The Zulu Virus Chronicles Boxset (Books 1-3)

by Steven Konkoly

  “Let’s get Alpha Four.”

  A single massive muzzle blast erupted from the AC-130, leaving Smith momentarily confused.

  “Brace for impact!” he yelled.

  A single 105mm high-explosive shell landed somewhere close enough to flip them over, knocking Smith unconscious.

  Chapter 36

  David lay next to Hoenig at the bottom of the revetment, listening helplessly to the 40mm cannon pound away at Alpha group. The two soldiers crouched on the flanks, scanning for hostiles.

  “We have to do something,” said Hoenig.

  “I agree,” said David, not keen on exposing himself again to that cannon.

  The gunners had managed to land a few salvos at the edge of the revetment above, showering them in chunks of dried dirt and rocks. He’d suggested that they move north, in case the gunners had variable-time fused shells at their disposal. A VT shell could be detonated in the air above them, directing its shrapnel downward. As long as they kept their heads down in their new location, the gunners wouldn’t know where to fire.

  “Let’s go take a look,” said Hoenig, pushing himself to his feet.

  David climbed the shallow slope with the rest of them, pausing when the AC-130’s tail came into view. He rose a little farther, flinching when its cannons fired again, hitting something out there. A crunching explosion rolled across the airfield.

  “Hey. The M240 looks okay,” said Chapman, pointing at the smoking hulk that used to be their HUMVEE.

  The gun pointed forward, in the charred turret, looking miraculously untouched.

  “See if you can get it working,” said Rudolph. “Forget the turret system. Just disconnect the gun, brace it against the armor panels.”

  “Fuck yeah,” said Chapman, sprinting into the open.

  “What’s the range to the aircraft?” said Hoenig.

  “Has to be what—six hundred, seven hundred yards?” said David.

  “That’s about right,” said Rudolph, shouldering his rifle. “Time to start plinking. Empty your mags.”

  “Hit the cockpit,” said David, wishing there was some other way to stop the massacre on the other side of the airfield.

  They fired methodically, unable to tell if their bullets were on target. Their gunfire was interrupted by another cannon salvo, followed shortly by another, which sounded like it hit another HUMVEE.

  “I don’t know if this is making a difference,” said Hoenig.

  “Just keep firing,” said David, repeatedly pressing his trigger.

  “240’s up!” yelled Chapman, sending a line of red tracers at the front of the AC-130.

  “That should make a difference,” said Rudolph.

  “It’s already turning,” said Hoenig.

  “That’s fine,” said Rudolph. “Alpha should be at the compound by now. The flight crew is turning to face the most pressing threat.”

  A serious muzzle blast lit the runway under the AC-130. They got the 105mm Howitzer into the fight.

  “Get Chapman down here with the 240,” said David. “We need to relocate again. This time really far away.”

  Small-arms gunfire erupted full scale in the distance. He hoped Smith’s soldiers burned that place to the ground, taking everyone inside with it.

  Chapter 37

  Larsen reached the back of the Ajax building just as a torrent of small-arms fire and flashes erupted on the tarmac. He found the rope Rich’s people had used to scale the one-story structure, and hauled himself up using only his hands. Ragan followed, pulling the rope over the side of the roof just as a squad-sized security team arrived and fanned out behind the building.

  “Lima-Romeo are on the roof. I have a squad of hostiles on the ground behind the building. Request permission to engage,” said Larsen.

  “Wait for Mike Two,” said Rich.

  He kept a low profile next to the roof wall, targeting the man giving instructions on the ground below.

  “Mike Two in position,” said Rico.

  “Romeo ready,” said Ragan, having relocated farther to his right.

  “I got the guy giving orders,” said Larsen. “Stand by.”

  He centered the reticle high on the squad leader’s upper chest. Firing on targets wearing body armor was a little tricky. Center-mass shots knocked them down, but they remained an active threat. Given the opportunity, he aimed just below the bottom of the neck, above the top of the plate carrier. Worst-case scenario, his bullet went a little low and hit the plate, knocking the target over. On target or a little high put the target out of the fight—permanently.

  “Fire,” he said, pressing the trigger.

  The man went down, his hands immediately grasping his neck. Larsen shifted to the far left of the killing ground and went to work, firing twice before moving on to the next target. A few bullets struck the top of the wall near him, but nothing got dangerously close before the area went quiet again. One of the targets on the far left, in Ragan’s zone, clawed at the asphalt. A quick shot from Larsen’s rifle ended the struggle.

  “Backyard is clear,” said Rico.

  Rich’s people didn’t use call signs when talking among each other. Only with him or Ragan.

  “Any way someone could climb up?” said Rich.

  “They’d have to use the same method we used,” said Rico.

  “Leave Ragan to cover the back. The rest of you move to the front of the building. We have a full-scale battle on our hands on the tarmac,” said Rich. “Observe only. I don’t want Ajax to know we’re up here.”

  “On our way,” said Rico.

  Ragan moved toward him, cussing up a storm. “Why the fuck do I have to sit this out?”

  “You’re good, but you’re not trained for this kind of engagement,” he said.

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” she said.

  “Back at the drone container, I had to clean up your target. Just now, I had to clean up your target,” said Larsen.

  “I’m hitting dead center,” she said.

  “Which is great for drone pilots dressed in jeans and a T-shirt,” said Larsen. “But not for guards wearing body armor.”

  She glared at him, fuming, but he could see she understood his point.

  “Call if you need me,” she said.

  “I will.”

  “You coming?” said Rico.

  Larsen followed the operative to the other side of the roof, where they stopped about fifteen feet back from the roof wall. Rich crouched in the far right corner, peeking over the top. Jeff staked out the other corner, keeping a low profile. A pitched battle raged on the tarmac below, which intensified with the approaching rumble of diesel engines. He jogged over to Rich, staying below the top of the roof wall. Rich held out a finger.

  “Alpha, this is Charlie Actual. We are located on the target building rooftop,” said Rich. “That’s on the west side of the tarmac. To your left. Please acknowledge.”

  “Copy that, Charlie. We’ll keep our fire at ground level,” said an unfamiliar voice.

  “Happy hunting. Lots of targets down there,” said Rich.

  A bullet clipped the top of the wall, spraying Larsen with cinder-block fragments.

  “You sure this is safe?” said Larsen.

  “I’ve been in way worse,” he said, appearing momentarily distracted.

  Rich rose a few inches higher, studying something on the tarmac. Larsen watched him nervously, expecting a bullet to take off the top of his head.

  “What’s up?” said Larsen.

  “Take a look,” said Rich.

  “Rather not lose my head,” said Larsen, doing it anyway.

  “Middle hangar.”

  “It’s a little late to bring out the private jet,” said Larsen. “That thing won’t last ten seconds on the tarmac.”

  “No. It won’t,” said Rich, rubbing his chin.

  “You seeing this?” said Jeff. “Waste of a perfectly good Gulfstream.”

  “Why the hell would they even try?” said Rich.

&
nbsp; “Because someone important told them to,” said Larsen.

  “Someone important—and very panicky,” said Rich before transmitting over the net, “All units. This is Charlie Actual. Do not fire at the private jet coming out of the middle hangar. I repeat. Do not fire at the jet coming out of the middle hangar. I need that for bait.”

  “Charlie, this is Bravo Actual,” said Captain Gresham. “That jet is going to end up smack-dab in the middle of the tarmac. I can’t engage hostile targets on the north end without sending rounds across.”

  Larsen could see the problem from where he crouched. Gresham’s vehicles were positioned perfectly to deliver sweeping fire across the tarmac and into the structures. He’d deployed his soldiers to maximize the firepower available to him and its impact on the hostile force.

  “I don’t know what to tell you, Captain,” said Rich. “Don’t hit the fucking jet.”

  Larsen jumped into the conversation. “Bravo Actual, focus the bulk of your fire into the structures, excluding the middle hangar. Assign a few marksmen to keep the tarmac busy until we’re ready to take out the jet. You’re deployed perfectly right now, but maybe you could move your vehicles—make it look like you’re sort of pulling back. Give the hostiles a little sense of false victory.”

  “This is Bravo. I can work with that. Out,” said Gresham.

  “Nice job,” said Rich before going out over the radio again. “Alpha, did you copy that? Keep your fire focused on the buildings. I need to keep that jet intact.”

  “This is Alpha. We have the taxiway blocked. You want that open?” said the unfamiliar voice again. “Sounds like you’re trying to lure them out. I could make it look like we’re pulling back.”

  “Affirmative,” said Rich. “I want them to think there’s hope of getting out of this.”

  “Copy. We’re repositioning. Fire will be focused on the buildings,” said the soldier.

  “Who is that?” said Larsen.

  “Alpha, where is Major Smith?” said Rich.

  “Major Smith went after the AC-130s with Alpha Four. To create a diversion. They’re gone.”

  The words hit Larsen hard. Gone? They couldn’t be gone.

  “We’ll get payback for that,” said Rich. “Just keep the jet intact until I say otherwise. Out.”

  “I can’t believe Smith is gone,” said Larsen.

  “That’s the way this shit goes. You know that,” said Rich, taking a satellite phone out of his pocket.

  He pressed a button and waited for the call to connect. “Tim. Tim! I know it’s a little hairy down there.”

  Rich held the phone away from his ear and shook his head. “Tim, listen. This is all going to be over in a few minutes. I need you guys to be ready. We’re only going to get one shot at this, and it’ll have to happen fast. I guarantee there’s a sleeper sitting back and watching.”

  He listened for several seconds before responding, “It’s all we can do. I’m hanging up now.”

  “What was that all about?” said Larsen. “You think there’s a sleeper agent?”

  “There’s always a sleeper in an organization like this,” said Rich. “It’ll be someone close to this Cooper guy. Someone who can warn the next level.”

  “I don’t see how this is going to work,” said Larsen.

  “Oh ye of little faith,” said Rich. “You need to hang around with us a little more. We’ll make you a believer.”

  “Why don’t I like the sound of that?”

  “Because you’re a smart guy,” said Rich.

  Chapter 38

  Cooper covered his nose and mouth, the fumes from the tungsten-lined ceramic bin filling the room at an alarming rate.

  “Are you sure everything is destroyed?” said Cooper.

  “The computers are plastic slag at this point,” said Harris. “You should throw the CTAB in the bin, colonel. It’ll be smoked in a few seconds.”

  “Are you out of your fucking mind? We’ll be shot out of the sky on approach to Cincinnati without this thing,” said Cooper. “Is the jet ready?”

  “It’s on the tarmac,” said Harris. “Our security team pushed the National Guard back far enough to get it prepped. We’ll need to focus all of our defensive fire in the direction of the taxiway. Once we break out of here, the AC-130 can cover us. They’ve wrecked several vehicles already.”

  “Damn it, I wish that thing was airborne,” said Cooper.

  “It’s doing a good enough job from the runway, colonel,” said Harris. “Cleaned out half of the attack force.”

  “Should have taken out the whole thing,” said Cooper. “Who the hell do these people think they are?”

  Harris paused, listening to his earpiece. “Colonel, the jet is ready. We’re going to escort you onto the jet and pop smoke pretty much everywhere. Create a giant smoke screen. The pilot is pointed directly toward the taxiway. Nothing is in the way. Are you ready?”

  “Are you kidding?” said Cooper. “Just get me the fuck out of here.”

  Harris signaled for the internal security team to form up before grabbing him abruptly. Almost out of character.

  “Colonel, stay with the team. Look forward. Just get on the plane,” he said. “We’ll do the rest.”

  “You get me out of here, and I’ll personally—”

  Harris’s head snapped to the side, a thick plug of blood and skull covering one of the security officers’ faces. Cooper watched Harris drop to the floor, a bullet hole in the dazed security officer’s forehead. Three more suppressed shots cracked through the room, everyone hitting the floor except for Cooper—and the woman in charge of outside asset management. Her partner twitched in his chair, a knife planted hilt deep in his neck. Son of a bitch! She was the sleeper.

  “I’ll destroy the CTAB,” he said. “Fuck. You didn’t have to kill them.”

  She shook her head and pointed a pistol at his head. “Sorry, Warren. This is bigger than you—or me.”

  “You slimy bitch,” he said. “I gave everything to the cause.”

  “This isn’t personal, Warren,” she said. “It’s about survival. The cause’s survival.”

  Cooper straightened up, raising his chin high. “Then do it.”

  Gunfire erupted from the only door leading into the operations center, knocking the woman into the monitors behind her. Cooper glanced in the direction of the gunfire, expecting to be next.

  “Are you all right, sir?” said one of the operatives slipping into the room. “What the hell was that?”

  “She lost her mind,” he said, cradling the CTAB and the thermite grenade taped to it in his arms. “Get me onto the jet. Right now.”

  Chapter 39

  Larsen stayed low and moved along the roof to a point about fifty feet away from Rich’s position. Rico nestled up to the roof wall next to him and lowered his night-vision goggles. Larsen dropped his own goggles into place, arming his rifle’s trigger-activated AN/PEQ-15 Advanced Target Pointer/Illuminator/Aiming Laser at the same time. The laser would reach out and touch his intended target when he applied pressure to the trigger.

  He lifted his head an inch, almost breaking out into laughter. The whole scene took on a surreal feeling. The Gulfstream jet was parked in the middle of the tarmac, surrounded on three sides by several heavily damaged HUMVEEs. Three destroyed Black Hawk helicopters sat in a row behind the jet, belching black smoke, Ajax security guards moving furtively between the burning hulks. They stopped periodically to shoot at the National Guard soldiers, who ignored them to shoot at nonexistent targets in the target building.

  “This is going to be a turkey shoot,” said Rico.

  “Don’t count on it,” said Rich. “Nobody gets on that jet. Understood?”

  Everyone responded at once, acknowledging the order.

  “Get ready,” said Rich. “This is going down immediately.”

  Larsen gripped the last few feet of the rope Rich had coiled up and placed on the top of the roof wall, wrapping it around his hands and bracing his feet
on the rough blacktop roof.

  “Don’t drop me,” said Rich, turning his side to the roof wall.

  “Funny,” he said grimly.

  The plan was seriously fucked in Larsen’s opinion. Since the rooftop offered no way to secure the ropes, he would anchor their descent. In theory, the three operators would hit the tarmac within twenty seconds of each other—with Larsen providing over watch. All while the bulk of Ajax’s security force tried to get Cooper into the jet.

  The gunfire below intensified, a dead giveaway that Cooper was on the move. Rich tugged on the line, testing Larsen’s grip. He held tight, digging in, while Rich watched the tarmac. A few seconds later, Rich nodded.

  “All units, this is Charlie Actual. The package is on the move. Cease fire,” said Rich before easing himself over the side of the building.

  Jeff grabbed the rope as soon as Rich disappeared, sitting on the wall for a second before dropping out of sight. Larsen felt a hard tug on the line, which pulled him a few feet forward. Rico patted him on the back, taking the rope in hand.

  “Cover us, bro!” he said, moving into position on the wall.

  He vanished a second later, the line biting into Larsen’s hands and yanking him against the wall.

  “Charlie is deployed,” he heard over his headset, the pull on the rope suddenly gone.

  Larsen untangled his hands from the line and shouldered his rifle, immediately searching for Cooper. Not finding him, he targeted a man aiming a short-barreled rifle at Rich’s group and fired, the bullet striking him in the face, where the green laser had indicated. He took out a second shooter sneaking between the damaged HUMVEEs to get an angle on Rich’s crew. They were pouring in from everywhere. He fired twice at a figure that appeared under the jet, dropping him to the tarmac. Seeing the man was still moving, Larsen hit him again.

  The gunfire below him reached a fever pitch, and dozens of bullets chipped the cinder-block rooftop wall shielding him. He wasn’t sure how he could provide any reliable cover fire with this volume of incoming fire. Larsen popped up and squeezed off a few shots at a running figure, not sure if he’d connected.