Head of the Serpent (A John Stone Action Thriller Book 4)

by Allen Manning

The engines of the AS532 Cougar spooled up, the rotors slowly building the momentum they would need to lift the craft. John secured the P90 PDW to his body and chambered a round. He checked the HK USP 45, flipping the selector to safe before securing it into the drop leg holster.

  Silvestre helped Curtis into one of the waiting helicopters, leaving the crutches behind as he settled in behind the 7.62mm machine gun mounted at the side door. Curtis gave him a nod, as Gavreau handed Silvestre his M4 carbine.

  John shook hands with one of the men from the Police Nationale that helped equip him for the mission. He ducked and ran to the craft as the rotor wash whipped dirt and debris around. John adjusted his goggles and checked the fit of his helmet making sure the camera hadn’t been knocked free.

  “Can you hear me, John?” Parker asked.

  “Loud and clear,” he replied.

  “Welcome to the team, Parker,” Curtis said.

  “I’ve got a semi-private channel with just the two of you, but I’ll be doing the majority of my communicating across the four of you. I’ll let Gavreau deal with the rest of the operation. My French doesn’t extend much beyond fries and pizza.”

  “Neither of those is French,” Curtis said.

  “And that’s why I’m going to defer to Gavreau when passing along the information.”

  “Ready?” Gavreau asked.

  John, Curtis, and Silvestre all answered with a thumbs up, securing themselves into their seats.

  The commander gave the signal to the pilot, and the Cougar lifted off. Two more AS532s rose shortly afterward. The three helicopters took off toward the serpent’s hidden mountain base.

  The chopping air from the rotors thrummed in John’s chest as the craft skimmed along the ground before rising to a more stable elevation.

  “I missed this,” Curtis said. “Well, this part anyway. The shooting and getting shot at, not so much.”

  “Initial reports are showing that they believe the serpents base must be in a clearing at the foot of the mountain range, with some shallow tunnels running throughout the area,” Gavreau said.

  “Can we trust those reports?” John asked.

  Gavreau pressed his lips together and shrugged. “It is probably safer to assume that they will be completely underground. That way we can just lob a few missiles and collapse the whole structure.”

  “Did we bring any missiles with us?” Curtis asked.

  “No,” Gavreau said. “My superiors did not like that suggestion.”

  “Our best play is to drop in far enough away to establish a solid fighting position,” John said. “Let the choppers soften the opposition with the seven-six-twos.”

  “That I can do,” Curtis said.

  “We move up from there, careful not to let anyone escape, or flank us. Once inside, we stay tight in our fire teams,” John said.

  Gavreau nodded. “Everyone, stay in constant radio contact. We cannot risk losing sight of the objective. The kinetic weapon system must be destroyed.”

  “And Azhaar bin Hashim has to be stopped,” John said.

  “I will make sure of that, personally,” Silvestre said, the fury in his eyes almost glowing.

  John’s harness dug into his shoulder as the helicopters all dipped lower, approaching the mountains.

  “Five minutes,” Gavreau said, pressing a finger to his ear.

  “Five minutes,” the rest of the occupants repeated.

  * * *

  The helicopters broke formation, each taking a separate path toward their objective. John gripped his harness as the pilot swung their craft in a full arc. Smoke streamed from the ground below as an RPG lanced into the sky, missing the chopper with the Police Nationale team onboard.

  Smoke puffed from the side door as John watched the door gunner open up on the terrorist below. The rhythmic popping reached his ears a full second after he saw the pulsing muzzle flashes.

  “I think they know we’re here,” Curtis said.

  “They must have known we would be coming soon,” Gavreau said.

  “Is that good or bad?” Curtis looked at John for an answer.

  “Focus on the mission, Lieutenant,” John said.

  Curtis nodded, his features straightened, set in stone.

  “Right there,” Gavreau said to the pilot pointing to a clearing, surrounded by trees and rocky outcropping.

  The Cougar turned, drifting to the drop zone, covering the last dozen yards sideways.

  “Go! Go! Go!” Gavreau shouted

  Ropes fell from the bird on either side. John, Silvestre, Gavreau, and a member from another RAID unit slid down as the enemy fire sparked to life. The popping and whizzing of enemy fire let John know that they had some pretty stiff opposition.

  John’s boots hit the ground with a crunch. He held his weapon tight to his body and ran for the nearest rock for cover. Gavreau slid behind the boulder next to him as Silvestre, and the other man each found a tree.

  The ropes wound up into the chopper as Curtis settled in behind his machine gun. The weapon thundered, and huge gouts of flame spit from the barrel. He worked the trigger in five-round bursts, putting rounds into a group of enemies until they were no longer a threat before pivoting to the next.

  An RPG screamed by as the pilot reacted, wheeling the tail rotor out of the way. The maneuver swung Curtis out of position, no longer able to lay down his covering fire.

  “They’re in trouble up there,” John shouted to the others. “We need to move up and press the attack.”

  Not waiting for the reply, John stepped out, P90 braced against his shoulder. He sighted toward the enemy and pressed the trigger, spitting a quick burst at the muzzle fire in the distance. Gavreau and the others followed suit, their M4s answering back.

  John saw a pair of men crouching near a tree, one holding a launch tube while the other passed him a rocket-propelled grenade. He gritted his teeth and dropped to a crouch, pulling the weapon in tight as he fired three bursts. The armed man spun and fell, as the RPG streaked to the side, sending a group of serpents scrambling.

  The enemy shifted their focus, turning the fire onto the men on the ground, assaulting their position. John slammed his shoulder into a tree, stopping his forward momentum as rifle fire tore up the dirt around him. The helicopter’s rotors pulsed in the air, falling into a groove with Curtis’ machine gun fire.

  With the choppers pounding away at the forces on the ground, John and the others advanced again. The serpents that didn’t retreat fell to the oncoming volume of fire from the troops storming the gates.

  John squeezed another burst at team setting up a PKM. His shots cut the trigger man down just as his partner readied the weapon. A second burst dropped another serpent before they could get the machine gun into play.

  John rushed ahead, as Gavreau and Silvestre drove another group of terrorists back.

  “Curtis, the rocks and trees are going to cut off your line of sight, but if you can lay down a steady stream ahead of us, you’ll clear the way for our entry,” John said, cupping his hand over his mic to drown out the unyielding thunder roaring across the battlefield.

  “Consider it done,” he said.

  Within seconds The AS532 Cougar roared overhead, engines rumbling and rotors pounding the ground. Curtis wheeled his to the side and charged his weapon, loading a fresh belt before unleashing hell. The streaks from his tracer rounds drew a bright, orange line of death across the enemy’s ranks. John signaled to the others and advanced as the serpents hunkered down.

  The other two choppers joined in as their gunners lit up the early evening sky. Tracers punched through the opposition, like lasers burning holes through paper. The serpents that survived the onslaught fell back into the base. John reached a boulder, mere yards from the front entrance of a building that appeared to be growing out of the rocky bottom of the mountain.

  The choppers ceased their fire as the rest of the team reached their rally point. No longer able to provide an effective offense, the pilots pulled their helic
opters away, switching to a flight pattern that would provide close air support and prevent reinforcements from flanking John and the others.

  CHAPTER

  32

  “The enemy has fallen back,” Gavreau said into his radio. “We must be careful with our advance from this point.”

  John nodded and looked at the building through his scope. It was rough in construction but appeared to be made out of reinforced concrete. It would have taken the enemy a long time to build this, all right under the French government’s nose.

  “How long has this base been here?” he asked.

  Silvestre, Gavreau, and the final RAID assaulter just exchanged glances, shrugging.

  “At least three months,” Parker said. “Given the size of the structure. Of course, if that thing is connected to tunnels that burrow into the mountain, it would be even longer.”

  Gavreau scanned the area with his binoculars. “There is nowhere they would be able to launch or maintain a drone in that building. We must assume that they are inside the mountain. In a series of tunnels.”

  “Wonderful,” John said, checking his weapon.

  “If they have built that structure to repel an attack, they will cut us to ribbons while we cross that open field,” Silvestre said.

  John turned to look over his shoulder, and then back at the building ahead. “We should be able to get inside with minimal trouble.”

  “How can you be so sure?” Silvestre asked, fixing his red dot sight on the entrance.

  “They built this here to hide,” John said. “Yes, we’re stuck in a bottleneck to cross that gap, but look over there.”

  He pointed to the front face of the structure.

  “No firing ports. Only a few windows, set too high to effectively fight from,” John said.

  “So what are you suggesting?” Gavreau asked.

  “If we put a high enough volume of fire on those windows, I can get to the door and press the attack. They’ll have no choice but to fall back and let the rest of you come up.”

  “You have no idea what the inside of that building looks like,” Gavreau said.

  “The Cougars don’t have rockets, and the machine guns would only chip away at the reinforced roof,” John said. “Our best bet is to charge in there before they can dig in.”

  “I’m with John on this one,” Curtis said. “At least I would be, if I were down there with you guys.”

  Silvestre shrugged, conceding the point.

  “Alright,” Gavreau said to John. “When I give the signal, we go.”

  Before John could protest, the commander had already started passing the instructions on to the rest of the teams in French. He twisted the ball off of his foot into the loose rocks and dirt, trying to find purchase to start his run when the RAID commander gave the signal.

  Gavreau put a hand on John’s shoulder and gave him two quick pats as he shouted the go signal to the rest of the teams. The muzzle flashes bloomed, flowers planted into the rocks, spitting projectiles at 2400 feet per second. John exhaled and pushed his body forward. Bullets smacked off the concrete facade and the windows shattered.

  Enemy blooms sprouted from the base, answering back as several serpents fired blindly through the high windows. Puffs of dirt kicked rocks into John’s body as he closed the distance. They were only ten meters from the front entrance when John adjusted his course to plant himself along the side, preparing to tell Gavreau that he would kick the door in.

  The RAID commander reached the door right behind John. He shifted his grip on the M4, using the weapon mounted under the barrel of the carbine. John recognized it as a short-barreled Mossberg 500. Gavreau held the muzzle close to the door’s latch and blasted a hole in the mild steel door. He racked the weapon and fired again, knocking a large chunk from the frame and sending the handle flying inward.

  He pivoted and put his back to the wall as John immediately stepped into his role, falling back a step and planting a foot into the door. The metal slab swung inward violently, the thundering clang echoing down the hall as John and Gavreau stepped inside.

  The entryway ended at a short T-intersection. John signaled for Gavreau to cover the right, as he leaned out along the left. The path opened up to a broader walkway, windows on the left and a pair of doors on the right. The men inside were still attempting to stand on boxes and chairs to return fire.

  Kneeling and using the wall for cover, John shouldered his P90 and punched a trio of holes in the back of one the serpents. Gavreau’s carbine rattled the walls along the other side as he barked commands in the radio for the others to advance.

  A pair of men whirled around and opened up with their AKs, aiming too high. John held his ground and put the front sight on the first, pressing the trigger before swinging the muzzle to the right and dumping the rest of the magazine into the man. The PDW spit a dozen 5.7mm projectiles into his target’s body in less than a second.

  The last serpent let out a cry and whipped his weapon around. John’s hand fell to the USP 45 as he drew the handgun and pressed it forward. He strode around the corner and placed four rounds center mass, sending the man crashing to the floor.a

  Echoes of the last of the shots still reverberated through the concrete halls as John walked forward, pistol in his hands. “Clear.”

  “Clear,” Gavreau answered back.

  Silvestre stepped through, followed by the other RAID man, limping from a wound in his leg. The police came in afterward as they all assembled in one of the wider passages. John holstered the 45 and swapped mags in his P90.

  “How do we proceed?” Silvestre asked.

  John looked at the wounded man with Silvestre. “You two stay here and hold this corridor. There are two doors on each side, so we should check them out in pairs, all at the same time.”

  Gavreau translated, and the rest of the men acknowledged. John and the RAID commander stacked up on the far door in the left passageway. As the other teams entered their doors, John eased his open, keeping his weapon close to his body, turning at the waist to sweep his muzzle across the dark hall.

  “It’s a tunnel,” he said.

  Gavreau stepped past John, flicking his weapon light on. “Looks like they are all inside.”

  John clicked his light on and nodded at the commander as he took point. Shortly after entering, the top of the tunnel sloped down, almost brushing against their helmets. Both men hunched as they moved forward. Their beams swept side to side when John noticed a deeper shadow along the right side.

  “There’s a path that branches off,” he said.

  With his weapon up, John advanced one step at a time, drifting to the left to take the corner in slices. A shadow flickered across his view.

  “Tango!” he shouted, pushing Gavreau against the wall as he pinned himself against the other side.

  A man turned the corner and ran straight ahead, shooting his rifle blindly behind him. Bullets tossed chunks of stone at them. They advanced, firing as the muzzle flashes and bouncing light beams obscured their target.

  At the branching path, another man lunged from the shadows. John had his weapon up in time to deflect the blade thrusting at his chest. He twisted his body and whipped an elbow across the man’s jaw, sending him sprawling ahead in the tunnel. John rushed forward as the serpent rose to his feet.

  A metallic thunk rang out as something wobbled along the ground past John. “Grenade!”

  He grabbed the man’s collar and spun him around, putting him between himself and the explosive, as he backpedaled. Gavreau darted into the branching path, getting clear of the weapon’s blast radius as it detonated. The air shook, hitting John in the chest like a battering ram. His human shield fell on him as they hit the ground.

  Deep rumbling and cracking rocked the tunnel. A chunk of the ceiling broke free, falling near John. He kicked the dead man’s body off and crawled away as more rubble dropped down, blocking the passage. Footsteps echoed as he rolled onto his stomach, punching a trio of holes in the back of the ma
n that threw the grenade.

  “Gavreau, are you ok?” he asked, pushing himself up to a crouch to cover the tunnel.

  “Gavreau?” John stood and put a hand on the wall of rocks blocking his way back. “Parker, can you reach Gavreau?” he tapped the mic. “Curtis? Anyone?”

  Just great, he thought. The mountain is blocking the radio signals.

  * * *

  John switched to several different frequencies, trying to reach the team. He set his radio back to the original channel and took a deep breath, exhaling through flared nostrils.

  John switched the weapon light off, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. A faint glow from the far end slowly revealed the details of the textured walls as his pupils dilated. He eased ahead, careful with the placement of his feet with each step. At another branch, he stepped slowly around the corner until he could see a large hollow, this one unoccupied.

  He nudged the crate on the floor along the back wall, looking at the flares inside. He took a couple and stuffed them into a pouch on his left thigh. Could come in handy.

  At the end of the tunnel, the path curved to the left. Only this time, instead of the rough cut tunnels he emerged from, this was more sophisticated, with lighting fixtures every 10 to 12 yards, casting a yellow glow from each. Someone had set up sturdy supports, and the ceiling rose to a slightly more comfortable 7 feet high.

  John rechecked the radio signal. “Parker? Gavreau?”

  The tunnel shifted directions again, curving ahead. John noticed the lighting fixtures had a tendency to wipe his shadow across the walls ahead as he walked. He moved only several feet at a time before crouching and leaning his body slowly to give himself a better mental image of what he was walking into.

  The rounded end of a shadow poked out across the floor before receding again. Echoing footsteps followed close behind. John pressed his body against the wall and slid along, easing around the supports as he traversed the bend in the tunnel.

  John used the support at one of the lighting fixtures for cover. The light would illuminate him if anyone looked carefully, but it wouldn’t throw his shadow forward, giving away his position just yet. The figure returned, walking to a stack of crates as it lifted one up and walked away again. John fished the monocular from one of the pockets in his vest and leaned out for a better view.