by Brent Towns
Cara smiled. “I guess we’d best not hang around then.”
Isla del Volcán
Peru
Kane walked outside of the cave and stretched his muscles. Rubbing his full stomach, he looked about for Petrov. He found him sitting on a rock, picking his toenails. Kane grimaced and said, “Get yourself some chow, Anatoli. I’ll take overwatch.”
The Russian pulled a worn-out shoe onto his foot and stared at him. “I’m not hungry.”
“It wasn’t my fault you grabbed tins of sardines.”
“They taste like shit.”
“There’s tinned peaches as well.”
“Fruit. Pah,” he snorted in disgust.
Kane unslung the AK-74 and checked to see that there was a round in the chamber. “At least go and get some rest.”
“Maybe later.”
“Your loss.”
Suddenly Kane felt the overwhelming urge to look up. It was almost like a sixth sense telling him someone was watching him. So that’s what he did. And two things happened.
The first was that over ten thousand kilometers away, a guy behind a computer screen got excited. The second was closer to home.
Anatoli Petrov’s head seemed to blow apart when a 7.62 mm round from the second Dragunov smashed into it.
“Shit!” Kane exclaimed and dived to the ground. Then the jungle all around him came to life with gunfire.
Team Reaper HQ
El Paso, Texas
The door to Thurston’s office flew open as Swift burst in. “Ma’am, I found him! I found Reaper! But he’s in trouble.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes, ma’am. Have a look.”
Swift brought the feed up on the large screen in Thurston’s office. She could make out what seemed to be a gunfight going on in the jungle. The computer tech used his finger and said, “This is him. I know because he looked up. This dead guy, I think is Petrov. The ones who’re shooting at him, I have no idea. But I’d say they’re the bad guys.”
“How many?”
“Thirty, forty. Maybe more.”
“Damn it. All right. Get everyone together. We’ll run everything from here. Tell Cara they leave now. There’s a seven-hour flight ahead of them. By the time they get on the ground, it’ll be dark. Let’s hope Kane can hang on until then.”
Isla del Volcán,
Peru
Kane crawled up behind a rotted tree trunk and waited while bullets chewed great chunks of bark and timber from it with every impact. He cursed under his breath and rose up high enough to fire two quick shots at a man who was creeping up on him. This one was armed with a spear. It seemed that the men with the weapons were trying to keep his head down while the others were sent forward to kill him.
And there was still the shooter with the Dragunov. They must have found someone else who was proficient with a long gun. Slipping away from the tree trunk, he made his way back into the cave.
He found a box with the Russian word for grenades stenciled on it. Cracking it open, he pulled three F1s from it, then hurried back to the cave mouth. Pulling the pin on the first one, he threw it out in the direction of the attackers. Even before the first one went off, the second was on its way. Then the third.
As they exploded, Kane moved back into the cave. That would give them something to think about and give him time to get organized.
He slung the Dragunov over his shoulder and grabbed extra ammunition. Also, he picked up some more F1 grenades and some of the tins of food. He wished he could take an RPG, but that wasn’t going to happen. Then his gaze settled on the crates that Petrov had warned him about. Kane shrugged. “What the hell.”
The first crate he opened was filled with money. US dollars. A quick estimate came to one million dollars. Three more crates and Kane figured out why the others in Petrov’s crew had wound up dead.
Reaper shrugged again. “Shame.” He pulled the pin from one of the grenades and dropped it into the crate it had come from.
Then he ran. As fast as he could. He’d only just got past the mouth of the cave when the grenade exploded and blew everything to Hell.
Chapter 20
Team Reaper LZ
Isla del Volcán,
Peru
“Reaper One, radio check. Over.”
“Reaper One? Zero. Read you loud and clear.”
The flight, although just over seven hours, had seemed longer. The team took the time to go over last-minute details before departing their aerial taxi. Swift had been giving Cara updates every hour, and as far as he could tell, Kane was still alive.
“Zero, everyone is down and accounted for. We’re preparing to move out. Bravo Four, do you have an update?”
Swift’s voice came over their comms. “Copy, Reaper one. The last time I had a fix on Reaper, was just on dark. He was three klicks southeast of your current position.”
“And the tangos?”
“They’ve formed themselves a perimeter around his position. If you want to reach him, then you’ll have to go through them.”
“Roger, Bravo Four.”
“Zero, any news on that Spectre?”
“I’ve been reliably informed that it should be on station just before dawn, Reaper One. Callsign, Striker One-One.”
“Copy, Striker One-One. Reaper One, out.”
Cara gathered her team around her. “Carlos, you’re on point. No further than fifty meters from me at any time. Axe, you’re bringing up the rear. It should be quiet, but you never can tell. Is everybody good to go? Brick?”
They all answered in the affirmative.
“Move out then.”
Cara dropped her night vision goggles down, and the darkened jungle turned green, the laser sight on her suppressed HK416 reaching out and piercing it like an endless thin needle. To her front, she saw Carlos disappear into a wall of foliage. She pressed her talk button. “Reaper Two, One. Keep to a southeasterly heading. Keep a check on your compass.”
“Copy, One.”
Cara cursed herself under her breath. It was pointless her saying that to Arenas. The guy was a professional. They were just useless words. She kicked herself again.
For the next four hours, they moved silently through the black of the jungle. On the map, it was only three klicks, but on the ground, it was better to be careful than sorry. Every thirty minutes Cara checked in with Bravo. Every hour they took a short break. They were about five-hundred meters from their target when Arenas broke squelch.
Quickly, Cara took a knee and whispered into her mic, “Everyone hold.” Then she said, “Bravo Four, do you still have us on your screen?”
“Negative, Reaper One. The bird we were using doesn’t come back into range for another ninety minutes.”
“Shit,” she said softly and slapped at a bug on her neck. “Carlos, I’m coming to you.”
He broke squelch once. “No.”
“Do you have a tango close?”
Twice. “Yes.”
“We’ll hold and wait for you.”
Ten minutes ticked by before Arenas appeared from the dense jungle to Cara’s front. He crouched next to her and said, “There are three tangos to our front. I think we’ve hit their perimeter. What do you want me to do?”
“We’ll hold here until we get our bird back. It’ll be ninety minutes until the next flyover. That way we’ll know what we’re up against. Get some rest.”
“Sí.”
Cara pressed her talk button and said, “Zero, this is Reaper One. Copy?”
“Copy, Reaper One.”
“Reaper Team is holding until we get our bird back, over.”
“Roger, Reaper One. We’ll let you know when we have visual. Zero, out.”
“Listen up,” Cara said into her mic. “We’re here for a while. Get some rest. Axe, you’re on first watch.”
Kane’s head dropped forward for the fifth, or was it the sixth time? He was tired after being on edge for God knew how long. He was running low on energy and knew that if
he didn’t get some sleep soon, he was screwed. But while he was surrounded by those who sought to kill him, it was dangerous to even contemplate closing his eyes.
He knew they would come for him when the sun came up. All he could hope to do was be able to kill enough of them so that they would lose heart and back off.
Then there was the shooter with the second Dragunov. Every time he exposed himself to take a shot, he was putting himself in the shooter’s sights.
As if on cue, the wound to his upper arm burned slightly. It wasn’t much, just a graze, but in a place like this, it could turn bad in a heartbeat.
Kane knew he should be using the dark to slip through their net. However, his exhaustion would make him careless. Tiredness …
His eyes closed once more.
“Reaper One? Bravo Four, over.”
“Read you, Bravo Four.”
“Just a heads up,” Swift said. “That was a good call to wait for the bird. The tango headcount has increased to around seventy. They’re as thick as fleas on a hound dog’s ass, between you and where we think Reaper is.”
Cara thought for a moment. Then, “Wait one, Bravo.”
Brick was on watch, so she shook Axe and Carlos awake. Once Brick returned from his stint, she filled them all in as to what was going on.
Axe said, “It won’t be impossible, but with the help of Swift and his eye in the sky, we should be able to sneak through them, yeah?”
“If we screw it up, we’ll be in the middle of a shit sandwich in the dark,” Cara pointed out.
“Could be worse,” Brick commented.
“I have another idea,” Cara told them. “But if we go ahead with it, it’ll be in the daylight.”
“The dark is an operator’s best friend, ma’am,” Brick said.
“I know, but not at this time.”
“What then?” Arenas asked.
“Once Striker One-One gets overhead, I intend on using him to open a door for us to walk through.”
“Ma’am?” Axe said.
“We’ll get him to kick the fucking door in. Plain enough?”
Even though it was dark, Cara could tell that Axe had his usual big, shit-eating grin on his face. “Yes, ma’am.”
It seemed to come out of nowhere. One moment the early morning jungle was quiet, next, the booming sound of four Allison T56-A-15 turboprops on an AC-130 shattered the stillness. The sun had already been up for half an hour. So much for it arriving just before dawn.
“Striker One-One to Reaper One. We’re on station and ready to help out in any way we can. Over,” the female pilot’s voice came over the net.
“Good to hear from you, Striker One-One. If you’re not too busy up there, we might just have a small job for you. What are you packing? Over.”
“We have a Gatling gun, a forty mil Bofors, and a one-o-five Howitzer. Take your pick, Reaper One.”
“I’d like you to kick a hole in a wall for me, Striker. If you set up for a gun run from the northeast to the southwest, we’d be mighty thankful.”
“Copy, Reaper One. We’d be glad to kick the door down for you.”
“As soon as you make your pass, Striker, we’ll be threading the needle. We’d appreciate you keeping any unfriendlies off our backs.”
“Just so we’re clear, Reaper One, are you asking for a danger close fire mission, over?”
“Yes, ma’am. As close as you can get it. The package is one of ours.”
“Copy, Reaper One, Striker One-One is inbound. Good luck. Out.”
Cara turned to her team. “Listen up. As soon as the fireworks start, we’re moving in. We’ll form up in a diamond shape. I’ll lead. Brick, you’ll be on our six. Weapons free.”
Slowly the distant drone of the Spooky II Gunship grew louder, steadily building in pitch. Then the ground beneath their feet started to tremble as the jungle in front of them exploded with fire.
Kane was jolted awake by the first pass of the AC-130. He’d been deep in sleep, and the roar seemed to be almost on top of him. Looking up, he saw what had made the sound, and smiled.
As he moved, stiffness caused him to grimace. The noise of the plane’s engines slowly dissipated but didn’t completely disappear. Kane scooped up the AK-74 and checked its loaded magazine. Climbing to his feet, he moved silently through the brush, relieved himself against a tree, then continued until he was sure that he’d reached the furthest possible point. Beyond that, he was in Indian country. He found cover behind a rock big enough to conceal him, and then waited for the assault he was sure would come.
When it did, it wasn’t quite what he expected.
Ortega clambered to his feet with the overhead roar of the plane. He grasped at his AK and shouted at the men who were nearest to him to get up. “¡Levántate! ¡Levántate!”
Gathering the men around, he snarled, “Something is happening. I want to know what it is.”
A couple of his men disappeared into the jungle, and Ortega could still hear the plane in the distance. He looked at the others. “Did any of you see what it was?”
“It was big,” said one man dumbly.
Another, a FARC soldier, said, “It was a gringo C-130.”
There was a crashing sound from the jungle and Andreas appeared with a couple of his men. “What are Americans doing here?”
Ortega gave him a ‘How the hell do I know?’ look and asked, “Are you sure?”
“Who else would it be? But the question is why are they here?”
More noise and Janjak and Jasiel appeared. “They are after the American,” Janjak stated.
It made sense. Ortega nodded. “We must get him before they can. Dead or alive, I do not care. Go now.”
The cartel faction leader held Andreas back. “Put your man with the long gun somewhere where he can see everything. If he can shoot the American, then so be it.”
“I will see to it.”
The roar of plane engines grew louder as it returned, steadily growing in rhythm as it got closer. Then something else shattered the steamy morning air.
WHUMP! Then, CRUMP!
The latter sound was joined by an earth-shaking tremor and the sudden uprising of dirt and debris laced with bits of jungle flora. The second explosion was closer than the first. Then as if that wasn’t enough, a tearing sound ripped through the air, and the jungle seemed to lay over as a hail of 25mm rounds from the Gatling gun rained down with ultimate ferocity.
Ortega was amazed at the bizarre sight before him. So much so, that he stood transfixed. Then a man, no more than twenty feet away from where he stood, seemed to disintegrate in a spray of red.
“Get down!” Ortega shrieked. “Get down!”
Some were too slow in following the shouted directions and suffered the same fate as their comrade. Another toppled like a tree when his right leg was severed halfway up his thigh. The spray from the Gatling gun was brutal and efficient.
But from where Cara and the rest of the team were, it looked marvelous.
Cara’s suppressed HK416 spat a single round, and the spear-wielding killer reeled away with a slug through the fleshy part of his throat. Violent explosions erupted close to them in a mix of dirt and metal shards. The Gatling gun sound tore through the air over the team’s heads with the latest pass of Striker One-One.
Off to her left, Cara saw a man with an AK in his hands. He raised it and cut loose with a burst of automatic fire. It was short-lived, however, because a burst from Arenas stitched across his chest and he collapsed in the grass.
“These crazy pricks just keep coming,” Axe growled as he dispatched another spear-toting killer.
“Just make sure they don’t stick one of those things in your ass, Axe,” Cara snapped. “Reynolds might not be forgiving if I got her favorite man killed.”
“Shut up,” Axe mumbled.
“Shit!” Brick snarled. “Sniper! Get down.”
As one, the team dived into the grass patch they were traversing. Cara felt a surge of adrenaline course through h
er. They were caught out in the open with stuff all over.
“Bastard almost got me,” Brick continued. “The round thumped into the Unit One pack I’m carrying.”
“Where is he?” Cara asked.
“Somewhere to the east.”
“Axe,” Cara snapped.
“On it.”
Beneath her, Cara could feel the vibrations ripple through the ground when another 105mm round from the HC-130’s Howitzer came in. All around them Cara could hear shouts from their attackers. She found herself wondering if this was how it felt for the veterans of Vietnam or Guadalcanal when the enemy came out of the jungle.
Behind her, she heard the slap and mechanism of Brick’s HK 416 as he fired.
“Reaper One? Zero, over.”
“Copy, Zero.”
“What’s going on? You haven’t moved in over a minute.”
“We have a sniper, Zero. Our boy here is just trying to get a fix on him.”
“Roger.”
“How’s it looking, Axe?”
“I can’t see shit, boss,” Axe growled. “I figure he’s in the trees about five-hundred meters to the east, but he’s dug in so tight I can’t lay my sights on him.”
“You need to find him, Axe. We can’t lay around here all day.”
“No shit.”
“Try this,” Cara offered and leaped to her feet.
She counted to three and dropped back down. The shot from the Dragunov whistled overhead a fraction of a second later, followed by the report.
“You’re one crazy bitch, boss lady,” Axe chuckled. “But I got the bastard. All I have to do now is shoot him.”
“Maybe not,” Cara said. “Give me a location.”
“The shooter is about six-hundred meters to our east.”
