in East Africa, he could understand why no one would fix it. To him it wasn't worthy of a horse to traverse. Oh well, he thought, if he could make it out of Malawi without getting eaten by crocodiles or catching Malaria, he'd be doing good.

The jungle picked that moment to produce a noise that sent goose bumps down his spine and his eyes racing to find what had caused it. At first he thought it was a gunshot, but a repetition of the sound a minute later identified it as the backfire of an automobile of some kind. As it drew closer, the hum of the engine became distinctly audible to Jason's ears.

Jason was now frozen to his rifle. He shifted his weight to his right knee and re-gripped his weapon. He would hate to have to fire without his team being here. Hopefully, he thought, they wouldn't have dogs to flush him out of his hole.