“That’s the outer gate,” he said. “Looks like they’ve got eight sentries on it.”
“Those are the ones we can see,” Rollins said.
Jonathan scrolled out. “Those are the ones we have to worry about,” he corrected. “There might be others, but those are the ones we have to worry about initially. When it comes time to strike, we’ll wait for the most current image and work off of that.”
“That’s a doable number,” Jolaine said. “It’s all about marksmanship. Five of us, eight of them.”
“So, we’re just going to shoot them outright,” Rollins said. His tone carried an edge of disbelief.
“We could always ask them to surrender,” Boxers said.
“They’re the enemy,” Jonathan said. “All of our intel, such as it is, indicates that the guards at the gates are shooters. If we take that to heart—and I think we have to—then we have no other choice.”
“The trick is getting them all simultaneously,” Dylan said. “That’s hard to do when you have fewer shooters than people to be shot.”
Jonathan sensed that Boxers was about to say something snarky, and was grateful when he chose not to. “We can work that out,” Jonathan said. “Just make sure your weapons are suppressed, and that your first, say, three rounds are subsonic. If we get close enough—which we will—then we should be able to shoot ourselves into a free pass through the front gate.”
Jonathan and his team understood that silencers, as the lay public thought of them, did not exist in reality. The phut-phut sound that people had come to believe in from the movies simply did not exist. Even if the baffles of the suppressor at the end of the barrel had been capable of diffusing the sharp crack of the propellant that launched the bullet downrange, the bullet itself traveled faster than the speed of sound, which created its own explosion—a sonic boom—as it traveled through the air. By using subsonic rounds—bullets that were designed to fly slower than the speed of sound—they had the greatest chance of penetrating the compound without creating a big stir.
“If we can get past that spot,” Jonathan continued, “we have options available to us.”
“So, being assigned to that gate is a death sentence for the sentries,” Rollins said.
“Exactly,” Jonathan replied. “That’s the price of being a bad guy.” He didn’t understand why the colonel was having such a hard time understanding these basic tenets, and he really didn’t care. “Is this going to be a problem?”
“I don’t think so,” Rollins said.
“I need something stronger than that,” Jonathan said. “Mine will be among the asses on the line, and if there’s any doubt—”
“I’ll do my job,” Rollins said.
“There’s the inspiration I was looking for,” Boxers said.
“Okay, stop,” Jonathan said. “Madman erred, he atoned, and now we’re ready to go.”
“I don’t think we are,” Dylan said. “I don’t have a clue what the plan is.”
“I’m not sure I know what the mission is,” Jolaine said.
Jonathan settled himself for the explanation with a deep breath. “The mission is to nab Victor Carrington—or whatever his real name is—and bring him in for questioning. The questioning, in the meantime, should reveal the details of whatever the larger plan is. That means getting all the way in to the heart of the compound, making the grab, and then getting out again.”
“Let’s not forget the part about living to see another day,” Boxers said.
“First and foremost on my mind,” Jonathan replied. “The trick is to level the playing field. That means operating in darkness.”
“Don’t we know that they have night vision?” Dylan asked.
“Yes,” Jonathan said, “but we also know that they have electrical power, and that they illuminate the camp at night.”
“That means they’re not using their night vision,” Rollins said.
“Exactly. So once we’re in, we need to get to their power plant—”
“That’s it right there,” Big Guy said, pointing to the computer screen. “You can tell by the heat signature. Nothing looks like a power plant but a power plant.”
“How do we know it’s the only one?” Rollins asked.
“If you see another, point it out,” Jonathan said. “Otherwise, we roll the dice on a better-than-average bet.”
“How do you want to handle it?” Dylan asked.
The power plant was just inside the second fence line, sitting more or less by itself beyond the enlisted quarters.
“We need the darkness,” Jonathan said. “Without that, we’re five targets among two hundred shooters.”
“That’s bad, right?” Boxers said.
“That’s very bad. Big Guy, you, Madman, and I will take the generator. When the place goes dark, Boomer and She Devil will take out the guards at the second gate. Then, while we rush to Officer’s Country to make the snatch, Boomer, you and She Devil will create a diversion by tossing a thermite grenade at the base of a trailer.”
“They’re going to go like kindling,” Dylan said.
“Yep,” Jonathan agreed. “Here’s hoping that the soldiers inside are confused and move quickly.”
Dylan asked, “After the compound is dark, where do you want us?”
“In support,” Jonathan said. “That’s the best I can do right now. We’re going to have to play the rest of it by ear. There’s bound to be some resistance.”
“I think that is the understatement of the night,” Boxers said. “Some resistance.”
“It’s all about speed, people,” Jonathan said. “Shock and awe. If it moves and has a gun, shoot it. You’re each fully loaded with five-five-six, right? Four hundred rounds?”
The team looked at each other. “More or less,” Jolaine said.
“That’s a lot of firepower,” Jonathan said. “Y’ all have moved through this space before. It’s about keeping people’s heads down.”
“And not catching a stray bullet,” Rollins said.
“Well, that, too,” Jonathan agreed.
“Once we have Carrington,” Dylan said. “Then what? How do we get down off the mountain?”
“We drive like crazy,” Jonathan said.
“Really?” Rollins gaped. “That’s your plan?”
“Unless you have some air assets we haven’t thought of.”
“This is feeling a little like a suicide mission,” Jolaine said.
Boxers snapped his finger. “Stop. We don’t do suicide missions. We wreak havoc and bring people to justice, but we do not do suicide missions.”
“Listen to Big Guy’s words,” Jonathan said. “We’re about to cross the full-commitment point, the point of no return. If you have doubts, this is the last opportunity to express them.”
As he scanned their faces, they all looked away. Except for Boxers, who’d heard the speech a thousand times and responded with a huge smile and two thumbs up.
“So, are you done?” Big Guy asked. “Is it time to go mess people up?”
Jonathan didn’t like the feel of the group. Just as lovers shouldn’t go to bed with angry words between them, warriors should not face down an enemy in the midst of anything but complete trust.
“Okay, listen up, everyone,” he said. “There are those among us who will never be friends, but that fact should not take away from our willingness to die for each other. We have to be a team. If there are any among you who cannot reach that place—and I’m looking at you, Big Guy and you, Madman—I need you to tell me right now. Because once we get back in those vehicles, there’s no turning back.”
“I’m good,” Big Guy said.
“Me, too,” Madman agreed.
“What about you two?” Jonathan asked, addressing She Devil and Boomer.
“What about us?” Boomer said. “We’ve been nothing but easy.”
“Okay,” Jonathan said. “Before we move, I want everybody in black. I mean ink stain black. Balaclavas included. Full body armor, including chest and back pla
tes. Kevlar lids. Full soldier, understand?”
In the flatbed of the Batmobile, each of the operators had his or her own duffel, complete with the appropriate equipment. Boomer and Madman had to make do with loaners, but Jonathan had enough in the storeroom to make the selection easy. When they were fully kitted up, all of them wore a slung long gun—Boxers and Dylan with 7.62 millimeter HK 417s, and the others with M27s, modified HK 416s chambered in 5.56 millimeter. In addition, Jonathan and Boxers each carried holstered MP7s along with their regular sidearms. For good measure, Dylan wore a pistol-grip Mossberg 12-gauge slung under his arm.
In their rucks, each team member carried a couple of GPCs—general purpose charges made of C4 with a tail of detonating cord—a spool of detonating cord, a few grenades, and an assortment of triggers and detonators, plus one claymore mine apiece. Throw in ten spare mags of thirty rounds each for the long guns, and assorted spare ammo for the pistols, plus essential first aid gear, and it was a knee-sagging load.
“You sure you can carry all that?” Boxers asked Jolaine.
It was the wrong thing to ask, and her glare showed it.
“I meant no harm,” Big Guy said. Jonathan felt a pang of sympathy. Boxers was good at a whole lot of things, but none of those things involved sensitivity.
“I want everybody on PTT,” Jonathan said—push-to-talk. “After the first guards are down, we’re essentially splitting into two teams, and I want you to be vivid and complete in your descriptions of what’s going on. Are we clear on that?”
Nods all around.
“Okay, do a radio check.” Jonathan pressed the switch on his radio and said, “Scorpion, radio check.”
“Mother Hen reads you loud and clear.”
And so it went, person to person, voice to voice.
“NVGs on,” Jonathan said, and the team pulled the $30,000 four-tube arrays over their eyes. “Boomer, you and She Devil are Alpha. Big Guy, Madman, and I are Bravo. Alpha holds back until Bravo announces that we’re in position. After that, we’re game on. Everybody good?”
Affirmatives all around.
“Okay, hands in,” Jonathan said. He placed his right hand out, palm down, and waited for the others to stack their hands on top of his. “To success,” he said.
They bounced their hands, and then they were ready to go.
Ian looked at his alarm clock, and adjusted to the fact that he was not going to get any sleep tonight. He should have heard back from somebody tonight. It was nearly four in the morning for heaven’s sake. If he hadn’t heard from Tommy Piper, then he certainly should have heard from Biggs or Little. Yet he’d heard nothing.
In his bones, he knew that something was wrong. That’s why he had sent Little and Biggs—Dumb and Dumber—into town with a team to bring Tommy back. Ian had let his emotions get in the way of sound thinking, and now he was caught in that netherworld between knowledge and intuition. He knew that he had no reason to sound the alarm, but that little voice in his head—that devil on his shoulder—kept whispering that it was time to go to full alert.
Yet that was a step forward from which there was no step back. He worked with amateur fighters who were becoming more talented with each passing day, but they did not possess the discipline of real soldiers. If he brought them to full alert, then there had better be a fight to be fought, otherwise there would be no response to the next alarm.
He considered waking Karras to inform him of his concerns but he decided against it, largely for the same reasons. Karras was more a panicker than a tactician. He would respond at two hundred percent to whatever input Ian fed to him, and while under most circumstances, that would be considered a good thing, in this one, it just put a huge burden on Ian to be correct.
Resigning himself to a very long night, Ian turned on the lights, showered, shaved, dressed, and got a head start on the day.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Boxers parked the Batmobile in the road, in the dark, two hundred yards from the main gate of the compound. As he climbed out, Rollins took his place behind the wheel. Twenty-five yards ahead, Boomer and She Devil had pulled to a silent stop, waiting for word that the rest of the team was in position. It worked to their benefit that tonight brought a new moon, meaning no moonlight at all. That meant that the bad guys could see virtually nothing, beyond the wash of the light mounted on a pole overhead. On the downside, that lack of visibility always brought a kind of hyperawareness that translated to disturbingly fast trigger fingers.
Jonathan took the right side of the road while Big Guy took the left. They moved swiftly yet silently despite the one-hundred-plus pounds of gear they carried. As with any invasion, the first moments made all the difference in the world. The plan in this case was to use overwhelming force in the least offensive way.
Jonathan found a spot among the trees that gave him a panoramic view of the first checkpoint. As they had expected, a total of eight guards had amassed around the lift-up gate. Each of them was impressively armed with AR-15 variants and sidearms but only the sentries closest to the gate seemed to have an inkling of a mission. Five of them happened to be on Jonathan’s side of the road.
“I’m in position,” Jonathan said. “I have five targets and they’re all in the open.” Of course, as soon as the first of those targets fell dead, the in-the-open part would likely reset to something closer to run-for-their-lives. Or, in the worst case scenario, it would reduce to fight-for-their lives. Jonathan possessed enough ego and enough confidence that either choice would end the same for the bad guy.
“I’ve only got three,” Boxers whispered. “Want to change sides?”
As he often did at times like these, Jonathan ignored him. “Okay, Alpha, you’re on. You have the lead, but we have eyes on. If bad guys start falling, adjust accordingly.”
Jonathan wedged his left side into a solid spot in a tree trunk, and wedged his M27 into the soft spot of his shoulder. Through his scope, he had a perfect, full-bodied image of the rightmost sentry, as he would for any of the others if he scanned. Once he confirmed that the guards were not wearing night vision themselves, he thumbed the button for the infrared laser that would paint the target he wanted to shoot. Because the beam was IR, it was invisible to anyone who was not wearing night vision. Of all the force multipliers he and his team utilized—read, cheats—the ability to turn night into day was hands down the greatest. And because the night was so well lit for him—and had been for so many years of operations—it was sometimes startling for Jonathan to realize just how blind his adversaries were when they died.
He saw the headlights of Alpha’s vehicle approaching from the left-rear, but he looked away, concentrating on that rightmost sentry—the one he would shoot first. Jolaine and Boomer stopped at the gate. Through his radio, Jonathan heard Dylan say, “We’re coming back from town.”
“They didn’t like it,” Boxers said over the net. Jonathan could see nothing from Dylan’s side, the driver’s side. He increased the pressure on the trigger. The sentry still seemed clueless. And he seemed very young, though well armed.
“We’re hot, we’re hot!” Boxers said. In that instant, through the periphery of his NVGs, Jonathan caught two muzzle flashes from what would have been Jolaine’s weapon in the shotgun seat. Jonathan painted his target’s left eye and felt the trigger break, launching a bullet downrange. Simultaneous with the vague bang that escaped his weapon’s suppressor, he noted the splash of gore as the target fell, but he’d already moved on. He shifted his aim a couple of clicks to the left, where he found another sentry reacting in panic, raising his rifle to his shoulder. Jonathan killed him before the sentry was halfway to being set.
And then there were no targets.
“Clear on the right,” Jolaine said.
“Clear on the left,” Dylan agreed.
“Nice job,” Jonathan sad. “Now to phase two.” He considered combining the teams back into a single vehicle, but decided against it. This way, if they needed to split up for operational issues, t
hey could. Also, the lighter SUV—the one without the armor plating and bulletproof windows—was more agile. He also decided against stashing the bodies. With the gate wide open, if anyone happened to drive up at this hour—and he thought that to be unlikely—the fact that the guards were gone would raise a loud enough alarm. Plus, speed mattered, and he didn’t want to take the time.
Before getting back in the car, he did, however, take the time to drop an infrared strobe at the gate, just in case the ride out was more intense than the ride in.
The camp designer had chosen to place the electrical generator building inside the first fence, but outside the interior ring, probably to allow for more secure servicing. If a repair truck was necessary, it could do what it needed to do without actually entering the main part of the compound. Getting to it, however, was going to be a tricky proposition.
While the outer ring fence was only dimly lit, the closer they got to the inner fence, which was quite some distance away, maybe half a mile or more, the night started looking more like day. Because of the steep terrain, there was no line-of-sight visibility to worry about yet, but that would come soon.
Jonathan looked to his GPS. He could see the generator building, but he cursed himself silently for not being more thorough in his markings. “Stop a second,” he said, and Boxers brought the vehicle to a halt. “Mother Hen, Scorpion,” he said into his radio.
“Go ahead.”
“Do you have eyes on us?”
“Not a current one, no. The image won’t refresh for another two minutes.”
“Do me a favor, will you, and upload the specific coordinates of the generator building access road to my GPS.”
There was silence for a few seconds and then she came back with, “Did someone drop the ball on research?” There was a time, not too long ago, when Venice stayed away from light banter and focused exclusively on the mission. Jonathan missed those days. “Okay,” Venice said. “The numbers are on the way. Need any others?”
This was the problem of planning an op on the fly. You forgot important stuff that you didn’t realize you needed until you needed it. “Affirm,” Jonathan said. “Give me every intersection on the map.”
Against All Enemies Page 30
