Specter sts-2

by Keith Douglass

  "Yes, sir!"

  He opened his tactical channel. "Mac!"

  "Yeah, Boss!"

  "We've got bumps knocking at the front gate. Where's that truck?"

  "Roselli's got it started. He's on the way!"

  But it might already be too late.

  "Get those RPGs up here, gate tower, on the double."

  "Yes, sir!"

  Murdock heard the truck's engine behind him, just audible over the ragged purr of the BMPs. The Yugoslav vehicles had slewed to a stop a few meters beyond the bridge and appeared to be waiting there. Murdock shifted his nightscope, checking the woods to either side. Yes… there was some movement. Troops were moving among the trees. There was also some movement at the bridge abutments on the far side of the ravine… men checking for mines or booby traps, he thought.

  Blowing that bridge would have been a nice idea, Murdock thought, but the team had been so heavily loaded for Alexander already that they'd brought a minimum of explosives with them. Frazier had a kilo or so of plastic explosives and the usual assembly of detonators and primacord, but that bridge was solid built, all steel and concrete. A good twenty kilos or more would have been necessary, and it had been assumed that the stuff wouldn't be needed for a quick in-and-out like this one.

  "I think we'd better get clear of this tower," Murdock told the other men with him. "These walls aren't going to stand up to a seventy-three."

  "My antenna's on the roof," Higgins said.

  "Bring it. We can realign-"

  The coaxial gun of the lead BMP opened fire, the stuttering yellow muzzle flash stabbing out of the night. Bullets whined and shrieked off stone or thudded heavily into the barricade at the gate. Murdock turned to look out of the tower's southeast window; Roselli was backing a two-and-a-half-ton truck into position, blocking the open gateway.

  "Out!" Murdock yelled. "Everybody out! Roselli! Get the hell out of there!"

  The BMP's 73mm gun spoke, the shot a hollow boom that echoed off the mountain above. The round slammed squarely into the truck and detonated, the concussion jolting Murdock in the gate tower directly above the blast. The SEALs scrambled out through the narrow doorway leading to the parapet walk northeast of the gate tower.

  "Razor! You okay?"

  "I'm clear, Boss," Roselli's voice replied. "A little singed."

  From his new position on the ramparts, and using his nightscope, Murdock could see small details of the vehicle now, including the semicircle of small ports around the driver's hatch and on the commander's hatch just behind. Firing at those slits with small arms, though, would be futile… and a great way of drawing fire. Automatic weapons were flashing and stuttering from the forest. Bullets sang off the castle walls or sighed overhead. The lead BMP was moving again, starting toward the bridge.

  "Holt," he called over the radio. "Where are you?"

  "West wall, L-T. Just got here."

  "Anyone with you?"

  "Nick the Greek," another voice said. "I'm up here with Bearcat."

  "Okay. I want you two guys on top of the keep. Holt, use your sixty to sweep bad guys off the walls. Papagos, you spot. Watch out for our people."

  "You got it, L-T. Let's move it, Bearcat."

  Another explosion boomed from beneath the archway of the main gate. For a moment, Murdock thought the BMP had fired again, but it was the gasoline tank in the truck-barricade cooking off. Orange flame spilled skyward, licking at ancient stone, and Murdock was very glad that they'd cleared the gate tower. Assault rifles chattered wildly from across the ravine.

  "Magic!" he called. "Professor! I want you two up on the tower as well."

  "I need my sat antenna, L-T," Higgins said.

  "Forget it." The roof of the gate tower would be well covered by fire from below. "Achilles will be in line-of-sight soon enough. Now haul ass!"

  "Here we go, Boss," Mac said. Murdock turned. Behind him, Mac was cradling an RPG-7 under one arm and holding a case of four rocket grenades in the other.

  "Great! What kind of rounds we got? Any AP?"

  "'Fraid not, Boss. Couldn't find anything down there but HE."

  "Never mind. At least we'll shake the bastards up. Gimme a hand here."

  Together, they prepared the first grenade, screwing a cylinder containing the rocket propellant into the warhead section, then snapping the complete round into the launch unit's muzzle. Mac snapped off the warhead's nose cap and pulled the safety pin. Murdock hefted the weapon to his shoulder.

  "You ever fire one of these things, L-T?"

  "In training, sure. Exotic Weapons 101. Anyway, if a terrorist can learn how to use the thing, how tough can it be?"

  "Remember your back-blast." Mac slapped Murdock on top of his helmet. "You're go!"

  The lead BMP was almost all the way across the bridge now, less than thirty yards away and grinding slowly toward the front gate. If they could kill it while it was still on the bridge, the enemy assault would be stopped cold… at least for as long as it would take Chariot and Achilles to reach the castle.

  Murdock squeezed the trigger. A jolt flung the grenade clear of the muzzle, and then the igniter caught and the rocket-propelled round swooped toward the target with a hiss, but lower than Murdock had expected. It struck the stonework of the bridge with a flash and a bark of thunder. Rock and shattered concrete cascaded into the ravine, but the BMP kept coming, untouched, clearing the near side of the bridge. "Shit!" Murdock said.

  "Back to summer school for you, L-T. Duck and move!" Together, they scurried on hands and knees further to the right, keeping below the line of parapet openings. An explosion ripped through the ancient stonework, throwing both SEALs flat. Looking back over his shoulder, Murdock saw that the BMP's 73mm round had slammed into the parapet just below where he and Mac had been hiding.

  The BMP slewed off the road and kept coming. The gun barked again, striking just below the last impact. Rocks showered into the bailey. Clearly, the latest in sixteenth-century fortifications weren't going to last long against an AFV.

  "Shit!" Murdock said. "They're gonna come straight through the wall!" He opened the mike to his Motorola. "Okay, all Alexanders, all Alexanders, off the walls. Fall back to the tower, everyone! We'll make our stand there! Move it!"

  "Can we manage another shot?" Mac wanted to know.

  "I think so. He's close, but I think so."

  "Okay," Mac said, screwing the propellant onto a second grenade. "Let's try that again, shall we? Allow for the rocket's dip this time."

  "Yes, teacher." RPG rounds had a curious dip to their trajectory, the result of being kicked clear of the muzzle before the rocket ignited, and at close range it could result in the projectile striking considerably lower than the aim point. Murdock hefted the weapon to his shoulder once more, peering through a parapet firing slot. The BMP was so close to the wall now that he couldn't get a clear shot and still stay under cover.

  "I'll have to hop, pop, and drop, Mac."

  "Shit, L-T. They'll nail you."

  "Where's your hog?"

  "Left it at the tower. I couldn't carry all this shit and a sixty-gun too."

  "I'll just have to do it fast, then."

  "Let me."

  "Negative. Here goes."

  In one smooth motion, Murdock rose, aimed, and fired. This time the round swooped down from the battlements, leveling off just before it struck the ground and slamming into the BMP's left side, below and a little in front of the turret. The fireball enveloped the front half of the vehicle; the blast jolted it to the right.

  Gunfire from the woods exploded around him. Chips flew from the top of the parapet, and something stung his cheek. He dropped behind the safety of the ramparts as the second BMP's coaxial gun opened up, sending a line of dazzling green tracers searing overhead with a curious snapping sound. Another machine gun joined in. A third BMP had just joined the fight, and the topmost stones on the rampart shattered and sprayed beneath that hosing of 7.62mm rounds.

  "Move!" They scrambled cl
ear as another 73mm round slammed into the wall, searching for the troublesome snipers.

  "A for the day," Mac cried as they dropped flat once again, further down the parapet walk. "You dropped that one right in the commander's seat!"

  "We're not going to get another shot from up here," Murdock said. "Let's pull back to the tower."

  "Roger that. You okay? Your face is bleeding."

  "Just a sting. Piece of stone, I think."

  "We got two more rounds here."

  "We'll save 'em for when they come through the wall. Come on."

  "You know, Skipper, that we're in a world of shit. The choppers won't be able to come in with an army camped right outside our front door."

  "Yeah. It's gonna be up to the flyboys now."

  0229 hours AC-130 gunship Over Lake Ohrid

  Major Peter K. Selby keyed his microphone. "Alexander, Alexander, this is Night Rider. Do you copy? Over."

  The AC-130 gunship had flown across Albania at treetop level. Now it was above Lake Ohrid at ten thousand feet, banking into its left-hand turn to bring the weaponry packed into its port side to bear.

  "Alexander, this is Night Rider. Do you copy? Over."

  "Night Rider, Alexander!" a voice called back. "Seems like you're always riding to our rescue! Over!"

  "Shoot, is that Nomad?"

  "Affirmative, Night Rider. Different call sign, same problem. We're inside the fort on the hill. We got some bad guy Injuns coming at us from the northwest. Think you can do something about that?"

  Selby was studying the infrared sensor screens. The landscape below was ablaze with heat; the main gate of the castle was burning, the fireball lighting up the surrounding walls. A tracked AFV was burning just outside the wall, and he could see the engine heat from several more vehicles along the road leading to the castle.

  The main road, however, was packed with military vehicles, trucks and jeeps mostly, loaded with troops, but there were some more tracked vehicles as well.

  "Alexander, this is Night Rider. Confirm your ID with a flash, over."

  "Roger, Night Rider." An IR beacon strobed from the castle tower.

  "Okay, Alexander, we have you. Confirm your position inside the castle walls."

  "Roger, Night Rider. That is affirmative."

  "Alexander, it looks like we have a number of vehicles on the main road by the lake, approximately regimental strength. You want 'em boxed, or you want 'em on the run?"

  There was a moment's delay. When Alexander came back on the air, it was a different voice. "Night Rider, this is Alexander, Charlie Oscar. The faster those people run, the better. Our real problem is going to be the head of the snake."

  "We copy that, Alexander. Stand by."

  Standard procedure for taking down a column confined to a road like the one below was to disable vehicles at both the front and the rear of the column, trapping those in between for a leisurely and thorough kill later. Alexander's CO — that's what the "Charlie Oscar" meant — was telling him to leave an escape route. Hit the head of the column hard enough, and maybe most of the hostiles would turn around and head back to Ohrid.

  "Sergeant Zanowski, we'll be taking the targets from south to north. Not too close. We don't want to bounce any inside the compound."

  "Yes, sir."

  Selby reached for an intercom switch. "Colonel Carlotti," he said. "We have Alexander on-line, positive identification."

  "Very well. Permission to fire."

  "Gunners, this is Selby. Stand by. We have firing command. Set, Sergeant?"

  "Locked in, Sir," The sensor operator said, reaching for the armament safeties.

  "Punch it!"

  0229 hours Main tower Gorazamak

  Night turned to day as fire rained from the sky, a lightning bolt, save that this bolt was ruler-drawn straight, and where it touched the earth beyond the castle walls, it erupted in blazing fire. Trees whipped back and forth beneath the touch of that hot breath, then cracked and fell, trunks splintered by lethal hail.

  A meteor streaked down the shaft of fire. An explosion detonated down the hill among the trees. A second meteor followed, almost too quick to see… and a third… and a fourth.

  A skilled Specter gun crew could work the aircraft's 105mm howitzer so quickly that they were firing the gun while one round was still in the air between the aircraft and the ground, and a third round was just slamming into the target. Murdock wasn't sure what they were hitting out there, but it was something big. The roar of rapid-fire explosions was deafening, drowning out the eerie, low-pitched, moaning shriek of incoming Gatling rounds. The northwest wall was back-lit by fire.

  Murdock peered down from the battlements of the castle keep, watching the incoming hellfire. Through his nightscope, he could see a line of Serb soldiers, dozens of them, running out of the trees beyond the ravine.

  Then the pencil of fire drifted across them, caressing them, lifting them, tearing them apart as a sleet of lead slashed through them like a whirlwind, leaving bodies and body parts and a thin, bloody spray in its wake. The circle of destruction widened, as a two-and-a-half-ton truck exploded in flame, as a jeep overturned, shattered, as a BMP exploded violently in orange flame and hurtling bits of armor, as soldiers crumpled and twisted and died, and that moaning howl went on and on like the grating shriek of a banshee.

  The flame moved on, reaching lower down the slope, but an explosion against the castle wall to the right of the gate tower grabbed Murdock's attention. He swung the nightscope onto this new threat, caught the spilling of rocks and broken mortar into the courtyard.

  A stray round? He thought so at first but quickly changed his mind. The AC-130 was having to be conservative for fear of striking inside Gorazamak's walls; ricochets bounding around inside the walls could be deadly, and there was a hell of a lot of gasoline — and maybe ammo as well — inside the vehicles parked by the stables. Probably the Specter was restricting its fire to the far side of the ravine… but something was on this side of the ravine and it was coming in through the wall.

  The second BMP was coming through the breach in the wall now, its coaxial gun chattering as it blindly swept the courtyard. No one was left in the bailey, though. All the SEALs had pulled back to the keep and were either up here on the roof, in the back of the tower with the hostages, or on the lower floor, bracing for the assault. Murdock had ordered the male hostages moved from their room near the front of the tower to the room where the women had been held. The problem was deciding where, inside the keep, was the safest place.

  Probably there was no such thing as a safest place, not if the Serbs started shelling the keep. He was counting now on air support to stop the enemy assault.

  But leakers were coming through, despite the deadly, controlled lightning from above. The BMP ground over the spill of stone and rubble. Its main gun fired, and the castle keep shuddered as the round exploded at the front door.

  "Damned pesky salesman," Papagos said.

  "Maybe we can discourage him," Murdock said. Rising, he shouldered the RPG again, aimed, squeezed on the trigger…

  The round arrowed down from the tower top, striking the BMP squarely on its chacis. The explosion was shattering, halting the vehicle's advance… but as the smoke cleared it was obvious that the high-explosive round hadn't pierced the armor. Its main gun fired again, and Murdock felt the tower shudder.

  This close, the BMP probably couldn't elevate its main gun high enough to reach the SEALs on the tower roof. On the other hand, all it had to do was keep slamming rounds in through the front door. Sooner or later, this old tower was going to come down, taking a lot of people with it.

  The fire from the sky had ceased. "Prof! Lemme have the horn."

  "Here you go, L-T."

  "Night Rider, Night Rider," Murdock called. "Alexander. Do you copy? Over."

  "Alexander, Night Rider copies."

  "That was right on the money. Can you hit a bit closer? We're all inside the big tower. You can come right down inside the comp
ound if you can."

  "Ah, that's a negative, Alexander. We're moving into the north leg of our orbit. The mountain's in our way."

  Specter gunships, with all of their armament on the port side, had to engage the enemy in a constant left-hand bank. The Specter had been circling counterclockwise in from the lake, passing south of the castle while continuing to smash at targets to the north. Now, however, it was passing to the east, and the mountains and the trees were blocking its view not only of the road, but of the castle itself.

  "Copy that, Rider. See you on the other side." I hope.

  "Watch it!" Mac shouted. "Here comes the grunts!"

  Soldiers were following the BMP through on foot, and more were piling out of the AFV's rear, scattering across the courtyard. Murdock thought they must be charging at least in part because moving forward against a fortified position was preferable to staying on that road long enough for the Specter to get another crack at them.

  Mac's M-60 opened up, a sustained, crashing volley that cut down running men one after another. Holt, sent up to the rooftop with his M-60, opened up as well, and was quickly joined by Papagos with his HK, and by Magic Brown, who was calmly and steadily dropping enemy soldiers one at a time with his Remington.

  Murdock raised himself above the parapet, his last RPG round loaded and ready to fire. "Watch my back-blast!" he yelled, and he sent the last HE round streaking toward the BMP.

  The charge struck the turret with a crash; the Sagger exploded an instant later, adding to the destruction. The turret, its gun barrel twisted, hung over the side of the AFV, as smoke boiled from the interior.

  But the eight troops inside were already out and clear, sheltering behind the dead BMP and the vehicles by the motor pool. Gunfire barked and crackled from the courtyard below. Sooner or later, they would try a rush. Kos and four SEALs were on the ground floor waiting for them, but if they went in using a lot of grenades, the way the SEALs had done on their entry, the affair could have only one ending.

  Part of the trouble was that SEALS, probably the best-trained fighters in the world, were at their best with offensive combat, not with holding a fixed position.