Clancy, Tom - Ballance of Power

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by Balance of Power [lit]


  DeVonne and then Scott would take alternate

  tosses as necessary.

  The first group of Spanish soldiers was swallowed in

  a huge yellow-and-black cottonball of gas.

  They dropped where they stood, some in the doorway and a

  few just inside the room. Anticipating that the

  Spaniards wouldn't fire blindly into the thick cloud,

  the Strikers moved boldly through the doorway and

  proceeded along the southside wall. The door to the

  Hall of the Halberdiers was straight ahead, on the

  same side.

  Soldiers were rushing toward them, guns raised.

  Scott's partner. Private Pupshaw, crouched and

  fired ahead knee high. Two soldiers fell and the

  rest went racing to doorways for cover. While they

  scattered, Scott rolled a grenade down the

  hall. There was a three second delay and then the

  hallway filled with smoke. August and Private

  Honda leapfrogged ahead, followed by Private

  DeVonne and Corporal Prementine.

  The Strikers were halfway to the Hall of the

  Halberdiers when August heard shouts inside

  along with gunfire. As soon as August and

  Honda were back in front of the team, the colonel

  held up a hand to halt their progress. He

  didn't know how many people were inside the chamber or why

  there was shooting, but Striker was going to have

  to neutralize the entire room before they entered. He

  raised three fingers, then two- indicating attack

  plan thirty-two-then pointed at Privates

  DeVonne and Scott with the other hand. He motioned

  them ahead, Scott to the near side of the door,

  372 OP-CENTER

  DeVonne to the far side. As soon as they were in

  position, both rolled grenades into the Hall of the

  Halberdiers.

  When he was helping to train NATO troops in

  Italy, August had described the effect of the

  FROM gas as very much like pouring boiling water in an

  anthill. The targets went down where they stood and

  just squirmed. Here, as Striker moved from room

  to hall to room, the impression of moving through an

  anthill was especially strong.

  August pointed back to Prementine and Pupshaw,

  who rejoined their partners on either side of the door.

  They heard coughing and vomiting inside. When

  no one came out, August and Honda went in. The

  two Strikers squatted low on either side of the

  door, weapons ready, and surveyed the room.

  August wasn't quite prepared for the sight that greeted

  him: hundreds of bodies, mostly civilians and a

  few soldiers, writhing on the floor of the Hall

  of the Halberdiers. August knew that they wouldn't

  die. But his mind flashed to images of the

  Holocaust, to gas chambers from the Second World

  War, and he had a flash of guilt-one of Father

  Uxbridge's moral paradoxes.

  He forced it aside. He had to. Once a

  tactical strike force set out, no member could

  afford to waver. The lives of the soldiers didn't

  depend upon a shared ideology. They did depend

  upon a shared commitment.

  August motioned for Honda to go right around the mass of

  bodies. Still squatting, August went left.

  Both men stayed close to the wall. There were bullet

  knicks in the marble near the door. The soldiers had

  obvi-

  BALANCE OF POWER 373

  ously fired in that direction when the grenades

  rdfieh in. Though they were in no condition to fire

  now, August watched them as carefully as

  he could through the yellow haze. There was always the

  possibility that someone might rally enough to fire off a

  few rounds. But no one did. When he reached the

  throne room door, Colonel August withdrew the

  flashlight from the loop around his thigh. He flicked

  it on and off twice to indicate that the next group

  should proceed. Private DeVonne, Aideen, and

  Corporal Prementine came in, moving low

  along the wall as August and Honda had done.

  Privates Pupshaw and Scott followed them in.

  The other Strikers and Aideen entered the Hall of the

  Halberdiers. As they did, August kept the

  gagging soldiers covered while Private Honda

  attached a thumbnail-sized lump of plastique

  to the base of the doorknob. He inserted a fuse, which

  heated by turning the cap. Five seconds later the

  plastique would detonate. The door would open and

  Scott would roll in another gas grenade. According

  to the map, this door was the only exit from the throne

  room. Once the people inside were disabled, the Strikers

  would move against Amadori.

  When everyone was in position, Honda activated the

  fuse. It glowed red and then the plastique blew

  outward in a narrow line parallel to the floor. The

  door flew open and Private Scott

  rolled in a grenade. There were shouts and gunfire

  aimed at the door and then the gas exploded with a

  bang and a loud

  whoosh.

  Then the gunfire stopped and the choking began. When he

  heard them, August motioned for Private

  DeVonne and Corporal Prementine to move

  in.

  374 OP-CENTER

  Still on point, DeVonne took the first shot in the

  chest. She stumbled when she was hit and fell

  backward, landing against Prementine. The corporal

  backed out, pulling her with him, and the Strikers fell

  back several paces. August knew that the kevlar

  lining would have kept the bullet from penetrating

  Sondra's chest, though she'd probably suffered a

  broken rib or two. She was moaning from the pain.

  August motioned to Scott to roll in a second

  grenade. Then he crawled forward to DeVonne and

  pulled a grenade from her pouch. The gas was

  dissipating in the Hall of the Halberdiers and he

  threw one toward the mass of people. He had only two

  or three minutes to make a decision about whether

  to continue with the mission or to abort.

  August crept toward the doorway.

  Someone had been waiting for them inside. Someone who

  was coherent enough to aim and fire a single shot at the

  first person in the door. He thought quickly. The

  security cameras wouldn't have given Amadori enough

  time to get out, but it might have told him how large the

  attacking force was. And given him time to put on a

  gas mask, if he had one. And he might.

  He also might have sent for reinforcements. They couldn't

  afford to wait him out. August motioned to Pupshaw and

  Scott. The three of them went to either side of the

  door, August on the left, Pupshaw and Scott

  on the right. August held up four fingers then one.

  Plan forty-one was target-specific crossfire,

  with the third gunman covering the other two. August

  pointed to himself and Pupshaw, meaning that they'd take out

  Amadori. The entrance would be made using the Ma

  BALANCE OF POWER 375

  rine tactic of one soldier using a single

  somersault to get insi
de, then stretching out into a

  tight pencil-roll- the arms flat across the chest,

  holding the firearm, and the feet facing toward the

  target. The first soldier's entrance was designed

  to draw the fire to one side so the second soldier

  could enter. When the two men were in, they'd sit

  up-legs still extended-and fire ahead.

  Meanwhile, the soldier responsible for setting up

  the cover fire would remain outside the room.

  He'd pencil-roll in front of the doorway,

  remaining on the outside and facing the target. He'd

  stop on his belly with his weapon pointed ahead.

  August pointed to himself. He'd go in to the left,

  followed by Pupshaw. By the time Scott rolled

  into view, the other two Strikers would have the target in

  their sights.

  August doffed his backpack and sidled to the door.

  Pupshaw and Scott did the same on the right.

  August looked at Pupshaw and nodded. The

  colonel somersaulted in and cut to the left

  pencil-roll. There was gunfire, but it trailed him

  as he turned quickly to the left. Pupshaw went in and

  was in position before the gun could be turned toward him.

  Both men had their sights on the target as Scott

  rolled into position.

  August's right hand shot up, the fingers splayed. That

  was the sign for the Strikers not to fire.

  Neither of the other Strikers fired. August stared over

  his gunsight at a priest, gagging terribly. There

  was an automatic weapon jutting from under his right

  armpit, pointing toward the door. Behind him was a

  general wearing a gas filter and goggles.

  From his size and hair coloring, August knew that it

  was Amadori.

  376 OP-CENTER

  The general's left hand was around the priest's

  throat. Behind the general was another officer-a major

  general, August determined through the yellow haze.

  There were six other officers in the room, all of them

  high-ranking, all of them sprawled on the floor

  or leaning across a conference table in the center.

  The general motioned up and down with the gun. He was

  telling the Strikers to stand. August shook his head.

  If Amadori fired, he might get one of them.

  But he wouldn't get all of them. And if the general

  shot the priest, then he had to know that he himself was

  dead.

  It was a standoff. But the one running out of time now was

  Amadori. He had no way of knowing whether

  Striker was a SAT'-A stand-alone team-or the first

  wave of a larger force. If it was the latter, then

  Amadori couldn't afford to be trapped here.

  The general obviously made up his mind quickly, as

  August had expected him to. Amadori began

  walking the priest forward slowly. The older

  clergyman was having difficulty standing. But

  pressure from Amadori's fingers around his

  throat brought him upright each time he threatened

  to stumble. The major general walked with them, tight

  against Amadori's back. As they approached,

  August could see that the major general had a

  handgun. He suspected that the only reason these men

  hadn't fired was because they didn't know who or what was

  waiting for them outside the throne room.

  August watched as the three men came forward. There

  was no doubt that the Strikers could take Amadori.

  The question was the pricetag for both sides. In

  BALANCE OF POWER 377

  situations like these, the decision was up to the commanding

  officer. For August, the question was the same as it was in

  chess: whether an exchange of high ranked pieces

  was worth it. For him, the answer had always been no.

  Depending upon who was sharper and better prepared, it was

  better to keep the game going and wait for the other

  player to make a mistake.

  August held out his right hand, palm down. That meant

  to do nothing unless provoked. Outside the door,

  Scott passed the signal to the other Strikers.

  Scott wriggled back as Amadori approached.

  He didn't take his gun off him. As he stepped

  through the doorway into the Hall of the Halberdiers, the

  other Strikers also took aim at the

  general. The exception was Corporal Prementine,

  who was helping Private DeVonne.

  The gas in the throne room was beginning to wear off.

  At August's signal, Scott threw another

  grenade to cover their retreat. They rose and exited

  after the general. Scott walked with his back pressed

  to August's back. The private was facing into the

  throne room, watching to make sure that none of the

  choking soldiers attempted to get off a shot.

  None did.

  August couldn't afford to feel frustrated as

  Amadori walked toward the corridor. The general

  had had a gas filter with him: that was a reasonable

  precaution. The President of the United States

  had one in the Oval Office. They were kept in most

  rooms at 10 Downing Street. Boris

  Yeltsin had one in his desk and one in each of his

  cars. The surprise was that Amadori had had a

  hostage. The killing or even wounding of a hostage was

  always unfortunate; the killing or wounding

  378 OP-CENTER

  of a Roman Catholic priest in Spain would be a

  disaster.

  August considered the situation carefully. If they

  let Amadori out into the open, the general's

  army would be better able to protect him. And if he

  got away, this attack could make him a hero in the

  eyes of his people. But that wasn't the biggest problem.

  August had no idea if and when reinforcements might

  arrive. And if they did show up, they might also be

  equipped with gas masks.

  My chess game be damned,

  August decided. He was going to have to go for the king.

  He couldn't get his head or torso, but he had a

  clear shot at his legs and could bring him to the ground.

  Even if the general or the major general turned

  on him, that would give the other Strikers a chance

  to take them out.

  He raised his index finger once and then again.

  Number one was going after number one.

  August and Scott were still standing back-to-back.

  August half-turned and whispered to the private as

  they walked toward the hallway.

  "When I move, dive to your left."

  Scott nodded.

  An instant later, August fired.

  THIRTYSEVE-RO

  Tuesday, 11:19 a.m. Madrid, Spain

  Father Norberto had heard the unmistakable sound of the

  helicopter flying low over the palace

  courtyard. It was followed soon after by the equally

  unmistakable crack of gunfire. He listened with

  one ear as he continued reading from Matthew 26 to the

  small group of people seated around him. It wasn't

  until one of the parishioners went out to check, then

  came running back, that the congregation learned that

  something dire was going on.

  "There is gunfire outside," the man shouted into
the

  church. "Soldiers are shooting at people in the

  courtyard."

  The church was silent for a long moment after that. Then

  Father Francisco rose from the group he was

  counseling in the front of the nave. He raised his

  arms as though offering a blessing.

  "Please remain calm," Francisco said,

  smiling. "No harm will come to the church."

  "What about the General Superior?" someone shouted.

  "Is he safe?"

  "The General Superior is at the palace,"

  Francisco replied calmly, "hoping to secure

  a role for the mother

  380 OP-CENTER

  church in the new Spain. I'm sure that God is

  looking out for him."

  Father Norberto found something very unnerving about

  Francisco's composure. Faith in God alone

  would not inspire such confidence. The feeling that

  Norberto had had earlier, that General Superior

  Gonzaiez was involved in the upheaval-that might be

  enough to give Francisco comfort. Especially if he

  had foreknowledge that there would be gunfire. But for what?

  There was only one thing Norberto could think of.

  Executions.

  The man ran back outside. The priests resumed

  counseling the people who sat before them, leading them in

  prayer or offering words of comfort. A few minutes

  later the man came back.

  "There is yellow smoke coming from windows of the

  palace," the man yelled. "And gunfire

  inside!"

  This time. Father Francisco was not so composed. He

  left without a word, walking hurriedly toward the

  door behind the ambulatory, which opened into the courtyard

  of the Royal Palace.

  Father Norberto watched him go. The silence of the

  church was even deeper now. Around them he could hear the

  crack of guns. Norberto looked down at the

  text then back toward the anxious faces before him.

  They needed him. But then he thought of Adolfo and of his

  dying need for absolution. Beyond these walls

  were times of trial and acts of sin. His place was with

  those who required the sacrament of penance, not comfort.

  Norberto put his hand on the shoulder of a young

  BALANCE OF POWER 381

  woman who had come in with her two little girls. He

  smiled at the mother and asked if, for a while, she would

  not mind reading in his place. He said that he wanted

  to see if Father Francisco required any

  assistance.

  Walking quickly down the aisle. Father Norberto

  made his way to the ambulatory and out the large door

  into the courtyard.

 

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