The Division Collection

by Angus McLean

  From her vantage point Tracy watched the impending move unfold just metres away. She was tense with nervous anticipation, but the plan was clear in her mind. She had been impressed with Archer’s planning and decision making, and also impressed with how he sold it to Matthew. The Kiwi seemed to have a chip on his shoulder but he was clearly no fool.

  In the distance she heard another noise and glanced up. The beat of rotors from a helicopter, maybe a klick out.

  The Irishman saw the van in plenty of time and flicked on his right blinker, glancing left as he slowed for the junction. He glanced back to the right as the Kombi started to turn and he clocked the anti-nuke signs and the small Dutch flag stuck on the dash.

  Feckin’ beatniks.

  He glanced up and clocked the driver. Chequered cheese cutter, dark Thermo top. Thirties, unshaven.

  Tracy realised the heli was on a beeline for them, and at the same time she saw another vehicle approaching from behind Boyle. A maroon Range Rover just coming into sight around the bends, probably half a klick away. No, two maroon Range Rovers. Even from that distance she could see they were both loaded up with passengers.

  ‘Got company, unsure if they’re friendlies. Two Rangeys at twelve o’clock.’

  Boyle felt a tingle at the base of his neck. The driver somehow didn’t fit with the van. His right hand began to reach for the Browning.

  The beat of the rotors got louder, and a man could be seen leaning out the back behind the pilot. The heli looked like a Bell, red markings on white, but Tracy couldn’t be sure.

  Archer saw Boyle’s hand move and his body tense up, and knew he’d been burned.

  So much for the subtle tap.

  He hit the gas and the Kombi leaped forward, T-boning the Peugeot straight in the driver’s door. Boyle’s side window shattered and the Kombi’s engine roared, tyres screaming as the Peugot was shunted sideways.

  Tracy saw the heli’s nose lift as the pilot powered back and slowed, watching the events below. She could see now that the rear passenger had an M4 in his hands. She hit the switch on her thumb.

  ‘Got an M4 in the heli; watching.’

  Her task was to cover Archer, and if it went south she was to take our Boyle. The heli had just thrown a huge spanner in the works.

  Archer leaped from the van and discarded the cheese cutter hat. He darted to the Peugeot, which had stalled and flicked round to face him. He only had a couple of seconds to get Boyle under control and had to trust Tracy to cover his arse while he did so. The Irishman was dazed but moving, blood running from his forehead. Archer bounded over the Peugeot’s bonnet and reached through the shattered side window, grabbing the terrorist’s right arm with one hand and landing a solid hook to the temple with the other.

  Boyle’s head bounced and he dropped the Browning. Archer seized him by armpits and yanked him up into the window frame of the stoved-in door. The other man groaned and tried to speak. Archer ignored it and dragged him from the car, dumping him on the ground on his front. He quickly looped flexi-cuffs round the terrorist’s wrists and yanked them tight.

  Tracy maintained a bead on the heli pilot, leaving Archer to do his thing.

  Who are these guys? Not cops.

  Even as Tracy tried to answer her own question the heli’s nose dipped and it swooped in, the gunman in the rear opening up with the M4. She hesitated a split second and the opportunity as lost. Rounds stitched across the Peugeot and through the front of the Kombi van, blowing glass and shrapnel over the road. Archer crouched over his captive, the noise deafeningly loud as the heli buzzed overhead.

  ‘Hit it!’ he bellowed, not bothering with the radio now. He snatched the stubby HK MP5K from under his arm, unhooking it from the bungy harness it was attached to so it was free in his hand.

  The heli disappeared behind them and Tracy flipped onto her back, scrambling round to get an eyeball. She could hear it still there somewhere, turning to come in for another run. She took a knee, the G3 coming into her shoulder as she scanned for the target.

  Suddenly it was above them again and even as she triggered a short burst she knew she’d missed.

  Archer threw a look up as he hustled Boyle past the Kombi towards the St Ives road and saw the heli directly above them, the rear gunman leaning out with a grenade in his hand. The cylinder arced towards them, quickly followed by a second, and the heli lifted again.

  ‘Grenade!’ Archer shoved Boyle off the side of the road and dived after him, losing the K as he hit the ground but clamping his hands over his ears and remembering to keep his mouth half open and his eyes shut.

  The pair of stun grenades went off almost simultaneously, the flash of the magnesium blindingly bright and the thunderous bangs deafening. Archer hit the ground and rolled, keeping his hands in place and his eyes shut until he came to a stop in the ditch at the roadside. Looking up he saw the heli flaring ten metres off the ground, the gunman still hanging out, the M4 back in his hands, checking to see the effect of the flash bangs.

  Archer snatched the Sig P228 from his waistband and snapped off a double tap at the gunman, going wide but making the guy flinch enough to send his own burst wide too. By the time the M4 barrel swung back on line Archer was on his knees and firing again, a sustained burst of semi auto fire that punctured the side of the heli and winged the gunman. He yelped and fell back into the cabin as the heli started to lift away.

  At the same time as Archer was engaging the rear gunman Tracy rose to her feet, letting the ghillie fall away as she shouldered the G3. The heli was hovering barely twenty metres away and only slightly higher than the ridge she was on. The pilot saw her movement and glanced left, his jaw dropping as he saw the camo-clad figure with a suppressed assault rifle aiming into his cockpit.

  She saw his lips move as he shouted a warning to his lone passenger, and she saw the passenger fall back, dropping his M4 and clutching at his arm, presumably hit by Archer down below.

  The heli lifted sharply but Tracy had a bead on the pilot and it was too late. She squeezed the trigger, pumping three rounds into the side window with enough force to blow it in, the next three rounds shattering an instrument panel above the pilot’s head. He ducked and swerved, the next two bursts stitching holes in the side panels as the heli banked right and tried to escape the auto fire.

  As the tail swung round towards Tracy she coolly shifted her aim and cut loose at the tail rotor. High velocity 7.62mm rounds pinged off the steel and the rotor snapped away, throwing the heli into an immediate spin.

  Both operators saw it happen and dived to the ground again, covering their heads. The heli spun wildly for nearly fifty metres before it tipped, the rotors clipping the ground first and flinging into the air before the machine hit the deck and bounced, flames immediately licking out.

  The second impact brought a devastating explosion and a fireball burst towards the sky.

  Archer was up first, grabbing Boyle by the scruff of the neck and snatching up the K before racing towards the RV. Looking over his shoulder he could see the Rangeys now, motoring towards the crash site, both vehicles bristling with weapons.

  ‘Move, fucko!’ He hustled Boyle onwards down the narrow winding road until they came to a farm track which disappeared up over a ridge. They took it, cresting the rise in time to see Tracy burst out from beneath a crop of trees in the Saab, camo netting still trailing from the bumper. She skidded to a halt beside them and popped the boot.

  Boyle was starting to get his senses back when he was bundled into the boot and the lid was slammed down, leaving him in darkness with a thumping headache and ringing ears.

  ‘Fuck you you goddamn sons of bitches!’ he bellowed, kicking at the car seat behind him. ‘When I get my hands on you I’ll gut you like a goddamn fish and dance on yer feckin’ grave, you hear me?’

  The boot popped again and Archer leaned in, a cotton swab in his hand. Boyle spat at him and tried to twist away, but within seconds the pad was over his mouth and nose and he was inhaling chloroform. B
lackness took over again and the boot slammed down.

  Tracy gunned it down the track towards the road, and Archer was just about to comment that the car wrecks should slow the opposition down a while when they both heard the roar of V8 engines approaching.

  Archer yanked on his seatbelt and grabbed the G3 from the foot well where Tracy had stashed it, checking the magazine and flicking the safety off. They were nearly at the road when the first rounds hit, pinging off the bodywork and skimming across the windscreen. Looking past Tracy he could see the first Rangey had stopped just past the crash site and two of the passengers were leaning over the bonnet, sniping at them.

  He heard a curse from Tracy and the Saab skidded, slewing almost sideways across the track before coming to a stop.

  He turned to see why they weren’t moving and clocked the crazed windscreen. He brought his foot up and kicked out, punching a hole through it but managing to pull the glass free of the frame. He twisted and smashed it with his rifle butt, tossing it forward, and Tracy hammered the accelerator.

  The Saab fishtailed, bumping heavily over a pot hole and crashing Archer’s head into the roof, the tires scrambling for traction on the mud and gravel. Fire came from their right again, the car thudding with hits, but she was into the mouth of the track now and the car crashed sideways into a fence post.

  There was a screech of tortured metal as the back panel was ripped free by the post, then they were onto the road and the tires were smoking on the tarmac as Tracy gassed it.

  ‘Stop stop stop!’ Archer shouted and threw his door open. Tracy braked without question and he leaped out, the G3 coming on line and sighting at the three gunmen he could see running forwards from the first Rangey. They all had their ski masks down and were firing as they ran, the rush of adrenaline making their decision a poor one; they had left cover and their fire was ineffective.

  Archer crouched and triggered a three round burst at them, dropping one, pumped another couple of bursts and made the other two dive for cover, then turned towards the Rangey. He aimed for the radiator and fired a volley of rounds at it. Nothing, and he was taking incoming fire. Tracy was screaming at him to get back in as he ripped off another burst at the gunmen then emptied his mag at the petrol tank.

  Nothing happened for a second then, as he leaped back into the Saab, the Rangey exploded with a roar. A plume of fire shot skywards and debris flew in all directions, pinging off the road as they raced away. Archer grinned at Tracy as he dropped the G3’s empty mag and inserted a full one, working the bolt to chamber a round.

  She had several pin pricks of blood on her face from the flying glass and a lock of hair had come loose, falling over her face. Her hands were white knuckled on the wheel. Despite all this, she had a glow that he recognised.

  ‘Who the fuck were those guys?’ she shouted. Wind whistled through the car and one of the wheels was making a knocking noise. They were both deafened from the shooting.

  ‘I dunno. Looked maybe Iraqi.’ He turned and looked behind them. The second Range Rover was approaching at speed from beyond the black smoke pouring from the burning Rangey. ‘And here come some more!’

  Tracy floored it and Archer kept an eye on the following enemy, seeing the second Rangey slow long enough for the remaining two original gunmen to jump aboard. It came after them again and he sat back down, grabbing his cell phone out and checking the screen. It was on silent, and he saw three missed calls and a voice message from Rob Moore.

  He ignored them and hit the fast dial for Matthew Livingstone. Livingstone was in an Ops Room back at Fort Monckton, waiting for an update.

  He answered immediately with, ‘You’re on speaker, go ahead.’

  Archer clamped the phone to his ear and shouted over the ambient noise. ‘We’ve got the package but we got bumped by a hit team, Middle Easterns, with M4s.’

  ‘Casualties?’ Livingstone’s voice had a calm urgency.

  ‘None for us, three of them and a vehicle down. We’ve got a carload of them chasing us now, probably another half dozen or so. Our car’s fucked. We’re heavily outnumbered and outgunned.’ There was silence down the line and Archer thought he’d missed the reply due to his temporary deafness. ‘What?’

  ‘Stand by,’ Livingstone came back tersely.

  Archer checked behind again. The Rangey was gaining, probably three hundred and fifty metres back now. He looked at Tracy who was scowling at the instrument panel.

  ‘The turbo’s fucked,’ she shouted, ‘it’s not kicking in. We’re overheating too and the oil light’s on.’ She slammed the wheel with the palm of her hand. ‘Come on baby, be good for mama!’

  Archer grinned despite himself.

  Livingstone came back on the line. ‘I don’t know who the unfriendlies are. I presume they’re possibly Saudis. It doesn’t change the plan. I’m sorry, but there is no support for you.’

  ‘The boys at Poole could be here in twenty minutes,’ Archer yelled, referring to the Special Boat Service of the Royal Marines. They were the naval Special Forces unit, less known but equally as competent as their Army peers.

  ‘No,’ Livingstone came back quickly. ‘You’re on your own. Whatever you do, don’t let them get the package.’ He paused. ‘If needs be, close the package down.’

  Archer scowled in frustration. ‘If you want us to kill him, just fuckin’ say so,’ he snarled. ‘We’ll see you back there for afternoon tea.’

  He disconnected and shoved the phone in his pocket, getting onto his knees again and leaning into the backseat.

  ‘I take it we’re flying solo?’ Tracy enquired as Archer secured their weapons.

  ‘Yep. Could be a long day.’

  30

  The road was empty and windy with minimal tree cover now as they came more into rugged farmland than forest.

  Archer could see the Rangey still making ground. His mind was racing trying to work out their next moves. The car was obviously on its last legs, they were in the middle of nowhere and the unknown enemy seemed determined to bring the fight to them despite their early losses.

  Just then the car started slowing and Tracy swore angrily. ‘The fucker’s dead.’

  They coasted to a stop and Archer bailed out, sighting through the G3’s scope at the approaching Rangey. There was a sweeping curve between them, making it only about two hundred metres as the crow flew to the target. He’d made plenty of harder shots than that before.

  He leaned into a stable shooting stance and cracked a shot at the Rangey, hitting the windscreen dead centre. The Rangey swerved to the wrong side of the road and his next shot blew the front passenger’s window in.

  He handed the weapon to Tracy at his side. ‘Swap it to HE.’

  She quickly replaced the smoke canister in the breech of the HK79 with a 40mm high explosive round. She snapped the launcher closed and handed the weapon back, taking the HK machine pistol and swapping spare magazines with him.

  Archer pointed back towards the car. ‘Get him out,’ he said, ‘take cover past the car and get ready to move. I’ll keep these fuck-knuckles at bay and give you a shout to move. I’ll catch you up.’

  She jumped to it and he shouldered the G3 again, seeing the Rangey had stopped at the shoulder and a couple of shooters had debussed, taking up positions at each end of the vehicle. Rounds started coming overhead and he could see they were slightly lower down in a dip, so were shooting up at angle.

  He dropped to a knee to minimise his profile and plinked a shot at the tail end shooter. The guy ducked back when the taillight exploded in front of him. Archer moved to the shooter leaning across the bonnet, and put a round through the sheet metal at his elbow, causing him to jump back and juggle his rifle with fright. Archer’s next shot took him square in the chest and knocked him back against the stone wall, dropping his weapon.

  The Rangey jerked backwards and the fallen gunman was exposed. Archer could see him clutching at his chest and gasping for breath, winded by the impact on his armour. Archer sighted carefully
and let out his breath, stroking the trigger smoothly. The big rifle bucked in his grip and the gunman’s head popped like a melon hitting the pavement.

  The Rangey shot backwards with the far side passenger’s door open, the second shooter being dragged in by his mates.

  ‘Move!’ Archer called out, ‘I’ll catch you up.’

  Behind him Tracy popped the boot and was relieved to see that Boyle was alive and didn’t appear to have even taken a scratch, despite the volume of fire they’d just been through.

  She hefted the unconscious terrorist over her shoulder in a fireman’s carry, staggering at first as he was heavier than she’d expected. She already had the weight of her holstered Sig plus a grab bag of emergency supplies slung across body with the MP5K jammed into it. She sucked in a breath, steadied herself and started off at a trot.

  The Rangey pulled back fifty metres and stopped around a bend. Archer knew they would be regrouping and talking tactics. Unless they were highly trained, he had about a minute. He backed up to the car and confirmed that Tracy had taken what she should have.

  He left the remaining gear behind and took the second grab bag, before vaulting the stone wall into a paddock. A few sheep were grazing on the far side, oblivious to the goings-on around them. He could partially see the Rangey from the new position. He dug out a water bottle for a quick drink while he took stock and caught his breath.

  The G3 had four full magazines left and he had a dozen rounds for the HK-79 in his Molle belt. Tracy had four full mags for the K. With five or six well-armed and determined enemy hunting them, every shot had to count. Distance was the key for now, which meant he had to even the odds.

  He spotted Tracy at the far side of the next paddock, swinging a leg over the stone wall with Boyle over her shoulder. His admiration for her toughness rose a notch further. He still couldn’t quite believe she’d shot down a helicopter.

  Scanning back towards the enemy he saw the rear doors open and three guys piled out, running across the road towards the stone wall bordering the paddocks there. Each was carrying an M4.