39
Jones stopped the ATV about 150 yards from the intersection, just past a thicket of trees that would temporarily shield the trailer. Glancing back, he saw the surgeon clinging to the cords that secured the crates in place, his fingers pale from clenching so tight.
‘Are you okay?’ Jones asked as he hustled towards him.
The surgeon nodded and sat upright. ‘What was that?’
‘That was an ambush. Obviously someone was trying to kill you.’
‘Me? Why would anyone want to kill me?’
‘I don’t know. What did you do?’
The surgeon blinked a few times and tried to come up with an answer, which Jones found comical despite the situation. Normally, Jones would have messed with him even further, but he realized time was too valuable to waste.
‘It’s not important,’ Jones assured him. ‘What is important is your patient. The reason I saved your life was so you could save his. Don’t worry. You can thank me later. For now, you need to focus on him and nothing else. Okay?’
The surgeon nodded, then turned his attention to Kaiser.
With a gun in his hand and an eye on the path, Jones pulled out his radio as the sound of automatic fire continued to roar in the distance. Although he felt guilty about abandoning Payne at the intersection, he knew he had made the right decision. He had rescued Kaiser and had protected the cargo by driving the ATV out of harm’s way. In the heat of battle, he had kept his composure and had done what he needed to do. It was a skill he had learned with Payne. During their time in the MANIACs, they had been taught to improvise behind enemy lines since their missions rarely went as planned. Sometimes that meant using salami to slide down a rope, other times it meant taking over the duties of a fallen colleague. Ultimately, as long as they completed their missions, the Pentagon rarely questioned their methods or asked who did what. They only cared about success.
Of course, now that Kaiser and the cargo were temporarily safe, Jones’s focus shifted back to everyone he had left behind. Success was important, but so was his best friend’s survival. ‘Black Knight to White King. Can you hear me? Over.’
There was fifteen seconds of silence before Jones heard a reply.
‘I’m kind of busy,’ Payne said from his hiding spot in the bushes. ‘What’s your status?’
‘Hanging out. Chillin’. Working on my tan.’
‘How’s our patient?’
‘Safe. How’s Collins?’
‘Dead.’
Jones had figured as much. ‘Do you need an extra gun?’
‘Funny you should mention that. I’m working on that right now.’
‘Meaning?’
‘I’ll tell you later. For now, you’re in charge of our patient. Get him to the chopper asap. I’ll take care of everything else.’
‘Hold up,’ Jones said, tensely. He spotted a man in camouflage running up the path towards the ATV. Once he realized it was Huber, he slowly relaxed. ‘A pawn is heading my way. Do you want me to send him back?’
‘That’s a negative. I’m stuck with one already. I can’t supervise two.’
‘Are you sure? Because—’
‘Go!’ Payne ordered. ‘Make sure you aren’t followed. Take precautions.’
Jones nodded in understanding. Take precautions was a coded message from Payne. It let him know he could disable the cableway when he reached the bottom of the mountain because Payne was going to take another way down. Knowing his friend as well as he did, Jones was fairly confident that Payne’s route would take him through the gorge.
It was the type of environment where he could work his magic.
Payne stared at the G36 assault rifle from his hiding spot in the trees. In some ways, he felt like a hungry fox eyeing a hen house. He knew the risk was great, but so was the reward.
Even though the weapon was less than ten feet from his grasp, it would be tough to recover since it was strapped to Collins, who was lying dead near the intersection where they had been ambushed. It was an area surrounded by enemy troops. Making matters worse, Collins had fallen on top of the rifle when he had slumped out of the ATV. To recover it, Payne would have to grab more than the weapon. He would have to grab the corpse as well.
Over the years, Payne had been in enough battles to shrug off things like death. For better or worse, he had learned how to dehumanize his environment in order to survive. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have stayed sane in such hellish conditions. To him, he wasn’t killing people; he was merely shooting at targets. Nor was he risking his life on a daily basis, he was simply completing a mission. And when it came to grabbing the G36, he sure as hell wasn’t stealing a dead man’s gun. He was merely reacquiring an asset for the betterment of his squad.
‘Are you ready?’ Payne whispered to Richter.
He nodded from behind a large boulder.
‘Are you sure? Because my ass is on the line.’
Richter nodded again, this time more confidently.
Payne smiled and raised three fingers in the air. ‘Three, two, one, go!’
Working in unison, Richter fired several shots into the trees on the other side of the intersection while Payne burst from his hiding place and ran towards Collins. He knew the suppression fire would buy him some time, but he didn’t know how much. He prayed it would be long enough to grab his fallen comrade and make it back to safety.
Sprinting as fast as he could, Payne reached Collins in less than two seconds. Experience had taught him how tricky it was to lift a dead weight from the ground, so Payne made sure he had a good grip on the body before he dragged it back into the trees. From his knees, Payne plunged his arms under the dead man’s armpits then hooked his hands in front of his chest. When Payne stood, the corpse was facing away from him and most of its weight was draped on the crooks of Payne’s elbows between his forearms and biceps, its skull resting on Payne’s chest just below his chin. Wasting no time, Payne started to backpedal from the path. As he did, the dead man’s heels dragged across the ground like two anchors skimming across a lake bed.
Krueger, who had killed Collins to begin with, watched this action unfold from his position near the entrance to the gorge. Although he had assumed the driver was dead, he didn’t want to take any chances - especially since he had the opportunity to shoot two men with one bullet. If successful, it was the type of shot he could brag about for the rest of his life, an exploit that would impress the toughest of critics, even a grizzled criminal like Mueller. In Krueger’s mind, that’s what this mission was about, impressing his boss and moving up in the organization.
With a steady hand, Krueger raised his gun and fired a single round just before the two men disappeared from sight. The bullet exited the chamber with a mighty blast and whistled through the air towards its intended target. Branches scratched the back of Payne’s neck at approximately the same time as the bullet’s impact. It struck Collins in the sternum, just below the spot where Payne’s hands were locked together around the dead man’s chest. The impact was so close he felt the meaty thump in his fingers as he fell back into the trees. A few inches lower and the bullet would have ripped through Collins’s gut and entered Payne’s abdomen, bringing with it the type of bacteria that could have caused sepsis, and possibly death. But thanks to Collins’s ribcage, the bullet rattled harmlessly inside the corpse as Payne tumbled safely to the ground.
Payne took a deep breath, then unhooked the black strap on the G36, which was slung over the dead man’s shoulder. Weighing a little less than eight pounds, the Heckler & Koch assault rifle utilized NATO-standard 5.56mm cartridges and thirty-round magazines. To his delight, Payne found three extra thirty-round clips in Collins’s pocket. He quickly stashed them in his cargo pants and prepared to make his move. Before he did, he eyed the fire selector just above the rifle’s trigger. Made for the German military, it was labelled with three letters: S, E and F.
‘S’ stood for Sicherheit or security.
‘E’ stood for Einzelfeuer or single fi
re.
‘F’ stood for Feuerstoss or continuous fire.
Payne grinned and cranked the selector to ‘F’. With his experience and 120 rounds to work with, he knew the ‘F’ represented something more vulgar than automatic fire.
With this weapon in his hands, the enemy was fucked.
40
Payne knew enough about the Partnach Gorge to view it as a promising escape route. The trail was downhill, narrow and approximately half a mile long. Protected by limestone cliffs and a raging river, he couldn’t be outflanked or outmanoeuvred. And if the goons tried to set up a barricade, Payne and Richter had enough firepower to blast their way through it.
In Payne’s mind, the only drawback was the large number of hikers they were bound to encounter in the gorge. Families on vacation, tourists who didn’t speak English, maybe even children on a field trip. Payne had a great deal of experience with urban warfare and trusted his shot selection. He knew the odds of him hitting an innocent bystander were pretty damn slim; he was that accurate when it came to shooting. Unfortunately, he wouldn’t be the only one firing. If the ambush at the intersection was any indication, the enemy didn’t give a damn about collateral damage. Either that, or they had something against the French.
Payne studied the intersection, then turned his attention towards Richter. He was crouched behind the same large boulder as before, his rifle in his hands, the same confused look on his face. Thus far, he had proven himself to be an asset. He was strong, courageous and just dumb enough not to question orders. Over the years, Payne had worked with a lot of men like Richter - the self-described ‘grunts’ (General, Replaceable, UNTrained) who filled the infantry - and he knew they were the backbone of the military. So much so, that he went out of his way to show them respect, whether that was buying them beer or buying them more beer.
‘You ever been to Oktoberfest?’ Payne asked Richter.
‘No, sir,’ he whispered back.
‘Well, if we make it through this, you’re going next week. My treat.’
His eyes lit up. ‘Thank you, sir. I drink beer for breakfast.’
Payne wasn’t surprised. ‘What about the gorge? Ever been through the gorge?’
‘No, sir.’
‘Me, neither. But that’s where we’re headed. It’s how we’re getting to town.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Payne stared at the intersection. He knew there was a gunman (Krueger) positioned near the entrance to the gorge. He was the assassin who had shot Collins twice. First in the head, then in the chest. The other two goons were on the opposite side of the trail, nestled in a thicket of trees. So far they had been less than accurate with their shooting, despite being armed with two Remington 750s and a G36. To reach the path to the gorge, Payne and Richter would have to spray shots in both directions to minimize return fire while they made their escape. Since Payne was most concerned with the assassin they were running towards, he chose that target for himself. He assigned the other gunmen to Richter, explaining only a few shots would be necessary to buy them some time. After that, the goal was to enter the gorge as quickly as possible.
Richter nodded in understanding and prepared to follow.
Payne counted down from three, and both of them burst from their hiding spots when he reached zero. For the next several seconds, shots flew in every direction. Payne shooting at Krueger, and Krueger shooting wildly while ducking for cover; Richter and the goons exchanging multiple shots, yet nothing getting hit except a few trees and one of the wooden signs at the intersection. By the time Payne and Richter reached the path that led to the gorge, there was a better chance they were going to get hit with flying splinters than by a bullet. Which was what Payne had been hoping for. He hadn’t been expecting to take out any targets with suppression fire - although that would have been a nice bonus. He was merely trying to get into the gorge unscathed. Once inside, his objective would change. He would become a hunter. Until then, his main goal was survival.
As they ran down the winding path towards the entrance, Payne spun and unleashed a quick burst of automatic fire, hoping to slow down the goons a little while longer. Blessed with speed and strength, Payne was a rarity among men, an athlete who ran with grace and agility in spite of his size. In a downhill sprint, he knew the odds were pretty good that no one was going to catch him on rough terrain, especially if they were burdened with equipment.
Unfortunately, the same couldn’t be said about Richter, whose stride was hindered by his lack of coordination. If Payne was a thoroughbred, Richter was a plough horse. He was strong and dependable, yet not blessed with speed. Instead of running, Richter lumbered - his feet hitting the ground like heavy hooves, the sound echoing in the canyon. Payne realized that Richter needed as large a head start as possible, so he stopped on the path and fired a few more shots up the hill to buy him time. Then he turned and ran towards the gorge.
The entrance was marked by a wooden hut that had been there for years. Inside, an elderly man sat on a tiny stool, waiting to charge an admission fee. Hard of hearing and barely able to see, he didn’t notice Richter as he rumbled past and ducked into the first tunnel. Nor did he hear the automatic fire from Payne’s rifle or see him sprinting past a few seconds later. In fact, the first time he snapped out of his daze was when a screaming tourist jumped through the hut’s window and hid behind the counter. More confused than scared, the old man looked down at the woman, who was cowering on the floor, and said, ‘That will be two euros.’
Krueger and his goons ran past next. Although they were a few seconds behind, they were quite familiar with the gorge and knew there was plenty of time to catch up. The stone path curved constantly, weaving in and out of dark tunnels that had been carved into the limestone walls. The Partnach River, which flowed so close to the trail that hikers could touch the rapids, and the sheer height of the cliffs would prevent Kaiser’s men from straying. Like everybody else, they’d be forced to stay on the narrow path, a path that tended to clog up at certain junctures. All Krueger had to do was stay close and wait for his opportunity to strike.
*
Huber jogged beside the trailer as Jones navigated the ATV through the twists and turns that led to the cableway. Once the path straightened out and started to climb the gentle slope of Mount Eckbauer, Huber jumped on back and positioned himself on one of the crates. From there, he watched the woods behind them with his rifle in his hands.
Built in 1956, the Eckbauerbahn stretched 7,020 feet and handled as many as 300 people per hour in each direction. Travelling along an inch-thick steel cable that was supported by twenty-seven towers, the open-air gondolas offered a great view of the valley without the hike. During the descent, a scenic trip that took approximately fourteen minutes, passengers dropped 1,640 feet from the top of the summit to the station below, zipping along at a speed of 8.3 feet per second.
‘We’re almost there,’ Jones called over his shoulder. ‘I’ll pull in right next to the station. When we stop, I’ll need you to talk to the operator.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Huber replied.
The closer they got, the more people they passed along the way. Most of the hikers stopped and stared at the ATV, trying to figure out if these men were responsible for the gunshots they had heard, and whether or not they were dangerous. But Jones managed to ignore them. Used to far worse scrutiny when he had been deployed overseas - particularly in the turbulent streets of Baghdad - Jones kept driving without so much as a sideways glance. That didn’t mean he didn’t see the hikers, because he saw everything around him. It simply meant he didn’t care. As long as they didn’t pull out a camera and take his picture, they could stare all day.
The Eckbauerbahn station was housed in a white two-storey building that resembled a rural church. Nestled beside several pine trees that towered above it, the simple structure was topped with a steep green roof matching the colour of the surrounding grass. Bisecting the lawn was a curved path that curled towards the left side of the building. Jones f
ollowed it and parked the trailer next to a short flight of steps that led into the lobby.
Huber hustled inside and came out four minutes later. When he returned, he wasn’t alone. Following him was a large pack of Austrian bodybuilders, who had just ridden the cableway up from Garmisch-Partenkirchen. Dressed in sleeveless shirts and tight shorts, they had overheard Huber’s description of the medical emergency and had offered to help.
Despite the thousands of Arnold Schwarzenegger jokes that floated through Jones’s mind, he kept his tongue in check and politely accepted their offer. With arms the size of legs, the steroid club of Austria carried Kaiser in first, then came out for the cargo. The brute strength these men possessed was nothing short of amazing. Even the crate filled with gold was handled by a single guy, who tossed it around like he had picked up a lunchbox.
Meanwhile, Huber climbed in the first gondola and started his journey down the mountain. He needed to reach the bottom before anyone else, so he could talk to the operator in the valley. After that, Kaiser was strapped into gondola number two and was accompanied by the doctor. The next four gondolas were filled with cargo, one crate in each, before Jones hopped in lucky number seven and was launched out of the station. Unless something strange happened, he knew they would complete their journey in fourteen minutes, which would give them plenty of time to reach the chopper before Payne exited the gorge.
If he exited the gorge.
41
Payne had been in more firefights than Richter, Krueger and the goons combined, but there were certain things that experience couldn’t overcome, such as the inner workings of the human eye. After spending the past several minutes running and shooting in the bright sun, Payne found himself temporarily blind when he sprinted past the iron gate and into the first tunnel.
Carved into the limestone cliff, the narrow corridor lacked artificial lights of any kind. Other than a few beams of sunlight that leaked through a small gap cut into the rock, the passageway was completely dark. Payne skidded to a halt about ten feet inside, just before he slammed into a young couple who were walking hand-in-hand towards the exit. Unwilling to let go of each other’s grasp, they had to turn their bodies sideways and lean against the handrail that had been installed in the jagged wall; otherwise, Payne wouldn’t have had enough room to pass. The tunnel was that narrow.
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