by Rob Jones
Standing beside Dragan Korać was Mr Luk and Ekel Kvashnin, otherwise known as Kamchatka, or Kodiak. For a few heart-stopping moments Hawke wondered if they had recognized him. Kamchatka had seen him much less, but Luk was up close and personal for far too long as he’d prepared to slash him to death in Sheng Fang’s boat shed back on Dragon Island.
But that was some time ago now, and maybe Luk had killed so many people Joe Hawke simply didn’t stand out to him. He watched as the two men spoke quietly with Korać for a few minutes. “These two bastards tried it on with my daughter,” he said to the two new arrivals, repeating the speech he had given a few moments earlier. “Can you believe that? Now we have two new men in our army and they are going to prove to us all that their hearts are with us by executing them.” With a grim smirk, he turned to Hawke, who had now realized that neither Luk nor Kamchatka had recognized him. “And you’re not going to let us down.”
Hawke was out of options, and raised the sword above his head when Korać suddenly stopped him and grabbed the sword. “Who taught you how to use a sword? This is not how you swing it.”
Korać took the sword and began an elaborate demonstration of how to swing a sword down against the bare neck of a man awaiting his execution. With each slash of the blade the terrified men flinched and whimpered in fear. “This is how you do it – Mr – what was your name again?”
“Slade,” Hawke said.
“Slade – of course. Only, my friend here…” he tipped his head to a now-grinning Luk. “He seems to think your name is Joe Hawke, and you work for a Western intelligence agency by the name of ECHO.” He pushed the tip of the sword into the soft flesh of Hawke’s throat. “Is he right or wrong?”
“He’s right,” Reaper said, and followed his words with a devastating right-hook into the side of Korać’s face. A terrific crunching sound emanated from his mouth and the Serbian staggered sideways, dropping the heavy sword.
Then all hell broke loose in Korać’s compound.
“We need to get the fuck outta here!” Reaper screamed.
“You think we’re rumbled then?” Hawke said with a grin.
Reaper gave him a look and the two men scrambled across the courtyard as Korać staggered to his feet and after spitting blood onto the flagstones he screamed at his men to kill the two runaways.
A second later a dozen Serbian mercenaries opened fire and filled the courtyard with a savage blaze of nine mil rounds. The two ECHO men only just evaded their bullets by darting into one of the doors in the cloister on the western edge of the courtyard. A second later and they were inside Korać’s compound.
Hawke paused and stared up and down the long corridor in a bid to remember which way led to the front of the sprawling property where their car was parked. The corridor was filled with magnificent and obviously stolen works of modern art wherever he looked – this was where Korać wined and dined his potential clients and this grotesque display of wealth and crime was clearly what it took to swing the deals in his direction.
“Quite the collection,” Reaper said, getting his breath back. Everywhere the Frenchman’s eyes settled they fell upon a famous work of art. “Rothko, Basquiat – and mon dieu – this is a Matisse. These must be worth millions of dollars.”
“You can admire the art later, Vincent – we have work to do.”
They hurried through to the main hall where Korać had shown his guests his twisted brand of entertainment and picked up some of the Serbians’ weapons.
“Lucky he didn’t have more of his men here or we’d be toes by now.”
“Toast, Reaper. It’s toast.”
Hawke checked the mag and slid a round into the chamber while Reaper smashed open one of the windows and opened fire on the men in the courtyard. Hawke joined in a second later from the next window down and soon the men outside were dancing like fools as they darted here and there to evade the bullets.
Hawke’s mind was racing with the unfolding chaos. He was good at absorbing shocks to the system and prided himself on moving on past them and not letting them get to him but the arrival of Luk and Kamchatka in Korać’s courtyard had taken him by surprise. He had no idea what either of them were doing here, but at the very least it meant he had two more people to fight – two people with a serious grudge against him and the rest of the ECHO team.
They fired at the men to keep them pinned down. Across the other side of the yard their bullets smashed out windows and tore Korać’s Mighty Bucky bull-riding machine to hundreds of pieces, but now the mercs and Kruger’s goons worked out where the fire was coming from and split into two to fight back, with a backup unit forming a second front on the west side of the house.
Hawke grabbed Korać’s candelabra and set fire to the drapes either side of the main entrance to his hall and seconds later enormous white-hot flames were licking up the curtains and crawling all over the wooden support beams on the ceiling. The room filled with a noxious black smoke which poured from the shattered windows in thick columns before blooming up into the cold Serbian sky.
Korać screamed in response, waving his men forward into the fray with his gun hand, but making sure to keep at the rear with Kruger as they began to close in on the English soldier and the French legionnaire.
Hawke kept up the barrage, never flinching and not even considering retreat. He tore through his magazine and smacked his second and last into place before taking out another of Korać’s men who had left himself exposed in the corridor.
And then Korać changed tactics.
“He’s telling his men to pull back!” Reaper screamed.
“They’re all getting out of here,” Hawke said. “Including Kruger.”
“If they go up to the main road they’ll run straight into our people.”
“They’re not that stupid,” the Englishman replied. “They’re going out the back of the courtyard where Alex said he had a second garage block. Jelena’s men are all around the perimeter!”
“Let’s get after the bastards,” Reaper said.
They crouched low and made their way out of the burning room toward the courtyard where they heard the sound of multiple engines roaring to life. “Quick!” Reaper said. “To the Riva!”
They sprinted to the front of the house where their car was parked, and Hawke looked from Reaper to the Riva and back again. “Do we have to?”
“Mais, oui… it’s our only chance.”
Hawke pushed his reluctance aside and clambered into the Russian car, twisting the ignition key and revving the tiny engine as the Frenchman climbed in beside him and slammed his door shut. Hawke trundled the car around the side of the house as the Frenchman scanned the horizon for the fleeing enemy.
“There they go!” Reaper said, pointing through the rear archway of the courtyard. Speeding away from the compound was a Cadillac Escalade and a Jeep Wrangler. They skidded out of the garage block in a blaze of exhaust fumes and burning rubber before chewing up clods of dirt from the side of the road and spraying the earth up in a wild arc behind them.
“Go!” Reaper said.
“I am going,” Hawke said flooring the throttle. He rammed the Riva’s gear stick into first and spun the front wheels so fast he almost burned through the rubber. He released the clutch and the tiny car jolted forward. As the underpowered sedan belched and farted its way out of the compound, something told him this was not going to be the easiest pursuit he had ever given.
“Call Lea and the others and get a team in the fort to save those men.”
Reaper nodded and made the call as Hawke steered the car through the brown Serbian countryside which now stretched out before them as they speeded down the hill in pursuit of Korać and Kruger. A quick glance in the wobbling rear view mirror at least gave Hawke the satisfaction of seeing the Serbian warlord’s compound burning to the ground, including his precious art collection.
Hawke struggled to power the ageing Lada forward but at least for now they were racing down the hill on which the compound was built
. Ahead of them the Escalade and the Wrangler were making short work of the rough tracks stretching away toward the forest.
“They’re getting away!” Reaper screamed.
“I think that was a forgone conclusion, Vincent,” Hawke said as he stamped on the throttle once again and made the engine howl like a scalded cat. Another series of engine farts followed and more fumes billowed out the rear of the Riva.
“It’s Reaper!” he said, sighing. “On missions my call sign is Reaper!”
The trucks ahead turned a sharp right into the woodland and disappeared from sight behind the thick, dark trunks of the Serbian spruces.
The same turn was coming up fast, and Hawke spun the flimsy wheel heavily to the right and for a second he thought he might snap it off the steering column, but instead the Lada responded and screeched around the bend, spraying up a shower of gravel chips and filthy mud.
The tiny car had a good turning circle, but at this speed not so much, and now Hawke struggled to keep the car under control as it smashed up a bank on the left-hand side of the new lane and nearly tipped over. He powered on, steering wildly to the left to stop it tipping but then one of Kruger’s goons appeared in the back of the Wrangler and opened fire on them with a submachine gun.
“I could be working as a security guard right now,” Hawke said.
“Pfft,” Reaper said.
Hawke flicked a glance at him as he brought the Lada back into the lane but swerved it violently from left to right to avoid the hail of automatic fire pouring out the back of the Jeep. “What the hell does that mean?”
“What?”
“Pfft.”
Reaper gave a Gallic shrug. “Don’t ask me.”
“You were one that said it!”
“Is that a bridge?” Reaper said.
Hawke peered ahead in the gloom. “I think so – a wooden one… Great.”
As he spoke, the Escalade ripped over the bridge, followed sharply by the Wrangler which then slowed as soon as it was on the other side of the river.
“What are they doing?” Reaper asked.
“They’re not stopping for a picnic – I know that much.”
The goon who had fired on them leaned out the back of the Wrangler and hurled a grenade at the bridge.
“What now?” the Frenchman said.
“Never give in and never give up, is what I always say.”
And with that Hawke increased speed and aimed straight for the bridge.
“Are you crazy?” Reaper said. “You don’t know what kind of fuse that thing has on it?”
“Six seconds on average,” Hawke said, increasing speed as they raced toward the bridge.
“So yes, you are crazy. I see that now.”
Hawke slammed the throttle and Reaper yelled: “Merde!”
“Shit!” Hawke screamed.
“C’est exactement ce que j’ai dit!” Reaper said, shaking his head.
A couple of seconds later they hit the bridge and ripped across it just as the grenade exploded. Only a second ahead of the shockwave they felt pieces of shrapnel slam into the back of the Riva, puncturing the rear panel and blasting the window in. They ducked as the shattered glass sprayed forward with the force of the explosion and Hawke checked the mirror as the detonated bridge exploded in a giant fireball and returned to earth as thousands of pieces of charred matchwood.
No time to think about what just happened, Hawke looked ahead to see the trucks making slower progress along a twisting stretch of the track. They were now deep in the woodland and the giant black spruces towered over them blackening the sky. And then the Wrangler got stuck in the mud of a flooded ditch.
The engine howled as the driver stamped on the gas but it was the worst thing he could do and only drove the Jeep deeper into the mud. Now at a stop and with the Escalade racing away into the heavy forest, it was the chance Hawke had been hoping for and he drove the Riva on another hundred yards before pulling it to the side of the track behind the cover of a line of spruces. They got out and made their way forward with their side arms.
“Things a bit more even now, n’est-ce pas?” Reaper said.
“I don’t think so!” Hawke yelled. “Run, they’ve got a sodding mortar!”
The men in the Wrangler fired the mortar at them and Hawke and Reaper dived for the safety of a muddy ditch as their Lada exploded like an old dustbin loaded with firecrackers.
Hawke cursed as pieces of twisted Russian automobile fell back to earth through the spruces and landed with deep squelches in the rain-filled grooves on the track. Ahead of them, the men had gotten the Wrangler free and were pulling away into the forest.
Hawke watched them disappear with a frown on his face. “Absolutely arsing fantastic, as someone I know would say. Let’s get back.”
“It’s several kilometres, mon ami.”
“Now’s the time to start then.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“We’re on!” Lea said, slipping her phone in her pocket and drawing her gun. “Joe and Reaper say there are more mercs at the fort and also some hostages.”
Lea’s team raced down the track toward the fort with Captain Jelena Karapandža at the wheel of the army truck right behind them. Seconds later they smashed their way through the front gates and skidded to a halt in the front drive. The truck piled in behind them in a roar of stinking diesel, mud and gravel chips. The tailgate slammed down and the soldiers filed out the back ready for action.
The small contingent of Korać’s men who had stayed behind to guard the fortress took two of the soldiers out right off the bat, their bodies tumbling down from the back of the truck and falling into the shallow ruts created by their own vehicle.
Ahead of the Serbian soldiers, Lea’s team thundered on relentlessly, but Jack Camacho received a stark reminder of his age when he quickly found himself bringing up the rear behind Lea and the others – even Ryan Bale edged ahead of him in the sprint for cover. He knew that meant more gym time when he got back to the States.
“I’m getting too old for this!” he yelled as he changed his magazine.
He watched as Lea and Scarlet covered each other in their advance toward one of the side-entrances, but Korać’s men pushed them back with superior firepower. When he caught up and joined the fight they finally turned the tables on the Serbs outside, pushing their way through the entrance and getting inside the inner sanctum.
Inside now, Korać’s goons were at the end of a long corridor, but the smell of fear was starting to rise from them. They were consolidating and trying to hold a defensive line but ECHO and the Serbian soldiers were slowly pushing them back. Then a handful came out of nowhere, rounding the basement stairs and dragging the two hostages up along the corridor from the courtyard the garage block.
Face to face with the enemy at last, the man leading the Serbs screamed at his men to kill Camacho and the ECHO team at all costs, and their response was to loose a barrage of gunfire at them and send the American and the others scattering for cover in rooms either side of the corridor. Bullets flew like firecrackers on a Chinese New Year, but whoever they were, Camacho thought, they weren’t professional. Their firing was aggressive but undisciplined and it didn’t take long for him and the others to exploit their weak cover and poor timing and take out nearly half of them. They worked their way up the corridor using the various rooms as cover until they were almost upon the men, who then turned and fled at the last moment in a bid to stay alive.
“They’re taking the hostages into the garage!” Lea shouted through the comms.
“Got it!” Scarlet said.
Camacho and the team followed them into the garage block only to see them piling into the back of a double-cab Hilux. He was horrified to see what looked like a light machine gun set up on the flatbed at the back. He was even more horrified when the Hilux skidded away in a wild roar of revs and exhaust fumes, slowing on a shallow bend to dump two dead bodies out one of the side doors.
“Jesus,” Ryan said, looking at
the two corpses as they slowly tumbled to a standstill in the ditch. “That’s just terrible.”
“I’ll say,” Scarlet said. “They’ve got an M240 on the back of that flatbed.”
“A what?”
Scarlet rolled her eyes. “A crew-served, air-cooled, fire-spitting monster from Fabrique Nationale.”
“Is that bad?”
“I’d try not to get in the way of it if I were you.”
As she spoke, Camacho sprinted to the front and fired up the FAP 2026 truck, bringing it around to the rear so everyone could pile in. He took off after the Toyota but it was clear right from the start that the Serbs had no concerns about using them for target practice with the GPMG. Just minutes into the chase Camacho was forced to swerve the old military truck violently from side to side to avoid the standard chambering seven mil bullets as they punched the air all around them.
Empty bottleneck cartridges flew out the ejector port and rained down on the gravel track as the Hilux speeded along the lane on its way to the forest. The weapon was designed as a crew-served GPMG so two of the mercs had the pleasure of operating the gun as the Hilux tore through the Serbian countryside. Red-hot lead roared out the muzzle, smashing into the gravel in front of the FAP and ricocheting all over the lane.
In the distance, they heard the Hilux’s wheels squealing as the Serbs took a corner so fast they nearly tipped over. “We’re losing him, Camo!” Scarlet yelled.
“Have a little faith, would ya babe?” said the burly American.
He slammed his boot down on the FAP’s accelerator and did a little wheel-squealing of his own. The truck jolted forward leaving a cloud of blue-gray rubber smoke and exhaust fumes in its wake, not to mention a number of bemused cows in a neighboring field.
Scarlet smacked a fresh magazine into her Glock and slid a round into the chamber. With her trademark enthusiasm for the hunt, she leaned out the window, spat her cigarette out, and started firing on the Toyota. “It’s open season on arseholes!”
Back inside the truck, Lexi leaned closer to Ryan. “Does she have any friends?”
