“We’ll get moving—” he started, realizing the call had been disconnected.
“That sounded interesting,” said Ragan.
“Don’t get too excited,” said Larsen. “Whatever he has planned, we’re the bait.”
“Who’s the bait?” said David, appearing between the cornstalks with Joshua.
“I got us a ride out of here,” said Larsen.
“You didn’t answer my question,” said David.
“There’s been a slight change of plans,” said Larsen.
“Slight?” said David. “Sounds a little bigger than that.”
“Nothing has changed for you and Joshua,” said Larsen. “Or the Harpers.”
“What about you?” said David before glancing at Ragan and McDermott. “And them?”
“If the opportunity arises, we’re going to help Rich and his crew with something,” said Larsen.
“Something?”
“Something risky,” said Larsen. “Something that involves going after my employer.”
“Let’s circle back to the bait thing,” said David. “How exactly does that work?”
“I don’t know,” said Larsen. “I think this is more of a fluid plan than a solid one.”
David shook his head. “Joshua, grab the Harpers. They should stick with us for now. At least until this plan takes a little more shape.”
Joshua started to leave, but Larsen stopped him.
“Maybe you should hold off on heading to the hospital,” said Larsen. “Until Rich gets here. They can drive you into town really fast if that’s what becomes necessary. It’s going to take you close to a half hour to get there on foot, anyway. I hate to say this, but whatever’s going to happen to the people in the forest will be over by the time you get there.”
“We have to try something,” said David. “Even if we can’t make a difference for the people in the forest, we can at least keep them from sweeping us away with those miniguns. We need to get some witnesses out there.”
He raised the satellite phone. “I’ll call this Terrence guy back and tell him to look for your group on the side of the road. They can run you to the hospital before coming here for the rest of us.”
“Fair enough,” said David, nodding at his son. “Get the Harpers ready to move.”
Larsen scanned the blue skies to the north, wondering if this whole thing hadn’t been a false alarm. The rotor blade noise had decreased. The helicopters were moving away from them. The real question was whether the helicopters were headed away from the forest. He imagined they’d find out soon enough.
Chapter 6
Frank Ecker tightened the chinstrap of his ballistic helmet and pulled his tactical goggles into place. Archer was about to throw his team into another high-risk situation. Larsen’s ID card had been swiped in the middle of nowhere about forty miles from Indianapolis—by a National Guard unit. None of it made any sense, but Archer really wanted Larsen, so here he was, preparing to fast rope into rural Indiana. His earpiece came to life as the helicopter slowed.
“Coming up on the coordinates, ma’am. Looks like it’s right on top of the road,” said one of the pilots. “You want us above or below the canopy line for the team deployment?”
Above. Please, he thought. If Larsen was somehow still around, which he doubted very much, he’d be in the forest. If they dropped to the road from a position below the canopy, Larsen, an experienced Special Forces operator, could get the drop on his team. They were extremely vulnerable while mounting the rope in the helicopter. Sitting ducks was a better description. Deploying above canopy level would keep his team out of sight until they were already sliding down the rope. They’d still be somewhat exposed, especially against someone with Larsen’s experience, but the exposure would be minimized under the circumstances.
“Below the canopy line,” stated Archer. “So you can use the infrared pod.”
“Ma’am,” said Ecker, “I recommend we deploy above the canopy level. They can drop down and scan the forest once we’re on the ground. It’s safer that way for everyone.”
“I’m not wasting time hauling up a rope and recovering your team if there’s nothing out there,” said Archer.
There was no point to continuing the discussion. Once Archer made up her mind, she never changed it, especially if the change questioned her tactical acumen.
“Copy that, ma’am,” said Ecker before grabbing one of the straps above to pull himself to his feet.
“Ten seconds,” announced the pilot.
The Black Hawk’s crew chief moved into position next to the one-and-three-quarter-inch-thick, sixty-pound coiled rope next to the port-side cargo hatch. The rope was already attached to a cabin anchor bar extending a foot beyond the door. He followed the crew chief, kneeling behind the massive rope. When given the signal, he’d muscle the rope over the side and wait for it to hit the ground before deploying his team. He’d be the first down the rope, followed by Weatherman. D-Bird and Horton would bring up the rear.
“Five seconds.”
His team assembled around him, a quick check confirming that they were ready, goggles on and rifles stowed along their sides.
“I want Larsen alive if possible,” said Archer.
Ecker glanced at her and nodded his acknowledgment of the most ridiculous thing he’d heard since they were activated twenty hours ago. Alive? Sure. If they caught him with his pants down, taking a dump—without his rifle.
“In position,” said the pilot. “Taking us down.”
The Black Hawk dropped several feet below the bulk of the dense canopy, exposing him to a sea of tree trunks and bushes. The helicopter lingered in place for several seconds before edging forward.
“I have several heat signatures in the forest. One hundred yards out. Most of them are packed into one area,” said the copilot.
Ecker stared into the woods, trying not to shake his head in front of Archer. A few bushes stood between his face and a sniper bullet at this point.
“People?” said Archer.
“I can’t tell,” said the copilot. “I’m just getting quick glimpses. Definitely something more than a few squirrels out there.”
“Let’s shake things up out there,” said Archer. “Port-side minigun. Hit that area with a long burst.”
Ecker turned his head toward the minigun located behind the cockpit, locking eyes with the gunner.
“Ma’am?” said the gunner, shaking his head at Ecker.
Yeah. It was a bad idea—but that was par for the course when you were flying around with Archer. This kid obviously hadn’t been brought up to speed.
“I want a long burst focused a hundred yards into the forest,” said Archer. “Is that going to be a problem?”
“Negative,” said the gunner, shifting his body directly behind the minigun.
A moment later, the M134 minigun’s six barrels started to spin.
“Really bad idea,” he mumbled incoherently.
Chapter 7
Gary Hoenig pressed against Roscoe behind the thick tree trunk, trying to present the smallest target possible for the helicopter gunner. He was past the point of hoping the group hadn’t been spotted. The small black sphere-shaped object attached to the Black Hawk’s nose was a forward-looking infrared radar sensor. Unless the sensor operator was blind, there was no way they had gone unnoticed.
“Hope you don’t mind,” said Hoenig, edging his rifle around the side of the tree.
“You can crawl on top of me if you think it’ll help. We’re all friends here,” said Roscoe, his eye pressed to the sniper scope attached to his M2010 Enhanced Sniper Rifle (ESR).
“What are you seeing?” said Hoenig, unable to get a clear picture through his ACOG sight.
“Looks like they’re getting ready to fast rope,” said Roscoe.
“Shit. That’s not good,” said Hoenig.
“Not at all,” said Roscoe. “You want me to convince them otherwise?”
“No. The last thing I want to do is
provoke them,” said Hoenig. “If they put people on the ground, maybe we can show them we’re not part of whatever—”
A panicked voice in his earpiece interrupted the thought.
“Minigun is spinning!”
“What the fuck?” said Hoenig, searching for the gun hatch through his sight.
The reticle settled on the gun just in time to see it start firing. He pulled his head behind the tree as a barrage of 7.62 mm bullets pounded the trunk in front of him and swept the ground inches from his partially exposed body. The rattle of bullets snapping past his head drowned out the sound of disintegrating wood. Before he could react, the maelstrom of bullets swept to his right, slamming into the trees shielding the survivors.
The people screamed as a torrent of metal projectiles splintered the downed trunks and upright trees protecting them. Like a gale-force wind, the bullets instantly cleared away the bushes concealing them, ricocheting in every direction when they struck the trees above them. The sickening cries for help that punctuated the gunfire told Hoenig that the ricochets were hitting the civilians. It was only a matter of moments before some of them panicked and tried to make a run for it, directly exposing them to a gun capable of firing close to a hundred bullets per second. They had to do something.
“Roscoe,” yelled Hoenig, “can you take out the gunner?”
Not getting a response right away, he turned onto his side and elbowed Roscoe.
“I need some sniper fire!”
Nothing. Shit. Hoenig craned his head to check on Roscoe, immediately seeing the problem. The back of his friend’s head was gone. He didn’t linger on the sight, instead reaching over Roscoe’s shoulder and grabbing the sniper rifle. Without thinking, he shoved his own rifle out of the way and pressed his new weapon against the trunk of the tree, settling in behind the scope. The minigun had gone silent by the time he’d centered the reticle on the gunner’s upper chest.
Chapter 8
Ecker couldn’t believe what he’d just witnessed. The gunner must have fired a third of his M134’s two-thousand-round ammunition canister into the forest. The minigun’s rotating barrels smoked as they came to a stop. He couldn’t see the direct results of the several-second barrage from his position in the troop compartment, but he had no doubt it had been devastating on whoever, or whatever, had been concealed by the trees. Movement deep in the woods grabbed his attention. Something had just bolted from the area the minigun had just pulverized. Between the tree trunks, he caught a glimpse of a human figure pulling a smaller figure along.
“Ma’am, I have two heat signatures on the move. Human signatures. I also have a lot of partially concealed movement low to the ground in the target area. We could have thirty or forty people out there,” said the copilot. He turned to Archer. “Looks like a parent pulling a kid along.”
She glared at him for a moment before speaking over the internal net. “Can you better identify the two heat signatures? Adult? Child?”
“Negative. They stopped behind a tree. I can see a part of one of them, but that’s it.”
“Hit them again,” said Archer. “I’m not taking any chances.”
“I saw a kid,” said Ecker, his hand drifting toward the trigger of his rifle.
He had no intention of letting Archer pound that group again with several hundred bullets. A quick glance at Weatherman, who was closest to Archer, confirmed that his teammate was on the same page. The operator had already drawn his pistol, keeping it hidden from her view along his left leg. Ecker turned his head to observe the gunner, praying that he wouldn’t have to shoot the guy.
“Hit them again,” she said.
Shit. Ecker started to move his rifle across his body when the gunner suddenly lurched backward, slamming into the starboard-side gunner directly behind him. A thick, bright red spray erupted from his neck, hitting the gray bulkhead next to his vacant gun. Before he could react, a bullet snapped past his head, followed immediately by a series of metallic thunks against the helicopter’s hull.
“Taking fire! Taking fire!” yelled Ecker, turning to Archer. “Get us the fuck out of here!”
Archer appeared frozen in place on her seat, staring blankly past him at the grisly scene in the gunner’s station. A bullet passed through the mesh material a few inches from her head, striking the metal bulkhead directly behind the seat. She didn’t react to the impact.
“Ma’am! We need to get above the tree line!” said Ecker, shaking her leg.
She grabbed the tablet velcroed in place on her thigh, like he was trying to steal it. He was half tempted to rip it off her leg and toss it out the door, hoping she’d jump after it. A bullet zipped across his arm, tearing the sleeve of his shirt and leaving a red line across his forearm. He yanked it back instinctively and grimaced.
A heavy thump next to him drew his attention away from the superficial wound. Weatherman writhed on the steel deck, grasping his right shoulder. D-Bird was on him immediately as more bullets snapped through the air around them and ricocheted off the metal interior. Archer was still shell-shocked.
“Pilot, Archer is out of commission. Get us out of here,” said Ecker.
“Copy that,” said the pilot, the helicopter rising before he finished his short reply.
A few seconds later, the helicopter was above the trees, nose tilted downward as they rapidly picked up speed.
“What the hell are you doing?” said Archer, like the past twenty seconds didn’t exist.
“We have multiple casualties requiring immediate medical attention,” said Ecker.
She glanced at Weatherman, who had been propped up against the seat bench next to her, blood squirting through D-Bird’s fingers as he applied direct pressure. Without changing expression, she leaned to the left and took in the scene behind him. Horton and the other gunner crouched over the fatally injured crewmember, trying unsuccessfully to stop his severe blood loss. His teammate tore a hemostatic gauze pack open, jamming it against the man’s neck, the red blood spray still finding a way through. Horton looked at him and shook his head.
“There’s nothing we can do for that one,” said Archer before nodding at Weatherman. “And he’ll be fine. Pilot, set us down on the road, out of sight of the forest.”
“Understood, ma’am,” said the pilot. “There’s a slight dip in the road ahead. Should be enough to break any sight lines to the helicopters. It’ll be out of small-arms range.”
“Notify the other helicopters,” she said.
“Notifying them right now.”
Ecker grabbed D-Bird’s shoulder. “How’s he doing?”
D-Bird glared at Archer, who briefly looked uncomfortable. “He’ll be fine. Bullet passed through just above his collarbone. Tore the fuck out of his trapezius muscle. I’m sedating him.”
He nodded at Weatherman, who snarled at the pain. “How you doing, bro?”
“Hurts like a mother,” he muttered through his teeth.
“I’m taking away the pain,” said D-Bird, hitting him with a morphine injector in the shoulder.
Ecker felt the helicopter descend.
“What’s the plan, ma’am?” said Ecker.
“You’re going to lead the teams into that forest and neutralize any resistance,” said Archer.
“That was pretty accurate fire from the forest. I’m wondering if some of Major Smith’s National Guardsmen might still be around.”
“Or Larsen,” said Archer.
“That wasn’t Larsen, ma’am. That was coordinated fire. Accurate fire,” said Ecker. “I think we might want to give this one a pass. Let the National Guard take care of it. This could be a pocket of deserters. Smith brought his vehicles out here for a reason. The nearest Guard outpost is Greenfield.”
“I have another group going to check out Smith,” said Archer. “Larsen’s card was swiped here. It’s not a coincidence.”
“I think it would be safer to start with Major Smith,” said Ecker. “We’re at a significant disadvantage.”
“Four
teams working with air support will be more than enough,” said Archer.
“Maybe,” he said. “Maybe not.”
“I guess we’ll see what the Valkyrie group is made of,” said Archer.
Ecker didn’t respond. She had no idea what she was talking about. The shooters in the forest started with a distinct advantage over his crew. If they knew even the most basic aspects of defending a wooded position, that advantage was doubled. If any of Major Smith’s soldiers were out there, Valkyrie group had little hope of success. She was sending them into a slaughter.
Chapter 9
David stopped and spun to face north along the side of the road. The sound had been unmistakable. Larsen had heard it, too, and was already running toward him. Damn it. They hadn’t jogged more than a few hundred yards before the helicopters had attacked Hoenig and the people in the forest.
“Call Gary,” yelled Larsen. “I’m calling Rich.”
He gave Larsen a thumbs-up and pulled out his cell phone.
“What’s happening, Dad?” said Joshua.
“Did you recognize that noise?” said David.
His son shook his head before turning to look north. Jack and Emma Harper showed no indication that they understood what had just happened either.
“That was the sound of a helicopter-mounted minigun,” said David. “The same one they used outside NevoTech. Fires close to a hundred rounds a second, and they just fired several hundred rounds at the people we just left.”
“Thank god we got out of there,” said Jack.
Emma hit him sharply in the arm. “People just got killed.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that,” said Jack.
“Hey, I feel the same way,” said David. “Larsen convinced me to leave. I wanted to stay. We all lucked out.”
He redialed Hoenig’s number and steeled himself for the worst. Gary picked up immediately.
“They killed Roscoe,” said Hoenig. “Those fuckers killed Roscoe.”
The Zulu Virus Chronicles Boxset (Books 1-3) Page 64
