Movement to the right caught his eye. Atop of the wall, a few soldiers were scrambling down a narrow passageway. Behind them, riding tall over the battlements, came Lieutenant Stewart on his mount, Olympia, followed by three or four mounted whinnies. Further to the east there were riderless whinnies on the wall, but they hung back, close to the waterfall. Bo was surprised he did not see Scout or Athena among them.
I can’t worry about them right now.
The successful attacks had shaped the fluid situation enough that Bo recognized they had an opportunity. He leaned down into his vehicle’s hatch and yelled at the crew, “Lay down suppressive fire. As soon as I’m through the gap, give me a minute or two and then keep working on the wall. If we can get one of the heavy assault vehicles up this hill and through the wall, great. Otherwise, just keep their infantry off our ass.”
Bo didn’t wait for a response. He reached for his M-16 and jumped out of the vehicle’s cupola onto the top of the shoddy armor plating. At this particular moment, the irony of his class motto at Fort Knox—“Death before Dismount”—almost made him smile in the midst of the battle.
Bo sprinted up the slope toward the ragged gap in the outer glacis. Legs burning, he pushed hard, running through it and joining up with the infantry on the other side.
They’d been able to create quite a beachhead inside the city itself. No organized defense or hardpoints stood in their path. The militia were scattered among the deserted streets. Bo heard the whump of several mortars launching in rapid succession. Rounds impacted a corner of the glacis where at least one heavy rocket launcher was emplaced. There was a tremendous secondary explosion from the top of the wall that shook the ground and threw dust and dirt everywhere. Davis and his mortars were doing a great job.
Bo pressed further into the city. As he came around a building that flanked a major thoroughfare, Bo found Lieutenant Cook with two squads of indigenous infantry pressed against a wall, preparing to charge into the flank of the retreating militia.
“Lieutenant Cook, report.”
Cook grinned. “My scout vehicles breached the gate without casualties. I left them inside the gate to swat down some pretty strong resistance. They’re pushing the militia back. I’ve got the mortars taking out the weapons up top, and I’ve sent an indig squad to clear the top of the wall from the west. The enemy are falling back everywhere, sir. As soon as our vehicles come into view, we can swing out ahead of their militia from the side and flank ’em. If we do that, though, they’ll either surrender or fall apart completely. We just have to hit them at the right point, sir.”
“Outstanding,” Bo replied.
Again, there was a rapid succession of mortar launches, and another corner of the upper glacis felt the brunt of multiple impacts. The whinnies on the parapet’s walkway charged further west with their riders firing. They met no resistance.
From the east, Stewart rode his bounding whinnie down from the wall’s midpoint. The other riders pushed their whinnies further west, driving the fleeing militia before them. However, Stewart swerved aside toward Bo. “We’ve got the eastern wall secured, sir. Mortars are hitting other weapon emplacements. We can see friendlies moving east up there.”
We’ve secured the wall. Now for the militia.
“Time for phase two,” Bo said. “Tell Fahey to release the cavalry.”
Stewart spoke into the radio. “California, this is Fastlane. Relay to guidons, phase two initiated. Release the cavalry.”
“Roger, Fastlane. Break.” Fahey dropped off the frequency for five seconds. “Guidons, guidons, guidons, this is Hotel California. Initiate Phase Two and release the cavalry. Contact Fastlane on station.”
Given their position, Bo and the others couldn’t hear the response. A wave of gunfire came from the northern wall. Bo peered around the corner of the building and saw the ragtag militia. He expected them to be moving straight to the east. Instead, they appeared to be moving north toward the central part of the city and the open space of the bazaar.
“They’re moving toward the tunnels. There must be another way out through them.” Bo glanced up at Stewart. “I thought you guys were holding the main one from the other side.”
“You needed us over here,” Stewart said. “They’ve collapsed the central tunnel. I figured they were more concerned with fighting you off than anything in the cache site. We couldn’t get through and then the whinnies got excited and took off, sir. All we could do was stay in the saddle.”
From deep inside the city came the steady rattle of machine gun fire. Bo recognized it as one of the M-60 machine guns, most likely from Bravo Section.
Dammit.
“What did you find on the top of the plateau? Was there some way into the city?”
Stewart nodded. “We found a staircase, sir. The militia did not try to replace their guards.”
“Who’d you leave up there?”
Stewart replied, “Morton’s entire fire team, sir. But they went down into the city. I sent that through Fahey.”
“I didn’t catch that.” Bo shook it off. “Doesn’t matter. So, if they’re headed into the city, that’s Booker firing the 60.” He quickly did the math. Morton and eight men had descended tunnel-stairs somewhere in the city and now, with just that one machine gun and their rifles, they were holding back as many as four hundred militia who were determined to escape through the tunnels.
This ain’t gonna end well.
“Any ideas?”
Stewart replied, “We can’t try to take the whole tunnel complex, sir. That’s suicide.”
Bo nodded. He saw Cook glance up at Stewart. The two newly commissioned officers traded a long look, and both smiled.
“What are you two thinking?”
“Hounds to hunters, sir,” Cook replied and then glanced at Stewart. “Meet ya in the middle, Johnny.” Cook turned to his squad and motioned them to move around the corner to the west. They moved so fast Bo didn’t have a chance to ask where they were going. At the same time, Stewart and the other whinnies bounded to the east and were rapidly turning north around a building a hundred meters away.
Bo understood in an instant what they intended to do. Pinching the escaping militia between them, they were hoping for surprise to crumble their hasty defense. If Morton and the others could hold off the outlying militia and reinforcements that might arise from any undiscovered tunnels for even two or three more minutes, Cook and Stewart could pincer them. Once they felt they were surrounded, the militia would almost surely surrender. Bo checked his weapon, moved the firing switch from safe to semi, and prepared to follow Cook’s squad.
A staccato burst of weapons fire from the east got his attention. Bo stared down the narrow thoroughfare and saw a woman running hard to the south. In the space of a millisecond, he recognized the unmistakable form and face of Aliza Turan. She ducked around the corner of a building just before it exploded in a cloud of dust and debris. Aliza was now behind his line and there was no one from his forces who could help her without disengaging from their attack.
Bo was stuck. Everything he knew about leadership said he needed to stay with his team and lead them. But a vital part of that team was cut off and alone. She might be unarmed or injured. Given the intelligence she likely possessed, and if the enemy suspected she had it, they would be trying to kill or capture her. There just wasn’t another choice. Besides, Stewart and Cook had the situation in hand. All he was going to do was get in the way.
Or so he told himself.
Bo ran east toward Aliza.
* * * * *
Chapter Ten
Imsurmik
Injured and unable to return fire, Aliza frantically searched for cover. Morton and the others had called in her position and then pressed west toward the fight. Not a minute later, four rough men appeared, searching the eastern edge of town for Waornaak. When they saw her, they opened fire. As the rounds slammed into the wall behind and above her, she dove behind a stone watering trough and crawled up to the junct
ion between it and a ramshackle building. They called for him by name and went toward the storage room where they would be sure to find him.
She’d left the water trough and ducked into an evacuated shop as the men began their search. Immediately, the whinnies roared and stomped, and she heard the gunfire add to the general cacophony. Thinking she had an opportunity to flee, she’d run from the shop toward the south, but they’d seen her. After undoubtedly seeing Waornaak’s dead body and having been confronted by Athena and Scout and any other whinnies remaining behind, they’d withdrawn and taken up the pursuit.
But they haven’t got me yet.
Aliza could see the wall, but there was no one atop it, neither friend nor foe. She pressed herself low against the building as more rounds tore into its mud-and-stone sides. Aliza pulled her knees to her chest and pressed her back against the rough surface. Dust rained down on her. A sharp piece of stone sliced into the skin of her forearm. Another round of weapons fire tore through the air around her and more fragments pelted her scalp. The near-continual shower of debris frightened her more and more. The memory of Operation Markolet’s end, losing Ben Mazza, and the sound of enemy fire coming closer washed over her. Aliza squeezed her eyes closed. Cradling her injured arm and sobbing with pain, her mind raced to gain control of her emotions. This was not the time to give up. This was the time to fight back.
From the opposite direction of the oncoming men there was a new sound. Aliza opened her eyes and looked west, down a nearby street, and gasped. Moving her way along the next row of buildings came a lone figure. Carrying an M-16 rifle, Aliza knew it was one of the Lost Soldiers, but she couldn’t see who it was through all the dust and debris. The figure moved at a run, stopped at the corner of the building, and fired several rounds at the attackers nearing Aliza. At that moment, she recognized him.
“Bo!”
He glanced her way and brought the rifle up again. She saw him squeeze the trigger quickly, firing several shots at her pursuers before lowering the rifle.
“Can you move?” he yelled from across the street, maybe twenty meters away.
Aliza shook her head. She hoped the way she was cradling her arm was enough to show him that rolling to a standing position and running would take far too much time.
“Stay down. I’m coming to you.”
He fired again. There was a muffled scream from the end of the street. Bo fired another four shots quickly before lowering the rifle and dodging across to her. He had just reached the middle of the street when the men opened fire again.
A round tugged at Bo’s pant leg and Aliza saw a spray of blood as the round exited his left calf. Teeth bared in pain, he managed another step at full speed and dove toward the cover of Aliza’s position.
He almost made it.
* * *
Stewart led Alpha Section into the bazaar and stopped. To his right, under the stony overhang, a gaggle of militia were crowded against the rocks that surrounded the entry to the tunnel complex. Eyes wide with fear, they tossed their weapons onto the dusty soil. Whinnies pranced around and growled at the frightened men. Young and old stared in shock, whispering intently to each other while pointing at the men riding the whinaalani. He knew they probably had never seen anyone ride the lizard-like creatures, despite having used the more docile ones as beasts of burden. Given the shock in the eyes of the natives, Stewart wondered if they’d surrendered because of the attack itself or the mounted riders.
Probably a bit of both. He grinned to himself. Wait ’til they see this shit.
He grabbed the handset for his radio off his load-bearing strap. “California, this is Fastlane. The LZ is secure. Over.”
“Copy, Fastlane.” He heard Fahey release the transmit button and then press it again. “Gunsmoke Lead, this is Hotel California. LZ secure. Over.”
The Huey’s lead pilot, Sergei Karlovich, drawled in reply, “Copy, California. Flight of two gunships thirty seconds out. Over.”
“Copy, thirty seconds. Weapons free. Some remaining militia on the ground,” Fahey said.
“We’ll mop up the stragglers. Just hold that LZ. Shadower is eight minutes behind. Gunsmoke Lead, out.”
* * *
As he fell, Bo bit the inside of his cheek hard enough that warm, coppery blood filled his mouth.
“Fuck!”
The surrounding dirt practically exploded with the impacts of enemy rounds. He pushed with his good leg and dug his elbows into the ground hard enough to split the fabric. Head down, he pushed again and felt a powerful hand grab him under his left armpit. Aliza was there, on her knees, straining to drag him behind her improvised cover with her one good arm.
“Yalla!” she grunted and fell backward, pulling his head and shoulders behind the water trough. He scrambled around quickly.
“You okay?” He blinked dust out of his eyes and stared at her for a long second.
“I’m fine. You’re the one who got shot.”
“Don’t remind me,” Bo replied. He moved into a crouch of sorts, with his good leg underneath him. He brought up the rifle, flipped the selector switch to automatic, and raised it blindly over the trough’s edge. He pulled the trigger and held it for a couple of seconds, just long enough for the last eight or nine rounds in the magazine to be fired. As the weapon stopped, the noise from the other end of the street diminished. Her pursuers were likely taking stock of the new threat.
Without looking, he fished another magazine out of his load-bearing harness while his other hand held the rifle at the junction of the upper and lower receivers. He ejected the empty magazine and slapped the new one into place. Bo yanked the charging handle back and let it go, slamming a new round into the chamber. Out of habit, he tapped the forward assist mechanism to seat the cartridge and readied himself to pop up for another burst. More rounds tore into the far side of the trough and the building above them. In the swirling dust and rain of rocky debris, he stared up at Aliza.
“I don’t have a radio. The others don’t know we’re here, Aliza. They’re gonna be coming, but we have to hold our own.”
She didn’t respond.
“Do you have a weapon?”
“Yes,” she said. “But it’s useless with my arm like this.”
“What happened?”
“A man came after me, Bo. One of the high-value targets. He beat me with a metal rod.”
Bo shook his head. The volume of fire from the end of the street seemed to double and then triple before it waned again. “I’m sorry we didn’t get here in time. Look, I’ve got one more magazine, Aliza. Thirty rounds. It’s not enough to stop those guys. We have to get you out of here.”
She blinked. “What do you mean?”
“Can you run or not?”
“I can,” she said.
“Then get ready,” Bo replied. He rose up and blindly fired a quick burst over the edge of the trough. “This isn’t going to hold them back for long.”
“What do you want me to do?”
Bo grinned. “When I get up the next time, I want you to run. Get to the wall and move west. Stay along the wall; the fight’s closer to the dwellings. There’s a breach on the western side of the glacis. Get there if you can. If not, get to Lieutenant Stewart and the others.”
“What about you?”
Bo shrugged. “You’ve got intel on these guys, right? Know someone who might fit the profile Murphy gave you?”
“There are a few, yes.”
“If you die here in the street, he doesn’t get that information. You can run, so you’re gonna run. Got it?”
Aliza nodded. Her dark eyes were wide. As he studied her face, carving it into his memory, tears brimmed and ran down her cheeks. He reached out to catch one with his hand and inadvertently smeared dirt on her cheek.
“Why are you frowning?” she asked.
Bo raised the rifle over his head and fired another quick burst. “I can plan an attack, take a whole damned town in the process, but I can’t ask the woman I love to marry me.�
��
She laughed through her sudden tears—a surprised yelp of a sob. “You have impeccable timing, Hubert Moorefield.”
He laughed. “Guess so.”
“My answer is yes.” She reached out with her good hand and squeezed his arm. “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” he squeaked out of his tightening jaw. He cleared his throat and pushed the emotion back. “Now, get ready to run, Aliza. Get Stewart and come back. I’ll cover you for as long as I—”
An unearthly scream echoed along the street. Weapons fire erupted, louder and with a higher volume than before, but the surrounding air was still. Bo put the rifle to his shoulder and eased up to look over the trough, but ready to drop if seen.
Whinnies filled the far end of the street by the waterfall. Athena roared from the midst of the collected militia and soldiers, thrashing and stomping her mighty feet. Another whinnie lay on the ground, bleeding profusely and writhing in the street.
“Sonuvabitch!” Bo stood fully. “Stay here, Aliza.”
His rifle up in its firing position, Bo limped into the street. As a target appeared, he fired. Again, and again. Ambling toward the engagement and trying not to hit the whinnies in and among the enemy, Bo pressed forward. His mind was calm, almost detached. A part of him recognized the threat, and even the larger picture, but he was wholly outside it, something he’d first felt in a skirmish near Mogadishu. Every nerve ending seemed to fire all at once. His eyes were clear, and the weapon felt like an extension of his central nervous system.
Track, fire. Track, fire.
The familiar sound of approaching Hueys caught his attention as the last of the militia fell to the charging whinnies. His gaze flashed back to the street. The whinnie lying there had stopped moving and its head was facing his direction. Across the distance, he felt the whinnie’s eyes on him. The rifle nearly slipped from his grasp. Bo picked up his pace, hobbling more with each step.
Desperado (Murphy's Lawless: Watch the Skies Book 2) Page 10
