“Rich, what’s your status?”
“Pinned down,” he said. “We’re able to cover the approach to the jet, but that’s about it. We can’t move, and they’re pushing the flanks.”
“Which side is more urgent?” said Larsen.
“Left.”
“Copy,” said Larsen, scooting along the roof to a new position thirty feet to his left.
He rose quickly and assessed the situation. Six night-vision-equipped security guards moved among the smoking HUMVEEs, maneuvering into a position to lock down Rich’s left flank. One of them fell to the tarmac, a victim of Captain Gresham’s soldiers, but the other five kept going. Larsen connected his rifle’s green laser to the lead guard and fired twice, rapidly acquiring the next closest target for a second double-tap.
Bullets quickly zipped overhead, a few striking the wall in front of Larsen. He ducked down and crawled about halfway back to his original position. Keep them guessing. He reemerged and found a rifleman laying down a barrage of automatic fire on Rich’s team. Two quick shots snapped his head backward, but that was all Larsen could manage before the volume of incoming fire drove him back down.
“Not sure if I’m helping,” said Larsen. “They’ve got me figured out.”
“You’re helping,” said Jeff. “Keep it coming.”
“Any sign of Cooper?” said Larsen.
“Not yet,” said Rich. “Any moment. We’re barely able to get off any effective shots. They have to make their move.”
“I’ve going to keep scooting and shooting,” said Larsen. “I need to know when Cooper makes a run for it. I may be the only chance at a shot.”
“I agree,” said Rich. “You have to hit him before he gets in the jet. We won’t have any choice but to shred that thing if he gets inside.”
“Moving again,” said Larsen, running low behind the wall to the corner of the building and rising.
Larsen fired accurately at two targets before bullets started to zip way too close for comfort. He moved again, this time popping up where he had first appeared. Several shots stopped a pair of guards trying to climb up the side of one of the HUMVEEs. The M240 machine gun in the vehicle’s turret looked mostly intact. Bullets drove him down again before he could see if any more of the security team had come up with the same idea.
“They’re trying to get the 240s into action,” said Larsen, changing rifle magazines.
“Almost all of our fire has been concentrated on stopping that,” said Rich. “Not easy from the ground.”
“I’ll work on it,” said Larsen. “What the fuck is Cooper waiting for?”
“I don’t know,” said Rich. “Smith’s drone operator has assured me that nobody has exited the building. Same with my tech team. They’re watching all of the cameras. He’s still inside.”
“That’s odd,” said Larsen, an idea hitting him. “I’m going to try something. Get ready.”
“Anything at this point,” said Rich.
Larsen shifted ten feet to his right and rose a few inches above the wall with this rifle, firing at least a dozen loosely aimed bullets at the Ajax security guards on the left flank. Return fire immediately struck the wall in front of him, and Larsen purposefully snapped backward, throwing his hands in the air and yelling. He landed on his butt, the rifle attached to his one-point sling falling with him.
Without skipping a beat, he scrambled to his knees and crawled several feet along the wall, crouching low with his rifle. The intermixed, staccato sounds of automatic and semiautomatic gunfire suddenly intensified, Rich’s voice crackling in his earpiece.
“Cooper’s on the move!” he said. “They’re popping smoke everywhere. You gotta nail his ass.”
His theatrics had worked. The security escort team had been waiting for the ground team to neutralize any rooftop threats.
“Tell me when he’s halfway to the jet,” said Larsen.
“Just fucking do it now!” said Rich. “You won’t be able to see him in a few seconds.”
Larsen stood up and leaned into the wall, bracing his elbows on the chipped cinder-block surface. Through the thickening smoke screen, he spotted Cooper immediately—the only person on the entire tarmac dressed in business casual wear. Pressed khaki pants and a blue Oxford shirt to be exact. He centered the rifle sight’s green reticle on the nape of Cooper’s neck and pressed the trigger. The guards on his left and right flanks quickly grabbed his arms when he collapsed, trying to prop him up as they continued toward the jet’s retractable staircase.
He fired another shot into Cooper’s back, knocking him loose of the guards, who quickly located Larsen’s position and fired on full automatic. Before ducking below the reinforced cinder-block wall, he saw Cooper’s CTAB tumble to the tarmac, attached to what looked like a smoke grenade. Probably something far more serious.
“Target is down,” said Larsen. “Careful with the CTAB. It may be rigged to explode. There’s something attached.”
“Cover us if you can,” said Rich. “Moving.”
“Ragan, I need you,” said Larsen.
“I’m already here. South corner of the roof,” she said. “Sounded like you needed help.”
Ragan’s rifle fired repeatedly as he moved closer to where he’d lowered Rich and his team. When Larsen looked over the side, the vehicles and jet were engulfed in a billowing cloud of white chemical smoke. He had no targets. Rich was on his own.
Chapter 40
Rich jumped down from the mangled turret and hit the rifle-brass-littered tarmac hard, his knees taking the brunt of the impact. He couldn’t see anything through the smoke, but ran straight toward where he had seen Cooper fall. A figure materialized in the noxious haze, firing upward at the roof. Rich fired a single suppressed shot at the center of his head, crumpling him to the ground. Someone grabbed his left shoulder.
“Cooper’s down. We’re fucked,” said the man, leaning in closer.
Rich angled his rifle toward the guy’s surprised face and pressed the trigger. Another figure emerged to his right, running at full speed while hip firing on full automatic. He shifted quickly and snapped off two bullets to his upper chest, tumbling him face-first to the asphalt.
“Mike One is down,” said Rico.
He didn’t pause to acknowledge or even think about it. The hostile targets moving through the swirling cloud of smoke required every bit of his attention and focus. Rich took down two more Ajax guards before he reached Cooper’s bloodied body—sprawled face-first on the tarmac. The CTAB lay next to Cooper, angled upward due to a cylinder taped underneath. Probably a thermite. He kneeled and grabbed the tablet, making sure the safety pin was still in place.
“He’s gone!” said a voice behind him. “We’re retreating to the—shit.”
Shit only meant one thing. Rich spun on his knee, drawing his pistol. They fired at roughly the same time, Rich firing his pistol from the hip at the Ajax guard, striking him a few times before the guard’s rifle bullets stitched across his chest. Rich stumbled backward over Cooper’s body, falling onto his back. He tried to get up, but collapsed back to the tarmac.
“Foxtrot down,” he said, managing the strength to activate his radio.
“No shit,” said a familiar voice appearing through the smoke. “Let’s get you out of here.”
“Take the CTAB and get Jeff out of here,” said Rich. “Order the final assault.”
“Jeff is gone,” said Rico, kneeling next to him. “I got you.”
He jammed the CTAB into Rico’s chest. “Stow this and take Cooper. You’ll need his fingerprints to keep the CTAB active.”
“I’m not leaving you here,” said Rico, jamming the tablet in a pouch attached to his vest.
Rich pushed Rico to the side with his pistol and emptied the magazine at a figure charging out of the dispersing cloud.
“The smoke won’t last,” said Rich. “Get Cooper, and get the fuck out of here. I’ll do what I can to cover you. Go.”
“Stubborn motherfucker,” said Ric
o before lifting Cooper into a fireman’s carry. “Don’t go anywhere!”
“I’ll be right here,” said Rich, removing a fresh magazine from his vest.
He found reloading his rifle difficult, almost sluggish, but managed to put the weapon back into action. While bringing his rifle to bear on a guard that took a sudden interest in his operative, a bullet passed through his right forearm, knocking the rifle out of his grip. He watched helplessly as the man aimed at Rico—and was knocked to the pavement by multiple bullets from above. Rich glanced up in time to see Larsen fire a double-tap into the guard who had shot him in the arm. When he looked in Rico’s direction, the slick operator had vanished behind the HUMVEE parked at an angle against the building.
“All units, this is Charlie Actual. You are clear to sweep the tarmac. Friendly position will be marked by green chemlights,” said Rich. “We need to get that tablet to my tech team immediately.”
“Alpha on the move,” said Lieutenant Feltzer.
“Bravo will provide supporting fire,” said Captain Gresham.
The tarmac erupted in a full-scale battle as several HUMVEEs raced into position less than twenty yards away and cleared the remaining Ajax security guards. As hundreds of bullets snapped overhead, slicing through the jet and anyone stupid enough to try to run for the building, Rich laid his head down and fought to keep his eyes open. He’d never felt this tired before in his life. All he wanted to do was sleep, so he closed his eyes—and the battle faded away.
Chapter 41
Timothy Graves pressed his back against the front right tire, hoping the van’s engine block would stop a bullet from passing through and killing him. He flinched when a series of hollow metallic thumps rattled the vehicle. Gupta jumped out of the van’s open side door and rolled on the asphalt, spewing a string of obscenities as he crawled next to Graves.
“I told you to get your ass out here,” said Graves. “Is our gear still intact?”
“One of your monitors has a tidy little bullet hole,” said Gupta.
“Had to be my shit. Figures.”
The soldier crouched near the back of the van turned in their direction.
“Tablet is inbound!” said the soldier. “Ten seconds.”
Tires screeched nearby, the deep thrum of a revving engine replacing the high-pitched squeal moments later.
“Go ahead and get everything ready,” said Graves. “I’ll take possession of the tablet.”
“I’m not getting in there until the last fucking second. Bullets passed through it like paper.”
“Corporal?” yelled Graves. “Is there any way we can move the van somewhere safer?”
“This is as safe as it gets for you guys right now. I need to keep you close. We can’t protect you farther away,” said the soldier, motioning toward the south-facing hangars lining the taxiway’s tarmac. “Never know what’s out there.”
A bullet struck the windshield above them, passing right through and shattering the front passenger window.
“We’re mopping this up,” said the soldier. “Should get quieter soon. Here comes your tablet.”
“This is crazy,” said Gupta.
“No crazier than any of Sanderson’s missions,” said Graves.
“This is the first time the van has taken fire,” said Gupta.
“Good point,” said Graves. “Let’s get this over with.”
A HUMVEE raced into view, pulling next to the van as Graves and Gupta climbed inside. Rico appeared in the doorway.
“Jesus. Looks like they turned your van into Swiss cheese,” said Rico.
“Yeah. It’s been a real treat,” said Graves.
Rico handed him the CTAB, which Graves nearly dropped in a panic.
“Is that a fucking grenade?” said Graves, holding it as far away as possible.
“The safety pin is still intact,” said Rico. “Totally safe.”
“Yeah. I don’t think so.”
“You want me to cut it away?” said Rico, flicking open a knife.
“Please.”
Rico quickly cut through the duct tape, yanking the grenade away.
“The rest of the package is on the way,” said Rico.
“Where’s Rich and Jeff?” said Graves, flinching from a bullet that skimmed off the windshield. “Still fighting the good fight?”
“Jeff is gone. Pretty sure Rich is gone, too.”
“What?” said Graves, feeling like he’d been punched in the chest.
Gupta got out of his seat and crouched next to Rico, his eyes moist. “They can’t be gone,” he stated, like it was a fact.
“They’re gone,” said Rico, putting his hands on both of their shoulders. “They did their jobs. Now it’s your turn. Make this shit count.”
“Make them pay is more like it,” said Graves.
“That works, too,” said Rico.
“Coming through!” yelled a female voice, jarring them back into the present.
Rico slipped away as two soldiers heaved a blood-soaked body into the van, and Graves reached down to grab one of the man’s sticky hands.
“Where are the baby wipes?” said Graves.
“Here!” said Gupta, shoving the plastic container into his hand.
Graves cleaned Cooper’s thumb and rubbed it dry on his shirt before pressing it against the biometric reader on the CTAB. He was a little concerned about the man’s blood loss. If his body temperature dropped more than a few degrees, the reader wouldn’t recognize his fingers. Fortunately, they’d delivered him quickly enough. The CTAB’s green screen glowed brightly.
He handed the tablet to Gupta and turned in his seat to start typing.
“Let’s burn this fucker down,” said Graves.
A bullet thunked into the van, passing right behind the driver’s seat and ricocheting off the HUMVEE.
“We’re upgrading to something like that next time,” said Gupta, attaching the CTAB to a customized cable interface.
“No argument here,” said Graves as his one remaining screen filled with data. “Looks like we’re in business.”
Chapter 42
Major Nick Smith woke up being dragged by his vest. His first thought was that he’d been captured, but when he looked up—he saw Sergeant Breene’s bloodied face staring down at him.
“Welcome back, sir,” he said, continuing to pull him along with one hand.
“Roth? Mayer?” said Smith.
“Mayer’s good,” said Breene. “Roth is dead. Crushed in the turret.”
“Vaughn’s crew?”
“Webb was killed by shrapnel,” said Breene. “Everyone else is about as fucked up as you are, sir.”
He looked down at his legs. One of them was bent at an excessively unnatural angle. His left arm had been folded over his vest. A quick attempt to move it didn’t work, but hurt deep inside the shoulder.
“I don’t feel right,” he said.
“Hit you with morphine and a local anesthetic for the leg a few minutes ago,” said Breene.
They stopped for a second, and Breene grabbed the pull handle at the top of his vest with two hands—sliding him between two soldiers.
“We did it, sir,” said Corporal Mayer.
He looked to his other side, finding Staff Sergeant Vaughn unconscious. “We did?”
“Took out their headquarters,” he said, breathing heavy. “Word on the street is that those weird tech guys cracked the code, or whatever it is they do.”
“Hacked. Hacked into the system,” said Smith. “Breene, do we have comms with the rest of the company?”
“You should be up on the net, sir,” said Breene.
He stared at the soldier for a second, who tapped his own shoulder.
“Oh yeah,” he said, reaching across his vest to hit the transmit button.
“Alpha Actual, this is Major Smith. What’s the sitrep?”
“We’re still assessing casualties. The mission was a success. They’re putting together an updated package to distribute to the different
military commanders and media,” said Lieutenant Feltzer. “I’ve requested medevac support from 10th Mountain Division. Not sure how that will be received. The hacker team assured me they will push the data package through to 10th Mountain leadership, to clear up any misconceptions pushed out there by Ajax.”
“Copy that, Lieutenant. Sounds like it’s all under control. Out,” said Smith, suddenly remembering the quarantine mission. “Delta team? What’s your status?”
“Charlie and Delta quarantine units have been evacuated,” said his other lieutenant. “We basically had to blow the eastern fence line down to expedite the process. Everyone is across Route 31, continuing east. Any update to the FIRESTORM timeline?”
“I’d have to—”
A blinding flash heated his face to the point he thought his eyebrows might catch fire. The sound of the blast reached them a few seconds later, moments before the shockwave hit them, shaking the vehicles. When he opened his eyes a few moments later, a fireball rose hundreds of feet into the air, the firestorm spreading across half of his field of vision. The tidal wave of flames swallowed the correctional facility buildings, momentarily erasing them from view. Nobody said a word for what felt like a long time. Ajax had just exterminated several thousand infected citizens, with the clear intention of eliminating thousands of perfectly healthy quarantine detainees. The FIRESTORM protocol was unthinkable—murder on an unimaginable level.
“Lieutenant Priddy, are you still there?” he said, getting no reply. “Any Delta units, this is Major Smith.”
“This is Priddy,” said the lieutenant, taking some time to form his words. “Fucking A, sir! Nobody told me it would be that big. Staff Sergeant Emery is the only reason we aren’t crispy critters. He kept everyone moving. We were still walking when it went up.”
“That’s good news, Delta,” said Smith. “No casualties?”
“None that I can tell,” he said. “I’ll get back to you with a sitrep in a few minutes.”
The Zulu Virus Chronicles Boxset (Books 1-3) Page 79
