Bolan broke cover and ran toward the huge, run-flat tire. Snaking out a hand, he grabbed the barrel of the nearby Galil rifle on the ground and dragged it to him without anyone taking a shot at him. Scrambling around to the other side, he lifted his night-vision goggles as he spotted three of the students, Carter, Saderson and Tatrow, all huddled under the APC.
“Hey, guys, back here!” Bolan shouted over the chattering of the nearby rifles.
“Cooper! What the hell are you—!”
“No time to explain, just get over here, damn it! Hurry up, before they get this thing moving.” Bolan kept an eye on the exposed PTO rods, hoping they wouldn’t get the vehicle started for another minute or so.
Tatrow didn’t waste any time, but scrambled underneath the V-shaped hull, taking up a position at Bolan’s shoulder. “Do you know how to shoot this?” He held up the rifle to the young woman.
She shook her head. “I’ve never even held one before.”
“Okay—how about you, Saderson—Mike?” Bolan asked the college student who had urged Carter to scoot over ahead of him. Before the kid could answer, Bolan shoved him into the dirt. “Get down!”
One of the soldiers who had taken up a firing position near the passenger tire had noticed the three students escaping and was turning his rifle around to cover them. Bolan raised his pistol and shot first, the pair of bullets catching the soldier in the shoulder and side and sending him sprawling in the dirt.
Saderson picked himself up and looked back at the dead soldier. “Thanks, man.”
Bolan was about to ask him the rifle question again when they heard a thump from the APC overhead, followed by a long rattling roar. Even from the opposite side, the gunfire was so loud it sounded as if it was shooting right through Bolan’s skull.
“Someone got to the machine gun. We’d better get the hell out of here!” Bolan switched the Galil’s fire selector to single-shot and held the rifle out to Saderson.
He took it and pulled back on the cocking lever, ejecting a fresh round. “Shot one of these in Las Vegas last year—I should remember how.”
“Hey, what about that extra Colt carbine over your shoulder?” Carter asked, a determined frown on her face.
“Can you handle it, Calley?”
“Handle it? My grandfather, father and four brothers all hunt back in Michigan, plus I went to All-State in competitive shooting—you bet your ass I can handle it.”
“These aren’t deer, you know—they’ll be shooting back.” Bolan unslung the carbine and held it out.
“No shit! But I’m damn sure not gonna go out like a frightened tourist.” The slim blonde checked its load with practiced ease. Bolan then gave her two additional magazines
“Okay, I’m first, Mike and Susanna next, Calley, you bring up the rear. One more thing…” Bolan pulled out his phone and peeled off a small, adhesive square of plastic, affixing it to the underside of the APC. “Follow me and keep your head down. Calley, keep an eye out behind us, and if you see anyone you don’t recognize, stay low and shoot three rounds at them to keep their heads down, then take cover behind the nearest tree. I’ll back you up in a second.” Bolan pulled his goggles down, scanning the nearby forest with thermal vision. No obvious hostiles in the immediate area. He shoved the goggles back up just as the Urutu’s diesel engines rumbled into life. “Everyone ready? Go, go, go!”
Leading the way, Bolan ran crouched over into the jungle, then turned as soon as he had reached the tree line to cover the others. No sooner had they left the protection of the armored personnel carrier than it lurched into motion, rumbling toward a hut in its path, the yammering machine gun spitting lead and fire on the other side. Bolan didn’t stick around, but led the others deeper into the jungle, until they were at least fifty yards out. Taking cover behind the huge, exposed root structure of a massive tree, Bolan stood guard while the others caught their breath.
“Where’re Nancy and the others?”
Tatrow shook her head. “Medina was walking toward her hut when the shooting started—I don’t know what happened to Tom. The villagers all scattered at the first gunshot—almost like they knew the drill already.”
Bolan grunted. “Probably closer to the truth than you think. Living in the middle of a place like this—where your neighbors are just as likely to shoot you as say hello—tends to hone your survival reflexes.”
Saderson stared up at him, the assault rifle clutched in his hands. “Speaking of survival, namely ours, just what in the hell is going on here? That other village slaughtered, and now Colombian Army soldiers are coming after us—or should I say you?”
Carter frowned at him. “Hey, Mike, we were all at the village, so I don’t see how he or anyone else is more culpable.”
Tatrow snorted and looked at Bolan. “Yeah, but they wanted you and Elliot, that’s why they used us as bait.”
Bolan held up his hand. “Let’s all calm down for a moment and think this through. Standard hostage-taking procedure is to get everyone in a particular group together for bargaining purposes, that’s all. They didn’t want us divided because then they wouldn’t have control over everyone.”
“Yeah, but when common sense would have said for you to surrender, instead you come out of the jungle, guns blazing. What the hell was up with that?”
“Let’s just say I didn’t have any intention of being taken hostage.” Bolan holstered his pistol and unslung his Colt, checking its load. “And I sure as hell wasn’t going to let you guys go through that, either, if I could help it. Now everyone just be quiet for a minute.” He listened for any sounds of combat in the distance. The gunfire had died down, but he heard the growl of the APC engine as it faded away.
“All right, assuming Medina and Nancy are still alive, they’re probably in the APC getting the hell out of the fire zone,” Saderson said.
“And where’d you get that weird mask?” Carter asked.
“The same place I got the fatigues and the assault rifle—off a dead guy. Now stop asking questions and let’s get you guys to safety. The best place to go will be a few klicks away from the village. I’ll get you to a place to set up camp for the night and then we’ll figure out the next step—probably getting you guys out of here and back to Nueva Loja. It’s too risky to have you stay here with everything that’s going on around here.”
Tatrow frowned. “As if we even had any clue what that was.”
Bolan stared at her, a small smile creasing his lips when she drew back at his alien appearance. Although the night-vision goggles weren’t designed with intimidation in mind, the strange facade had that effect on most people.
Carter piped up. “What about Nancy? And Elliot?”
“Elliot can take care of himself, Calley. And I’ve got a way to track where Nancy’s going, as well, so we’ll get her back. Let’s get moving. I’m taking point, so I’ll be a few yards ahead. Stay alert, but watch me, as well. If I do this—” Bolan raised his clenched right fist in the air “—take cover as quickly and quietly as you can.” He rousted the tired college kids and began plotting a path into the jungle with his cell phone, making sure to stay well away from the village site.
At least he hoped Elliot could handle himself back there… .
18
As Morgan surveyed the chaos in front of him, he couldn’t believe how bad things had gone.
Their revised plan had been a decent one, with Morgan firmly committed to keeping his head down and providing a distraction, letting Cooper risk his neck to get to the machine gun on the APC. If he could have somehow managed that, they might have been able to force Medina and his unit to surrender.
Morgan had spent most of the allowed time working his way around the village. He had almost been in position when he had spotted the camouflaged soldier adjusting his position among the l
ow-hanging branches of the tree he had been planning to use as cover for his first volley.
Freezing in place, he’d scooted back into the brush as his sat phone had vibrated softly in his cargo pocket. Hitting his wireless earpiece, he’d informed Cooper of the new company. They’d come up with the contingency to dispatch him, and Morgan was in business again. Cooper’s words had rankled him, however—he was well aware of the costs the villagers might have to pay. Life was tough all over. He couldn’t get involved—he had his own mission to finish.
As he sat in the jungle, waiting, the memory of those kids snatching the melting chocolate from Cooper’s hand rose in his mind. That was followed by images of the massacre at the other village, including the murdered children there. Elliot sighed in frustration, knowing what he had to do. Shit, I must be getting soft in my old age, he thought. All right, Cooper, you’ll get your distraction—but where’s your damn signal?
As if on cue, the whole scenario suddenly turned to shit. As he was about to work his way into a better position, the sniper above him suddenly fired, the shot echoing out over the jungle. The shooter followed up with another bullet into the mass panic that had rippled out among the people in the clearing.
Morgan had to hand it to Medina—he may have been an arrogant ass, but the man knew how to maintain military discipline. Barking orders to his men, he quickly established fire points and mustered a withering return of bullets that shredded the tree above Morgan, raining bits of leaves and broken branches down on his head. He hunched into the plants surrounding him, sure there would be a much larger weight crashing to the ground nearby. But when no body fell, he poked his head up just in time to hear another rifle shot crack out above him.
Realizing he couldn’t get anything done while the sniper was around, Morgan looked up, hoping to spot the man, but couldn’t see him through the thick leaves. The tree the shooter had picked for his station was covered in a thick latticework of vines, so Morgan holstered his pistol, grabbed a handful and hung off the thick green ropes to test them. When they didn’t break, he started climbing. Soon he was ten yards off the ground and slowed his ascent to better take the sniper by surprise.
Scattered bursts of gunfire still came from the clearing, and Morgan was careful to stay behind the thickest part of the trunk. Even with the steel-cored 5.56 mm rounds coming his way, the tree’s diameter had to be a yard, maybe a yard and a half. Still, when a stray bullet whizzed by, neatly severing a nearby branch as large as his thumb, Morgan wondered what the hell he was doing up there in the first place.
One last heave and he entered the thicker foliage, surrounded by a supposedly protective canopy of green. The only problem then was that he had to work his way around to see—and shoot—the sniper without getting capped first.
Slowly, Morgan crawled through the branches, trying to move whenever a shot rang out, then waiting until the sniper fired again. He craned his neck as far around the tree as he could, wishing he had a shotgun so he could just point and shoot.
He levered himself over another thick branch and froze, one arm outstretched to grab the next limb. The sniper was four yards below him, stretched out on two branches that grew parallel to each other out from the trunk—a natural shooting platform. Intent on his prey, he squeezed off another shot without noticing Morgan above him. The man steadied his sleek, matte-black sniper rifle, then returned to searching for his next victim through the mounted scope.
The real problem was that Morgan was in a terrible position to take the shot—off balance and at a bad angle. But he didn’t dare try to improve it. If the sniper noticed any movement from above, it would all be over very quickly. Morgan slowly moved his free hand toward his pistol, inch by inch, until he grasped the butt. Making sure he had a tight grip, he drew it and extended his arm, taking a bead on the upper portion of the man’s back. He tried to steady his breathing, but his muscles already ached from holding the awkward position this long, making his gun hand tremble.
The sniper fired again, and as the echo of the shot boomed around them, Morgan squeezed his pistol’s trigger three times. The 9 mm hollow-point slugs burrowed into the sniper’s neck and shoulders, and he slumped forward. Morgan descended through the canopy until he reached the body, then put another slug into the back of his head. Keeping his pistol trained on the gunman, he cleared his hands from the weapon, then checked the guy’s pulse until he was sure the other man was dead.
Another booming shot made Morgan’s head snap up. Another shooter! Holstering his pistol, he grabbed the rifle—a customized Galil 7.62 mm with a high-powered scope, skeletonized stock and extended barrel—and hunkered down over the other sniper’s body, scanning in the direction of the shot through the scope. Another shot exploded through the clearing, drawing a furious hail of return fire. Morgan swept the trees, hoping to see another camouflaged form tumble out of one of them, but his search was not rewarded with a crumpled body on the ground. So instead he looked for a tree whose leaves looked as though they were just shot to hell… .
About sixty yards away was a tree practically identical to the one Morgan was in, right down to the tattered leaves and broken branches on the side facing the village. He snugged the weapon into his shoulder, about to shoot blind, when an earsplitting roar erupted from the APC on the other side of the clearing. The other tree shook under the high-powered bullets, branches and leaves disintegrating under the assault. Morgan peered through the scope, unable to look away as the front of the tree was raked back and forth, up and down by the machine gunner. Within the cloud of pulverized wood and leaves, he saw a dark form fall off a branch and tumble end over end to the ground. The sight of the obviously dead sniper galvanized another thought in Morgan’s mind. My position’s next!
Dropping the rifle, he lunged for cover, praying he could get behind the trunk before the gunner opened up again. The branches and vines, which had been so easy to traverse on his way up, now were slippery under his groping touch. Pushing with his feet, he slithered along a branch and swung himself around the bulk of the tree just as the shooter began firing. Morgan didn’t stop, but free-fell down the back side of the trunk, trying to slow his descent by snagging the vines without breaking a finger or hand. He slid a good ten yards before catching hold of a vine tight enough to stop him, just as high-caliber bullets punched through the tree trunk several yards above his head.
Glancing at the jungle floor a couple of feet below, Morgan let go and dropped to the ground, tucking and rolling away from the tree, then lying prone. He drew his pistol the instant he stopped moving and twisted around to make sure no one was coming after him from the clearing. The sniper rifle lay on the ground nearby, and Morgan crawled to it and slung the weapon over his shoulder. He gave a slow ten count, then began moving east, parallel to the main square, toward Kelleson’s hut. With everyone else either dead or scattered into the jungle, she was the only hostage of value at this point.
Slowing as he approached the latrine, Morgan gave the pit toilet a wide berth as he passed. He saw the roof of Kelleson’s hut several yards beyond and headed for it. The gunfire from the clearing had slackened considerably, but he heard some kind of commotion from inside the building. Coming up on the rear of the building, he stopped at the corner and risked a quick glance in the rear window.
Inside, Kelleson struggled against two soldiers, while Major Medina stood in the doorway. Although she probably could have held her own against one of them, the pair had her, one by each arm, and propelled her to the door.
“I’m very tired of your so-called volunteers coming in and instigating rebellion at every chance they get. Since they have chosen not to surrender, and have attacked me and my soldiers, I am forced to interrogate you instead—and I guarantee you, it will not be fast and painless.”
“You can’t just leave these villagers to fend for themselves! You saw what happened out there, someone is trying to kill ever
yone here! And you’re just going to leave, you coward!” Kelleson spit in Medina’s face, earning a slap from the smaller South American.
“Take her to the Urutu. There is no doubt that your so-called friends are rebels who planned to attack us here anyway. When we leave, they will have no reason to attack the village. It is obvious your friends have come here to sow anarchy among my people. It would be better for you now if you would simply admit any connection with them—perhaps I can convince the local judge to show leniency in exchange for your cooperation.”
“Go fuck yourself.”
He shook his head. “Perhaps a few months in prison will make you more cooperative. Get her out of here.”
Morgan weighed his options. There was no way he could save Kelleson the way things currently stood. Charging into an already pissed off army unit that had already been beaten once would only guarantee him a swift death. No, he had to retreat and regroup, then Cooper and he could figure out their next step.
Stepping carefully to the corner of the hut nearest to the clearing, he peeked out just in time to see Kelleson being wrestled into the APC. Bodies littered the clearing—soldiers, villagers and one T-shirt- and khaki-clad form that Elliot recognized as one of the volunteers. The others were nowhere in sight, giving him hope that they’d escaped. The reduced force of Colombian solders—only six by then—boarded the APC and roared out of the clearing, the wide tires rolling over several bodies as they left.
Morgan straightened and stretched his back, feeling the stress and pain of the last few minutes wash over him. He was about to step into the clearing when he felt a warm circle of metal press into the back of his neck and immediately knew what it was.
“Raise your pistol over your head, barrel pointing up,” a voice said behind him. Morgan did as he was told, and his gun was pulled from his hand. The circle of metal stopped pressing into him. “Step backward, along the wall, keeping your hands away from your body. Do not try to run into the clearing or around the corner—that’ll only get you shot. Come along now.”
Jungle Hunt Page 14