Dead Six
Page 38
VALENTINE
Goddamn it, I thought to myself bitterly. I knew it was too good to be true. I cursed myself for staying with Dead Six. We should’ve used the confusion of Project Heartbreaker being terminated to sneak out and link up with Ling’s people. We could’ve slipped away, and with everything being packed up and shipped out, they’d have had no time to try to find us. It would’ve been perfect.
Instead, here I was, decked out in full battle rattle with a rifle slung across my chest and a bandage on my arm. The fort was on full lockdown. Everyone healthy enough to hold a weapon was kitted up and told to be on the alert. Despite Hal’s painkillers, I hurt, and my face was bruised and swollen. Worse, the sky had clouded over. Thunder rumbled overhead; it was threatening to rain.
Most of us were standing by on the docks at the north side of the fort. They sat just beyond a huge stone arch in the old wall of Fort Saradia. Colonel Hunter had ordered patrols of the compound as well. Every person that could be spared hurriedly loaded equipment onto the dock. Word was Hunter was going to try to get the boat to come sooner. My own personal gear, including a backpack full of money, was still in my room. I really hoped I’d have time to get it before we had to board the boat.
We were prepared for the worst. We’d emptied the armory and broken out all of our heavy weapons. We quickly set up defensive fighting positions covering both the gate and the docks, backed up with machine guns, RPGs, Javelin missile launchers, and everything else we had lying around. If the Zubarans came looking for a fight, they were in for a big surprise.
We couldn’t take everything with us. I was shocked at how much weaponry they’d stockpiled in our armory. Most of it had been locally acquired, either captured or given to us by the Zubarans. There was a lot of Chinese and Russian hardware. We’d rigged the supply building, where the armory was, with explosives. As soon as we cleared out, we’d blow the rest of it in place so General Al Sabah’s troops couldn’t make use of it.
Sarah was with me. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail. She’d put on her body armor like I asked. It was soft armor, useless against rifle fire. We couldn’t find any regular armor that would fit her. She carried a Mk. 16 5.56mm carbine in her hands and had her Sig .45 on her hip. Sarah had a serious look on her face as she kept watch over the harbor.
God, she’s beautiful.
“I’ve got a boat in sight!” someone shouted. He was looking out over the bay with a pair of night-vision binoculars. “It’s a ways out, approaching slowly.”
“Is that our ride?” someone else asked. “Did the colonel talk them into showing up early?”
“Sarah, go tell Colonel Hunter we have a boat in sight,” I said. Most of our radios were packed away, and our network had been dismantled. We had to communicate the old-fashioned way.
“Okay. I’ll be right back.” Sarah trotted off, disappearing from sight.
The group was smoking and joking, eager to head for home. Holbrook, the only surviving member of Singer’s chalk, was telling everybody that the beers were on him as soon as we got to a non-shitty country. Now I could see the lights of the boat. They were growing quickly.
“Gimme those.” Tailor stole the binocs from the guy using them. He scowled. “Val, that boat looks too small. . . .”
There were several quick flashes from the boat. I could see them clearly without night vision. The sound came an instant later. “Get down!” I screamed, pulling Tailor to the ground. The tracers were high, hitting the fort wall behind us, showering us in dust and debris. But then the gunner adjusted fire and walked the bullets into the dock. Chunks of concrete and wood went flying as heavy rounds punched through walls, equipment, and men. Two streams of tracers zipped from the boat as it hosed our position with twin fifty-caliber machine guns.
“Return fire!” Tailor yelled, trying to make himself heard over the chaos. A fire erupted behind us as the boat’s armor-piercing/incendiary rounds ignited something flammable. “Take that boat out! Somebody grab a Javelin!” Fillmore and Chetwood ran for the missile launcher.
The boat was still hundreds of yards out. It gunned its engines and sped up, continuously firing on our position. Several men were able to bring their weapons to bear and return fire, but to no effect.
Through the three-and-a-half power magnification of my ACOG scope our attacker looked like a patrol boat of the Zubaran Coast Guard. Leaning around the barricade of sandbags I was using for cover, I squeezed the trigger, popping off shot after shot at the incoming boat. It strafed the dock again, twin tongues of flame tearing into our position with lethal results.
“Where is that goddamned Javelin?” Tailor screamed again, firing his weapon as he did so. I looked around, trying to figure out what happened to our missile crew. They were on the other side of the entrance to the dock, about twenty-five meters from my position. Fillmore and Chetwood were lying behind a pile of sandbags, blood everywhere. Chetwood had been decapitated. Fillmore was missing an arm and screaming his head off. Christ . . .
“I got it!” Holbrook shouted. He slung his weapon behind his back and ran into the open just as the incoming patrol boat opened fire again. I watched in horror as a heavy .50-caliber round smacked into him, punching through his body armor like it wasn’t there. The bullet exploded out his side in a spray of blood, guts, and bits of shattered ceramic. Holbrook didn’t make a noise as he went down.
If we didn’t get that missile, we were all dead. “Tailor, I’m going,” I said, feeling no fear as the Calm pushed all emotions aside. Without hesitation, I sprinted for the other position and jumped over Holbrook’s body. I made it across. I dropped to the deck and slid to a stop on my knees. I roughly pushed aside Fillmore and picked up the Javelin launcher. Shouldering the heavy beast, I looked through the sophisticated sight and pointed the weapon toward the Zubaran patrol boat.
The Javelin achieved missile lock. I pressed the firing stud. The missile’s expelling charge caused it to belch out of the launcher. A fraction of a second later the rocket motors ignited, sending the missile roaring up into the night sky on a column of smoke. It took the missile a few seconds to arc through the sky. It came screaming down, slamming into the boat from above and detonating. The hull was ripped in half in a flash of light.
My comrades on the dock stood up and cheered, holding their weapons in the air while the sinking boat burned. For my part, I simply dropped the Javelin launcher and exhaled heavily, taking stock. Fillmore was already gone. My pant legs were coated in the blood of my dead teammates. The patrol boat’s strafing run had killed several of us, and the screaming told me others were wounded. Thunder rumbled overhead again, and the rain began. Within moments it was pouring.
Seconds later something shrieked overhead and detonated inside the compound. Then there was another, then another. The ground rumbled as mortars struck the armory and the admin building. My heart dropped into my stomach. Sarah!
“Val, where are you going?” Tailor shouted as I took off at a run.
“I have to find Sarah!” I said, not looking back.
LORENZO
The big lump of meat, Conrad, let go of me, and I sank to the ground, retching. Walker didn’t just snap my finger bones, he broke them slowly, grinding away, joint on joint, until he was sure he’d hit every nerve bundle. He was a fucking artist.
“Two down, three to go,” Walker said. “And I’m just getting warmed up on this one. This is going to be a long night. You really shouldn’t have come here. You’re my bitch now.”
“No shit,” I gasped. I had no weapons. They’d searched me, disarmed me, and I was already hurt and handcuffed to a wall. Options were limited. There was no room for error. I had to kill both of these men. I felt around the wall behind me. This place is old and crumbling. There has to be something I can use. There.
“Ready for the next one, Stan?” Walker asked.
Conrad shrugged and started in. “Sure, but I don’t get off on this like you do.” He grabbed me around the back of the neck and dra
gged me up the wall, loose brick scraping my back. He slugged me in the stomach again, hammering the tissue that had already been pulverized by a stopped bullet. It hurt so bad that I just wanted to curl up into a ball and die, but that’s why I did all of those damned sit-ups. I took it. I had to let them think I was helpless, but I still had one hand free, and I clutched the chunk of brick tight.
There was a burst of noise from outside. Walker and Conrad glanced at each other. “Gunfire? Who’s shooting?” Walker queried. My hearing was still all buggered up. I had no idea. “Check it out,” he snapped. Conrad let go of me. This was my chance. I slid to floor, limp, gagging, as if that last punch had leveled me.
“Okay,” Conrad said, jogged toward the exit. I waited until the door closed.
But Walker wasn’t stupid. He’d stepped out of arms’ reach to wait for his backup. Chicken shit.
I crawled to my knees. I had to make this count. “Wait? You hear that?” I gasped, looking toward the door.
Unconsciously, he turned. “Wha—” But was cut off as I hurled the brick as hard as I could. His glasses flew off and he stumbled back, hands clutched to his face, screeching in pain, one eye obliterated. I scrambled for him, but the cuff chain snapped tight, just short, just out of arm’s reach. Shit!
“Help!” Walker, blinded, was tripping, stumbling, but getting farther away. “Conrad! Help!” he cried.
His aviator shades were at my feet. I snatched them up, ripping them apart, knocking the remaining lens out. I bent the wire spine straight and went to work on the cuffs. Men like me have an instinctive fear of being in handcuffs, so I had practiced this a few hundred times. I could pick a handcuff with a toothpick. “Maybe Big Boss will lend you an eye patch, asshole!”
The door flew open and Conrad ran back in, shouting, “We’re under attack! It’s the army.” Then he collided with his bleeding friend. “What the hell?”
“My eye!” Walker screamed. “He put out my eye!”
The cuff clicked loose and I ripped my damaged hand out, leaving a lot of skin behind. I crossed the cell, reaching up and swatting the lone light bulb, shattering it and plunging us all into darkness. They never saw me coming.
I kicked Conrad’s ankle out from under him. The bone splintered and he toppled down to my level, where I ridge-handed him brutally in the throat. Conrad choked, gagging, still confused as to how I got all the way over here. I grabbed him by the hair and slammed his face into my knee, knocking half his teeth out. He was down.
Walker was groping about, searching for his gun. They’d left them on the table by the door. He found the table just as I found him. My arm slid around his throat, injured left hand putting pressure on the side of his head as I cranked back, taking us both to the ground. He thrashed, kicked, elbowed me in the side, but once I’d cut the flow of oxygen off to his brain, he was out in ten seconds. The elbow hits got weaker and weaker, then finally stopped. When I was convinced the struggle was over, I rolled his unconscious form off.
Gasping, I struggled to my feet. There were flashes of light coming through the narrow windows. A high-pitched whistle terminated in a explosion against one of the walls. The compound was under attack. I had to get the hell out of here. I ran my good hand over the dark table until I found what I’d come here for. The box went into one pants pocket, radio into the other. I kept Walker’s gun.
The two men were groaning, stirring. I could have just put a bullet into both of them, but I might need the ammo. I booted Conrad in the head once more to be safe, then rolled Walker over, stripping him of two spare magazines. Blood flow restored, the man was starting to come to.
Being an asshole, I just couldn’t help myself. Squatting down, I grabbed all the fingers on Walker’s right hand. “Wake up.” Then I cranked them back so brutally hard that they touched his wrist, breaking every one of them so fiercely that the skin of his palm split open. He sat up, screaming, so I smashed him in the face with his own gun.
It was time to go.
VALENTINE
Fort Saradia was in utter chaos as mortars rained down on us. I left the relative safety of the stone archway that led to the docks and ran into the open, desperate to find Sarah. She was probably either in the admin building or the old brig, where theytaken Lorenzo.
The admin building was easier to get to, and it was where Hunter’s office was, so I started there. Hearing the screams of more incoming shells, I huddled by the wall of the closest building and covered my head. Two big military trucks, wearing Zubaran Army markings, were parked by the north wall of the supply building. Those trucks had been sitting in the compound since day one, but we hadn’t used them. I hoped they’d protect me from fragmentation.
Five more mortars exploded in the compound. The first one didn’t hit anything. The second struck the admin building. The third hit the dormitory building and destroyed several rooms on the top floor. The fourth hit the big gas tank directly west of my position. Hot wind blew across my back as the fuel tank erupted in a huge fireball and burned. I didn’t see where the last mortar hit, but it was close. The barrage ended. An assault was coming, and we were undoubtedly outnumbered. Through the torrential downpour, I saw the survivors from the docks running back into the compound, toward my position, as they prepared to make a stand.
I had my own mission, though. Clenching my MK 17, I took off at a run again, rounding the east corner of the supply warehouse. One of the shells had struck the ground right next to the building, making a small crater and collapsing part of the wall. I didn’t stop to see if anyone was hurt inside. I jumped over the crater and continued running.
A loud crash echoed across the compound. I stopped and took cover. A French-built Leclerc tank smashed through the front gate, busting the heavy metal doors open. The turret had been turned around to keep from damaging the barrel. As it cleared the gate, it began to swing its gun around, looking for a target.
A few seconds later, a Javelin missile shrieked down onto the tank and slammed into the top of the turret. The missile hit with a loud metallic BANG, sounding like someone hitting a metal plate with a sledgehammer. The tank rumbled to a stop just inside the gate, burning. Brilliant flames shot out from under the turret as the ammunition inside cooked off and burned.
The destroyed tank effectively blocked other vehicles from entering the gate, but that didn’t stop the onslaught. Armed troops began pouring into the compound, coming around the tank on both sides. They were a mix of Zubaran Army regulars, with their desert-camouflage uniforms and helmets, and irregular militia, who wore black fatigues and masks over their faces.
Holy shit. There’s a lot of ‘em. I backed up and dove into the mortar crater and used it for cover. I acquired a target through my ACOG scope, a militiaman with an RPG, and popped off a shot. He dropped to the muddy ground. I shifted my carbine to the right and fired three shots at another cluster of soldiers, Zubaran regulars. One went down, but the others took cover behind the tank.
They just kept coming. To my left, my teammates had gotten a couple of machine guns set up. They tore into the soldiers as they filed in past the tank, but the enemy was relentless. I fired continuously, pausing only to change magazines. I don’t know how many I hit. More than a dozen Dead Six operatives were all firing into the same enemy position, mowing down the Zubaran soldiers, but there were too many of them. Rounds began to strike the dirt around my little crater, and the wall behind me. I suddenly felt very vulnerable. Taking a chance, I came to my feet and ran for the admin building, bullets snapping past me as I went. I hugged the wall, hoping the hostiles wouldn’t see me through the rain.
Thunder clapped overhead, barely audible over the roar of the battle as I reached the admin building. My heart sank when I saw the damage. A mortar had struck the roof, partially caving in the second floor. Hunter’s office was on the second floor. Oh God, no . . .
My Calm began to fail. I was nearly in a panic. I busted the ground-level door open and entered the building, heading for the stairs.
I made it to the second floor and shined my light down the hallway. The roof had caved in at the far end of the hall where Conrad’s office was. A small fire burned within, and the hall was quickly filling with smoke. Hunter’s office was closer. The door had been knocked off the hinges, and the ceiling was cracked all the way down the hall, but the roof hadn’t caved in yet. The old building’s solid construction was the only reason it had been able to withstand two direct mortar hits.
“Sarah!” I shouted, growing desperate.
“Here!” Sarah replied, her voice resonating through the low-pitched roar of the battle outside.
“Sarah, where are you?” I shouted, running into the hall.
“I’m—” She coughed. “I’m in here!”
I followed the sound of her voice to the first room in the hall. The door was open. A smear of blood was on the floor, leading into the dimly lit room. I found Sarah sitting on the floor. She was holding Anita King in her arms. Anita was dead.
“Oh God, are you alright?” I cried, dropping to my knees and throwing my arms around Sarah. She had a few cuts and bruises. Blood trickled from a scrape on her arm.
“She’s dead,” Sarah said. “She . . . she was in the hall when the shell hit. She got hit by shrapnel or something. She wasn’t wearing her vest. I . . . I just stepped in here. I was knocked down. Anita died.”
“Sarah!” I shouted, shaking her. “Hey! We can’t stay here. I need you to focus, okay? Are you hurt?” She was shell-shocked.
“I don’t think so,” she responded, still sounding distant. “I just fell down when the shell hit. I think I hit my head on the floor.”