Point Position

by Don Pendleton

  He pulled the headset into place, securing it over his ears. He tapped it. There was nothing coming through. Maybe the blocking frequency didn’t cut in until the weapon was actually in use.

  Worried by the lack of any sound at all in his headset, Goldman turned and backtracked to where he had left the dead terrorists. Hurrying as he knew now that time was of the essence, he ripped off the headset and sank onto one knee to take a set off one of the corpses. As he lifted it up, he could hear a faint sound coming from the set, like the static on an untuned TV set.

  Dammit, trust him to pick up the only headset on the whole damned estate that had been damaged, he thought. He tugged the headset away from the corpse’s head, but it snagged, and he had to pull again.

  He became aware of a nagging ache in both ears. It was like an itch deep inside, no, like a pain. He screamed. It was like a wasp had stung him on each eardrum. The agony was intense and yet also exquisite.

  Goldman became aware that the world was moving away from him, as if it were something that he was watching on a movie screen, a photograph, garish and only two dimensional. It was hard to think, impossible to move.

  BOLAN WATCHED THE outbuilding explode as the grenades hit. The 5.56 mm ammo he had poured onto the site was also doing some serious damage. But the time had come for him to stop the long-distance bombardment and move in for the kill. He slipped the magazine from the M-16 and left it standing temporarily useless. Unslinging his AKSU and taking a grenade from the combat harness on the blacksuit, Bolan began to run toward the house. It was then that he heard the alarm begin to sound.

  Pulling the pin from the grenade and holding the spoon down while he drew back his arm, he then let the spoon free and tossed the grenade in a high arc over the vines toward the outbuildings. He then stopped to pull the headset into place.

  But first he yelled into the blacksuit’s mike, “Jack, they’re about to start the weapon. You and Walters stop monitoring now.”

  “But Sarge—” Grimaldi began.

  “No, Jack! Stop now and wait until you hear from me. Just monitor the perimeters.”

  “Okay,” Grimaldi agreed reluctantly.

  Bolan took the earpiece for the blacksuit transmitter out of his ear and pulled the headset into place. The sound of white noise took over, and he found that all other sound disappeared. This would make advancing difficult, as he would be unable to hear any approaches. On the other hand, the terrorists wouldn’t be expecting the attack to continue.

  Moving forward, he saw rather than heard the grenade explode. One side of a barn began to collapse, the last explosion being the one necessary to bring down the edifice. With any luck, it may have taken out a few terrorists.

  It was strange to see the explosion and feel the ground shaking under his feet as he ran, but not actually hear it. However, he put the feeling to one side. He would need to be a hundred percent focused if he was going to pull this one off.

  The twisting maze of vines now became a death run. Unable to hear the approach of an enemy, Bolan had to move swiftly through the tangle of vines without anyone getting the drop on him. The sooner he was past this point, the sooner he would be able to get a full, panoramic view of the target area. Right now, the enemy could appear around the corner at any second, and he would be caught cold.

  At some points, the thickness of the cover provided by the grapes and the large leaves of the vines thinned out enough for him to be able to see through to the other side, and judge if there was any opposition in a position to hit him. It was only as he tackled the last hole in the wall of the vines that he felt it safe to assume that the terrorists had pulled back in order to defend the strongholds of the remaining outbuilding, and the château itself. They would be hoping that the sonic attack had taken effect, but were also unsure about how many soldiers they were facing.

  As Bolan pulled up by the opening that would lead him into the open courtyard area at the side of the château, he was also wondering the same thing. He had no way of knowing if Ross and Goldman had been successful in avoiding the guards and the sonic attack, and if they were on their way.

  ERROL ROSS FACED the rear of the château. He was crouched by the opening, surveying the damage ahead. The windows at the rear of the building had all been blown out, and there was some damage to the upper floors of the three-story structure. One of the outbuildings had the large double doors blown out, and had some structural damage, including a section of the roof caved in. The other outbuilding had collapsed on itself, leaving it little more than a heap of rubble from which dust and some smoke were still rising, a small fire visible in what remained of the central section. Three dead terrorists were in the rear courtyard, and he could see some arms and legs poking out of the rubble.

  Already, it looked as though the initial assault had gone some way toward evening the odds. Ross sat back on his heels and pondered the best course of action. The standing out-building could house some terrorists that would have to be neutralized. But the chances were that the terrorists had pulled back into the château, to establish one strong base rather than splitting their resources. Also, he felt sure that Chavez-Smith would have contingency plans to pull them back, as defense of the chip had to be his priority.

  So, before tackling the house, he had to just make sure that the outbuilding posed no threat. There was only one way to do that. He took two grenades from his combat harness and pulled the pin on the first. From a position that would enable him to stand upright, getting a good angle on the outbuilding and yet not be seen from the château, he swung back his arm and lobbed the grenade toward the outbuilding. It went into the open double doors. Before it had a chance to detonate, he had taken the pin from the second and thrown that bomb in a higher trajectory, tossing it into an opening on the upper floor that had once been used to heft sacks of grain into the top story, as the pulley mechanism still attached to the wall attested. Ross then dived across the opening in the vines and rolled to cover, watching the grapes splatter into a blood colored pulp as SMG fire from the château followed the arc of the grenades back to the source. He backed into the vines, watching the dirt in front of him being kicked up by the shells as they bit into the ground where the terrorists thought he was lying.

  The explosions sounded close enough to each other to be almost one, not that he could hear it through the white noise in his ears, but he could feel the earth beneath him shake as from the explosions and then the aftershock as the outbuilding collapsed in on itself.

  All the surviving terrorist forces would be concentrated in the château now, he was certain of that.

  And all he had to do was get past them.

  BOLAN HAD A SIXTH SENSE about danger, born of many long missions—which was why he suddenly hit the ground behind the cover of the vines a fraction of a second before he felt the earth shake beneath him from the double explosion.

  So at least one of his partners was still in the game. A rain of debris showered about him, none of it large enough to cause injury, but proof enough of the grenades’ success. As the soldier pulled himself to his feet, he readied the AKSU for a charge on the château. From his position, the rubble would provide adequate cover. He just hoped that whoever had thrown the grenades was satisfied with his work, and didn’t want to lob one more to make sure while he was in the area.

  Bolan came out of cover and raced for the debris. Nothing could live in that carnage, and the attention of the terrorists would be focused on the direction of the attack. If he moved fast and kept low, he should be able to avoid detection. There would be a watch on this side of the château, but as there was still so much dust and confusion he may be able to move without being seen.

  He attained cover without a shot pocking the earth around him, and from his position behind a mound of brick and splintered wood, he looked at the west side of the château. Several windows were at ground level, all of which had been blown out by the proximity to the blast. They looked deserted, as though the terrorists guarding them had pulled
back at the explosions.

  Perhaps they had. If the electronics facility of the château was situated on another side of the building, then maybe Chavez-Smith would pull the guards back to defend it until he was in a position to get away with the hardware.

  But how would he do this? Bolan found it hard to believe that a hardened criminal and terrorist sympathizer like the Chilean would rely only on the roads. He would have a chopper on call, surely? But then, how would he call it up without killing the sonic weapon?

  And by now, all the enemy fighters had to have realized that whoever was attacking had headsets that also protected them. Would this mean that the weapon had been stopped to facilitate an escape?

  There was no way that the soldier could tell this without risking himself. He had to get inside the château. If the terrorists had discarded their headsets he could discard his, but until that time, he would be at a disadvantage.

  Damn, it could have been going better.

  ROSS PUMPED MP-5 fire into the windows at the rear of the château. The ground-floor door at the back was open, and the muzzle-flash of an SMG told him that there were guards stationed there. If he could knock them out, then he may have an entry. He stopped firing, and with a smooth fluid motion changed magazines. Right now, he could do with his partners taking some action and getting the heat off him.

  He started to fire sparingly, waiting to try to catch the guards as they entered the window frames and doorway for the split second it took to fire. It was getting tedious. They had him pinned down, and there was no way he could knock them all out, even if he stood there from now until Christmas. He needed another edge.

  There were three grenades left on the harness, as all three men had been allotted five. If he lobbed one into the château’s back entrance, he was taking the risk of blocking his own means of entry. But so what? Was he going to stand there all day and get fired at?

  Ross pulled a grenade, removed the pin and sent the egg sailing through the air.

  It pitched just short of the building, and rolled up against the wall between the back door and one of the shattered windows. He watched as a terrorist, shouting something that couldn’t be heard above the white noise in his ears, jumped out of the doorway and tried to scoop the grenade, probably to try and lob it back in his direction.

  It was a stupid move. There was no way the man had enough time to try anything so foolhardy. His hand had just brushed the grenade, prior to closing and picking it up, when the egg detonated. Ross looked away from the flash, hugging the ground as it shook. When he looked up again through a gap in the vines, he could see that there was nothing left of the terrorist beyond a smear of flesh and bone fragments. Neither was there a door nor a window. Instead, a gaping hole revealed how tenuous the outer brickwork had been. One thing for sure—this had forced the terrorists back into the house, and—taking a deep breath to steel himself—Ross ran from cover, zigzagging as he headed fast and low for the entrance to the château.

  He dived through the doorway, rolling as he did, and coming up with the MP-5 arcing around. He was safe. The guards that hadn’t either perished or lost their headsets and so become paralyzed by the sonic attack, had pulled back farther into the house.

  Now all he had to do was find his way around.

  A PUFF OF SMOKE and a tremor from the rear of the building told Bolan that there was some action. It could be just the distraction he needed. Spraying some exploratory fire from the AKSU at the bare window openings, he noted that there was no sign of return fire, no kicked up dust and dirt, no ricochets from the collapsed brickwork around him. He surveyed the open portals. No sign of any life whatsoever.

  Deciding that it was a risk worth taking, Bolan rose to his feet and charged over the rubble, surefooted among the shifting debris as he made his way toward the western side of the château. As he reached the line of broken ground-floor windows, he selected one and dived through it, coming up and spraying a short burst of fire, in order to secure his position. Although there were no guards in view when he had the opportunity to look, there was no way he could call it a waste of ammo. With his ears useless for the duration, he could take no chances.

  The soldier tried to recall the layout of the château in his mind. He had seen a plan of it before they left the airfield, and if he could remember anything, it may prove to be useful. He was on the western side. If he was right, the larger rooms were at the front, on the northern side. The Chilean would need one of the larger rooms to use as an electronics lab, and chances were that it would be secured on an upper floor, out of the way of casual visitors. There may not have been many, but it only took one suspicious tradesman or a gendarme on his rounds. The Chilean was too canny to fall into that trap.

  So Chavez-Smith would want the front, and an upper floor. Bolan headed to the northern side of the building, keeping his eyes open for the slightest sign of movement.

  The question was, how many of the opposition had they eliminated?

  ROSS MOVED through the interior of the château at ground-floor level, finding it deserted. Where had all the terrorists gone? He’d covered the south and east of the château, so they had to be either on the west side, or on an upper floor. Why would they be up there? Strategically, it was the dumbest move they could make. The high ground was only good when someone was outdoors. All they were doing in the château was cutting themselves off from any avenue of escape. Unless…How could he be so dumb? The whole base of operations had to work out of an upstairs room, and the Chilean had pulled them back to protect it. So if it was so empty downstairs, did it mean there weren’t many terrorists left?

  Things were starting to look good. At least until he came to the large, ornate hall that served the imposing double doors of the château’s entrance. As soon as Ross’s shadow was visible, he was greeted by a hail of SMG fire that made him pull back.

  But before he did, he caught sight of something that made him feel a little more optimistic. On the far side of the hall he could see his partner—who was signaling him.

  BOLAN SAW Ross draw back as the gunfire rained down, and he hoped the merc had seen him. An answering hand signal affirmed it. There was no sign of Goldman, but at least they could now work a two-pronged attack on the upstairs.

  Like all buildings of that age and design, there had to be another way onto the upper floor besides the large, sweeping staircase. But time was of the essence, and the chances were that there were still enough guards to cover those. No, the only way to get this resolved before they became entrenched was to make a full-frontal assault. There had been no gunfire aimed at the Executioner as he approached the hall, so it was reasonable to assume the guards were only aware of Ross’s presence.

  Bolan gestured to Ross, asking how many grenades the man had left. Ross held up two fingers. Bolan gestured to himself and held up four. Okay, so they had more than enough power to blow a hole through the upstairs and cause confusion. The only drawback was this kind of attack would also take out the staircase itself, and leave them with the problem of having to find an alternative means of access.

  Only one way to find out for certain. Indicating to Ross that he should draw the guards’fire, Bolan took two grenades from his combat harness. As the merc held his MP-5 around the door and fired a random burst, inviting a flurry of return fire, Bolan pulled the pin from the first grenade and tossed the bomb underhand so that it landed at the top of the staircase, rolling along the hallway beyond. Before it had even touched down, he had pulled the pin on the second grenade and tossed the lethal egg onto the other side of the staircase.

  Ross and Bolan both drew back, waiting for the tremor that would signal the blast. The château shook under the force of the twin attack, plaster showering from the ceiling as the structure of the house creaked and gave under the stress of the blast.

  Both men put their weapons around the angle of their respective hiding places and fired a burst. There was nothing in return.

  Looking around the doorway, Bolan could see
the staircase was still intact, although the hallway on either side was a mass of rubble, perhaps with an unsafe floor. There was no sign of any guards other than those who had been killed by the blast.

  Glancing across, he caught Ross’s eye. Indicating that they should advance, both men came out of hiding and took the stairs a section at a time, one taking point for the other, until they had reached the top.

  Ross signaled, asking which direction?

  Bolan indicated that he would take the left while Ross took the right. He then held his hand palm down, gesturing slowly as if to say take it easy. Ross gave him a grin and nodded.

  There were several doorways extending along each wing of the château, but there was no need for them to waste time exploring.

  The Destiny’s Spear guards gave themselves away in their panic.

  Before the two men had even parted, two guards appeared from a doorway on the left-hand side, firing indiscriminately. Bolan saw them. Ross had already turned away, but the Executioner pushed him in the back, pitching him forward, out of the line of fire.

  Ross realized what had happened before he hit the ground, the wooden flooring kicking up splinters in front of him as the rounds hit home. He rolled and brought up the MP-5, tapping off a burst of return fire to accompany the soldier’s measured fire from the AKSU. Bolan had sunk to one knee and was firing off shots that took out the guards, and drove any further opposition back into their defensive positions.

  Ross now joined Bolan, and they began to advance along the corridor past the rubble, using the shelter of the unoccupied rooms to provide cover for each advance. They moved in a step formation, one covering the other as they moved. Within a matter of seconds they were on the verge of taking the electronics lab.