“What the hell is wrong with him?” Rikov wanted to know, focusing his field glasses on a man in a black shirt and black beret stumbling toward them, dark stains on his clothes and an agonized expression on his face.
Zubov sighed, reaching for his AK-47 automatic rifle. “He is badly wounded, comrade. Someone has shot him several times in the chest and belly.”
Rikov tensed, reaching down for his own automatic rifle. “Then they are here,” he whispered.
The sudden staccato of automatic-weapons fire thundered from the jungle hills south of them. Yarimere Hecht went down in a heap as if he’d been struck over the head by a heavy hammer, blood squirting from a number of wounds across his back and sides, his head coming apart in a spray of blood and bone and tufts of his long black hair.
“Son of a bitch!” Zubov hissed, looking for the source of the bullets. “How the hell did they get behind us?”
“It is not possible,” Sergeant Rikov said as more and more gunfire erupted from trees to the south and west of their position.
The endless blasts of large-bore guns echoed across the Oxacan jungle. Men in black vests and berets tumbled out of pine thickets, shooting at unseen targets to their rear before they were gunned down.
“They have us cornered,” Zubov exclaimed. “We have no choice but to head north, and that is all very thick jungle country.”
“To hell with this,” Rikov shouted as the gunshots came closer, lead slugs whistling through the air above their heads now.
He came to a crouch and took off at a run, keeping low to make as small a target as possible.
Captain Zubov had cupped his hands around his mouth to warn his sergeant against such a retreat, when he felt the earth shudder beneath him.
Sergeant Rikov stepped on a land mine less than thirty yards downslope. He was blown skyward, arms windmilling, his AK-47 flying into the air only fractions of a second before his legs were severed from his body. Pulpy bits of bone and flesh swirled away from his torso, and as he met his appointment with death, he let out a bloodcurdling scream.
Zubov did not watch his sergeant land in pieces around a deep crater where the land mine had been planted. All he could think of now was making it out of this place with his skin intact.
Men were screaming across vine-choked ridges behind him, and he had proof the land south of his position had been mined . . . his trusted sergeant’s body decorated the dark green grass running into the valley below him.
“How the hell did they slip up behind us without any of my men knowing about it?” he wondered aloud, inching backward until he was protected from flying bullets by a ledge of rock jutting from the hill.
It was not possible, and yet the shrill cries of wounded and dying men made it all too clear his squad was in deep trouble in the pines.
Zubov saw two of his men break from a stand of trees at a dead run, spraying automatic-weapons fire in their wake as they ran toward safety.
A mortar thudded somewhere on a hillock west of the valley, and then an earsplitting explosion blew his Blackshirt squad men away, leaving nothing but flying dirt and vines and clods of grass where they had been only moments before the blast.
To hell with this, he thought, bending low to make a run to the east where no guns riddled the slopes. He dashed across the low side of the ridge with his AK-47 cocked, ready to unleash its deadly load should any target present itself before he reached the apparent safety of a jungle grove nestled in a swale between two hills.
Too late, he caught a glimpse of a shadowy figure in the trees, and the glint of early morning sunlight off the barrel of a rifle.
Zubov threw himself flat in the grass, bringing his rifle to bear on the shape.
The pounding of rapid fire filled his ears, and he felt a stinging sensation spread across the top of his head and his right shoulder.
The sky above him began to spin, and he lost his bearings for a moment.
“What the hell . . . is happening?” he stuttered, feeling a wet substance flow out of his mouth when he spoke.
He looked down at the grass below his chin. A crimson stain spread between his elbows, and pain raced through his skull unlike any pain he’d ever known.
I am shot, he thought dully as he felt himself spinning in widening circles. Tiny pinpoints of light flashed before his eyes as the world around him darkened.
How did they get behind us? he wondered again, until a deep wracking cough filled his mouth with blood.
His eyes batted shut, and the pain was gone.
Captain Raul Perez stepped from cover and stood over the bodies of the mercenaries as his men came out of the jungle to join him. They all wore the red berets of the Mexican Special Forces units that Harley Reno and Hammer Hammerick had trained the year before when Perro Loco first attacked Mexico.
Sergeant Julio Yara stepped to Perez’s side. “I see our training last year was not in vain, Captain,” he said with a grin.
Perez looked around at his men, who’d suffered no loses in their ambush of the mercenaries. “Yes, the tactics the americanos taught us worked extremely well.”
Sergeant Yara turned to the other men. “Pick up all the weapons and ammunition you can and strip the bodies for the buzzards. We shall leave a message the mercenaries will not soon forget.”
TWENTY-NINE
Bruno Bottger was furious when Bergman told him of Bundt’s report of the mercenary unit slaughtered in the mountainous region of Oxaca.
“Why are we wasting valuable troops and equipment trying to occupy land that is so remote?” he asked scornfully.
Bergman shrugged. “We did not feel the Mexican Army was such a threat, Field Marshal. Evidently, they have learned some lessons from fighting with the Americans last year.”
“From now on, we will concentrate on taking Mexico City, not worthless mountains and jungles that have no strategic significance,” he ordered. He looked at General Bundt. “Herman, you will use the port cities we’ve already captured as staging points for reinforcements to build up a force that is to be used only in our final attack against Mexico City. Once we have the seat of government in our hands, the Mexican Army will have no choice but to surrender.”
“Yes, sir, Field Marshal,” Bundt said, his face flaming with embarrassment at his failure.
Bottger consulted a detailed topographic map of Mexico. “I want you to leapfrog our troops to take Acapulco and then Las Truchas next. From there we can ship in helicopters and gunships as well as men for the final assault on Mexico City.”
“Yes, sir, it will be done,” Bundt said.
“I do not want any more reports of failure, Herman, or you will soon be fighting as a private, do you understand me?”
“Yes, sir,” he said, saluting smartly and hurrying from the room.
After the general left, Sergei looked at his boss. “Why the haste to take Mexico City, sir?”
Bottger sighed. “My bank accounts are depleted, Sergei. We need to get to the gold stored in the capital city as soon as possible, before our mercenaries find out we have nothing left with which to pay them.”
Bergman nodded. “I understand.”
“And, Sergei, have the scientists get the plague missiles and bombs ready. As soon as we’ve secured Mexico City, I want to launch BW attacks against Ben Raines and his troops. We cannot afford a repeat of Africa.”
“Yes, sir.”
Perro Loco’s men were doing better. The roads toward Mexico City that ran through the middle of the country were well maintained and hadn’t been mined extensively, so his heavy equipment and tanks were making short work of the Mexican Army’s defenses. In fact, his men had progressed almost to the city of Puebla, less than a hundred miles south of Mexico City, well within the range of his helicopter gunships. He was almost ready to give the order for an all-out siege of the capital city.
Ben Raines was going over the intel reports with Mike Post when Dr. Larry Buck knocked on his door and entered, a smile on his face.
; “Hello, Doc,” Ben said, looking up from the maps spread on his desk. “You look like the cat that swallowed the canary.”
“Better than that, Ben. We’ve finally managed to get the formula for a vaccine against the bug Bottger is planning to use. I’ve ordered full production, so we should be ready to begin inoculations within twenty-four hours.”
Ben nodded, returning the doc’s smile. “Good, ’cause it looks like Mexico City will fall within the week. After that, Bottger is sure to begin deployment of his BW as soon as he can.”
“There is something strange going on, though,” Mike Post said.
“What’s that, Mike?” Ben asked.
“My spies in the U.S. say there is no program of inoculation going on there among Osterman’s troops. What do you make of that?”
Ben glanced at Buck. “Is there any way they could already be immune, Larry?”
“No way, Ben. This bug is completely new and different from anything I’ve seen before. If Osterman’s not already immunizing her troops, then they’re going to be as vulnerable as ours would have been.”
Ben scratched at a two-day growth of beard on his face. He’d been too busy lately to shave, and the new growth itched terribly.
After a minute, he looked up. “That must mean Bottger is planning to double-cross Osterman. I’ll bet he figures the plague will devastate both our countries, leaving the entire North American continent ripe for picking.”
“But, that’d mean millions of deaths,” Buck said, a look of horror on his face. “No one can be that callous toward human life.”
“Don’t count on it, Larry,” Ben said. “If there’s a spark of humanity in Bruno Bottger, I haven’t seen any sign of it yet.”
“Ben, I don’t know if I can in good conscience withhold this vaccine from Osterman. Even if we are at war, those are still Americans living there. Can you stand by and see millions of innocent people die just to defeat a crazy woman?”
“No, Larry, of course not. I never regret killing men in battle who are trying to kill me, but I’ve never countenanced killing civilians along with the military, not even to win a war I didn’t start. Of course, we’ll share the formula with Osterman, but we’ll not give her the actual vaccine until all of our men have had a chance at it first.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“Gather up all your papers on the illness Jersey and Coop suffered after exposure to the bug, as well as your culture reports and basic information on both the bug and your vaccine. I’ll contact Sugar Babe tomorrow, after we’ve begun to vaccinate our troops.”
“I’ll have the information on your desk first thing in the morning,” Buck said.
THIRTY
Less than an hour after Ben had faxed the information on the BW of Bruno Bottger to Claire Osterman’s office, his phone rang.
He picked it up and said, “Hello, Claire.”
“What is this shit, Raines? What have you got up your sleeve now?” she asked in a harsh voice.
“I thought the information was pretty self-evident,” he replied in a reasonable tone of voice. “Are you seriously having trouble believing a man like Bruno Bottger would be planning to double-cross you?”
“How did you know—” she began.
Ben interrupted her. “How did I know you are in cahoots with Bruno Bottger?” he finished for her.
“I don’t know where you got the idea Bottger is still alive, or that I’m in cahoots with him, as you say,” she said lamely.
“Oh, come on, Claire. Who else would have the technical know-how to take the same bug Bottger used against the world a couple of years ago and cause a mutation that would make it even more deadly?”
When he was met with silence on the other end of the phone, Ben continued. “And as far as knowing about your deal with the devil, we’ve known about that from the very beginning, Claire,” Ben said, stretching the truth to make her even more unsure of his sources.
“Well, anyway,” she continued in a stronger tone of voice, “why should I trust any information you give me after you sent your assassins to try and kill me?”
“Claire, if I wanted you dead, you’d already be decomposing.”
“Bullshit, Raines. You know attempted assassination of a country’s leaders is expressly forbidden by the Geneva Convention rules of war.”
Ben threw back his head and laughed. “Claire, I’m surprised you even know the Geneva Convention rules, since you’ve broken every single one of them since you’ve been president of the U.S., especially the ones concerning the use of chemical and biological weapons.”
She paused, then: “Nevertheless, answer my question. Why should I trust you now?”
“Because you know it fits with Bottger’s character, or lack thereof,” Ben said patiently.
“If he’s got this weapon ready, why hasn’t he used it already?” she asked, her tone becoming more businesslike.
“Probably because he needs you to keep me busy until he can gain control of Mexico by taking Mexico City. Once he’s established there and the Mexican Army is out of the picture, I think he’ll launch a full-scale attack on the SUSA with his plague bacteria.”
Another hesitation while she pondered the reasonableness of Ben’s idea.
“And, Claire,” Ben continued, “if you’re thinking that might be good for you, think again. If the plague gets a hold here in the SUSA, even on a minor scale, remember what happened last time he and you played with biological weapons. Plagues know no boundaries. The sickness will surely cross the border like a wildfire out of control, and burn you as badly as us.”
“Not if he shares the vaccine with us,” Claire said, an uncertain note in her voice.
“Has he made any effort to even inform you of his plans, much less share his vaccine with you?” Ben asked.
“There’s still time,” Claire said, “if what you’re saying is the truth.”
“Now who’s bullshitting whom, Claire?” Ben asked. “My medical experts tell me the vaccine will take from one to two weeks to become effective after inoculation. If that’s true, and Bottger is only days away from taking Mexico City, then you haven’t got a lot of time to prepare, have you?”
“Shit!” she said, evidently realizing she’d been set up as surely as night follows day.
“Claire, in spite of our . . . philosophical differences, our countries share a common history and a common blood bond. We are all, in a sense, Americans. For that reason, and for that reason alone, I don’t wish to see your citizens die by the millions.”
“What do you suggest?” she said slowly, as if thinking over his words.
“I’d like to make a deal.”
“What kind of deal?” she asked, more suspicious now.
“Call it a quid pro quo,” Ben said, “a tit-for-tat sort of deal.”
“Oh, so your humanity has a price?” she said scornfully.
Ben chuckled again. “In the words of the immortal writer Robert A. Heinlein, Claire, there ain’t no such thing as a free lunch.”
“So, what’s this ‘lunch,’ as you call it, going to cost me?”
“Simply pull your troops back from our borders and stand them down.”
“That’s it?” she asked.
“That’s it, Claire,” he answered. “It’s a war you know you can’t win anyway, so you have nothing to lose by doing the deal.”
“And if we do this?”
“I’ll ship you detailed instructions on the manufacture of a vaccine effective against the anthrax plague, as well as a supply to get you started with your vaccinations until you can make your own.”
“And that’s all?” she asked.
“Oh, and one more thing,” Ben said.
“I knew it,” Claire said.
“You’ve got to allow inspectors from the United Nations to monitor your troop withdrawal.”
“What?”
“It’s not that I don’t trust you, Claire, but you’ve got to admit, you’re not known for keeping your word
.”
“You’re a son of a bitch, Raines! You know that?”
“Son of a bitch or no, Claire, you know I always keep my word, especially when it means the saving of millions of lives,” Ben said.
After a few seconds, Claire answered, “All right, Raines, I’ll do it.”
“Good. You’ve made the right choice, Claire. I’ll arrange with President Jeffreys to have Jean-François Chapelle get some inspectors on their way to your country immediately.”
“What about the vaccine?” Claire asked. “If what you say is true, time is of the essence.”
“I will take you at your word and send it right away,” Ben said. Then, in a harsher voice, he added, “And, Claire, if you double-cross me after I send it, I make you a solemn promise. I will bomb you and your country into the Dark Ages.”
The only answer Ben got was a loud click as Claire slammed her phone down.
He called Mike Post and told him of his deal with Claire.
“Do you think you can trust her?” Mike asked.
“You never know with Claire, so here’s what I want you to do. Have communications get in touch with Jackie Malone and her crew of guerrillas, and have them cease all aggressive tactics, but to stay there undercover, just in case Claire doesn’t come through on her end of the bargain.”
Mike chuckled. “Jackie’s not going to like sitting around with her hands in her pockets,” he said.
Ben smiled “I know, but tell her it’s the best we can do right now. If I know Claire Osterman, Jackie will get another chance at her before all this is over.”
Claire slammed the phone down, muttering, “That arrogant prick! Just who does he think he is?”
Herb Knoff, who’d been sitting across the room listening to half the conversation, raised his eyebrows quizzically.
Claire glanced at him. “Get General Stevens and Harlan Millard in here right now!”
After her advisors had been assembled, Claire got right to the point. “Ben Raines called. He said he’s got proof Bottger is planning a double-cross.”
Warriors from the Ashes Page 20
