Baktayev waved a hand motioning his men forward. Slowly they cleared the trees and moved out into the overgrown field a hundred yards from the back of the school's gymnasium. Keeping low and moving fast, they reached the building and lined up against the high brick wall. Though Baktayev thought they had little to fear from any of the townspeople, he wanted precision and stealth from his men. This was the most critical phase of their plan. If they were spotted here by anyone with enough sense to pick up a telephone then all of their planning, all of their preparation, would be for nothing. They would be forced to flee and the glorious death each of them had been praying well into the night for would be a fleeting dream.
Taking position ahead of his men at the corner of the building, he leaned over and looked down the row of them. He motioned to Anzor Kasparov to join him at the lead. Kasparov was the man with the keys and their ticket inside the building. "Are you ready?" Baktayev said, as the man arrived at his position. Kasparov jangled the keys in one of his pockets and smiled, resting his rifle on his shoulder. Baktayev turned back to the corner of the building and readied his rifle. He waved his hand and rounded the corner, staying low and creeping up the side of the building towards a courtyard twenty yards ahead of them. He held up his hand in a stop command as he reached the corner of the courtyard and looked out into the enclosed breezeway that connected the school's gymnasium with the rest of the building. In the center of the breezeway was a door, their planned entry point. Kasparov would have two minutes to make his way to the front of the building and disarm the building's security system as the rest of them fanned out around the building. Having cleared the courtyard of any surprises, Baktayev moved back behind the building and pressed his back against the wall.
"When you hear the door open, General," Kasparov said, "wait thirty seconds and then move into the courtyard. I will prop the door open with a rock, as the teachers do in the warmer months, before I go in."
The night seemed to grow quiet around them as if nature itself was waiting breathlessly for their victory. Baktayev tightened his grip on his rifle as he nodded his understanding. Kasparov withdrew a bulging set of keys from his pocket, picking through them quickly until he found the correct one. He pumped his fist in a victorious gesture and turned the corner into courtyard.
A loud crack echoed across the school yard and Kasparov's head exploded, covering Baktayev and the two men closest to him in rufescent gore. Baktayev furiously blinked the blood away as the remaining four and a half feet of Anzor Kasparov collapsed onto the ground, the keys in his dead hand jangling as they fell loose. Slowly registering what was happening, Baktayev dropped to his knees and then to his stomach as a deafening clatter filled the air around him.
Chapter Seventy-Four
"Surprise, old son," Declan said, as the brass was ejected from the side of his AR-15 and he watched the body of the man he'd been aiming for fall to the ground. Had it been Baktayev in the lead? He couldn't tell in the low light. He flicked the selector switch on the side of the converted rifle to automatic and pulled the trigger again. With the amount of men he was facing he needed to do as much damage as he could, and fast. The weapon bucked in his grip and methodically he inched the barrel to the right, moving down the line of Chechens against the brick wall of the school sixty yards in front of him. Several men close to the front of the line were thrown against the wall as the bullets impacted, their bodies falling onto one another. Declan knew the accuracy of the weapon at this range wasn't great, especially in the dark, and within a few seconds of pulling the trigger, the rifle was empty.
Okan Osman stood from behind the downed tree where he'd taken cover and aimed his shotgun. Even as he pulled the trigger rapidly and the rifled slugs exploded from the barrel, it was clear that the weapon wasn't accurate enough to have much effect from where he and Declan stood in the tree line at the edge of the property.
"Down!" Declan yelled, as several of the Chechens rose up and aimed their AK-47s in the direction they'd seen the muzzle flashes coming from. Osman took cover behind the fallen tree again and Declan stepped behind a thick pine, removing the magazine from his rifle and sliding in a new one as the clatter of the Kalashnikovs began. As chunks of wood were torn off the trees around him and bullets whizzed through the leaves, causing bits of greenery to fall to the ground, he flung himself forward onto his stomach for better cover.
"They're leapfrogging!" Osman yelled, as several of the Chechens moved forward while their comrades continued firing. "We've got to move, now!"
"Go! Go! Go!" Declan yelled, as he leveled his rifle from his prone position and pulled the trigger. Rounds burst from the weapon and the Chechens dropped to the ground, taking cover in the uneven terrain of the schoolyard. In his peripheral vision Declan watched as Osman took off running, keeping his head low as he passed behind Declan and back towards the trail they'd entered from. As the weapon again ran empty, Declan knew it was his turn to run and hoped that Osman had made it far enough to provide some cover fire. He jumped to his feet and ran, listening to the foreign yells of the Chechens as they realized they were in the clear. Looking to his left as he dodged through the thick trees, he saw someone stand from behind the row of camouflaged thugs. Even in the dim moonlight, he recognized Ruslan Baktayev as the man ran to the corner of the building and disappeared around the side. Declan turned his attention back to what was in front of him as the sound of machine gun fire started again. He kept his head low, but it quickly became obvious that the Chechens hadn't been able to see him running and were still focusing their fire on the spot where he and Osman had launched their initial assault. He pushed on until he heard gunfire in front of him and saw the muzzle flash ahead in the trees. Realizing the fire was directed towards the Chechens, he made his way towards it and soon joined Osman who was now standing near Altair Nazari as he fired his H&K MP-7 from behind a burned out metal barrel that stood a few yards into the tree line. Declan turned and looked as several of Baktayev's men were hit and fell to the ground. Taking the opportunity provided by Nazari's fire, he reloaded his rifle.
"How many did you count on their way in?" he yelled.
"Nineteen, and it looks like there's twelve left standing!" Osman yelled.
Declan tossed his rifle to Osman who caught it. "I'll trade you," he said. "Baktayev ran. I'm going after him!"
Osman nodded and withdrew the shotgun that was secured to his back by its shoulder strap. "There's only four rounds in it, but there's still fifteen in the strap!" he yelled, as he tossed it to Declan. Declan caught it as Nazari's fire stopped and Osman raised the AR-15 to continue the assault. Declan dropped the olive green satchel he was carrying his extra magazines in at Osman's feet and looked at Nazari who was reloading. "Did you disable their vehicles?"
Nazari nodded.
"Good. Finish as many of these guys off as you can and get outta here! The police can't be far off!"
"Where are you going?" Nazari asked, having not been privy to Declan's conversation with Osman.
Declan pumped a round into the shotgun. "After a coward!"
Chapter Seventy-Five
Gradually Declan made his way from the forest onto the Tobacco Heritage Trail, aiming the shotgun in front of him. The trail was nearly as wide as a two lane road and covered with finely crushed aggregate to make it ideal for bikes or horses, though from the overgrowth it looked scarcely used. He'd seen Ruslan Baktayev flee from the schoolyard and run east away from the building. In order to make it to the vehicles he would have had to double back once he reached the forest, but Declan couldn't imagine him going anywhere else if he wanted to escape the area.
Carefully, he surveyed the two white cargo vans and worn Honda SUV that Baktayev and his men had arrived in and that were now parked in a line along the edge of the trail, about a thousand feet from the nearest road. The engine compartment of each vehicle was open, evidence of Nazari's sabotage, and if Declan had to guess, he was sure that Nazari had either pulled the fuses, removed the distributor caps an
d disabled the rotors, or blocked the air intake to keep the vehicles from starting. Either way, no one was going anywhere with any of them.
He sank to one knee and listened intently. Sirens had started in the distance and were growing closer, and the occasional burst of gunfire came from the school, but it was clear that the fight was winding down. Having been caught on open ground, Baktayev's crew had been cut to pieces by the surprise attack. Declan focused his attention in front of him, listening for anyone approaching, but he heard nothing. Had Baktayev continued east on foot? Had he hidden another vehicle near the school? A stick snapped in the forest to his left and Declan turned, aiming the shotgun into the darkened trees as he took cover behind one of the vans. Suddenly the commotion increased and continued toward him, leaves crushing and twigs snapping under the weight of the approaching figure. In the darkness, Declan didn't see it until it was nearly on top of him. A slender doe bounded out of the tree line, stopped suddenly and looked at Declan before bolting to the right and continuing across the trail into the forest beyond.
Slowly Declan turned and redirected his attention to the east. The trail ahead of him was still empty, with no sign of the terrorist leader. A dim red light shone suddenly through one of the cargo van's tinted windows and a sputtering sound came from the forest. Declan moved fast to the front of the vehicle and aimed his weapon into the trees east of his location. Through the thick overgrowth he could still see the square red light, brighter now that he wasn't looking through the darkened windows of the cargo van, and the sputtering continued. Realizing what it was, Declan shouldered the shotgun and ran forward along the trail as the sound of a twin cycle engine roared to life and the little red square of light began advancing through the forest.
Declan ran furiously trying to intercept the dirt bike. Thirty yards from the cargo van, its rider jumped the slight incline at the edge of the trail and landed the bike on the road a few feet away. Declan jumped forward as the rear tire slid on the fine gravel and wrapped his arms around the rider's waist, bringing him and the bike to the ground, the shotgun sliding off his shoulder as they landed.
With a bellow of surprise, the man struggled to free himself from Declan's grip, throwing his elbow behind him and connecting twice with the side of Declan's head. Declan rolled away from the man and stood, the rider of the bike doing the same and turning to face his attacker with a threatening growl.
In the low light, Declan easily recognized the man in front of him as the same man he'd seen a week earlier when Abaddon Kafni had been murdered at the Briton-Adams Mansion. "Hello, Ruslan," he said, breathing heavily and assuming a fighting stance as he looked at the Chechen.
The Chechen narrowed his eyes as he pulled a long, serrated knife from inside his camouflage coat. "Who the hell are you?"
"Crossing guard," Declan quipped. "No motorbikes allowed in school zones."
The Chechen growled and launched forward with the knife. Declan blocked the attack with a sweep of his arm and thrust his fist into the side of Baktayev's jaw as the man stumbled past him. Baktayev absorbed the impact by turning with the strike and again attacked, this time stabbing downward. Declan grabbed the hand that held the knife as it came down and propelled the heel of his boot into the Chechen's stomach, rolling onto his back and allowing the man's momentum to carry him over. Baktayev landed on his back and the air rushed from his lungs in a painful gasp.
Declan raised himself to his feet and watched as the Chechen did the same, but with more difficulty. The man's crude fighting skills were clearly no match for him. "C'mon, Ruslan, I was expecting so much more from you."
"Arghh!" yelled the Chechen, advancing again, swinging the knife wildly from side to side. Declan stepped backwards methodically, allowing the blade to narrowly miss him each time. On the Chechen's fifth attempt, he blocked the attack and drove his heel into the man's side, causing him to double over and stumble backwards at the same time. As Baktayev tripped on the loose gravel and fell onto his back, Declan heard the sound of another twin cycle motor.
A single headlight washed over the area and Declan dived out of the way as another rider on a dirt bike sped past, attempting to run him down. The rider braked hard and spun the bike around. Declan stood as the rider revved the engine and sped forward, pulling a pistol. Shots sounded and he ducked low, running into the trees for cover as the rider stopped at the fallen Baktayev and continued firing. From a prone position out of the rider's line of fire, Declan watched as Baktayev got slowly to his feet and mounted the bike behind its rider, who continued to aim the pistol into the trees and fire the occasional shot. The rider revved the engine again, stowed the pistol and the bike shot forward, churning gravel behind it as it tore down the trail.
Declan jumped to his feet and ran for the dirt bike that he'd knocked Baktayev from and that was still lying on the ground, its engine idling. He quickly scooped up the shotgun and slung it over his shoulder as he stood the bike up, mounted it and gripped the accelerator. The bike shot forward, its front wheel lifting off the ground momentarily. Declan stood from the seat and shifted his weight forward to bring the bike back onto two wheels. Ahead he could see a tiny flicker of red light and knew it was the fleeing terrorist several hundred yards down the trail. Where was the man going and who was the other rider who had appeared from nowhere? Was it part of a backup team with a second target in mind? Declan couldn't risk that, he knew he had to catch them. He pulled the accelerator tighter and leaned forward, the air slapping him in the face and bringing tears to his eyes as the bike sped up.
With the bike ahead of him carrying two, Declan was lighter and able to travel faster. He gained ground steadily as he crossed underneath an overpass and rounded a curve. Ahead he could see that the trail was beginning to open up, the forest on one side coming to an end. Baktayev's bike was a hundred yards from him when the trail opened into a vast field containing three large metal buildings and a long, flat stretch of pavement. From the flashing lights near the buildings and along the pavement, Declan knew it was an airport. Quickly, he scanned the runway and saw a single engine plane near the far end, the lights on its wings blinking. Was this Baktayev's destination?
A gunshot sounded ahead of him and he swerved the bike to the noticing that Baktayev had turned in the seat and had a gun aimed. Declan pulled the accelerator as far in as it would go and the bike shot forward closing the distance between him and Baktayev to fifty yards. Baktayev fired several more times, but couldn't get a decent shot. The terrorist leader turned forward, giving up as the rider of the bike slowed and pulled off of the trail, riding down an embankment towards the airport's runway and the waiting plane.
Knowing that he was taking a big risk and could be riding into an ambush, Declan steered his bike to the right and jumped the incline at the edge of the trail, landing on the rough terrain thirty yards from the runway. Gunning the engine, he bumped hard over the ground, racing towards the other bike and attempting to intercept it. As he crossed onto the smoother grass twenty yards from the runway, he reached up and drew the shotgun from around his back.
Fifteen—ten—five. He held the end of the shotgun out, striking Baktayev in the head as he raced past and skidded to a stop, the back wheel of the bike sliding around. He leapt off it and brought the shotgun up, aiming it towards the plane and anyone that might be standing near it. He could see through the windows of the small craft that there was only one person inside. The pilot stared out the window at the scene.
Ten yards in front of Declan, between him and the plane, the bike Baktayev had been riding was lying on the ground, both rider and pillion struggling to get out from underneath it and off the ground. The rider was the first to find his feet. The man stumbled for a second and finally rested his eyes on Declan, reaching hastily into his camouflage coat. Declan fired once, pumped in another round and fired again. Two large holes opened up in the man's chest and he flew backwards, tripping over the downed motorbike and landing on his back, where he lay still.
B
aktayev struggled upright as Declan pumped a third round into the shotgun. Blood ran down the side of the Chechen's face as he stared at Declan with beady, coal black eyes and slowly raised his hands in surrender.
"Your ride's leaving without you, Ruslan!"
The Chechen glanced over his shoulder as the plane taxied forward, heading away from the scene.
"This was your plan all along, wasn't it? Get your men entrenched in the school and then make a run for it just before the siege started! That's why this plane is here, isn't it? An escape route. Is this how you survived Beslan? What would your damn Allah say to such cowardice?"
The plane's engine grew louder and its speed increased. As it passed the last of the metal buildings, it lifted into the air and cleared the tree line at the end of the airport, the two blinking lights on its wings the only evidence left of its presence as it faded into the distance.
Baktayev turned his head back towards Declan and spat on the ground. "You know nothing about the greatness of Allah! His vengeance is patient and his actions are—"
Declan pulled the trigger of the shotgun. A jagged hole appeared in Baktayev's stomach as his eyes opened wide. Declan pumped the weapon and fired again. The second round struck the Chechen in the left temple as he stood doubled over, blood spilling from the first wound. The impact of the slug with his head drove him backwards. He landed on his back next to the rider of the motorbike, his arms spread wide. Declan lowered the shotgun and walked over. Standing at Baktayev's feet and looking at the man's blank stare he said, "That's for Abaddon Kafni."
This was one set of dead eyes that wouldn't haunt him when he lay down at night.
Chapter Seventy-Six
Black Ops Bundle: Volume One Page 45
