Nightmare Army

by Don Pendleton

  Reaching out with sore fingers, he grabbed the body by the shoulder and pulled it over. When he saw the man’s ruined face, Bolan grew angry.

  He had killed before, of course, when the situation warranted or when his life was in danger. But being manipulated—forced into killing another man, even if he was doing it in self-defense—that was something else altogether.

  “Easy now—you’re all right—just relax and let us take a look at you.” Bolan saw a quartet of silver-suited men, their faces hidden by full masks, surrounding him. Two held rifles in their hands, both pointed at him, the third walked over to him and shone a small, bright light in his eyes while the fourth man went to the body, zooming in on it with a small digital recorder.

  “Can you hear me?” the man holding the light asked Bolan, who nodded.

  “How many fingers am I holding up?”

  Bolan registered four fingers and told him so.

  “What is your name?”

  “Matt...Matt Cooper.”

  “How do you feel?”

  “Tired...really tired.”

  The man nodded and gave Bolan a plastic cup of water. He spoke as if he was dictating to a recorder. “Pupil dilation is normal...subject responds to visual and aural stimuli within normal parameters...”

  The fourth man looked up from his examination of the corpse. “Multiple fractures of the arms, shoulders and bones of the face. Death caused by blunt trauma.”

  He rose and walked over to Bolan, training the camera on him the entire way. “What do you remember about the encounter with the other subject?”

  Encounter? Bolan frowned. As if I had just met the man walking casually while walking through the jungle, instead of methodically stalking him and killing him?

  He gulped water to gain a few seconds to think, unsure of what, if anything, he should tell them. “It all happened so fast—sort of a blur—one moment I saw him, the next I was standing over his body.”

  The blare of a warning klaxon startled everyone as a red light flashed in the room. A pleasant female voice issued orders from a loudspeaker on the wall.

  “Intruder alert. Intruder alert. This is not a drill. All personnel secure all equipment and data and report to assigned stations. All personnel secure equipment and data and report to assigned stations. Repeat, this is not a drill.”

  The four men looked at each other just as the entire lab shook slightly. The man examining Bolan got his attention by waving his hand. “Stay here, Mr. Cooper, we’ll be right back.”

  The four men ran to the door and exited the room, leaving Bolan alone with the body. Dizziness suddenly swept over him and the last thing he saw as he toppled to the floor was the brutalized face of the nameless man he had killed.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Jack Grimaldi studied the strange compound through his powerful night-vision binoculars. Instead of a rough campsite hacked out of the jungle, or an isolated village, he saw armed guards patrolling in front of what looked like an ordinary cliff face. But when he scanned the rock wall with his thermal vision, he got a different air temperature, not to mention the distinct outline of air several degrees colder leaking out around the edges of the wall.

  Once Charlie Mott and he had received the coordinates of this location from Akira Tokaido, the Stony Man pilots had taken to the air at nightfall to conduct a thorough reconnaissance of the area. Their FLIR suite had located three leopards, a group of apes moving through the area—and several men grouped near what had looked like a heated rock wall. They had found a clearing four klicks away large enough to land and approached the place on foot. Once Grimaldi had gotten a better view of the rock wall, he realized what was off about it.

  “The damn thing is hollow,” he muttered.

  Mott, lying on his stomach next to Grimaldi, studied the incongruous scene, as well. “You’re sure the last position of the truck was right around here?”

  Grimaldi didn’t take his eyes off the armed guards as he replied, “It wasn’t just ‘right around here.’ The GPS tracker from the satellite placed it literally about fifty meters from our current position. If you look carefully, you can see the tread marks where they drove it inside. They go right up to the wall and disappear.”

  Mott grunted. “I think we just figured out what happened to the DRC soldiers, not to mention Bolan the Army doctor. So what’s the plan now?”

  Grimaldi scanned the area again, paying close attention to the trees surrounding the rock face, as well as the craggy cliff wall itself. “One, two, three cameras watching the entrance. Also, these guys are wearing headsets, so they most likely report to a security command post inside. That all makes sneaking in problematic. However, there’s always the direct approach.”

  “Direct approach? What are you talking about?”

  The Stony Man pilot lowered the binoculars. “What I’m about to suggest is a very risky plan, some might say suicidal. The right insertion plan could get one of us inside, but I’ve got to be honest—it relies on the element of surprise and boldness, and there’s a strong chance one of us could get seriously hurt or killed while executing it.”

  Mott turned to regard him with a frown. “I love your optimism, but I know you too well. You must have an ace up your sleeve.”

  “A big one.”

  “Okay, what’d you have in mind?”

  Grimaldi looked at him with a grin. “I thought we’d walk right up to the front entrance.”

  Mott stared at him. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” He looked at the four armed men in front of the false wall. “In case you forgot, Striker’s inside there and we’re out here.”

  “Hey, I’ve saved his butt more than once, remember?”

  “Yeah, when you were at the controls of a helicopter most of the time, remember that?”

  “Exactly. I haven’t told you how I was planning to knock on their door first. Come on, let’s head back to the Dragonslayer. I’ll fill you in on the way.”

  As they jogged back, Grimaldi contacted Stony Man. “Akira, I need construction schematics for an underground site at the following coordinates, Priority One. The location was probably something built in the 1950s through 1970s—I don’t know what kind, but it’s been converted to some kind of underground facility capable of holding about forty to seventy people. Send whatever you find to Dragonslayer’s tactical computer ASAP.”

  After signing off, he detailed his plan to Mott, whose expression slowly changed from incredulous to skeptical to reluctantly convinced.

  “Okay, if we go that way, I doubt we’ll have any problem opening the false wall. The real problem will be getting through the inner door. If the outside guards don’t have a way in, we’re stuck until the reinforcements come out to try to blow us away.”

  “I’m kind of counting on all the other guards running to the front once we breach the entrance. Either way, we use speed and surprise to break in and do what we have to do before they can mount an organized resistance. A hidden operation like this can’t have too many security guards. I’d say we’re looking at fifteen, maybe twenty tops, and spread out through the complex. Some will be off duty, probably sleeping at this hour, so if we’ll take out the ones at the door, we might only be facing ten more inside at the most.”

  Mott shook his head as they crested the last hill and came upon the parked combat chopper. “Maybe so, but we’re still only two people. You’re assuming we can get in, find Striker and Briggs, and get out alive. It’s a tall order, to say the least.”

  “Yeah, but if this goes down how I figure it will, we’ll be inside their perimeter before the second wave can mobilize. And once the security alarm’s tripped, I’m sure the big guy will seize the opportunity to create his own distraction, so we’ll have two flashpoints occurring at the same time.”

  “Assuming he’s not stuck in a cell som
ewhere.” Mott rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “You are planning on letting mission control know about your plan, right?”

  “Of course,” Grimaldi said as he punched in the number to Price’s direct line. She picked up immediately.

  “Yes, Flyboy?”

  “We’ve found where Striker’s being held.” He described the location and the security. “I have a plan to get him out, however.” He also went into the same details he’d explained to Mott.

  “Are you sure your assessment of the layout is accurate?” Price asked. “I don’t want any friendly fire casualties.”

  “Neither do we,” Grimaldi replied as the combat helicopter’s computer beeped. “Hold on, I just got the files from Akira.” He quickly scanned the structure schematics. “As I thought, they sealed off the compound from the outside environment. And there’s some kind of large staging area ahead of the main airlock, so we’ve got some space between the two. Besides, if I’m reading this right, even if they were right on the other side, they’re protected and then some.”

  “All right, I’m authorizing you to use whatever force you deem necessary to recover Striker and Doc One. Be careful, all right?”

  “Always,” the pilot replied. “We’ll contact you when the operation’s done.”

  “We’ll be waiting. Good luck, Flyboy.”

  “We’re green,” Grimaldi said as he began the preflight warm-up. “Lay out an urban assault kit for both of us, just in case.” He flipped a switch and the rotors overhead began turning. “Ready?”

  “As I will ever be,” Mott replied while loading an HK MP-7 A-1 submachine gun with a 40-round magazine.

  * * *

  TWENTY-FIVE minutes later the four guards at the front of the false wall looked up at the distant sound of a helicopter approaching.

  “Think that prick Firke is coming back?” one of them asked.

  “Don’t know and don’t care, as long as he doesn’t fuck with me again,” said the second, who’d been in the control room the night he had made his unscheduled visit. “The bastard gives me the creeps.”

  “It’s coming closer,” the first guard said as he hit his radio. “Control, this is Front Door, do we have any scheduled visitors this evening?”

  “No, but the last two times we did, we barely got any notice, so it wouldn’t surprise me if this is someone from HQ showing up unannounced again. Let me check with the doctor.”

  “Affirmative,” the first guard replied, nodding at the second. “He’s checking on it.”

  “Well, he better hurry up,” a third guard said, raising his voice over the sound of the approaching aircraft. “Whoever it is, is almost here.”

  “Take it easy. It’s not like they can land anywhere close,” the first guard replied. “Probably a government hotshot heading to his mistress in the boonies.”

  The other three guards chuckled at that, then the first guard heard the control person in his earpiece. “Front Door, this is Control, there are no scheduled visitors for this evening, over.”

  “Roger, Control.” The guard scanned the night sky. “Reporting an unknown aircraft in the vicinity—”

  Those were the last words that guard—or any of the others—ever said. Before anyone could react, six high-explosive 66 mm Hydra 70 rockets streaked down onto their position. Two-point-one seconds later, their world was obliterated in a huge chain of explosions as the seventeen pounds of B-4 high explosive in each missile detonated, shattering the false wall and pulverizing the men standing in front of it.

  The night-black helicopter adjusted its position slightly and then launched six more rockets in a staggered spread at the ground in front of the kill zone. The second Hydra 70 volley leveled the trees and foliage in a twenty-meter radius, creating a rough but usable staging point for the next phase of the operation.

  Mott, his head covered in the advanced VR helmet that gave him visual and detection clarity beyond anything found in the U.S. military, scanned the large chamber beyond the demolished front door as he brought the helicopter down into the improvised landing area. “No movement sighted. Debark in ten seconds!”

  “Not too low! Don’t need to have the tail chew into a stump!” Grimaldi shouted back.

  “Jeez, teach my grandmother to suck eggs, why don’t you?” Mott replied with a grin. “We’re here! Go, go, go, and good luck!”

  Three meters above the jungle floor, Grimaldi jumped out of the chopper, tucking and rolling on a bare spot on the still smoking ground. With the rotor wash blowing leaves and twigs over him, he came up facing the compound entrance and charged inside, dimly lit by fading fires left over from the explosions.

  He could see a rough garage had been hacked out of the mountain. One of the deuce-and-a-half trucks had been shoved over by the force of the blast, although it still looked drivable. Sweeping left and right for any gunners, he spotted the motionless forms of three people killed or knocked unconscious by the blasts. Heading for the main door on the far side of the chamber, he was halfway there when it cycled open and disgorged the first of the relief guards.

  The man stared at him in a fatal moment of shock before bringing his FAMAS assault rifle into play. Grimaldi squeezed the trigger of his HK twice. The two bullets punched through the man’s heart and rib cage, dropping him where he stood, but not before he squeezed the trigger of his rifle. Three bullets puffed harmlessly into the floor with a loud bark. However, as he fell, two more guards charge into the garage, rifles at the ready.

  “Shit!” Grimaldi leaped toward the nearest cover, a mud-splattered Land Rover, as they opened fire. Peeking out to see if he could return fire, the pilot found that the two guards had been reinforced by two more, which covered the first pair as they began advancing into the garage, firing short bursts to keep him under cover. “Ah, Dragonslayer, this is Flyboy. I’m pinned down by four, repeat four, hostiles. Requesting immediate assistance, over.”

  “Roger that, Flyboy. Backup is on the way. I suggest hugging the ground and covering your ears.”

  Scooting back to the wall, Grimaldi did exactly that as what sounded like the world’s largest chain saw tore through the room a few moments later. He heard loud plunks and thunks as projectiles carved through the vehicle next to him. It only lasted about five seconds, but when it was over, and Grimaldi raised his head again, the garage had been transformed.

  Any vehicle in the combat helicopter’s line of sight had been destroyed. The Land Rover he hid behind now sported two-dozen palm-size holes from the armor-piercing ammunition. The vehicle settled heavily on a flattened tire as coolant and oil leaked from its destroyed engine. Grimaldi warily searched for the guards, but found none living. “Dragonslayer, this is Flyboy...nice work. Standby for further assistance if needed.”

  “Roger that, Flyboy,” Mott replied.

  Leading with his submachine gun, Grimaldi headed for the steel access doors, which were starting to cycle closed. Slipping inside, he hugged the left wall as he approached the second set of doors leading to the rest of the compound. A calm, female voice announced that the airlock was compromised and needed repair. Glancing at the half-dozen holes in the steel door, the pilot shrugged. “Gonna need a lot more than repairing, honey,” he said as he slapped the open-close control button on the side.

  The moment the door cycled open, a burst of gunfire spit bullets into the airlock, forcing Grimaldi to flatten against the wall as bullets panged around him.

  “Damn it!” he growled as he stuck out his MP-7 and returned fire blindly. Taking two smoke grenades off his tactical harness, he pulled the pins on both and let the bombs cook for two seconds before tossing them into the hallway, drawing another burst of fire. Pulling down his thermal goggles, he activated them as the hissing smoke began to fill the hallway.

  Taking a small, thermal-vision camera from a side pocket and extending the flexible end around
out the corner, Grimaldi was able to get a look at the opposition. The camera revealed six security men at the other end of the smoke, all in covering fire positions. The rest of the compound could be accessed once this obstacle was out of the way.

  Popping a tear gas grenade, Grimaldi replaced his thermal goggles with a gas mask and then adjusted the goggles over them so he could see through the mask well enough. When he judged the room sufficiently wreathed in the expanding smoke and tear gas, he hit the floor and began firing. Scattered coughs came from the two far corners and the Stony Man pilot aimed there first. Continuing along the edge of the room, he aimed at the hacking, doubled-up figure in the corner and squeezed the trigger of his MP-7 twice. The form stopped coughing and slumped to the ground, wheezing once before going still. Grimaldi swung his weapon over to find the second man when he heard the sound of multiple footsteps approaching and saw three more men emerge at the far end of the hallway, each with the distinctive shape of a rifle in his hands.

  Automatic fire roared at the same time. Muzzle-flashes strobed in the near-darkness and Grimaldi crawled forward to avoid ricochets off the walls. He methodically fired toward his attackers, rolling right, then repeating the process in reverse. His targets, illustrated in shades of red, gold and yellow, all crouched and fired at the entry. Occasionally a shot would come near him, but the guards didn’t seem to have any idea where he was. Grimaldi, however, tagged one, then another. The only problem was that more kept coming out, two replacing his previous victims almost immediately.

  “Get the fans going!” a guard shouted. “Open the main doors!” Aiming carefully, the Stony Man pilot put a pair of bullets into the man’s upper chest, making him gurgle and fall backward, his hands going to his spurting throat. Grimaldi ejected his empty magazine, slapped in another one, then rolled away again, this time to the left. Holding his fire, he crawled forward. When he put his left hand down, it landed on a limp yet breathing body.

  The main door began to open again, swirling smoke around the room as fresh air rushed in. Grimaldi switched his sensors to regular vision, and saw one of the guards in front of him wounded and unconscious. Grabbing the man’s assault rifle, he pointed it at the reinforcements and squeezed the trigger, pressing down on the barrel to keep the gun’s recoil from pushing it up. The long burst of bullets smashed into the remaining guards at the far end of the hallway, with many of the bullets punching through to star the glass windows behind them.