Peter Savage Novels Boxed Set

by Dave Edlund

  The section was nearing fully open. The pilot did not wait for the elevator to lift the aircraft to ground level and began to pull up on the collective lever while maintaining maximum power. The helicopter slowly lifted from the concrete floor, a near-gale of wind blasting out from underneath the rotors while it began to ascend toward the opening. In another two or three seconds, Wu estimated, the opening would be sufficiently wide to allow the gunship, with Colonel Ming aboard, to escape.

  Aiming with great concentration, Wu fired single shots at the control panel. He did not have ammunition to waste. The first bullet struck the metal box, but nothing happened; the overhead door was still opening. Wu fired again… nothing… again he fired, and this time there was a small cluster of sparks as the bullet pierced the metal electrical box.

  The overhead door ground to a halt, just short of being fully opened. But the pilot kept ascending toward the shaft of daylight. For a moment, the men thought they had lost, that Ming would escape. But just as it looked like the helicopter would slip out the opening into clear skies, a rotor blade nicked the retractable door, and in an instant the entire rotor assembly exploded into chunks of metal, hurled throughout the hangar at phenomenal velocity.

  Metal bounced off the concrete walls as well as the floor of the hangar, tiny pieces and large chunks alike. One twelve-inch-long piece cut through two of Wu’s commandos, killing them instantly. The large shard bounced back off the floor, narrowly missing Corporal Zhao.

  Captain Wu was not so lucky; a ragged piece of rotor blade about the size of a baseball ricocheted off the hangar ceiling and slammed into Wu’s left leg. The torn metal had razor-sharp edges and it sliced into his flesh, severing the femoral artery in three places. Captain Wu began bleeding profusely. He groaned in agony and clenched his teeth, holding back a cry of pain.

  “Bull! Do what you can for Wu—I’ll cover you!” Jim screamed, trying to be heard above the mayhem.

  Bull handed the AA12 to Boss Man and dropped to his knees next to Wu. Quickly assessing the true danger, Bull removed a tourniquet from his first aid bag. He was in the process of applying the constriction wrap when a burst of rifle fire found its mark.

  One bullet sliced through Bull’s forearm, breaking the bone; another entered Captain Wu’s shoulder. Since he was lying on his back, the bullet traveled deep into his torso inflicting lethal damage through his chest.

  “I’m hit!” Bull yelled.

  Jim turned and saw what had happened. He also saw fuel leaking out of the downed helicopter and feared that it would burst into flames any second, incinerating the entire hangar and all within it.

  “Magnum, Ghost—time to get the hell out of here!”

  In an instant Magnum was beside his commander. “Help Bull, he’s been hit!”

  Ghost continued to lay down a withering barrage of covering fire, pausing only to drop the empty drum magazine and slam in a new one.

  Jim shouldered his rifle and the AA12 and then reached down to drag Captain Wu out of the hangar. Corporal Zhao had already retreated to the corridor.

  In a weak voice, Captain Wu asked, “Where is Zhao?”

  “He’s gone. Your corporal is lacking in loyalty.” Jim made no attempt to hide his dislike for Zhao.

  Wu closed his eyes and shook his head. “No… you must stop him.”

  Jim didn’t understand. “Why?”

  Captain Wu’s face contorted as a bolt of pain shot through his body. He swallowed before struggling to continue, his voice becoming weaker. “My orders… he’s not regular soldier.”

  “Tell me later. I’m getting you out of here!”

  “No—“ Wu dug his fingers into Jim’s shirt, pulling him closer.

  “Zhao will retrieve the data. His orders… he must recover the data…”

  “But you said you were sent here to destroy everything.”

  The Captain nodded slightly, his eyes closed. “Yes. But Zhao has other orders… not under my command… after he transmitted the data, we were to destroy everything.”

  “We don’t have time for this now. The hangar is going to blow.”

  “Leave me. You must leave the complex.”

  “We will, but not without you.”

  Wu resisted. “No, you don’t understand. My orders were to leave nothing behind.” Wu was fading quickly, his breathing was labored and every word seemed to visibly weaken him.

  Jim listened carefully. He suspected what Wu was trying to convey. It was the same order Jim was following earlier when he had set to laying explosive charges and incendiaries to destroy the records of the hideous experiments conducted in the facility.

  “How much time do we have?” Jim screamed the question, but Wu didn’t answer.

  “Captain!” Jim was now in Wu’s face, yelling loudly. “How much time do we have?”

  Wu slowly opened his eyes, but only part way. Jim could see he was dying, and suspected he only had a few seconds of life remaining before his battered body quit functioning from loss of blood.

  Wu moved his lips, but at first there was no sound. Then, a very faint whisper. Jim leaned close to hear.

  “Ten… hundred…” the words were soft, feeble. With every shallow breath a trickle of bright red blood dribbled past the corners of Captain Wu’s mouth.

  He looked at his watch—0951. Nine minutes until the complex was scheduled to be destroyed.

  “Where are the explosives? Can we disarm them?”

  Wu shook his head—it was barely perceptible.

  “Where are the charges?” Jim demanded, this time shaking Wu.

  Again he shook his head. Slowly, in a faint whisper he said only one word. “Missiles…”

  Jim’s mind was turning over the possibilities. He did not expect an aerial assault, instead assuming demolition charges had been placed at key locations throughout the main buildings.

  He looked at Wu. His face was ashen, and his breaths were so shallow and slow that he wasn’t even certain the Captain was still alive.

  Leaning close, Jim shouted his one burning question. “Warheads! What is the payload?”

  No response.

  Jim shook Captain Wu and shouted the question again.

  Wu’s lips quivered, but nothing came out and his eyes remained closed.

  Knowing time had about run out, Jim tried again. “What is the warhead?” he yelled.

  This time his lips moved more visibly, and a faint rasp emerged. “Tactical…” and then his head fell to the side. Captain Wu had died.

  Chapter 50

  Darfur

  June 14 0950 hours

  Peter had only a fraction of a second to react. He pushed himself to his feet and swung the machete down on the creature’s neck. The razor-sharp steel, thick and unyielding, severed the Homothal’s spinal cord. The monster collapsed motionless on top of Ethan.

  Peter dropped the blade and fell to one knee exhausted, emotionally and physically. With Gary’s help, they dragged the beast off Ethan. Todd was struggling to stand and Gary helped him up while Peter assisted Ethan to his feet.

  “I’ll be all right,” Todd proclaimed. “Nothing seems broken, but it feels like I was hit by a truck.”

  Gary wasn’t listening, his attention focused elsewhere. “Hear that?” he said.

  Peter concentrated, but didn’t hear anything other than the faint ringing in his ears. “No… hear what?”

  “The shooting has stopped. Homer must have killed the rest of ‘em.”

  Just then Homer rounded the large boulders and burst onto the scene. “We have to get moving! They’re right behind me!”

  “How many?” Peter’s voice was tired.

  “A dozen, maybe more. I couldn’t hold them off—too many reinforcements.”

  Just then, Homer received a brief and concise message from Boss Man. “It just went from bad to worse.” Homer stole a quick look at his watch. “In eight minutes the Chinese are going to bomb the compound—possibly a tactical nuke. We have to get back over the ridge bef
ore it detonates and fries all of us.”

  With Peter helping Ethan, they began to climb up the ridge, reversing the path they had taken in the predawn hours. Todd picked up the Barrett Peter had been using, discarding his jammed weapon.

  Gary jogged up next to Homer, still carrying his rifle but favoring his shoulder. The stiches held, but fresh blood was oozing from the wound. “Do you have any extra mags? I’m out.”

  Without slowing the brisk pace, Homer pulled a ten-round magazine from a cargo pocket and handed it over. “Raufoss, explosive, armor piercing. Was saving it for a special occasion.”

  “I think this counts.”

  The pursuing Homothals and Chinese soldiers were cautiously advancing through the fissure. In groups of two and three they paused every few seconds, weapons aimed forward, searching for a glimpse of the Americans and providing cover while others dashed ahead to the next point of concealment. It was slow progress, but they had already learned that to charge headlong into the sniper fire was suicidal.

  The sun was blazing down on the party, making the upward climb even more demanding. Peter had fallen behind, not able to keep up the pace while also helping Ethan who was unsteady on his feet, while Gary and Homer were in the lead.

  Gunfire ripped the air and Peter pulled Ethan to the ground as bullets tore into the dirt behind them. Todd rushed back and helped Peter up. Positioning himself on the other side of Ethan for additional support, Todd urged them forward.

  “We have to get moving chief,” Todd announced.

  Then, as if to punctuate Todd’s admonition, the crack of rifle fire erupted again, not far behind and bullets slammed into the earth several feet forward of their position.

  Homer pivoted and acquired three targets from his elevated vantage point further up the trail. He fired rapidly and connected with all three bullets.

  “Move! Move!” Homer shouted. Then he dropped to one knee and resumed shooting at targets of opportunity as the pursuing Homothals and Chinese exposed themselves.

  Gary kept moving up the slope, trying to gain as much ground as possible, not pausing to look back; it didn’t take long for Peter and Todd, cradling Ethan, to pass Homer.

  The ridge was perhaps another 50 yards above them. Everyone was gulping air. Todd’s foot slipped on the loose gravel. He arrested his fall by slamming the rifle butt into the ground. As he regained his balance, he found the rifle made a good walking staff.

  Peter’s heart was pounding, and he was sucking in huge amounts of air through his open mouth, fixated on the ground before him, one foot followed by the next. It seemed that with every second or third step forward he would slide back one step, making the progress slow and treacherous. His right arm was looped around his son’s waist, constantly tugging to keep Ethan moving in the same direction—upward. Keep going, one more step, just keep moving.

  The sporadic gunfire continued, providing additional—albeit unnecessary—encouragement to climb and cross the ridge. The shots from Homer’s Barrett were easily identified as a much louder and deeper boom, so they knew without looking that he was still defending their retreat up the ridge.

  And then it stopped.

  Peter looked over his shoulder, nearly falling in the process, and saw Homer eject the spent magazine and retrieve a new one, then ram it home into the rifle. He released the slide and was starting to take aim when a bullet finally caught up with him. The round tore into his left calf, and Homer toppled to the side.

  With the opposing fire suddenly ended, three Homothals rose from the boulders at the mouth of the fissure and stepped into the open, unleashing a short burst of automatic fire. It was poorly aimed, but the lack of any return fire emboldened the Homothals and they began their charge.

  Peter knew they would be on Homer in seconds if they weren’t stopped. And even if he wasn’t wounded, it was doubtful Homer could fight off three Homothals in hand-to-hand combat.

  “Take Ethan and keep climbing! Give me the rifle,” Peter grabbed the weapon even as he was still saying the words.

  “We can make it together!”

  Peter shook his head. “Go! We don’t have time to argue! I have to help Homer!”

  Before Todd could protest any further, Peter was already running downhill.

  Chapter 51

  Darfur

  June 14 0951 hours

  Ghost had hurriedly applied a dressing to Bull’s arm to staunch the bleeding. The three soldiers were waiting for their commander in the corridor outside the hangar bay.

  There was no point in trying to recover Captain Wu’s body, and Jim had just exited the hangar when the pooling aviation fuel flowed across the floor, reaching the wall where the electrical panel was located… the very same one Wu had shot minutes earlier. The circuits were still sparking from the short, and it only took one spark falling into the flammable liquid to cause it to ignite.

  In two seconds that one spark turned the hangar into a hellish inferno. Jim heard a deep WOOMPF and felt the intense heat as a fireball engulfed the downed helicopter. The explosion forcefully propelled Jim forward out the opening to the hangar. He landed hard, face down, and slid into the concrete wall, smacking his head on the floor and wall.

  “Boss Man!” Ghost bellowed.

  Jim slowly rose to his knees, blood matting the raven hair at the edge of his scalp. “Where is Zhao?”

  “He ran out of here. Rounded the corner just before the hangar blew,” Magnum answered as he pointed down the corridor.

  “He’s headed for the computer center. We have to stop him before he transmits files back to Beijing.”

  With Magnum in the lead, the team ran down the sterile concrete hall and rounded the corner that opened onto the main hallway, intending to retrace the route they had followed from Ming’s office to the underground flight hangar.

  The team spotted Zhao at the far end of the corridor. Gunfire reverberated off the walls as Zhao fired a short burst at some unseen threat down an intersecting corridor to his left. Then he was running again for the exit.

  “Looks like we have company,” Jim announced.

  The men reached the intersecting corridor quickly. Magnum cautiously glanced around the corner. Not more than 50 yards away, an enemy squad was advancing on their position.

  “I count a half dozen Chinese soldiers and Homothals. They’re hugging the walls on both sides of the passageway,” Magnum reported as a dozen rounds ricocheted off the walls and passed harmlessly down the corridor.

  Looking across the faces of his team, Jim gave his orders. “You have to take them out quickly and get out of here—same way we came in. The entire compound is targeted for a Chinese missile strike in less than eight minutes, possible nuke. You need to be well clear by then… got it?”

  “What about you?” Bull asked.

  “I’m going after Zhao. He can’t be allowed to transmit even a small portion of the data from Ming’s experiments back to the PLA.”

  “I’ll go with you,” Ghost suggested.

  “No. You three need to eliminate that squad and get the hell out of here. Is that clear?”

  All three heads nodded, but it was apparent no one liked the idea of leaving Boss Man on his own.

  “Besides, as soon as I cross the hallway I’m going to draw a lot of fire. The three of you need to lay down heavy suppression.”

  Jim drew in a deep breath and tensed his legs, preparing to launch himself across the ten-foot wide opening.

  “Ready?”

  As one, Bull, Ghost, and Magnum nodded.

  “On my mark. Three… two… one… mark!”

  Jim sprang forward and made a running leap across the open corridor, arms flailing as he scrambled to get his legs in front of his body, preparing to absorb the landing impact. Immediately, the SGIT soldiers opened fire down the hallway in the enemy squad’s general direction. Weapons on both sides were being fired on full auto, hoping for a hit.

  Jim crashed to the concrete floor and rolled another eight feet before comin
g to a stop. Not wasting any time, he scooped up his rifle and rose to his feet, dashing off in pursuit of his quarry.

  Jim ran through the intersection of hallways where Captain Wu had first confronted his team and headed towards the conference room. Its door was still slightly ajar, and Jim paused before opening it.

  Using his rifle barrel, Jim nudged the door open. The door moved about six inches when the hinges squeaked. Instantly, a barrage of bullets tore through the door and Jim dropped to the relative safety of the floor. More bullets ripped through the door, the sound of gunfire replaced by the clatter of brass cartridge cases rebounding off the floor.

  As Jim was considering his next move he heard the distinctive sound of a bolt being racked back and forth. Either Zhao was out of ammunition or his rifle was jammed.

  Jim slammed the door open and dove into the conference room. Rolling to the side, he came up firing the remainder of the rounds in his assault rifle in the general direction he expected Zhao to be.

  But no one was there.

  Casting the rifle to the side, Jim leapt over the conference table, pushing aside the leather chairs impeding his progress as he scrambled for the double doors on the opposite side of the conference room.

  Bursting through the doors, Jim entered the long hallway at a full run. He saw Zhao ahead and Jim was closing the distance. Zhao caromed off the wall at the end of the hallway where it turned to the left, unable to stop his bulk in time to make the turn. That mistake brought Jim several yards closer.

  As he rounded the same corner, Jim saw Zhao make another critical error—he overshot the stairway branching off to the right of the corridor; the stairway leading up to Colonel Ming’s office.

  As Zhao corrected and retraced his steps, Jim caught up with him, grabbing his shoulder and spinning the man around. Zhao lashed out, swinging his arm, connecting with Jim’s face. Jim recoiled, still suffering from the effects of the hangar explosion. Every beat of his heart sent a spasm of pain through his skull.

  Zhao dashed up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

  Fatigued, winded, and with his head throbbing like nothing he had felt before, Jim had enough.