Cold Day In Hell
Page 34
The town was located on an inlet of Thousand Islands Lake and surrounded by the Ottawa Forest. Thick stands of trees hugged the main roadway in and out of town, only interrupted where a house or a commercial building was located. The woods backed up to most of the residences along the main street, except where the rocky crags were located; there, the trees grew right up to the edge of the cliffs. If Cruz and his force decided to come in through the forest, she and Loren wouldn’t see them until they popped out. Vigilance was paramount.
She scanned the marina area and the few side streets to the extent of her field of vision. She saw no movement anywhere—from bad guys or her guys, which proved to her how good their side was. Big Earl’s was the only building of any type, commercial or residential, lit up. It stayed open 24/7 for the year-round residents. Closing it would have made anyone who’d scouted the town suspicious.
Making another full sweep of the area, a movement at the edge of town caught her eye. She focused the binocs on the road coming from Watersmeet where it entered the town’s limits. There it was again, a shadow cast on the snow-covered berm; no, there were several shadows and they were in motion. “Loren. My three o’clock, south side of the main road, just before the gas station.”
A several second pause and all she heard was Loren’s slow, calm breaths. “Good eye. I’ve got more movement on the north side. See it?”
“Switching to my rifle scope.” She set the binocs down and sighted through the rifle. There you are. The scope was so powerful she could almost count the facial scars on the first man she made out. “Yeah. Got ’em. They’re just under fourteen hundred meters from my position.”
“Roger that. Get ready. Shit is about to fly.” Loren’s voice was unruffled.
She had to remind herself to breathe slowly when all she wanted to do was pant as the adrenaline flowed into her bloodstream. Breathe in. Breathe out. Keep the heart rate down so she could hear Loren and the others instead of her heart thudding like a marching band’s bass drum. Her eye still on the scope, her breath stuttered. A man in Arctic snow gear scuttled along the ditch, paralleling the shoulder, on the south side of the main road. This was the movement she had seen first. He ran up and over the road and disappeared into the north side ditch. She could barely see his white-hooded head move toward the docks. “Loren! Marina approach.”
“I see the fucker. Wait for my signal. Switch to group frequency, Callie.” She did so and heard Loren tell the others, “Heads up, guys. We’ve got company coming from the east. One tango is going for a boat. I see maybe ten others approaching. Could be more behind them. Fuckers have Arctic battle whites.”
A series of calm acknowledgments came over the headset.
The plan was premised on two facts: one, the bad guys didn’t know they were anticipated and, two, they would need a boat to reach Risto’s island. Big Earl’s was the only place on this part of the lake with a year-round dock navigable at this time of the year with boats available. They’d taken the chance that Cruz wasn’t savvy enough to obtain a boat elsewhere, tow it to the general area, and then attempt to launch in the early winter snowstorm from a public launch site farther up the shoreline. Even if the Colombian had thought of the latter scenario, all the public launches would be under six feet of snow and ice, making it damn tricky and near impossible to launch a boat safely. So, the trap would be set and sprung at Osprey’s Point Marina.
Their premise had a ninety-seven percent probability. The other three percent, an air approach, was covered by Keely and Tweeter who monitored the lake area using the feed from an NSA satellite miles above the Earth. They’d have called if Cruz had found a way to accomplish an air approach.
Loren’s voice startled her from her brain fade. “We’ve twenty bogies total, gang. They have snow gear and are loaded for bear. Fuck, they’ve got a rocket launcher.” Several different voices swore.
Callie’s narrowed gaze swept the line of men approaching the marina. She singled out the guy with the rocket launcher. His scarred skin was swarthy against the white of his hooded parka. He didn’t look Hispanic, more like Middle Eastern. Maybe a survivor of the war in Bosnia or any number of places in the war-torn deserts of Asia Minor and Africa.
The rocket launcher was on the man’s back and extended above his head. He could do a lot of damage with that weapon. And wasn’t she glad she wasn’t stuck on the island at the mercy of that thing. She’d remember to tell Risto that very fact … later.
Callie pulled off her mittens, flexed her fingers encased in the thinner shooting gloves, took a deep breath, blew it out, then sighted for the shot, her trigger finger at ready. She acquired his forehead, her target centered between his thick bushy eyebrows and up a quarter-inch. She also checked a shot for the bag the man carried, probably containing the rocket-propelled grenades for the launcher. She had two shots she could take. No matter which, the shot was less than a thousand meters and moving ever closer. If the man headed toward a boat dock behind the profile of Big Earl’s she’d lose her shot. She couldn’t wait.
Her finger was poised on the trigger, she increased the pressure slightly, waiting for Loren. She could take out the man or the bag. If the bag exploded, it would take care of the explosives, the gun and the man. The chatter in the background washed over her as she debated. The first shot wasn’t her call. It was Loren’s. “Loren, if I take out the bag, will my shot blow the munitions?”
Loren’s voice, “Fuck, maybe, if you hit a grenade at just the right place with enough percussion.”
“Go for it, baby.” Risto’s calm, confident voice came over her headset. “If nothing else, it will start something. We’re all in position and ready to rock. The fact they have a rocket launcher is all we need to justify shooting first.”
The theory being, no one would come armed to the teeth if they hadn’t wanted to start a war. She took in a deep breath and let it out. Her eye to the scope, her world narrowed to the bag as the man carrying it trotted along the road. On her next breath, she took the shot as she exhaled slowly. The bag decimated, but did not explode. The man went down, the bullet passing through his hip. He might manage to crawl, but he wasn’t walking anywhere for a while.
Loren’s voice, “Good shot. I’ll take the kill shot on him, Callie. I have the better angle.”
Callie checked her scope and noted she had no head shot, the man had fallen with his feet toward her, the bag next to his legs. She sighed with relief, letting Loren take the burden from her. The crack of the Barrett came over the headset. The downed man’s body jerked from Loren’s high-caliber round. She swallowed heavily, glad she had no view of what had happened to the man’s head. Her dad’s voice came to her just as it had in Colombia, “Callie, don’t think. Just do. Worry about what you did after the battle is over.”
All hell broke loose after Loren took his shot. Her ears waiting for Loren’s commands, she phased out the men’s chatter as she noted movement coming from the side of the dead man. A bad guy was going to retrieve the rocket launcher and the ammo bag.
Not waiting for Loren, she took the bogie out with a shot to the head, incapacitating or killing him. She saw the blood spurt and swallowed. She took a deep breath, then set her sight back on the bag. It bugged her that the damn bag had not exploded. Her .338 cartridges could stop a rhino and destroy an engine block; it should have pierced any ammo in the bag.
“Good shot there, Callie.” Loren’s voice. “Bogie on Conn’s ass. East side of Big Earl’s front door. Don’t worry about the RPG, we can cherry pick any tango stupid enough to go for it.”
Loren’s logic made sense so she switched her scope to the diner and saw a man approaching a position where one of her guys must be hunkered down. She took the shot. The bad guy was down.
Conn’s voice, “Thanks, sweet cheeks. He’s toast.”
She had two shots left in this magazine, sweeping the area, she took out another man going for the rocket launcher. Then another. They must’ve really wanted to blow things up.
She opened her eyes and readied herself. All was silent. When had that happened? Okay, breathe. Everyone’s reassessing the situation. Cruz’s people just realized this wasn’t the turkey shoot they expected and the good guys were ready and capable. She scanned the streets through the scope and then looked around her position on the walkway. She was still alone as far as she could tell.
“What’s up?” she whispered into her cheek mike.
“They’re thinking they’re up shit crick.” The drawling voice was one of the local men.
“Okay, that’s what I thought. How’s my six?”
Loren’s voice, “No one coming your way that I can see. Don’t worry, I’ve got you covered.”
“And I’ve got you.” She took aim and took out the man approaching the house Loren was perched on. “Move, Loren. They know you’re there.”
“Thanks.” She heard Loren’s movements. “Bugging out and heading your way.”
“No. I’m fine. If they find me, I’ll go down the back and find my way into the woods.” She swept the area around Loren’s position. “Stay down, Loren. Another one coming your way.” She took the shot.
“Good shooting, baby.” Risto’s calm, low tones steadied her. “I’m going to cover Loren’s six while the other guys take it to the badasses. Cover us.”
“Got it.” She eyed the area around the modern house where Loren was located, saw movement and knew it was Risto by his size and how he moved. A shadow slithered along a side street on an intersecting path. “Bogie coming your way, Marine. Intersect path, west side of the Confectionary Store.” Risto’s low snarl made her womb clench. “Target acquired. Drop, Risto!” She took the shot and winged the guy. “He’s wounded, not wiped. Wounded, got that?”
“No worries.” Loren had somehow gotten off his roof unseen and approached the man she crippled from behind then slit his throat.
She gagged at the sight of the arterial blood spray turning the snow around him red. She turned her head from the scope and vomited away from her weapon and ammo. She scooped some clean snow and used it to wipe her mouth, then spit.
“Callie? Baby? You sick?” Risto’s breaths were loud over the headset and she knew he was hoofing it alongside Loren.
She cleared her throat. “Fine. Don’t risk your ass. The blood got to me.” She took a calming breath and placed her eye back on the rifle’s sight. The sound of shots echoed off buildings as both sides escalated, the bad guys trying to kill Risto and Loren, and the good guys, protecting. She spotted Berto moving to cover the other two. “Berto, heads up. Guy on your ass.”
“Go for him.” Berto dove behind a trash container and Callie took out the man bearing down on her friend. “Kill shot, chica.” He slithered into the shadows to rejoin the battle.
She had one more shot in this magazine. She swept the area in front of the marina and found another man crawling toward the rocket launcher. She took him out.
“Reloading.” She practiced breathing slowly as her gloved fingers, cold and trembling slightly despite the high-tech material, switched out the magazines. “Ready.”
Her eye back on the scope, she noted the wind and blowing snow had picked up. A draft down the side of her neck had her shivering. She readjusted the neck gaiter. When would this end? “Patience Callie,” her dad’s voice rang in her ears, “the patient soldier wins more often than not.”
How many were down? She’d taken out nine and a bag, ten rounds. The men on the ground had to have taken out some silently which she wouldn’t necessarily know about. She had fifteen rounds left, loaded. Should be enough to get the job done. Maybe she should load the empty mags. She reached for an empty magazine and pulled five cartridges from the side pocket of the bag and loaded them as she braced herself on her forearms, her gaze divided between the two duties.
“Baby?” Risto’s voice came over the headset. His voice, though calm, held concern.
“I’m fine.” She placed the loaded magazine next to her others and then began loading the other empty one. “Just reloading the empty magazines. I need to do something.”
“I understand. Waiting for shit to happen is a learned skill. You’re doing super.” He paused and let out a noisy breath. “However, you won’t be doing this again—ever. Over my dead body, will you ever do this again.”
“We’ll see, Marine.” She knew he needed soothing, but it was hard to do over a shared connection. “We’ll be using some more of your stress relief method later.” His sharp inhale had her seeing images of heat in his eyes. “Where are we at now … exactly?”
“They’ve dug in, sweetheart, mostly because of your fine shooting. They couldn’t figure exactly where the shots came from which is why they went after Loren’s position when they spied him. By the way, Loren’s coming to you now through the back of the house. So be warned.”
“I won’t shoot him. I promise.”
Paul’s voice, “You have my permission to shoot him. I’ve always wanted to be an only twin.” The sound of several of the men’s laughter came over the headset. Callie shook her head. Her dad and Colonel Walsh had often spoken of battlefield humor, but this was her first real experience with it.
“Permission to come on the roof.” Loren’s voice came from behind and to the side of her. The dormer blocked her view of the attic door.
“Permission granted.” She angled her head away from her scope for a second and smiled as Loren crawled onto the widow’s walk.
“Hey, kiddo.” He looked her over. He spoke into his headset. “She’s pale, but holding, Risto. No worries. She’s fine.”
“Thanks, Loren.” Risto’s tone was filled with relief. He had to be as worried about her as she was him. “We’re going hunting. Just watch for bad guys retreating. No one gets out of town. No one.”
Several choruses of “got that right” peppered with several anatomically impossible suggestions for the bad guys came over her headset. Callie shook her head, scanning the marina. The rocket launcher was still attached to the dead man’s back, and the bodies of the men who’d tried to liberate it were still lying in the street, their blood creating red Rorschach images in the snow.
“Loren, you set?” She didn’t look away from her scope.
“Yeah.” His voice came over the headset even though he was only twelve feet or so away. “No one has tried for the rocket launcher since you took those men out. Good shooting, kiddo. Let’s keep an eye on it. If the tangos get that weapon, you, I and this very nice house would be toast.”
She coughed and sniffed as her nose began to run from the cold and the wind. “They know where we are, don’t they?”
“Yeah—it’s the only other place for the types of shots you’ve taken. Their job now is to get to us without placing themselves in our scopes. We might get a chance to take some out from up here, but at this point, our main job is to keep the badasses away from the rocket launcher and off our roof.”
“Gotcha.” Or keep them off other roofs. She quickly checked the other buildings along the main street, most of which were single story. No danger there so far. She spotted movement on ground level, approaching the house where Loren had been. “Who’s near Loren’s old site? I’ve got movement.”
A chorus of “no ones.”
Loren’s voice came across, “I see him. Good eye, Callie. I have the better shot.” A shot rang out from Loren’s Barrett and the shadow went down. Callie could see the man’s head had been partially blown off.
“You…” she choked and swallowed the bile, “got him.” She took several deep breaths. �
��What do you have in that thing? .50 caliber? Right?”
“Yeah.” Loren paused then added, “Take a break, Callie, if you need to.”
She appreciated the sentiment, but… “My marine is out there. I’ll take a break when this is done and we’re safe on the island.”
“That’s my woman.” Risto’s voice rumbled over the mike and instantly warmed her. He was alive and safe—so far.
“Callie, you sure you won’t come to Cartagena and be my woman? I have a much bigger dick than old Risto and would treat you like a queen.” Conn went silent and a shot rang out. “Got the fucker.”
Callie snickered when Risto said, “Don’t believe him, baby. His pencil dick is half my length. The only thing he can shoot off is his mouth and that Glock he’s carrying.” The other men chortled.
The crack of Loren’s Barrett had her scanning the area. “What did you see, Loren?”
“Eastside of town. Something at the edge of the woods. Along the north side of the road heading into the marina.”
“You got him, buddy,” one of the local men said. “Fucker had hung back.”
“Was it Cruz?” Callie asked. If it were, the others might retreat.
“No such luck,” the same local said. “Some Asian merc. Asshole hired a whole bunch of outside talent.”
Callie’s gaze swept back to the center of the street. No action near the rocket launcher. She wondered aloud. “Why didn’t the ammo bag explode when I hit it? Are the rockets like plastique and need a triggering device?”
Big Earl answered. “Possibility, but not likely. Just need the right percussion to set them off. Loren, maybe a hotter bullet will do the job. You got a shot?”
“Hell, yeah. Callie dropped the fucker perfectly for this angle. Bag is just a sitting duck. You want me to try and make a nice hole in the middle of the street? I’d have done it before—all you had to do was give me the word.”
“Appreciate the restraint, buddy. What the fuck … go for it.” Big Earl chuckled. “I’m the fucking mayor after all—and the law. We got money in the budget to fix the damn street.”