Area Denial (Maelstrom Rising Book 7)

by Peter Nealen

  After a few paces, they had to drop flat as headlights shone behind them, lighting up Shevlin’s ruck with a glow that looked painfully brilliant in Hank’s NVGs, but in reality, wasn’t strong enough for an unaided eye to see at any distance. Hugging the gravel, they waited as the lights got brighter, finally washing over them in a cone of white against the faint haze that lay over the island that night. The glow turned dimmer as the taillights receded.

  Shevlin looked back at Hank, his expression hidden by NVGs but his body language clear enough. So, they do have shore patrols out.

  Hank nodded slowly. It had been a concern, and a bit of intel they hadn’t been able to definitively confirm or deny before go time. It was going to make this all much more difficult.

  As the lights receded, they got up and kept moving, though Shevlin slipped farther down the slope, away from the road, until he was almost wading in the ocean.

  One by one, the two-man teams behind them slipped up over the top of the slope and into the maze of structures, heading for their targets. Hank and Shevlin kept slogging along, careful not to make too much noise on the gravel.

  The slope got shorter ahead, and Shevlin started moving more slowly. The motorized patrols—assuming they really were patrols and not just Chinese personnel driving from place to place in the late evening, but they couldn’t afford not to assume they were patrols—weren’t following any particular pattern, and they’d had to drop flat twice in less than a hundred yards.

  Unfortunately, they’d gotten so focused on the motorized patrols that they almost didn’t notice the men on foot at the pier just ahead.

  The pier itself wasn’t large, and it slanted down into the water about twelve yards offshore. Hank wasn’t really sure what it was even there for. It wasn’t high enough for most freighters. But as he looked up, he saw two men standing at the top, looking out at the ocean. It was hard to tell, but it looked like they might be in cammies and combat gear. When one of them turned slightly, he obviously had a weapon.

  The two of them got down as quickly and quietly as they could, but they were on the steeper part of the embankment. Both men had to turn to one side to keep from rolling into the water, and even then, their boots were in the lapping waves a moment later. Hank held himself as still as possible, all too aware of how quickly the gravel could give way and send him sliding into the drink.

  Footsteps crunched in the sand and gravel, and he had to turn his head carefully to bring his NVGs to bear so he could see. The two figures from the top of the pier were walking toward them, now obviously wearing cammies, helmets, and load bearing vests, both carrying QBZ-191s.

  He felt exposed as all hell, lying flat on the gravel, only a few feet away from where those two were going to pass by. With his ruck weighing him down, forcing his head into the rocks, he couldn’t even watch them effectively, much less bring his rifle to bear. He was about to go ahead and risk compromise by just getting up and shooting these two, rather than run the risk of getting shot like a dog because one of them looked down and wondered what the two lumps on the shore were.

  But just as he tensed and got ready to move, another roar shook the island as another pair of J-10s clawed their way into the sky. The two Chinese soldiers stopped, still just at the edge of the green circle of his NVGs’ field of view, and watched the planes take off. They chatted for a moment, then turned and started walking inland, away from the road. After a moment, they were out of sight altogether.

  Hank and Shevlin waited a moment longer, then painfully levered themselves up, gravel grinding into knees and elbows, and continued on their way.

  The pier presented an obstacle. They didn’t want to try to swim around it, especially since their rucks weren’t sealed anymore. And going up over it would expose them even more.

  So, despite the pain in their knees, and the rucks’ continuous pressure to either flip them over or shove their heads into the gravel, they got down and crawled underneath.

  Struggling to their feet on the other side, checking in all directions over their muzzles, they continued on toward their target.

  ***

  After about another three quarters of a mile and half a dozen more halts to let motorized patrols pass, they came to a darkened portion of the island. What looked a lot like parkland stretched out on the other side of the road, between the large SIAR array and where its previous incarnation stood next to the gun tower and SAM site at the end of the island. When he peered high enough over the level of the road, he could see the lights of ships in the lagoon on the other side.

  He slowed, waiting until Shevlin looked back to signal him to halt, then pointed over the road. If they got far enough inland, they might not have to dodge the BJ2022s that kept circling the island.

  Scrambling to the top of the slope, Hank covered the road back the way they’d come, Shevlin the way they were going. As soon as they were sure they were clear, Hank tapped Shevlin on the shoulder and they rushed across, quickly moving into the salt grass that the Chinese had sowed on the sand inland.

  It was much quicker going after that. A few minutes later, they were down on their bellies, dragging the rucks closer, as they closed in on the hexagonal towers that housed Subi Reef’s southeast defenses.

  Then gunfire echoed across the island behind them, and a siren began to wail.

  Chapter 37

  The only sign that anyone on this end of the island had noticed anything was a brief flash of light in the window set in the gun tower’s single entry door. That, and the sudden movement as the missile cells facing the ocean to the east began to elevate.

  They lay there in the sand and the grass, looking for any security on the ground. Hank cursed silently. This had just gotten immeasurably more difficult.

  Gunfire continued to crack off somewhere on the island. A helicopter spooled up and snarled into the sky. The more Hank listened, the more he suspected that it was coming from the northern arm, somewhere on the other end of the airfield. Which meant it was Chan’s section in contact. The Chinese had built up a lot more up there, which meant there were more eyes on the north end that might spot someone moving carefully through the shadows.

  Risking the movement, since he and Shevlin were still well inside the shadows, Hank turned his head and looked north. Sure enough, a Z-9 was circling above the buildings up there, its spotlight shining down on the grounds. He couldn’t see muzzle flashes, but there was definitely a firefight going on up there.

  For a moment, he was tempted to just set the charges where they were and head back to support Chan’s section. But they were already outnumbered, no matter how much the strike on Mischief Reef might have drawn Chinese forces off, and if they didn’t destroy their targets—defense tower, SAM site, and older SIAR radar array—then part of the entire point of the night’s op would be lost.

  It was a tough call. Even if they managed to hit all their objectives and disappear, the Chinese would still be able to rebuild. There wasn’t much short of a nuke that would completely obliterate the artificial island. Was it worth it to drop one more defense tower? Or should they drop the charges and go try to get Chan’s guys out?

  He searched carefully one more time for any sign of security on the ground. It didn’t appear that they had guards on this part of the island. That didn’t mean they weren’t there, but it still didn’t look like they were about to run into a PLAN marine fire team.

  Tapping Shevlin, he pointed with his rifle muzzle. They were there, they had the charges, and the mission was still on. It would take too long to get back, and there was the entire two-mile-long runway to get across if they were going to try to support Chan’s section. Mission first.

  Gathering their feet under them, the two men started toward the concrete pad where the defense tower stood.

  They moved as carefully but quickly as the sandy ground underfoot and the weight of their rucks would allow. Fighting with rucks was always difficult, and with the weight of explosives and initiation systems they were carrying
, this wasn’t going to be fun. But they had to move fast.

  Hank momentarily thought about quickly setting charges on the SIAR array first. On the one hand, they were right there. On the other, if they got spotted, either from the tower or the SAM site, they might have to break contact and leave their other two targets untouched. He couldn’t see anyone outside, but if one of those ChiCom trucks came around on that coastal road while they were setting charges, there was no cover.

  He made his decision. They needed to deal with the defenses first.

  They reached the doors and momentarily paused, taking a knee to either side and sweeping the area around them. Headlights were moving on the west end of the island, but so far, they were clear. Shevlin first, then Hank, they dropped their rucks and got ready to make entry.

  While Hank covered their backs, Shevlin turned to the door, pulling a breaching charge out of his ruck, but then he paused, reached up, and pulled on the handle.

  The door swung open.

  The two of them shared a look. Hank couldn’t quite believe that the Chinese crews hadn’t secured the door behind them, given everything else that had happened, especially given that there was a firefight going on to the north, but he supposed that every armed force had its share of the lazy and those who simply couldn’t quite grasp that the threat was real and on their doorstep.

  He wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

  Shevlin pulled the door open and Hank turned and went through, weapon up and scanning for targets.

  There was no one on the ground floor, only cases of ammunition and other gear. Hank moved all the way to the steps, turning and taking the landing above, his back to the concrete wall next to the opening that led deeper in, toward the lower emplacement.

  As he did so, a man in blue and gray fatigues stepped out onto the landing, saying something over his shoulder in Mandarin before he turned and locked eyes with the hatchet-faced man in wet, sandy khakis, pointing a rifle at him.

  For a second, the man froze, then he grabbed for the sidearm at his hip, opening his mouth to yell.

  Hank shot him through the heart from ten feet away.

  The dead man had barely hit the landing before Hank was moving up the stairs, Shevlin at his heels, stepping on the corpse as he went.

  Bursting into the cramped fire control center, he found two more men in PLAN marine cammies, manning the computerized controls. One was still at his station, looking up with wide eyes as Hank entered the small compartment, but the other one was already scrambling to draw his pistol.

  Hank shot that one first, blasting two bloody holes in his chest and knocking him back against the console behind him. The harsh snap of the bullets passing by his ear just before ventilating his comrade snapped the second man out of his daze, and he grabbed for his own pistol, twisting in his chair to try to reach it.

  The PLAN tech had to get his weapon out of its holster and up a good two feet to bring it to bear. Hank had to pivot from his hips about six inches. He blew the man’s brains all over the controls behind him.

  A quick check confirmed that both men were dead. Shevlin was at his back, watching the stairs. “Clear.” Hank started to turn back toward the steps. “Let’s get the charges in here.”

  “Wait a second.” Shevlin didn’t turn his head, didn’t turn aside from his position. “I just had an idea.”

  Hank realized that from inside, he couldn’t hear any of the fighting going on outside, aside from the yelling in Mandarin coming over the Chinese radios. “Make it fast.”

  “We’re sitting on a ton of 30mm here. What if we turn these guns on the SAMs and the radar array, then blow this place and run?” Shevlin’s eyes and muzzle were still trained down the stairs, his head tilted just enough to make sure his voice carried over his shoulder. “Because frankly, looking at this place, I think we’re going to need all the explosives we brought to drop it. They built it solid.”

  Hank knew they didn’t have time to think it over. He stepped over to the console, shoving aside the body leaned back in the chair, and examined the console, which was another glorified laptop, with several control sticks plugged into it. It took a few seconds to figure out the controls, but only a moment to see that Shevlin’s idea wasn’t going to work.

  “We can’t depress the guns far enough. The SAM site’s too close.” He stepped back toward the stairs. “We don’t have to drop the whole tower, anyway. Just wreck the mechanisms and the guns. Let’s get those charges set.”

  They quickly pushed back to the main door, only to see headlights racing down the coastal road toward the guard tower. Behind them, Hank could hear an insistent voice in Mandarin over the radio, a voice that was going unanswered.

  Realizing that they were partially backlit from inside, Hank rushed out and got out of the fatal funnel, dropping to a knee and aiming in at the oncoming headlights.

  Shevlin had come out and moved the opposite direction, even as the headlights washed across them. That was when everything really went sideways.

  A quieter, lighter pop sounded from the north, and something buzzed past Hank’s ear. Then Shevlin turned and opened fire, dumping rounds toward the SAM site.

  With a curse, Hank put his reticle just above the headlights, let out a breath, and squeezed off a shot, riding the reset as the recoil settled and breaking another as soon as the dot settled just above the glare once again. It was hard to pick out the dot against the white glare of the headlights, but he could only do what he could.

  The vehicle swerved suddenly, and then another storm of fire tore into its side, and it was going off the road and down the bank toward the ocean. The Rodriguez brothers, tasked with hitting the main SIAR array, must have figured out what was going on and engaged.

  Shevlin was still shooting, partially barricaded on the door, and Hank pivoted, sprinted partway out into the field, and dropped to a knee, already tracking in toward one of the figures crouched behind the BJ2022 parked next to the main radar station.

  The dot almost covered what he could see of the man, but he fired anyway. He missed, but the Chinese shooter flinched back, and suddenly there was no more incoming fire.

  “Jim, you all right?”

  “I’m good. But getting to those SAMs is gonna be a bitch.”

  “Get your charges set inside. I’ll keep them pinned down until you’re done.” Hank kept his muzzle trained on the corner of the radar station, but even as Shevlin started to move, he caught movement to the right, and pivoted as two more came around the launch cells, moving like they were carrying pistols.

  Pistols against 7.62 battle rifles. Well, at least they’ve got balls.

  He shot the first one center mass, gratified to see him go down. It was barely a hundred yards, but in the dark, on NVGs, it still wasn’t an easy shot. The second one dove for the dirt, popping off three shots with his pistol, and Hank heard the bullets buzz overhead as he returned fire, moving back toward the tower as Shevlin dragged his ruck inside.

  A long, ragged burst of gunfire sounded to the north. More shots popped off to the west. Someone set their charges off early, and a fireball rose over the north side of the base.

  This was not going as smoothly as Gaven Reef had.

  He couldn’t stay focused entirely on the SAM site; there was an entire island to the west, and plenty of Chinese soldiers and sailors who had been alerted to the Triarii’s presence already. That was why, when he saw two more dark figures moving across the open ground between the tower and the bigger SIAR array, he pivoted toward them, already up on his rifle, his finger on the trigger. He covered them with his red dot just in time to catch the triple IR flash as the man on the right triggered his rifle’s illuminator. Dropping his muzzle, he returned a double flash and then the Rodriguez brothers dashed up to him, Marco returning fire as more pistol shots popped from the far side of the SAM site.

  “Why didn’t you fall back to the landing site?” Hank leaned out and looked for a target, but whoever had had the stones to
stick his head out and fire off several pistol shots at the raiders with rifles had disappeared.

  “Looked like you needed help.” Juan looked at the single ruck still on the ground. “Where’s Jim?”

  “Inside, setting charges.” Hank suddenly realized, through his fatigue, that the Rodriguez brothers had just fixed a problem. “Juan, you stay here and cover Jim. Marco, grab that ruck and come with me.” He felt a sudden pang in his conscience, knowing he was having the younger man carry his heavy-ass ruck, but sometimes rank—and a more intimate knowledge of the situation on the ground—had its privileges.

  He couldn’t see if Marco Rodriguez grimaced or not, but he hefted the ruck with no more complaint than a grunt. Then Hank was moving, Marco right behind him, as Juan laid down covering fire.

  Hank wasn’t sprinting, but he was moving as close to a fast glide as he could manage, his weapon up and ready to engage. A good thing, too, because as soon as he passed the SAM cells, pivoting to clear the dead space behind them, he came almost face-to-face with a PLAN tech, pistol in hand.

  The tech had been running for the corner, his pistol still pointed at the sand. He got it partway up as Hank’s brain registered the weapon, but then Hank shot him through the chest. He staggered with a pained grunt, the gun slipping from his fingers, as Hank kept moving, dumping the man coming around the corner behind him with a pair of shots, the bullets punching into his chest within a hand’s breadth of each other.

  Then they were past the launch cells and closing on the low, concrete radar station itself.

  The door was still open. Hank’s angle and accurate fire had driven the Chinese away from it before they’d been able to shut it, and if there was anyone still inside, they hadn’t dared come out to secure their only access point.

  He didn’t pause to stack up on the door, but only slowed down just enough on the way to make sure that Marco was with him. Then he went through, rifle up and tracking.