The Colonel pressed his ear link. “I don’t care what the oil pressure is, Royce, you get that damned bird airborne.”
Tiger 6, still no word from scout team D.
Gravenholtz threw a light punch at Rakkim’s jaw, but he caught the redhead’s fist and pushed it aside. “Maybe when this is over, you and me can have some fun,” said Gravenholtz, embarrassed at being thrown off balance. “Ex-Fedayeen, you must have some skills. Unless they kicked you out for cowardice or queerity.”
“Queerity?” Rakkim laughed. “You making up words now, Lester?”
“This isn’t the time for school-yard nonsense,” chided the Colonel. “Lester, make sure your men have secured the northern access points. I want them dug in along the logging roads in case—”
“My boys don’t take to scraping in the dirt, sir.” Gravenholtz sucked at a tooth.
“That’s an order, Lester,” said the Colonel.
Gravenholtz tugged at a lock of red hair. Glowered at Rakkim. “How about you and me make a date for when the fireworks are over.”
“No queerity, Lester,” said Rakkim. “You’d be marching crooked for a month.”
Gravenholtz stalked off.
“I wish you wouldn’t provoke him,” said the Colonel. “I’ve got enough trouble keeping him in line. His men are even worse—they’ve been through hell and back so often they think they’re fireproof. No fear. No discipline. If we get through this night, I’m going to disband them, send them back to whatever swamp they call home.”
“They may not go without—”
“Baby?” The Colonel turned away from Rakkim. “You doing okay?”
Don’t you worry about me. I’m just tending to John Moseby and watching Leo play with his toys.
“Love you, Baby.” The Colonel turned to Rakkim. “I’m going to the western perimeter; you’re welcome to come.”
“I thought you’d never ask,” said Rakkim.
“I’d like to hear more about Redbeard,” said the Colonel as they strolled along, the Colonel realizing that the troops were watching him for any sign of panic. “Did he really die of a heart attack, or was he helped along by his enemies?”
“It was a heart attack. If he had been murdered, he wouldn’t have any enemies left. I would have seen to that.”
Chapter 42
Tiger 6! The cry came from a dozen voices over the ear link, a squawking cacophony as gunshots erupted from all sides of the camp. Tiger 6, we got action…multiple hits…everywhere…sector B reporting heavy activity…overrunning…need men…
“Baby,” said the Colonel, “get in the bunker now.”
…not afraid, darlin’…you do what you have to…
Rakkim and the Colonel scuttled along the west ridge, crouched over, hearing the crack of small-arms fire in the distance. The wind kicked up as the temperature dropped; chilled by their own sweat, they slipped through the scrub and took up positions with a commanding view of the dozens of access trails running up the slope.
The Colonel sat with his back against a rock, flipped open a palm display of the battlefield, at least that part with perimeter sensors. The northern and southern sectors had moderate activity, but the treeline fronting the steep, western approach to the camp was a mass of red dots. Crews’s main force was heading right toward the Colonel; scores of fighters passed through the sensor array, immediately replaced by others charging up the slope. Rakkim had suggested that Crews launch a limited attack, fifty or sixty men, but this was a full-out assault involving hundreds of End-Timers, more men than Rakkim even thought Crews had under his command.
…movement northeast perimeter…fire for effect…shit, shit, shit…
Rakkim eased himself flat against the ground, arms supported by a rise of dirt, the sniper rifle peeking out between the rocks. Machine-gun fire bombarded the perimeter. Wasteful. The seduction of raw firepower in the darkness, spray and pray. Rakkim kept both eyes open as he looked through the scope of the sniper rifle, saw men moving through the brush below, their movements jerky in the darkness, wired up on bathtub crank and death. He waited…finally saw a skeleton man emerge, the white bones stark in the night as he gesticulated at his men. Rakkim put a single shot through his mouth, the back of his head exploding.
Rakkim turned, hearing a faint laugh…but there was no one except the Colonel and it wasn’t his laugh.
“Bulldog Two, lay down suppressing fire at a sixty-degree arc along the clearcut,” the Colonel said evenly. “Mustang Three, maintain your position…”
Rakkim shot an End-Timer with a necklace of dolls’ heads through the throat, the man standing there with a look of surprise before he collapsed.
The Colonel glanced at Rakkim, then back at the palm display. “Eagle Two, you got that chopper ready? We could use those Gatlings. Shitbirds are stacked up along the perimeter.”
…almost there…
“Almost my ass,” said the Colonel. “You get that thing airborne.”
Rakkim shot another End-Timer. Another. Another. Breathe and fire, breathe and fire. The living stepped over the dead and kept coming.
“You want a night scope for that sniper rifle?” the Colonel asked Rakkim.
“No thanks.” Rakkim took down another skeleton man. “Things are going to be lit up soon, and night scopes will be worse than useless. I’ll stick with the eyes God gave me.”
“Thought Fedayeen got special eyes from corpses,” said the Colonel. “Implants or something so you can see like an alley cat in the dark.”
“When I was a boy they told us Christians liked the taste of pork so much they fucked pigs every chance they got,” said Rakkim. “I grew up, though, and learned better.”
The Colonel grinned, then looked over as the Monsoon 4 lifted off, he and Rakkim shielding their eyes from the dust it kicked up. “That’s better…” His face fell as the chopper set back down hard, bouncing on its skids. The Colonel talked over his com link to his other officers, trying to coordinate their actions.
Return fire from the End-Timers kicked up dirt around them now, pinged off the rocks. One of the colonel’s men must have been hit, howling in pain. Rakkim scrambled to another position about twenty yards away.
…taking casualties…
…keep killing them, but…just keep…who are they?
The Colonel’s men fired a barrage of mortar rounds, balls of fire erupting in the trees below. Rakkim blinked, kept shooting. Mortars were a lousy tactical trade-off—the blasts wouldn’t deter fanatics like Crews’s End-Timers, and anyone on the plateau wearing night goggles would be blind for minutes. He slapped in another magazine.
The Colonel moved nimbly over the rough terrain. “Never did talk to you about that Fedayeen prisoner. I felt bad that you had to be the one to put him out of his misery.”
“He was ruined,” said Rakkim, watching the underbrush beside the trails. “It was the only kindness I could give him.”
“Right through the heart.” The Colonel shook his head. “Happened so fast I didn’t even see it. None of us did.” The wind stirred the grass. “Redbeard must have been—”
…overrun here, Tiger Six, southwest perimeter…multiple penetrations…
“Fall back, son,” the Colonel said gently, “gather your men and rally along the heavy-equipment depot. I’ll send a reaction force.”
Rakkim sighted on a skeleton man he remembered from Crews’s church, ugly bastard waving a copperhead. Before he could get a shot off, the man ducked behind an outcropping of rock. Rakkim held the shot, finger curled on the trigger, sight centered on the last place the man had been.
…bandits in the wire!
Rakkim squeezed off a round as the skeleton man peeked from behind the rock, sprayed the boulder with pink.
Heavy gunfire roared from the heights around him as the End-Timers launched waves of attacks, dozens and dozens of them clawing their way straight up the slope. The machine guns on the heights opened up, swept back and forth across them, and the End-Timers broke
and fell back, disappeared into the trees. Some of the Colonel’s men started after them, but the Colonel quickly put a stop to that, said he’d shoot anyone dumb enough to leave the high ground.
…still looking for those reinforcements, Tiger Six.
The Colonel raced ahead of Rakkim, the two of them sprinting across the camp. The Colonel stopped three times to check on his men, offering encouragement, giving orders. At the heavy-equipment depot, they dove behind a twelve-ton earthmover, bullets slamming into the sides, then crawled to a gigantic bulldozer that the ranking officer had turned into a command post.
The southwest perimeter was a mess, men strung out without regard to the fields of fire. The lieutenant and both sergeants were dead. A big blond corporal with pimples and a belly wound had assumed command and was directing the holding action against the End-Timers. He had dug his men in, sent runners for ammunition; from the shelter of the bulldozer he directed return fire, and did his best to secure the perimeter before he bled to death. According to the Colonel’s palm display, over a hundred of Crews’s men were KIA, but at least that many were still putting pressure on the unit.
“Sorry…sorry, sir,” gasped the corporal. “We keep killing ’em, but…they don’t care.”
“No cause for apology,” said the Colonel, gently applying a pressure bandage to the corporal’s wound. Blood continued to leak out the sides.
Rakkim set himself up behind the blade of the bulldozer, started taking down End-Timers who ventured into view. They seemed more cautious now, eager to hunker down and seek cover. Precisely the wrong tactic. Once they had cracked the Colonel’s defense perimeter they should have launched an all-out assault. If the southwest perimeter collapsed, the whole camp was at risk of being overrun; the Colonel’s remaining forces would suffer attack from inside and outside the line. Yet the End-Timers seemed listless and burned out, either awaiting orders from Crews or a resupply of bathtub meth.
I sent four of my boys to your house, Tiger Six, said Gravenholtz. Figured the missus might need a little extra protection.
“Appreciate it.” The Colonel sent runners to redirect the troops to a drainage ditch, allowing them to put the End-Timers in a cross fire the next time they charged the yard. They waited, listening to the sound of scattered gunfire and war whoops, and the groaning of the wounded. “I know your secret, Rikki,” said the Colonel.
“Yeah?”
“It’s my secret too.” The Colonel moved closer. “The secret of every warrior who ever lived. Battle is a frightening thing, a terrible thing, but once you develop a taste for it…nothing else comes close. Men like us weren’t meant to die in bed.”
“Well, I was kind of hoping,” said Rakkim.
The Colonel rested his hands on his pistols. “You’re a fine young killer, destined for better things. Don’t look so glum…I meant it as a compliment.”
“We winning, sir?” said the corporal.
“We’re holding our own,” said the Colonel. “Thanks to you.”
An hour passed. Then another. It was almost 2 a.m., darker than ever.
Rakkim slid into the brush, listening; he worked his way deeper behind enemy lines, trying to see if the End-Timers were massing for another rush. They lay clustered under the shelter of the trees, must have been over a hundred of them, passing around jugs of moonshine or turpentine, waving their weapons. He got a glimpse of Crews, striding among the trees with reinforcements; the men cheered, fired into the air, and in the sudden flash of gunfire, he saw the shekel of Tyre on a chain around Crews’s neck, the coin swinging back and forth with every step. Rakkim raised his rifle, but Crews stumbled as Rakkim squeezed the trigger, the skeleton man beside him knocked backward. Rakkim got off three more shots, but Crews cowered behind a tree as his men opened up on Rakkim’s muzzle flash, leaves drifting down around them from their concentrated fire. Rakkim retreated back to the heavy-equipment yard.
“Crews is leading a force of around a hundred and fifty men,” Rakkim said to the Colonel, “but they’re more of a mob than a military unit. Give me a dozen men, Colonel, and we’ll infiltrate the woods and circle behind them.”
The Colonel shook his head. “Can’t risk it.”
“I just need—”
“I said no.” The Colonel jabbed a finger at his palm display of the battlefield. “We’re getting more pressure from the north and south. I may have to shorten our skirmish line here and send reinforcements to the other sectors.” He glared at Rakkim. “And don’t tell me what I would have done when I was younger. This is now. And I have to protect the weapon.”
“COLONEL!” The amplified voice boomed out of the forest. “MALCOLM CREWS HERE. YOU GOT SOMETHING BELONGS TO ME, YOU HEATHEN FUCK.”
The corporal raised himself up on one elbow, frightened. The Colonel eased him back down, then ordered another mortar barrage into the forest, trees exploding in all directions, until one by one the mortars fell silent, out of ammunition.
Crews’s laughter echoed from the forest. A single shot boomed out, a 50-caliber rifle from the sound of it. Boom. Boom. Boom…
One of the eight-ton trucks used as a barricade exploded. Then another, as Crews’s 50-caliber marksmen found their gas tanks, the heavy slugs cutting right through their light armor. Rakkim fired back at the muzzle flashes, silenced a couple of the shooters, but there were too many of them. A bulldozer lifted six inches off the ground as its tank went up. A front loader blew up, fell over on its side. Crews’s men had the range now, set off two trucks to the rear of the Colonel’s line of troops. A backhoe erupted next, sent flames high into the sky. They were surrounded by flames now, illuminated by the spreading fires, perfect targets. A few of the Colonel’s men broke ranks, headed for the darkness, but were cut down before they went more than a few feet.
“TIME TO CALL IT A NIGHT, COLONEL. YOU AND YOUR MEN WILL BE WELL TREATED, I PROMISE. CROSS MY HEART.” Crews couldn’t keep from laughing.
Rakkim reloaded, feeling the heat on his face from the fires that burned around them. Gunfire cracked steadily into the heavy-equipment vehicles, trying to find the right spot. The Colonel finished giving orders over his ear link, told Baby he loved her. His mouth moved silently in prayer.
“COLONEL, LAST CHANCE TO GIVE IT UP BEFORE—”
The End-Timers charged from the forest, guns blazing, spraying everything in front of them, not even trying to aim. The front row were hit multiple times by the Colonel’s men, but they kept coming, crawling forward, and there were so many more…Crews must have brought his whole army. Rakkim took them down, one shot, one kill, slapped in another magazine. The rest of the Colonel’s troops held their ground, firing steadily, making the shots count. The Colonel took shelter behind the tread of the bulldozer, firing with both hands, unhurried and unafraid, a strange smile on his face.
The men the Colonel had positioned in the drainage ditch opened up, caught the End-Timers in a cross fire, and this time they went down screaming, faces contorted in the glare from the burning trucks.
“Damn!” The Colonel rolled over, his right hand bleeding, shot clean through.
More troops arrived from the rear, called in by the Colonel. They dug in along the overturned vehicles and returned fire.
The Colonel got down beside the wounded corporal, wincing as he held the boy’s hand, blood running down his fingers. “Take it easy, you’re going to be just fine.”
“THOSE PIECES OF SILVER BELONG TO THE MAN WHO KNOWS HOW TO USE THEM, COLONEL.”
“What’s he talking about?” the Colonel asked Rakkim.
“I’m scared, sir.” Every time the corporal took a breath the pressure bandage rippled.
“That’s okay, I am too.” The Colonel beamed. “You know the Twenty-third Psalm, don’t you?”
The corporal nodded.
“‘The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want,’” recited the Colonel. “Come on, son, say it with me. ‘He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside the still waters. He restores my soul
.’ That’s it,” he said as the corporal moved his lips. “‘He leads me in the path of righteousness for his name’s sake.’”
A group of End-Timers slipped through the cross fire, opened up on the bulldozer, bullets clanging against the heavy metal. Rakkim shot all four of them. Three fell but the fourth staggered forward, fire reflected in his eyes as he leveled his shotgun at the Colonel. Rakkim shot him in the head, and he fell face-first in the dirt.
The Colonel looked over at Rakkim, nodded in gratitude. “‘Yea, though I walk through the valley…’ Come on, son, don’t leave me now, I need you here, come on…‘Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me…’ Son?” His hand shook as he reached over and closed the corporal’s eyes.
“I’m…I’m sorry,” said Rakkim.
“What have you got to be sorry about?”
Rakkim started to answer, turned back to the battle. He heard bugles in the distance. The fires burned higher now, illuminating the whole line. He spotted Crews at the edge of the trees, a wraith in black, watching him. Bullets slammed into the bulldozer inches from Rakkim’s head as he fired—Crews was lucky, or touched by God; the bullet merely sliced open his cheek.
Crews howled, stepped back into the woods. “YOU LIED TO ME, RIKKI.”
“Rikki, what…?” The Colonel held the pistol in both hands, dropped it. “I can’t keep you straight in my mind,” he said, trying to pick the gun up, his fingers slippery with blood. “One minute you’re a Fedayeen traitor, the next you’re a Russian patriot…now…now I don’t know what to think.”
Rakkim gently took the pistol away from him.
The bugle calls were louder, coming from the south and north too, the perimeter under attack from all sides. More gunfire, heavy machine guns, cheers and charges.
“BACK, BACK, BACK, YOU DUMB BASTARDS.”
The End-Timers raced back into the woods. The only sound left was the crackling of the fires, and the wind whipping the flames higher.
Sins of the Assassin Page 36
