John kicked his downed adversary in the face for good measure, the blow cutting the man’s right temple and sending him into oblivion.
He heard a commotion behind him but didn’t dare waste a moment to look. He dove toward the submachine gun and landed on his stomach, the breath knocked out of his lungs. Ignoring the discomfort, he swept up the weapon and bounced back to his feet, searching for a target.
What he saw stunned him, and he felt his breath catch at the scene before his eyes.
———
Logan and Cole had reached the rectangular memorial, intent on using the sparse trees surrounding it to mask their movement. The immediate goal had been to reach the fence at the back of the cemetery, scale it, and use the perimeter to flank and ambush the Chinese assault force as the teams tried to leave the grounds. They figured they’d be able to at least take out one of the teams, snatch their weapons, and attack the team that had captured John and David. The plan had changed when they’d spotted two more armed attackers on the dirt sidewalk outside the fence. Their escape was blocked.
Time for plan B, Logan thought.
“Quick! Inside here. We don’t have a choice. We really are surrounded,” Logan said as he moved toward a roofless building thirty feet long by fifteen feet wide, made of four nine-foot-high stone walls. The only way in or out was a four-foot long entryway covered by a stone arch.
Logan and Cole dashed through the entrance under the arch. Inside, four white stone benches were positioned two by two in the middle of a manicured grass area surrounded by a small walkway. On the walls were names etched in Arabic.
Dead warriors were honored in all civilized cultures. But Logan certainly didn’t have plans to join them anytime soon.
The sound of a high-pitched engine—similar to a powerful lawn mower—reached their ears from overhead, and the two men exchanged a quick glance.
“Is that what I think it is?” Cole asked, quickly looking up into the bright morning sky.
“I’m pretty sure it is. The embassy already has eyes-on. Thank God,” Logan answered, referring to the UAV both knew was now overhead. “Hopefully, the quick reaction force is nearly here too.”
The sounds of shouting grew louder.
“We’ve got maybe twenty seconds,” Logan responded as he moved to the bench closest to the entrance. “Help me flip this over.”
They placed the heavy stone bench on its side, revealing a pair of objects underneath it they hadn’t seen—two metal urns. Logan smiled at Cole.
“I have an idea,” he said. “It probably won’t work, but hey, what have we got to lose at this point?”
———
A Special Forces veteran of the Chinese People’s Liberation Army, Chief Sergeant Chow Chi-Fong had been hand-selected by Lau Gang, the young major from the PLA’s military intelligence unit.
Chi-Fong didn’t like surprises, and unfortunately, this mission had already provided plenty. They’d lost one of their best communications officers at the airfield two days before. Gang had acted out of character by gathering all of them together and emphasizing the importance of the mission. He’d assured his men that Chang’s sacrifice was for a higher purpose, an endgame that guaranteed their country’s future prosperity.
From the briefing, Chi-Fong had the impression that Gang might know who was responsible for Chang’s killing, but he hadn’t disclosed it. Chi-Fong was sure the major had his reasons, which was good enough for him.
It wasn’t his place to question Gang, even though Chi-Fong was at least ten years his senior. He just wanted to get the next few days over with so he could return to the mainland before the international community figured out what was happening.
When the ambush had gone according to plan, he’d been encouraged to hope that there’d be no more digressions from the mission. But then the Americans had somehow escaped the smoking SUV and fled into the cemetery.
Team One had surrounded two of the vehicle’s occupants, and Chi-Fong’s team and Team Three had converged on the small memorial in the back of the burial ground. The two teams lined up outside the small entrance, with Chi-Fong in front as the operator with the most experience in this type of situation. He looked at Gang for approval, received it with a nod, and moved toward the doorway, a pistol-like Taser held up in front of him.
We have to capture them alive, he thought, recalling a covert operation in Taiwan early in his career when he’d shown mercy to a family member of a target he’d been sent to assassinate. She’d promised never to speak of what had happened to her brother, an enemy of the state and a collaborator with a Western human rights movement. In a moment of weakness, he’d allowed her to live, probably because of her beauty. As he’d left the apartment, his mission seemingly complete, she’d silently snuck up behind him and tried to attack him with a kitchen knife. He’d reacted instinctively, disarming her and plunging the knife into her stomach before he realized what he’d done. Chi-Fong had cursed himself for allowing her to get as close as she did, forcing him to feel momentarily vulnerable. After that mission, mercy was no more. It was always the mission, and always for China.
A sudden thud echoed from inside. What are they doing? They have to know they’re trapped.
Chi-Fong entered the structure, passing under the stone archway, moving close to the wall. His knees were bent, ready to react. A short passageway opened into the space inside, but it turned around a corner to his right, limiting his vision. Directly in front of him was a stone bench on its side, further obstructing his path. He inched forward and leaned out but still couldn’t see anything. Not good.
And then he saw it—or rather—them. The soles of a pair of dark-brown shoes were sticking out just enough to be visible.
He turned back to the five operatives behind him and pointed at the bench. He used his left hand to signal that he and the man behind him would move toward the bench, and the four men in the rear of the stack would fan out to the right once inside. They nodded in uniform acknowledgment, and he returned his focus to the bench.
Chi-Fong waited a brief moment, listening. Nothing. They must be hiding, hoping for who knows what.
Once committed to a course of action, Chi-Fong executed it with precision. He exhaled and stepped quickly past the corner of the inside wall. He took one more step, and then he caught a flash of movement from his right, and he realized his mistake—the bench was a diversion.
It was too late. He tried to react as a gold object flashed before him and grew larger as it sailed toward his face. He couldn’t see who wielded it, his eyes fixated on the weapon. Are those flowers? he thought wildly.
It was all his mind had time to process. There was a loud crack as the object collided with his face, and he felt his nose shatter in a bright flash of white pain. The last thing he felt was the Taser being yanked out of his hands. And then, nothing.
———
The brass urn full of bright purple flowers Logan had spotted at the last moment clattered to the stone pathway. Logan shoved the unconscious man backward as he ripped the Taser from his hands. The unlucky assailant’s body crashed into the man behind him.
Logan stepped forward before the nearest operative could react, timing his strike perfectly. As the surprised attacker tried to deflect his friend’s dead weight with the police-style baton he wielded, Logan plunged the Taser under his chin and pulled the trigger. The man went rigid and collapsed to the ground. Two down, four to go.
As Logan retrieved the baton, he sensed a flurry of activity behind him as Cole entered the fray. They’d achieved a momentary tactical advantage, and he intended to prolong it as long as possible.
Before the engagement commenced, they’d agreed that Logan would disarm the first attacker and use him as a human battering ram to push back whoever was along the outer wall, while Cole would step in behind him to fend off the men along the inner part of the entrance where the passageway turned the corner.
In a conventional urban combat situation, the attacking force
usually required a seven-to-one troop ratio in order to dislodge an entrenched enemy. At six on two, the odds favored Logan and Cole, and they’d taken immediate advantage of it. It was paramount that they press their initial momentum and drive the attackers out in order to buy precious time for the QRF to join the fight.
Cole lunged from behind the main wall and rounded the corner, confronting a third man with a Taser aimed at Logan. Cole reached out and grasped his wrists, yanking upward and to the left in a large, sweeping motion.
The Taser discharged into the open air above the memorial.
As the operative’s arms slammed into the wall, Cole delivered a precise elbow that struck him in the jaw. Cole followed the strike with two vicious blows to his midsection, doubling the man over. He finished him off by slamming his head into the stone wall, either killing or sending him into a very deep sleep.
Wham!
Pain suddenly exploded in Cole’s upper right arm, and he roared in fury as a fourth attacker pulled a heavy steel baton back to strike a second blow. Cole turned to defend himself, even as he sensed another attacker rushing in from his right.
But it was Logan. Cole saw his friend’s baton come crashing down onto the Chinese attacker’s forearm.
Snap! The man’s forearm broke like a dry twig.
He screamed in pain, but his cry was cut short as Logan struck a second blow to the temple. The fourth operative collapsed, adding to the bodies now clogging the entranceway under the memorial’s arch.
Ignoring the pain shooting up his arm, Cole leapt over the fallen men toward the final two attackers, the ones armed with submachine guns. Logan was a half step ahead of him to his right, swinging the baton like a short sword.
Cole and Logan had bet their lives that this assault force had orders to take them alive. Their theory was about to be tested as Logan swung the baton and missed.
The gunman in front of him had more than enough time to pull the trigger. He didn’t. Instead, he pivoted the submachine gun, striking the baton with the butt of his weapon and knocking Logan’s arm to the side.
Even as Logan felt the vibration travel up his arm, he smiled. Bingo. Got you now, motherfucker.
Logan dropped the baton and stepped within reach of the armed man. He brought his arm up and slammed it into the back of the gunman’s right arm in front of him, pinning the submachine gun against the wall and aimed back toward its owner.
Before the man could react, Logan leaned heavily against him, reached around with his right hand, and located the pistol grip. He inserted his finger into the trigger guard and pulled backward.
Thwack-thwack-thwack! The silenced gun was loud, its three-round burst magnified by the tight quarters. The gunman stood dazed from the shots that screamed past his head, his grip loosening on the weapon.
Logan grabbed the handle of the submachine gun and dug his fingers into the man’s right wrist. The hand opened under the intense pressure, and Logan yanked the weapon out of his grasp, stepping backward.
Panic gripped the Chinese operative, and he reached inside his khaki vest for a shoulder holster.
Logan locked his bright-green eyes with the man’s dark ones, shook his head, and pulled the trigger.
Thwack-thwack-thwack! Three rounds struck the gun’s owner squarely in the chest, and he fell backward through the doorway, landing on the dry grass outside.
Logan turned to see Cole struggling with the last of the operatives. Cole had managed to disarm the man, and the submachine gun lay on the ground between them. Logan watched as Cole broke free of the man’s grasp and delivered a front kick that sent his attacker stumbling backward.
We’re out of time. We need to get out of here to help John. It’s time to end this. With Cole safely out of range, Logan aimed the weapon once more and shot the final man before he could regain his footing. He fell to the ground, landing partially on top of his dead team member.
It was over.
“Thanks,” Cole said simply.
“We need to get out of here and help John. There’s at least one of them left—their leader, I think. He’s got the drop on us, but we already know they won’t kill us. Let’s go.”
Cole picked up the other submachine gun as a black canister sailed in from outside the doorway.
Before they could react, there was a loud pop and gray smoke filled the air.
Oh no, Logan thought as he detected a strong, pleasant odor he couldn’t quite identify. Then it hit him at the same time as the effects of the gas, a memory of having his wisdom teeth pulled. It smells like laughing gas.
“Move!” he screamed and pulled Cole toward the doorway, even as he felt his body become sluggish, his limbs suddenly heavy. He took a step toward the opening, but the effects of the incapacitant were almost instantaneous. He stumbled forward onto the stone walkway, rolling onto his side.
Cole landed on the ground next to him, staring at him in dawning understanding. He managed to utter, “At least we tried,” and then passed out as the gas overtook him.
This can’t be how it ends! Logan’s mind screamed. He struggled to lift his head and look outside as a loud roaring sensation filled his ears. He saw black boots quickly approach but soon lost focus. As hard as he resisted, his eyes closed, and he drifted into unconsciousness.
———
Gang was in a state of disbelief—an emotion he rarely experienced. Even as the situation rapidly spiraled out of control, each of his actions was calculated for maximum tactical benefit. No matter what else occurred, he’d achieve his objective in the next two minutes.
He was certain he already had his answer—these men had to be intelligence operatives, and experienced ones at that. There was no other explanation for their escape and evasion from his small assault force.
Once they’d entered the cemetery—a contingency he’d planned for—he’d maintained a visual on the four Americans until they’d been forced to split up when the one carrying the embassy driver had fallen. Gang had chosen to pursue the two men fleeing toward the rectangular memorial.
He knew the US Embassy would send a response team to rescue their personnel. What he didn’t know was how long he had before they arrived, and he’d made the call for a quick extract, even as he directed his men’s next moves.
He’d seen his team surround the fallen Americans, confident his prey would be subdued in seconds. He’d been almost as confident that his six men who’d entered the memorial would meet little resistance. Apparently, he’d been wrong on both counts.
He’d heard the struggle inside but had assumed it was his team overpowering the two targets. Gang only realized how much he’d underestimated his enemy when he saw Corporal Feng’s body fall, bullet-ridden, through the memorial’s entrance.
He had to end this confrontation, which was why he’d thrown the black canister.
It contained a fentanyl-derived chemical agent, the same substance used by Russian commandos to incapacitate Chechen terrorists in the Moscow theater crisis in 2002. Unfortunately, the gas had also killed 117 of the hostages as a result of overexposure. The Russians had shared the technology as part of a military agreement between his unit and the Russian Federal Security Service. The Chinese military had tailored it for close-quarters tactical use.
Now, as he waited for the gas to take effect—a matter of seconds—he radioed the team leader who’d surrounded the other two Americans.
“Do you have the two men? Extract inbound. ETA, sixty seconds.”
No answer. He repeated the question as a loud thrumming began to shake the ground. We’re almost out of time. We can’t wait.
Suddenly, another one of Gang’s white SUVs crashed through the nearest iron fence, knocking it over and tearing up the cemetery in large clumps of dirt and sod. The SUV stopped beside the memorial, and Gang motioned for the driver to assist him.
The driver jumped out of the vehicle and approached Gang.
“They should be unconscious. Get them out of there now! We have to leave.”
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“What about our men?” the young sergeant asked.
“We don’t have time to retrieve them,” he said, starting to raise his voice. “Look!”
He turned around and saw what he’d been expecting—a Russian Hind Mi-24 attack and transport helicopter approaching low on the horizon.
“I’ll arrange a cleanup crew with the Sudanese. Now go. I’m going to get you some help to move the Americans,” Gang shouted over the increasing roar of the rotors. He turned away from his driver and ran to meet the Hind as it descended into the fray.
CHAPTER 24
After disarming and rendering unconscious the closest two Chinese operatives, John retrieved the second attacker’s submachine gun and regained his footing. He turned to face the sound of the commotion he’d heard in the middle of his own struggle.
Standing before him was a lithe, light-skinned African woman with pale blue eyes. Gunslinger eyes, John thought, the initial shock of this woman’s sudden appearance fading away. This day is full of surprises.
At her feet lay the two bodies of the Chinese attackers John had ignored as he dealt with the two closest to him. They were no threat now. Blood slowly leaked from their lifeless bodies into the hallowed ground below.
A bright, multicolored scarf was tightly wrapped around her upper body, revealing two scabbards for the dual stilettos she held, blood staining each. And then he realized the truth—she’s LEGION. A beautiful, trained killer.
“Who are you? I know you’re not contractors,” she said in a calm, controlled voice. “Any idea why these men attacked you?”
John’s reply was interrupted as he and his savior looked skyward, their attention caught by the sound of rotors from an approaching helicopter. What now?
Gunfire erupted in the back of the cemetery, followed by a smaller pop. Moments later, a white SUV crashed through the iron gate and pulled alongside the small, stone building. He heard the helicopter grow closer and saw it rise up like a large, ancient bird from behind a five-story building next to the cemetery.
Oath of Honor Page 15
