Danger Close

by Allen Manning

  The men in the SAMIL 20 opened fire into the attackers near the trees, as the Mamba in front of Travis rolled backward, slamming into the front bumper of their vehicle. Jimenez grabbed his rifle and made his way to the gunner’s turret.

  “Corporal, what do you think you’re doing?” Travis shouted.

  “Someone needs to get those machine gunners out of the fight,” the marksman said, already peering through his scope.

  “We need to get control of this fight,” Millie said. “Everyone is just shooting randomly into the trees.”

  The Remington 700 boomed above them, and one of the enemy machine guns fell silent. The soldiers around them continued shouting and firing wildly into the darkness while the enemy’s attack persisted.

  Travis shouted more orders to the soldiers with the convoy, trying his best to regain control of the situation. Millie slipped out of the vehicle, picking up a nearby R4 from one of their fallen men.

  Whipping his head around, Travis watched everything around him unravel. John, if you’re out there, we could definitely use your help.

  * * *

  The old pickup truck rumbled as it eased to a stop in the gravel in the clearing. John killed the engine, keeping the headlights on. Dust and dirt swirled in the beams, but the illumination ended at the thick foliage twenty yards ahead.

  “Looks like we beat them here,” Curtis said.

  “That doesn’t seem right at all.” John looked at his watch, then took a map out of the glove compartment.

  “Are we in the right spot?” Curtis stepped out of the truck, twisting his body side to side to stretch out his back.

  “This is right where Millie told you they would be,” John said, shining his small flashlight at the map. “This small wooded area is what we’re looking at right now. We just passed the two larger forests along the southern ridgeline.”

  “Do you think they passed by us?” Curtis asked, looking for an alternate route they could have taken.

  John shook his head. “This is the only road. Something must have delayed them.”

  “Millie said they were making a drop to one of the villages. Maybe the people there invited them to stay for dinner.”

  “Maybe,” John mumbled, pushing the door open with his boot.

  He climbed out and walked around, checking out the clearing. It was a suitable position to set up a camp. Easy to defend with minimal resources, allowing the convoy to rest. But not if they were the only ones there.

  “We can’t stay here,” John said. “Our best move would be to keep heading up the road to meet up with the others.”

  “Are you serious?” Curtis asked. “I don’t think my tailbone can take any more of those old roads. That seat is all metal, no padding.”

  He looked at John’s expression. “Of course you’re serious. Just give me a few more minutes to stretch.”

  “What was that?” John asked, straightening his posture as he looked off into the distance.

  Curtis turned his head, closing his eyes to listen. The popcorn-like chorus in the air made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. “Gunfire,” he said.

  “Machine guns.” John sprinted back to the truck, hopping into the driver’s seat and starting the engine just as Curtis settled in beside him.

  The old pickup bounded over the rough ground, finally finding the dirt road.

  Curtis grasped the handle above the passenger side window, clutching the shoulder strap of his seatbelt with his other hand.

  “Maybe this is a bad time to remind you, but rushing headlong into a firefight unarmed is probably not the best idea,” he said to John.

  “Our friends could be in trouble. We’ve got no choice.”

  A fireball belched up from behind the trees against the horizon. Seconds later, the truck’s windows and mirrors rattled as the explosive concussion reached them.

  * * *

  “No you don’t,” Jimenez said almost under his breath.

  He tracked one of the ambushers as the man hopped up into the back of the pickup, pulling the dead man from behind the mounted weapon. The pad of his index finger pressed into the trigger, clicking it back with smooth, even pressure. The rifle snapped off another round, shattering the top of his target’s skull.

  Jimenez worked the bolt and tried to take aim at the second machine gun. Taking both out of the fight would significantly improve his team’s odds of escaping.

  Bullets sparked off the hull of the Mamba as the men in the trees shifted their fire toward him. He dropped back inside and pressed himself flat against the seat as more gunners joined in.

  “Did you see Millie out there?” Travis asked.

  “No, I thought she was in here still.”

  “She left when you took out the first machine gun,” Travis said. “We need to get her back here and get the convoy turned around.”

  Among the distant rattle of automatic fire, a steady, almost rhythmic series of pops joined the chorus. It stopped for a few seconds and started up again.

  “You hear that?” Jimenez asked.

  “No.”

  “Exactly. The machine guns aren’t firing anymore.” He picked his rifle off the floorboard and popped up in the gunner’s turret again.

  Travis sat up and saw a small figure in all black reach the SAMIL 20, issuing commands to the soldiers inside. The men acknowledged and used the walls of the truck for cover, taking aim before firing their weapons.

  The figure climbed up onto the top of the Mamba in front of Travis and slipped inside through the gunner’s turret. The truck rumbled and rolled forward for a few feet before making a U-turn to head in the other direction.

  Illuminated by the headlights in the rest of the convoy, Millie stepped out of the driver’s seat and helped one of the soldiers up off the ground, ordering him to take the wheel. She pulled a black scarf down from around her mouth and shouted at Travis through the windshield.

  “Get the convoy out of here! Follow him,” she said, pointing to the armored truck already rolling along the shoulder of the road, heading back the way they came.

  She disappeared into a pool of shadow as the other soldiers rose to their feet and retreated, continuing to fire toward the attackers in the trees.

  “Where’s she going?” Travis asked.

  The Remington thundered again. “Back to the lead vehicle. There’s someone alive inside. We need to help her.”

  Travis shook his head. “I think she’s better off without us drawing attention to her. We gotta get this convoy out of here.”

  He gave the driver the signal as their Mamba turned to join the other vehicles.

  “How does she plan on dragging an injured man to safety without the enemy spotting?” Jimenez asked.

  Almost as if answering his question, a bright flash filled his vision as one of the enemy’s pickup trucks exploded. A heartbeat later, a thunderous boom slammed into his chest, the blast wave shoving him back.

  The flaming wreck of the vehicle crashed down hard on the side of the road. Silhouetted against the flames, Travis spotted Millie in the rearview mirror with the injured man’s arm draped across her shoulder. The large five-ton cargo truck completed its slow looping turn as she and the other man reached the rear bumper, hopping inside as it rumbled along.

  * * *

  Gabriel leaned against the red beech, bracing his weapon on one of its low branches. He scanned the battleground through his scope, watching the vehicles flee. He gritted his teeth and swept the optic across the road.

  Micah let out a short grunt. “I don’t see Stone.”

  “Neither do I,” Gabriel said.

  “I don’t like this. Who was that girl?” Micah asked.

  “She was with Stone at Faust Kingston’s Wolf’s Den,” Gabriel said. “She’s one of Flair’s former assets. One of the last Gammas.”

  Micah lifted his eye from the scope and looked at his partner. “That was her? Why didn’t you give me the go-ahead to take her out?”

  “It wasn
’t worth the risk of giving up our position, even if you did have a shot.” He turned his head toward Micah. “Besides, our target is John Stone. The girl will have to wait.”

  “What do you think Flair would say if she heard we passed up this opportunity?” Micah asked.

  Gabriel snapped the caps over his scope’s lenses. “She would appreciate my professionalism. As she always does.”

  Micah watched the senior Alpha asset as he walked away. Blanchard’s mercenaries whooped and hollered, celebrating the successful ambush as a few jumped into vehicles hidden among the trees to pursue the fleeing convoy. The scene around them was chaotic, but Micah slung his rifle over his shoulder, following Gabriel in the direction of the chase, sticking to the trees for cover.

  CHAPTER

  15

  “Stop the truck,” Curtis said, pointing to the column of smoke rising against the moonlit sky. “We’re close.”

  John pulled over and killed the engine. “We go in on foot from here.”

  “No arguments from me.” Curtis slipped out of the truck.

  The pair crept up to the wreckage through the trees, using the darkness for cover. As they approached, the shouts and cheers grew louder, with several men firing their weapons into the air. Orange and yellow light flickered off of the forest around them as they reached the scene of the conflict.

  John pressed his palms against the trunk of a nearby tree and leaned out. The flaming wreckage of a vehicle lit up the surrounding area. A second pickup truck sat near the burning husk.

  Two men worked to pull the bodies of dead men from the bed where a machine gun had been mounted. Not far from the roadblock, he spotted a bullet-riddled light armored truck.

  “That’s the convoy,” he whispered.

  Curtis crouched and peered through the bushes at the scene, digging through one of his pockets. “Are you sure? How can you tell?”

  “The uniforms of the dead men along the road,” John said. “They’re the same as the ones the men wore as they unloaded the supplies where we left.”

  Curtis brought a small monocular scope to his eye. “I think you’re right. What should we do now?” Curtis asked.

  John knelt down, watching as the guerrilla soldiers gathered up the weapons of the fallen, enemy and ally alike, and piling them near a man that appeared to be their leader.

  “We need to take that one out,” he said, pointing to a soldier with a bushy beard towering over the others.

  “That’s a tall order,” Curtis said. “Dude looks like he’s six-nine and three-hundred pounds. Plus they’ve got all the weapons.”

  “None of that matters if I can get to that machine gun.” John pointed to the pickup truck near the flaming pile of twisted steel.

  “You can’t be serious. How do you even know that thing still works?” Curtis asked. “The mount looks twisted. You may not even be able to swing it around.”

  “That’s why I need your help. We’re going to disconnect it,” John said. “Once I start shooting, I need you to take out the guys next to the trucks.”

  “This is an awful plan, John. With no weapons, I don’t see how it can possibly succeed.” Curtis’ voice grew more exasperated.

  “You’ve got a knife, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, a pocket knife with a three-inch blade,” Curtis hissed. “Hardly a machete, like that monster over there has.” He pointed to the man John tasked him with taking out.

  “Then start with the monster and take his machete,” John said.

  “I can’t tell if you're serious,” Curtis said. “But it’s not going to work.”

  “We’ve got the element of surprise,” John said.

  He positioned himself, ready to make his move. Something in his pocket buzzed, pulling his attention from the plan. He looked over at Curtis, who was patting his own pocket as well.

  “Someone is calling me,” John said, pulling his phone from his pocket.

  “Me too,” Curtis said, glancing down at the screen. “Jimenez, is that you?”

  John saw the number Travis had been using to reach him. He accepted the call and ducked back into the shadows, pressing a finger to his ear. “I’m here.”

  “We were ambushed,” Travis said, almost shouting. “Blanchard’s men were waiting for us. Where are you now? You and Curtis need to stay away.”

  “We’re at the site of the attack,” John said. “I can see the mercenaries from where we are. How are you guys holding up?”

  “Torn up. Looks like we’ve lost almost half of our men.” Travis said. “We’re going to have to scrub this mission.”

  “No. If Blanchard’s mercenaries are all focused on you, Curtis and I have a shot at breaking through and reaching you,” John said.

  “Don’t be stupid. You’ve got no support.”

  “As long as they focus their attention on you, I do.”

  “It’s too dangerous out there,” Travis said. “Find a place to hole up and wait for a chance to sneak back.”

  “It’s up to you to keep the others safe, Chambers. That’s the mission now,” John said. “Millie should be able to help you with that.”

  “John, stand down! You and Curtis—”

  He ended the call and dropped the phone in his pocket.

  “Listen, brother, sit tight and keep an eye on the others,” Curtis said to Jimenez. “Sounds like John’s got a different plan for us.”

  * * *

  Headlights in the distance bounced along as they grew brighter. Millie glanced around inside the back of the SAMIL 50. One of the soldiers tended to the wounded man she brought in while the others sat around stupefied, hoping for someone or something to bring order to the situation.

  “We’ve got company,” she said to the nearest man.

  Her finger clicked the fire selector of the Galil-inspired Vektor R4 as she braced it against her body. More lights joined the lead pursuer as flashes pulsed from the muzzles of their weapons. Bullets struck the road behind the fleeing truck, but a few sparked off the bumper and tore into the fabric covering the entire rear section.

  One of the men dropped flat, trying to pull himself behind a stack of crates. Several of the others joined Millie at the tailgate and returned fire. She continued sighting her target, having difficulty with the front post in the low light. She settled her aim at the headlight as a reference point, then shifted the muzzle up to where she felt her rounds would have maximal effect.

  Two motorcycles screamed up, passing the lead vehicle chasing them. Millie kept her attention locked on the original target, pressing the trigger. Her rifle spit out a burst before she let up, reacquiring the front post again and firing once more. The driver swerved, almost clipping another pickup before careening off to the side.

  She shifted her aim to another vehicle, but one of the motorcycles pulled up along the side of the SAMIL 50. The bike’s passenger sprayed them with a MAC-10, tearing holes into the canvas and steel sides. Two of the soldiers inside returned fire, shooting blind through the fabric.

  The motorcycle dropped back to evade the rounds, putting them back into Millie’s field of view. She leaned across the tailgate, trying to prop the R4 for a stable shot. The bumps in the road made the task far more difficult. Another motorcycle reached them seconds later, also adding to the first shooter’s SMG.

  “Travis, I could use some help back here,” she said into her radio.

  “Already on it,” Jimenez said.

  The lead bike dipped, like the front wheel had hit a hole, but a split second later the fuel tank exploded, launching men and machine into the air, flipping forward. The faint crack of the sniper’s weapon punctuated the kill.

  The other motorcycle swerved to avoid the fiery wreck as it slammed down. The driver pulled behind the truck as the man in back leaned to the side, continuing his assault.

  “I’ll take care of the second rider if you can flush him out.”

  “No need for that,” Millie said. “We’ve got him.”

  Several of the sol
diers with her all focused their fire onto the threat. Bullets riddled the driver’s body as their 7.62mm rounds ripped and clawed away at the bike. The front wheel wobbled side to side before grabbing the rough terrain and whipping the other man into the ground, shattering bone and tearing away flesh.

  “They’re still on our tail, but I think we’ve got some room to breathe,” she said. “Travis, we’re going to need to shuffle the line a little if we want to survive this.”

  “Agreed. I’ve got an idea,” he said.

  Millie listened as Travis relayed orders to the other Mamba. With the enemy closing in, they needed to get the cargo truck to the front and put more combat capable vehicles in the rear where they would be able to drive side by side, making use of the gunners’ turrets.

  At his count, the two drivers split off to each side, stopping along the shoulders of the road and letting the big truck pass. As the nearest enemy vehicle closed the gap, several soldiers emerged from each of the armored Mambas and opened fire. The relentless stream of bullets cut the pickup truck to ribbons before igniting the gas tank.

  The fireball lit up the night sky, halting the other pursuers for a moment. The soldiers climbed back into the vehicles as the drivers caught up to Millie and the others.

  “We should stop up ahead,” Travis said. “The road bottle-necks after that bend. We can set up a solid fighting position and hold them back.”

  “Roger that,” Millie said. “We’re going to need to stabilize some of the wounded in here. That should be much easier without this truck bouncing around so much.”

  “I can set up where the road bends. There’s a hill I can use to make them question their life decisions if they continue the chase,” Jimenez said.

  “Perfect,” Travis said. “We hammer them, right when they come around the corner. Let them know we mean business. That should drive them back until we figure out where John and Curtis are.”