The Spandau Phoenix wwi-2

by Greg Iles

  The instant before Hauer fired, a blast of flame erupted from the

  Vulcan's spinning barrels. Tracer rounds arced out toward the rim of

  the bowl. The turret began to rotate ...

  He felt his shot disintegrating. His shoulder twitched, his stomach

  heaved in sudden confusion. All around he heard the desperate rattle of

  guns firing at the moving turret, all to no avail. The dazzling beam

  marched from position to position, silencing one gun after another. He

  felt a sudden surge of hope. The gunner was ignoring the Armscor! He

  thinks we're out of the fight! Because we're not moving, he thinks his

  bunker guns stopped us! Hauer searched swiftly for a shot. With the

  turret rotating, hitting the tiny gun port was out of the question.

  Instead he picked a spot a few centimeters to the left of the Vulcan's

  barrel-the spot he estimated the gunner would be sitting behind.

  He fired.

  Nothing happened. His bullet struck the very millimeter of glass he had

  aimed for, but the transparent armor was simply too strong. How many

  perfect shots would it take to drill through the polycarbonate?

  Like an automaton Hauer worked the bolt-action rifle, tracking his

  moving target.

  Fire! Eject shell, close bolt, fire! The transparent wall shuddered as

  Hauer's slugs relentlessly hammered the same single square of armor. Six

  shots ... seven ... eight ... Fire!

  Eject shell, close bolt, fire! He jerked out the empty magazine and

  loaded his spare.

  Around him the battle raged on. The Vulcan whined, the bunker guns

  chattered, the hull of the armored car rattled like a tin can in a

  hailstorm. He smelled the burning phosphorus of tracer rounds as they

  streaked across the field in brilliant, lethal arcs. Suddenly, with a

  strange shiver, Hauer sensed the Vulcan's tracer beam stagger somewhere

  off to his right. He jerked his eye away from the scope and scanned the

  dark field. Christ! The gunner had spotted his muzzle flashes!

  His mouth went dry as the Vulcan's angle of fire lowered toward him.

  Every fiber of his being screamed, "Run!" He shut his eyes against the

  fear, then forced himself to open them again and put his right eye back

  to the scope. Somewhere out there, he thought fiercely, is the man who

  is trying to kill me. He could feel the Vulcan's slugs hitting the

  ground, thousands in each burst, like the first shuddering waves of an

  earthquake. The roar seemed to swallow up,the very air.

  And the light ... it was mesmerizing, like some lunatic laser beam.

  The tracer beam slowed as it neared the Armscor. Smuts wanted to be

  sure he did not miss. In that moment of hesitation Hauer steadied his

  twitching muscles, fixed his eye upon the tiny square of armored glass

  he had spent his first magazine against, and opened fire.

  Pieter Smuts found his mark first. In the first two seconds of contact,

  the Vulcan slammed two hundred shells into the Armscor's tail, shearing

  off a quarter-ton of hardened si armor.

  The vehicle shuddered like a great wounded beast; black smoke poured

  into the air. Suddenly the Armscor's turbocharged V-8 diesel roared to

  life. In a last frantic bid for survival Captain Barnard floored the

  accelerator. The armored car bolted forward like a wild bronco, leaping

  out of the Vulcan's line of fire and leaving Hauer exposed on the

  ground.

  Stunned, kneeling alone on the dark plain, Hauer raised his rifle and

  pressed his eye to the scope. Dirt showered over him as the Vulcan's

  bullets thundered after the Armscor just meters away. There is nothing

  here, said a voice in his brain, nothing but you and the man behind that

  gun ...

  He fired.

  His bullet starred the glass.

  He fired again.

  The tracer beam jinked away from, the Armscor and moved back toward him.

  Too late Smuts had realized where the real danger lay.

  With the Vulcan gun thundering down upon him, Dieter Hauer actually

  closed his eyes as he fired his last shot. The tracer beam stuttered,

  flashed again ... winked out.

  The spell was broken. Hauer scrambled to his feet and dashed after the

  Armscor. Gadi Abrams dragged him back through the hatch.

  "You crazy German bastard!"

  The Armscor was filling rapidly with oily black smoke.

  "Everybody shoot!" Hauer shouted. "Clear a path through the mines!

  Detonate everything in our path!"

  One Claymore exploded harmlessly nearby, but no more.

  The Armscor had reached the section of ground where Burton's Colombians

  had been slaughtered the night before. The mines here had been spent,

  no replacements laid. The Annscor roared forward and reached Horn House

  in twenty seconds flat.

  Captain Barnard pulled the vehicle across the main entrance like a

  barricade. Instantly two South African CT troops thrust shotguns

  through the ports and blasted the hinges off the teakwood door. When

  Hauer shoved open the side hatch, he was staring straight into the

  marble reception hall where Major Karami's assassins lay dead.

  "Move out!" he shouted.

  "Wait!" General Steyn was up in the driver's compartment, leaning over

  Captain Barnard. Hauer remembered the young man had taken some glass in

  the face when the windshield shattered, but as he peered over the

  general's beefy shoulder he realized that Captain Barnard was suffering

  from a mortal wound.

  "Where is it, son?" General Steyn asked softly.

  "My chest ... sir."

  Carefully the general probed the young man's torso.

  "I thought he was wearing a vest," Hauer said quietly.

  General Steyn pulled a bloodstained hand from beneath Barnard's right

  arm. "There's a splinter of polycarbonate sticking out of him," he

  whispered. "Right where the vest stops at the underarm. God only knows

  how deep it went in." He turned back to Captain Barnard. "Can you

  move, lad?"

  The young man tried to smile, then coughed in agony. "It feels like the

  damned thing is buried in my heart. Like a sword ... swear to God. Go

  on."

  General Steyn's neck flushed red. "Nonsense, lad, you're coming with

  us."

  "Don't move me, sir," Captain Barnard gurgled. "Please don't."

  General Steyn looked ready to twist off the head of the man who had

  caused this pain. Setting his mouth in a grim line, he drew a .45

  caliber pistol from Captain Barnard's belt and placed it carefully in

  the young man's hand. "If it gets too bad," he said tersely, "you know

  what to do." The general swallowed the lump in his throat. "I'll be

  back for you, Barnard. You have my solemn word. Stand fast."

  General Steyn turned and squeezed his broad shoulders back through the

  door of the driver's compartment. His bluff face was swollen with

  emotion. He looked hard into Hauer's eyes. "If it's a war they want,"

  he said, his voice trembling, "then it's a bloody war they'll get." He

  -drew his own pistol and jerked back the slide.

  "Into the house, lads!"

  Pieter Smuts staggered away from the Vulcan and wiped the blood out of

  his eyes with his shirtsleeve. A dozen slivers of armored
glass had

  been driven into his face by Hauer's slugs. He crouched beside Hess's

  wheelchair.

  "They've breached the outer walls, sir. I don't know who's inside that

  armored car, but they must be friends of the Jew."

  Hess grimaced. "Who could it be but Captain Hauer?" he wheezed.

  "I told you never to underestimate an old German soldier. Hauer

  obviously outsmarted Major Graaff! Damn the man! A German! A German

  attacking me!"

  "We can still stop them, sir."

  "How?"

  "If I order our bunker gunners to cease firing, the Libyans will advance

  and kill anyone left alive outside the shields."

  "True," Hess said thoughtfully. "But then the Libyans will be inside

  the house."

  "But not inside the shields. Not near you-not near the weapons."

  Hess hesitated, realizing that the order would mean certain death for

  Ilse, Linah, and all of the servants. "Do it," he said finally.

  Smuts pressed a button on his console and issued the order.

  Outside, the rattle of the bunker guns stuttered, then died.

  In the eerie silence, Major Ilyas Karami ordered three quarters of his

  remaining commando force down the slope.

  The rest he held back to transport the howitzer. The battle was not yet

  over, and he did not intend to lose it through overconfidence.

  The prize was too great.

  Alan Burton rolled back over the lip of the Wash and slid down the muddy

  wall into darkness. Juan Diaz lay halfburied in the mud-and-bramble

  shelter Burton had built at the bottom of the ravine.

  Diaz's wounds had developed an unpleasant odor, and his eyes were pale

  yellow slits. Burton leaned close to his ear.

  "I've got our return tickets, lad. Can you make it?"

  "si, " Diaz whispered.

  "There's a big jet up there, an airliner, but it's too heavily guarded.

  There is also a lovely little Lear that looks like a bloody Turkish

  brothel on the inside. That's our bird."

  Grunting in pain, the little Cuban heaved himself to his knees, pushing

  away Burton's helping hand. "Let's go, English," he rasped, forcing a

  grin. "Not enough senoritas on this beach."

  It took the two men ten minutes to climb out of the Wash and cover the

  eighty meters to the Libyan Learjet. Burton had to carry Diaz the last

  third of the way. Instead of putting the Cuban on board the jet,

  however, Burton trudged to the edge of the asphalt runway and dropped

  him there. Diaz yelped as the pain of his wounds hit him.

  "Sorry, sport," Burton panted. "But this is the safest spot for the

  time being."

  "What?" Diaz exclaimed, finally guessing Burton's intent.

  "But the plane is right there!"

  "Sorry, lad. I told you if I got half a chance I'd have another go at

  the house. When those rug-peddlers started shooting, they gave me just

  that. From my point of view, sport, unless I do the job I was sent here

  to do, that jet isn't an escape route for me. It's just a taxi back to

  purgatory.

  Diaz muttered a stream of Cuban profanity.

  "Come along now, Juan boy, Crawl into that brush over there.

  Wouldn't want those blighters over there to catch you out here alone."

  Burton pointed up the runway to where Major Karami and his men struggled

  in the dusk. "Cut your balls off with a bloody scimitar, they would."

  When Diaz had settled himself in the tall grass, Burton said, "I know

  you can reach that jet on your own, sport. I wouldn't want you to leave

  without me. You wouldn't do that, would you?"

  The Cuban pulled a wry face. "Yesterday I would have," he admitted.

  "But last night you saved my life, English.

  Cubano don't forget that, eh? You go play hero. Diaz be here when you

  get back."

  Burton took a last look the Lear-his solitary means of escape-then he

  tossed Diaz his wristwatch and gave him a roguish grin. "If I'm not

  back in forty minutes, sport, it's bon voyage to you with my best

  wishes."

  Diaz shook his head and lay back in the scrub grass. Burton unslung his

  submachine gun and started back toward Horn House.

  Hauer charged out of the Arinscor and into the marble reception hall

  with the South Africans on his heels. Gadi brought up the rear.

  The young Israeli ran straight to the corpses.

  As

  recogni them." "

  "Look, said General Steyn, pointing to the rectangular black shield

  blocking the main elevator. "That must be the way to the gun tower."

  "And the bomb," Gadi murmured.

  Two CT soldiers aimed their shotguns at the shield.

  "Captain!" called a voice from the shadows to their right.

  Hauer felt his heart thump. Peering across the great entrance hall, he

  spied a figure against the darkness of a corridor to his right. It was

  Hans.

  "Gadi!" called a hoarse voice.

  "Uncle? Where are you?"

  Stern stepped into the brighter light of the reception hall.

  Hans and Ilse stood in the shadows behind him.

  "Jonas!" bellowed General Steyn. "You've got some bloody explaining to

  do!"

  Gadi started across the floor, but Stern signaled him to hold back.

  Hauer watched in puzzlement as Hans slipped out of the corridor and

  raced around the edge of the great hall like a runner circling a track.

  When he skidded to a stop, Hauer drew back in shock. Hans's hair, face,

  and clothing were covered with blood. He looked like he,had dived on a

  grenade.

  'Hans! What happened? Were you shot?"

  "No time to explain!" Only the whites of Hans's eyes showed through the

  blood. "We're dead unless we can get through those shields. We've got

  a plan, but I can't explain it now. I want you to find two rooms with

  windows facing the inner part of the house. There are cameras in some

  rooms, not in others. Find a room without a camera. If my plan works,

  the shields should come down for a few moments-just long enough for you

  to get through. Skirt the wall when you go-there's a camera by that

  elevator."

  Hans squeezed Hauer's arm hard; then he sprinted back toward Stern.

  Hauer looked questioningly@ at Gadi. The young Israeli shrugged and

  started toward the hallway on their left. Hauer and the South Africans

  followed.

  High in the turret, Pieter Smuts watched Major Karami's commandos charge

  across the bowl. In a matter of minutes Hauer and his men would be

  slaughtered. Smuts smiled. His protective shields probably had claw

  marks on them by now.

  It was a pity about Linah, of course, but servants were replaceable.

  "Pieter!" Hess cried.

  When Smuts whirled, he saw his horrified master pointing at one of the

  closed-circuit TV monitors. Ilse Apfel filled the screen. Her face and

  clothing were smeared with blood, and she held an Uzi submachine gun in

  her hands. She screamed silently at the monitor for help. Then she

  turned away from the camera and fired a burst from the Uzi.

  "That's the elevator camera!" Hess cried. "Open the audio link!"

  Instantly the sound of gunfire filled the turret. Ilse turned back

  toward the camera and screamed. "In the name of God, help us!


  They're going to kill us! Herr Horn, please! My husband is wounded!"

  At that moment Hans staggered backward into the camera's field of view

  and fired a burst from an Uzi he had seized from a dead Libyan.

  He too was covered in blood.

  Both the blood and the Uzis had been provided by Major Karami's dead

  assassins. Hans and Ilse had rolled in the bloody pools of the

  reception hall until they looked like walking casualties.

  "For God's sake, Pieter!" Hess pleaded. "Those are Germans down

  there!"

  Smuts shook his head angrily. "We can't risk it, sir. Hauer and his

  men could already be inside the house."

  "Can you drop only the elevator shield?"

  "No, sir. It's all or none. That's the way they're designed."

  "Then drop them all for five seconds!"

  Smuts clenched his fists. Like most Germans, his master could be

  infuriatingly sentimental. In the same way a man who sent millions to

  the ovens could love dogs, Smuts thought. For the first time since he

  began serving Hess, the Afrikaner felt mutiny in his heart. "I think

  it's a trick, sir! I see no Arabs!"

  Ilse whirled back to the camera, her blue eyes wild with terror.

  "In the name of God, Herr Horn, save me! Save my baby!

  Hess's knuckles went white on the arms of his wheelchair.

  "I don't see Hauer anywhere," he said quietly, his eyes scanning the

  other monitors.

  "Not all the bedrooms have cameras!"

  Hess's face contorted with rage. "Those are Germans dying down there,

  Pieter! She saved my life last night "But-"

  "Do it!"

  The Afrikaner slammed his right fist down on the console.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  Gadi swung himself through the bedroom window even before the black

  shield had fully retracted. Hauer leaped after him and landed on the

  cobblestones of a small courtyard. To his right he saw the South

  African CT troops helping General Steyn to his feet.

  "We've got to find my uncle!" Gadi cried.

  General Steyn pointed to a large wooden door across the courtyard and

  gave a circular flick of his wrist. The shotgun-armed CT troops blew

  the hinges off the door. Silently they sprinted through the opening and

  somersaulted into defensive positions, the others close behind them.

  Hauer was the last man through. Just before he stepped over the

  threshold, he realized that the firing outside the house had stopped.

  He puzzled over this for a moment, then forgot it as he followed Gadi