The fourth casualty had been hit in the face right after they made a run for the edge of the forest. The helicopter gun-run had done nothing to cover their movement. All of the gunfire had been focused deeper in the forest despite his request for a barrage about a hundred yards inside the southern wood line. Ecker was surprised they hadn’t been hit harder during the move. Maybe the helicopter distracted the defenders. Small consolation. He was down to eleven operators, hardly enough to break through this line without a small miracle.
“Valkyrie, this is Ajax. Over,” said his least favorite person in the world right now.
“Ajax, send it,” he said, purposely being abrupt.
He didn’t have time for Archer’s shit right now, unless she was ready to order an immediate retreat.
“Status report,” said Archer. “I’m circling around for another gun run.”
“Four KIA,” said Ecker. “Not making any progress.”
He considered trying to direct the next gun against the defensive line in front of him, but killed the idea just as quickly. The M134 wasn’t exactly a precision weapon system, and the enemy skirmish line couldn’t be more than a hundred yards away. If the helicopter squadron had been a military special operations outfit, he’d consider it, but they looked more like a hastily assembled mercenary group. Ex-military no doubt, but not the kind of crew with the kind of extensive training found in a unit like the Night Stalkers. If anything, he was going to talk her out of using the miniguns close to Valkyrie group.
“What’s your assessment of the hostiles?” said Archer.
“Competent. Unbreakable,” said Ecker. “I don’t see us getting anywhere right now.”
“I meant useful information, like numbers and disposition. Who are they? National Guard?”
Disposition? How about extremely pissed—because you minigunned the fuck out of them for no reason. Ecker removed a small pair of binoculars from a pouch attached to his vest and eased them slowly around the side of the tree, finding one of the defenders on the far left flank. He was dressed in a grayscale uniform, with a black tactical vest and a high-cut ballistic helmet, firing an M4-style rifle. Definitely not National Guard. More like private security, but from where?
A bullet hit the tree inches from the binoculars, causing him to recoil. Damn. They’d put accurate fire on him immediately. He wouldn’t be surprised if this was a one-on-one situation, with a defensive shooter covering each of them. If that was the case, they were screwed. They wouldn’t be able to move forward without suffering severe casualties. Retreating wouldn’t be much better at this point. They were more or less stuck here for now.
Ecker tried the other side of the tree, seeing a lone figure in the distance past the skirmish line. At least two bullets skipped off the bark next to his binoculars, one of them grazing his helmet. Yep. They weren’t going anywhere. He stuffed the binoculars back into his vest and switched to a left-hand rifle grip. Out of frustration more than anything, he leaned a few inches around the side of the tree and searched for the exposed target he’d seen moments ago. He found the figure again, half blocked by a tree, and snapped off a shot before he was driven back into cover by gunfire.
“Valkyrie, I’m waiting for your report,” said Archer.
“Sorry. We’re a little busy down here,” said Ecker. “This isn’t National Guard. Some kind of private security team. Well equipped. I can’t get a full count without losing my head, but I’d estimate a dozen or so. I don’t see any way to break through this without considerable losses.”
“What do you need from me to make this happen?” said Archer. “I have three heavily armed helicopters at my disposal. I have a hard time accepting that we can’t break through a dozen security guards.”
She was more or less right. They could run all three helicopters down the road, firing into the forest as they passed, with some kind of smoke marker to identify friendly lines. It would probably be enough to get his operators back into the cornfields, where they could safely wait for the helicopters to coordinate some kind of direct attack on the security team hiding behind the trees.
He was about to respond to Archer when he thought about what he’d seen from the helicopter. There was no doubt in his mind that he’d seen a parent pulling a child—before the minigun turned the forest into a mess of upended dirt and falling leaves. Did he really want to help her round up a bunch of civilians and dispose of them like trash? She’d shown zero remorse about that possibility—or any indication she cared about anything but accomplishing whatever bizarre mission she had been tasked to execute. Ecker was fairly certain she hadn’t shared more than a fraction of what she knew with him. He was absolutely sure she’d sacrifice Valkyrie without hesitation.
A brief scream broke through the gunfire, followed by a report over the ground net.
“Matt’s down! Took one in the neck!” said Koger, one of his team leaders. “He’s bleeding out fast.”
“I’m on it,” said D-Bird, shifting behind a tree to Ecker’s right.
No way he was going to make it twenty-five yards in this shit.
“Negative!” said Ecker. “Harry is closer.”
“On my way,” said Harry.
The level of gunfire intensified, followed immediately by a desperate transmission.
“Motherfucker! I’m hit,” said Harry. “I’m all right, but I ain’t going anywhere. They hit me as soon as I broke cover. Fuck—this hurts!”
“Stay where you are,” said Ecker, switching radio nets.
He had to get his team out of here, and the only way that was going to happen was with air support. He’d limit it to the shooters and hope for the best after that.
“Ajax, this is Valkyrie. We have two more casualties. One critical. One stable,” said Ecker. “I’m going to mark my position—”
Ecker’s world collapsed into a seemingly unending series of deafening blasts and vision-scattering flashes that left him completely disoriented. By the time he started to regain the smallest measure of situational awareness, he found himself standing—facing the cornstalks. Before he could react to the change in scenery, he was knocked flat on his back by a hammer blow to his left shoulder. He tried to sit up, but was held down by a weight he couldn’t overcome. A muffled voice yelled in his ear.
“Stay down!” yelled Horton. “You were about to do a handstand in the open.”
“What happened?” said Ecker.
“They flash-banged your ass,” said Horton.
“Nobody can throw that far.”
“Grenade launcher,” said Horton. “Can I get off you now? You aren’t going to stand up again?”
“I’m good. You saved my ass again,” said Ecker, realizing he was yelling.
“What else is new?” said Horton, patting his arm and sliding off his chest.
“What kind of grenade launcher? I’ve been flash-banged before. That was like an atomic bomb going off,” said Ecker.
“Probably a variation of the MK32. I heard several thumps—then you vanished in a series of explosions. Two of the grenades hit trees before they reached you. Caused a shit storm out there.”
“Good thing they weren’t real grenades,” said Ecker. “Kind of have to wonder who the hell these people are?”
“I’m thinking police of some sort,” said Horton. “Departments use grenade launchers for riot control. They obviously don’t have high-explosive rounds, or they would have used those.”
“This is fucking ridiculous. We’ll never—” started Ecker, suddenly remembering he’d been in the middle of a conversation with Archer when his world exploded.
He pressed the transmit button, but didn’t hear the radio squelch that usually followed. Something wasn’t right. He felt under his helmet, finding the earpiece missing. A quick trace along his neck solved the problem. The piece had been knocked loose during the mayhem of several flash-bangs detonating around him. He pushed the earpiece back in his ear and was immediately treated to Archer’s tirade.
“Da
mmit, Valkyrie. Respond!”
“We’re as good as done here!” said Ecker. “They’re using grenades on us.”
“Then use them back!” she said. “And quit yelling at me.”
“We don’t have any grenades!” he said. “I have two smoke grenades.”
“How fucking hard can this be?” she said, pausing for a moment. “Hold on. I just got a report that a police car is approaching the helicopters on Route 3, from the south. I’m headed over to block the road.”
“With a helicopter?” he said, inadvertently transmitting.
“What’s going on?” said Horton.
“There’s a police car headed toward the helicopters,” said Ecker.
“The helicopters are still on the ground?”
“Apparently. Archer is headed over to stop them.”
“Stop the police?” said Horton. “What the fuck?”
“I don’t know. This whole op is falling apart.”
“If she miniguns the cops, I’m taking her out myself,” said Horton.
“There’s no way she’ll do that,” said Ecker.
Archer’s helicopter roared overhead at treetop level, headed south in a hurry.
“You sure about that?” said Horton.
Ecker shook his head and muttered a few curses, making sure none of them went out over the net. When the sound of the Black Hawk’s rotors and engine whine started to fade, the forest got quiet.
“Is anyone still shooting?” he said before turning his head in both directions to check on his line.
“Doesn’t sound like it,” said Horton. “What’s the point?”
“Koger, you still out there?” said Ecker.
“Affirmative. Just conserving ammo,” said the team leader. “Matt is KIA. Harry needs medical attention.”
He didn’t bother contacting Chad. Half of his team got snuffed in the cornfield. The rest of them went down trying to get to the trees. Chad had quit responding soon after that.
“Understood,” said Ecker. “Shaw? What’s your status?”
“Team is still up,” she said. “But we’ve burned through most of our ammo. Down to a few mags each.”
“Copy,” said Ecker, taking a deep breath. “They aren’t firing either.”
“No reason to waste ammo on us. We’re pinned down.”
“I have two red phosphorus grenades for aircraft signaling,” said Ecker. “We’ll use one to cover our retreat. The other to cover Shaw’s retreat. We’ll regroup in the cornfield and figure out what’s next.”
“What about Koger’s team?”
“They’ll have to sit tight,” said Ecker, “until we come up with something.”
Chapter 12
Larsen gripped the door handle to hold himself in place as the Interceptor suddenly decelerated. It was the only thing in the backseat area he could grab. The vehicle’s rear passenger area was featureless except for the seat belts he’d been told would “hinder what needed to be done.” He still didn’t know what that meant, though he suspected it had something to do with the grenade launcher on the seat next to him.
“Prep your AT4 for immediate use,” said Rich.
“Against what?” said Larsen, answering his own question with a quick glance through the front windshield. “Jesus.”
The SUV rolled slowly toward an unmarked Black Hawk helicopter hovering about twenty feet above the road a few hundred feet ahead. Roughly a hundred yards beyond the menacing black machine, two more helicopters sat on the road in a growing cloud of dust.
“Shit. We don’t have a wide margin here,” said Rich. “Looks like the other helos are dusting off. This is going to be a quick stop. Aim for the back of the cockpit.”
Larsen cocked the launcher by pushing the ridiculously flimsy lever forward and to the right, letting it slide back into place. That was it. He’d already opened the front and rear sights, not that he’d really be using them, and had extended the shoulder stop. All he had to do now was acquire the target and press the red trigger button. Easier said than done in his case. The M136 AT4 rocket launcher could only be fired right-handed, and he was on the left side of the vehicle.
“Don’t worry about making this simultaneous,” said Rich. “Speed is more important. I’m sending my rocket right at the minigun station for obvious reasons. Get ready to stop.”
“Ready when you’re ready,” said the driver.
“Two. One. Stop,” said Rich.
Larsen threw the door open the moment the brakes squeaked. Before his feet hit the road, the back blast from Rich’s AT4 shook the SUV. He steadied the rocket launcher against the window frame and found his target, which was already moving laterally in a futile attempt to escape the first incoming rocket. He aimed just ahead of the Black Hawk’s nose and pressed the trigger. The launcher jolted, firing the 84mm rocket in a near perfect flat trajectory toward the helicopter. Keeping his eyes on the helicopter, he tossed the disposable launcher out of the way. His rocket struck the middle of the cockpit and detonated with a sickening crunch; the helicopter immediately spun over the cornfield to the left of the road—trailing thick black smoke. He had no idea what had happened to Rich’s rocket.
“Let’s go!” said Rich, jarring him into action.
He pulled the door shut. “I’m in. Go!”
The Interceptor lurched forward, its turbocharged engine rocketing them toward the slowly rising helicopters ahead.
“It’s all you, Eric,” said Rich. “We’ll take them down on our left side. Fire as soon as you have a shot.”
Larsen grumbled, lifting the hefty grenade launcher from the seat. He was familiar with the weapon system, having trained on it a few times during his active-duty days. It was about as simple as it gets. Six 40mm grenades held in a revolving cylinder, firing about as fast as he could pull the trigger. The SUV increased speed and pulled onto the right shoulder of the road, slipping onto the dusty patch of ground next to the cornfield a moment later.
“Got one spinning in place! Trying to get its gun on us,” said Rich.
“I’m on it!” said Larsen, leaning out the window with the launcher.
Sticks and rocks lashed his hands and face, spit up from the vehicle’s front tires. He flipped the safety switch and found the first helicopter through the launcher’s reflex sight. The Black Hawk had spun forty-five degrees to the left, partially exposing the port-side gun. Larsen adjusted his aim and pressed the trigger, barely feeling its light recoil as the 40mm grenade sailed in a lazy arc toward the gunner’s station. Before it struck, he fired again. His third shot was aimed at the tail rotor. If he could significantly damage that critical rotor, the helicopter would be out of the fight.
The rounds impacted in rapid succession, pounding the hull around the gunner and striking near the tail rotor. He didn’t have time to make a solid assessment of the damage before the second helicopter appeared behind the first, nose tilted down in an attempt to put distance between itself and the SUV. Larsen did his best to judge the rapidly opening distance and fired two high-explosive grenades at the tail rotor.
The first sailed past the tail and struck near the right-side exhaust, detonating harmlessly. The second struck the tail rotor assembly, immediately scrambling it. Without thinking, he shifted the launcher left and reacquired the first helicopter just as the starboard side came into view. He fired the last grenade into the troop compartment, hoping it would be enough to prevent the starboard-side gunner from firing at them. The gambit appeared to work. They sped past the struggling pair of helicopters without being riddled with bullets.
“Nice shooting!” said Rich, pulling himself down from the window, back into the front passenger seat. “Drive across the road and into the cornfield. I don’t want one of those gunners getting lucky. Buckle up, Eric!”
The Interceptor veered across the road, throwing him across the seats. He scrambled to buckle himself into the rightmost seat, which was essentially a plastic mold of a very uncomfortable seat. Prisoner comfort was clearly not a
priority in this design. Larsen clicked his seat belt in place moments before the SUV caught air leaving the opposite side of the road—and slammed into the cornstalks.
Larsen thought the Interceptor would grind to a halt inside the cornfield, but it kept piling through the stalks, showing no signs of stopping.
“Can you see what’s going on with the helicopters?” said Rich.
He peered through the rear compartment windows, not daring to stick his head out the window. His view of the sky was blocked by the cornstalks.
“I can’t see anything,” said Larsen.
“Copy that,” said Rich, switching over to his tactical net. “Rico, what are you seeing? Are we good?”
A few seconds later, he turned in his seat. “All three are headed for emergency landings. Take us back to the road. That was impressive, Eric. I have a job for you when this is over.”
“I’ll pass for now,” said Larsen. “What happened to your rocket?”
“Sailed right through the compartment. Never saw anything like it,” said Rich. “Good thing you knew what you were doing. I thought you’d miss completely.”
“So did I,” said Larsen, lowering his voice to a mumble. “So did I.”
Chapter 13
Gary Hoenig sat against the thick tree trunk and took short, rapid breaths to keep his lungs from seizing up. Less than a minute ago, he’d taken a bullet square in his chest plate, knocking the wind out of him and flattening him on the forest floor. Someone had taught him an invaluable lesson. He’d gotten a little careless with his cover and concealment. He was still reeling from the sledgehammer blow when Mitch went to work with the grenade launcher. The forest had gotten eerily quiet after that.
“Fitz, you there?” said Hoenig.
“I’m here. What happened to you? Saw you on your way; then you were gone,” said Fitzgerald.
“Took one right in the chest,” said Hoenig. “The plate stopped it. I’m good. Just catching my breath. What’s going on out there? Did they retreat?”
The Zulu Virus Chronicles Boxset (Books 1-3) Page 66
