Death Minus Zero

by Don Pendleton

  The Briton didn’t waste time thinking. He simply acted. He reached out and caught hold of the Chinese guy’s shoulder, yanked the man toward him and head-butted him. The sodden crunch attested to the accuracy of McCarter’s action as the sentry’s nose was crushed flat, blood squirting in twin streams. Before the dazed man could recover, McCarter hauled him around and slammed him face-first into the pale stone wall of the power building. He caught a handful of the Chinese guy’s hair and repeated the blow a few more times until the man stopped resisting and slumped to his knees. He rolled sideways, his face a crushed and bloody mask, bone splintered and exposed where the rough stone had ripped at his flesh. When McCarter let go, the guy fell facedown in the blood-spattered snow. There was a glistening deposit of blood on the stone wall.

  McCarter blew air through his lips as he bent down and claimed the subgun the Chinese had dropped. He checked it and made sure it was ready for use. He delved into the sentry’s coat pockets and found a couple of spare magazines.

  “Bloody handy,” he said.

  * * *

  RAFAEL ENCIZO HAD disengaged with McCarter as he spotted movement off to his right. Someone moving through the trees close by. He remained where he was, his keen gaze searching the light and dark shadows close to ground level. He was rewarded by the fleeting sight of a bulky figure clad in a padded coat; he made out the features of a Chinese sentry as the guy moved into a clear section. He was carrying a squat black SMG and the way he was holding the weapon, Encizo could see the man was no amateur.

  Encizo was aware he needed to keep any action as silent as possible. If they were going to breach the house, the less fuss they made the better. Any noisy action would alert those inside the house, which could have serious repercussions for Saul Kaplan. Kaplan was the reason they were here. His safety was paramount. It meant Phoenix Force’s approach to the house had to be kept quiet and not put the Chinese group on the defensive too soon.

  The moment Phoenix Force was discovered, the peaceful Swiss landscape was going to be disturbed.

  Encizo eased his Beretta from the shoulder rig. After checking the load, he slipped out the suppressor and screwed it in place. He barely took his eyes off the Chinese sentry as he went through the pistol’s prep.

  Easing himself into a comfortable position, he raised the Beretta and settled his sight on his target. He never figured out what made the man turn, staring directly at Encizo, but the Phoenix Force pro knew he had been made. It was one of those moments that could have gone either way. He didn’t let the moment faze him. Already on the way to targeting the sentry, Encizo continued his move. In effect he simply realigned the Beretta, eased back on the trigger and fired.

  The subdued chug of sound was lost in the closeness of the trees and the noise of the wind. A dark hole appeared in the Chinese guy’s forehead, slightly left of center. The head was snapped back under the impact and the close range gave the 9 mm slug enough penetrating power to traverse the skull and blow out the back in a spurt of grainy red that spotted the white snow. The sentry stiffened and toppled backward, his body rigid. He slammed to the ground, limbs shaking for a few seconds before he became still. A final breath escaped his lips, pluming briefly in the cold air.

  Encizo moved quickly. He holstered the Beretta and crouched over the dead man, picking up the SMG. He checked the body for any other weapons. Found nothing except a backup magazine. He did find a neat black com set in one of the pockets and a quick smile edged his lips when he saw it was not even switched on.

  Encizo touched his own throat mike and said, “Scratch one.” He didn’t wait for a response, simply turned and picked up his continuing approach path to the house.

  * * *

  TEN MINUTES ON and McCarter had worked his way closer to the rear of the house. He could see lights shining through the windows ranged along the length of the wall and even spotted a faint outline as someone passed by. The images were broken up and distorted by the falling snow.

  He crouched next to a thick-trunked fir, checking for movement. He hadn’t seen any other patrolling sentries but McCarter was convinced they were around. The Chinese would be covering themselves and with the increased intensity of the storm they would be taking even more precautions in case of intruders. McCarter’s suspicions were confirmed when he spotted the armed figure trudging through the snow off to his left. The guy was moving with head down against the wind-driven snow, subgun held tight to his chest. He wore a padded coat and had the fur-edged hood pulled up.

  McCarter had his man spotted and was set to deal with him. He decided he was definitely too close to the house to risk a shot. Apart from the sound carrying, the swirling snow could easily cause him to miss. The Phoenix Force leader decided it would have to be up close and personal. Not something he relished but they were going to get one chance at this rescue and screwing up right at the start was not something the Briton wanted.

  Almost as if on cue the Chinese sentry turned and moved in McCarter’s general direction, still plodding determinedly through the deep snow and still approaching. The man was wide and stocky, legs on the short side, which made moving through the drifting snow difficult.

  McCarter pulled back into the shadows and watched the Chinese sentry close in on his position. The guy was moving with a cautious tread, his eyes constantly on alert though he had no eye covering and was being forced to squint against the drifting snow. He plodded on to within three yards of the tree concealing McCarter and took a long, slow look around. The man was being as thorough as weather conditions permitted.

  Not taking any bloody chances, the Briton thought.

  The man was doing his job. McCarter couldn’t fault him for that, but he had no ideas about cutting him a break. The situation called for swift action and McCarter was geared up for it.

  McCarter strap-hung the subgun from one shoulder and reached to his side, gripping the knife sheathed on his belt. It slid clear of the leather, McCarter maintaining a solid grip on the textured surface under his fingers.

  The sentry took a moment to check his surroundings as he drew level with the tree. His head moved back and forth as he checked out the area. His caution made McCarter wonder if the guy suspected anything amiss. The sentry stepped forward again, seemingly satisfied he was alone.

  And then he moved past McCarter, presenting his back to the Phoenix Force commander.

  It was one of those moments that might have made McCarter reconsider what he was about to do. The sentry was oblivious to anyone near him—which left the Briton with a decision to make. He either bypassed the guy or made his play. If he left the guy alive he became a wild card, liable to show up again without warning. McCarter took no longer than a breath to reach his decision. This was not the first occasion McCarter had needed to silence and remove a possible threat to the mission, and any enemy combatant left capable of responding added to the risk for McCarter’s partners. It was a reason why he did not hold back.

  McCarter turned slightly, coming up behind the man. His left hand reached out and around, clamping over the sentry’s mouth, fingers digging in to maintain his grip. The Chinese made a convulsive movement, but McCarter jerked him tight against his own body. His hand maneuvered the man’s head back, exposing a few inches of his neck, and in that moment the Chinese must have realized what was intended for him. McCarter felt the guy flex his body, attempting to break free.

  In that moment McCarter swept the ultra-keen blade of the Tanto around, coming into contact with the tight flesh of the guy’s throat. He cut from left to right in a deep slash that sliced through everything in its path. Hot blood burst from the suddenly gaping gash, spilling down the front of the victim’s padded coat, soaking through to the shirt beneath. In the seconds that followed the man felt the onset of pain and he began to kick in protest. He would have cried out if he had been able.

  McCarter’s hand remained in place, an
effective gag that reduced any sound to a low mumble. The Briton held his position, his strength overwhelming that of the stocky Chinese, and as the blood flow continued and lethargy began to take hold, the struggles lessened. When the man lost control of his legs, slumping against him, McCarter lowered the body to the ground and bent to check for a pulse. There was none.

  McCarter sheathed the Tanto, took hold of the dead man’s coat and pulled him deep into the surrounding foliage. He picked up the subgun the Chinese had dropped and checked it for a full load. He rifled through the guy’s coat pockets and located a second magazine, which he dropped into one of his own pockets. Then he double-clicked his com set to transmit an update signal to his partners.

  A moment later Encizo’s voice came softly through the ear bud.

  “You made contact?”

  “At the moment, just the one. I have a feeling there are going to be others, so watch your arse.”

  Encizo simply clicked an affirmative reply. David McCarter understood that to mean the Cuban had become otherwise engaged.

  * * *

  SNOW WHIPPED ACROSS the slope, the flakes chill against Hawkins’s face. He felt the cut of the wind through his clothing; insulated or not, the protection being offered was not as good as he might have expected. He flexed his gloved fingers around the Beretta. The solid feel of the pistol gave him a little comfort.

  McCarter’s voice came through his com set, the ear bud working well and muting the sound of the wind.

  “You set?”

  “In position, boss. Rarin’ to go before I freeze my butt to the ground.”

  Hawkins picked up one of the circling sentries. The guy was off to his left; bulky in a thick coat, a hat pulled low over his head. He carried a squat SMG in his hands, the weapon held close to his body to protect it from the falling snow. The Chinese was on the short side and he was finding moving through the deep fall of snow difficult, having to lift his legs high.

  Crouching, Hawkins raised the suppressed Beretta, two-handed, and took a sighting. He held off from firing. The distance was too far to be sure of a solid hit; the drifting wind might easily disturb the slug’s passage. Hawkins opted for a closer shot. He was a good marksman but saw no need to take too much of a risk. The weather conditions suggested caution.

  He lowered his weapon and moved through the deep layer of snow, still behind the sentry, and kept coming. He was aware that the Chinese might decide to turn and check the immediate area. If he did, Hawkins knew he would be seen. He chose to keep advancing, preferring to close the distance.

  The Texan’s target paused, raising his head from its chin-down position to begin a slow check of the area.

  Hawkins’s opportunity to get even closer looked as if it was about to taken away. He pushed forward, increasing his pace. The depth of snow hampered his movements and he muttered to himself as he watched the target twist his upper body, the guy’s head coming around in a slow turn.

  In a few seconds the Chinese would be looking directly at Hawkins. The seconds dropped away.

  Take the shot.

  Hawkins could see the guy’s face in profile. Time was running out.

  Take the shot.

  He dropped to one knee, raised the Glock and slipped his finger over the trigger.

  No more time.

  The Chinese sentry’s face was full-on, eyes scanning the whiteness of the layered snow. Seeing the dark bulk of the armed man, the guy moved the sub gun, pulling it away from his body.

  Do it, Hawk, take the shot.

  And Hawkins squeezed the trigger.

  He felt the Beretta jerk but barely heard the subdued sound as it fired into the hiss of the wind.

  The 9 mm slug hit above the Chinese guy’s left eye. His head snapped back. The fur hat flew off, black hair exposed. Hawkins saw a dark burst fly from the back of the guy’s skull as he dropped. He landed in the soft bed of snow, a fan of red misting the air as he went down.

  Hawkins closed in on the guy, reaching to tuck his Beretta away and retrieve the subgun from where it had fallen. He knocked snow from the weapon, quickly checked the magazine, reloaded and made sure the subgun was ready to fire. He crouched and searched the pockets of the dead man’s coat, locating an extra magazine. He slid it into one of his own pockets, pushed upright and spoke into his com set.

  “Target down. Moving on.”

  * * *

  HOW MANY MORE? McCarter wondered.

  He advised his team to stay alert in case there were other outside sentries. They were engaging an unknown number of the enemy. There had been little opportunity for Phoenix Force to scope out just how many Chinese there actually were patrolling the area. It would have been a better option if they could have counted the exact number, but time and circumstance had placed the Stony Man force directly into the conflict. The rescue of Saul Kaplan had been undertaken in a less than ideal situation.

  McCarter had to pose questions to himself as he crouched in the snow, his eyes scanning.

  The number of sentries?

  Were the sentries supposed to call in using the com sets? If so, how often? If there was a call schedule, the missing reports were going to be noticed sooner or later.

  How soon?

  And if that happened, how many more would be dispatched to find out what was happening? Advance knowledge of enemy strength would have been a preferred option, but that wasn’t the way this mission had played. Phoenix Force had to make this strike using what information they had. Success or failure would depend on how well McCarter and his partners could handle what lay ahead.

  Any extraneous backup from Zero appeared to be limited to outside statistics and that had been badly affected by the severe weather conditions. Zero’s online imagery had been compromised by the wind-driven snow, fragmenting any details and presenting the feedback as a pixilated mass. McCarter would have liked that kind of backup. He accepted that the orbiting platform was having its own problems and needed to concentrate on those.

  It had come down to human observation. To the practiced eyes of the Phoenix Force commandos. It was not the first time they had been left to their own devices when landed in a less than perfect battle zone. Left to fend for themselves, they would handle the setbacks and push the fight to the enemy.

  Battle zones were flexible. Perimeters could change quickly. The fluid motion of combat had its own peculiarities, and any soldier involved had to be able to adjust to those needs. Blind charging ahead had the habit of costing lives where changing with the tide allowed advance and retreat and hopefully a better outcome. David McCarter had done his share of combat. In all conditions, on multiple continents. He’d made his mistakes, luckily survived, and he liked to believe he had learned from his errors.

  Like today. Here and now.

  Phoenix Force was facing an unknown force and the only way to come through it was to assess the situation and try to outthink the enemy.

  It was, McCarter had decided before today, a hell of a way to make a living.

  Somebody had to do it, and he was as likely a candidate as the next bloke.

  * * *

  HAWKINS HAD MOVED to the rear corner of the sprawling house. Up close it was far larger than he had realized. He huddled against the wall, feeling the hard drag of the wind against him. It tugged at his coat, the near-frozen flakes scratching at the fabric. He moved along the wall, keeping one shoulder in contact with the structure. In the swirling snow mist it would have been easy to lose direction and wander away from his line of travel. Disorientation could easily occur in such conditions. The last thing Hawkins wanted was to get lost. A number of times, Hawkins had to sink to a crouch as he came to windows set in the wall.

  His target was the main entrance. When he reached it, he would wait until he received McCarter’s go signal. The three of them would make their entry
at the same time, using their flash-bang grenades to clear a path.

  The swirl of snow just ahead formed and re-formed. Hawkins flicked at the scattering of flakes on his goggles.

  Damned if it didn’t look like a solid formation in front of him.

  Almost like...and Hawkins realized it was a human figure no more than a couple of feet ahead. Now he could make out the head, shoulders. The extended length of arms. Hands gripping a subgun. The Chinese starting to shift the weapon.

  Hawkins reacted with no further thought...

  His months of training kicked in and directed his actions, relying on the techniques drilled into him at boot camp and at further intensive sessions at those grueling days and nights when grim-faced instructors pushed him to the limits and beyond.

  Hawkins was measured in his response. No using the subgun; shots would betray his presence, put the enemy on alert and possibly put his partners at risk. He was calf-deep in clinging snow, so no fancy footwork. That left his upper body and arms free. He was gripping the subgun and Hawkins used it.

  He swept the barrel formation down across the guy’s right forearm, midway up from the wrist. Hawkins put every ounce of his strength into the blow. He felt it thud down across the limb and the bone snap. The guy gasped against the sudden shock of pain and his fingers slackened around the hand grip. The subgun sagged.

  Hawkins caught a glimpse of the pained expression on the sentry’s face. He had already reversed the sweep of his weapon, slashing it around and driving the bulk of the subgun into the Chinese guy’s face. No hesitation. No remorse. There was only the need to put the guy down hard. Bone and flesh collapsed inward under the brutal impact. Nose and mouth turned to bloody red flesh.

  Hawkins pulled back the subgun and struck again, putting in deadly force. The already crushed face became even more a mask of bloody, ruined flesh. The Chinese fell back against the side of the house, semiconscious.

  Hawkins reached his right hand under his coat and slid out the Tanto. He leaned forward and thrust the blade deep into the side of the guy’s neck, withdrew and repeated the thrust, severing the main artery. Blood began to pump from the wounds, thick and red. It arced away from the body, spattering the house wall and falling onto the snow. It looked starkly bright against the pristine white.