Ali, blasting into the sky at the Seahawk’s max climb rate of 1,650 feet per minute, never saw him hit the ground – mostly because the ground directly below them, in the spot the Seahawk had occupied two seconds ago, went up in a rippling, pummeling, fiery explosion. Ali could retrospectively feel and hear, but not see, the zipping approach of the incoming missile that tore apart the ground underneath their wheels – and which actually accelerated the Seahawk’s rate of climb, as super-heated air expanded violently beneath them.
The force of the explosion also nearly took them out of the air entirely, bouncing the airframe and twisting it on all three axes. Ali grabbed on to the nearest solid anything, Kate and Juice doing the same, as they all got tossed into each other and the bulkheads.
Only Henno didn’t grab on to anything.
Instead, as Ali watched transfixed, he unclipped his safety harness, moved to the lip of the door, squatted down, leaned forward… and hopped out of the aircraft, clutching his weapon.
And just like that, he was gone.
Healthy Fear of Death
Behind the Western Wall of the Stronghold
It had been a fucking attack helicopter, it had to be – swooping in and firing anti-armor missiles, trying to take out the Seahawk while it idled defenseless on the ground.
Ali knew it in her bones.
She was very attuned to the vibrations of rotary-wing attack aircraft – she’d spent too many hours in both the front and rear seats of Apaches not to – and had somehow sensed this one coming in.
But she didn’t have the privilege of verifying that, because after narrowly avoiding their destruction, the pilot, Reich, had taken them over and behind the nearest screening feature, which happened to be the western wall of the Stronghold itself. This struck Ali as a savvy move, even if he cut it so close their fixed landing gear took two al-Shabaab guys right off the top of the wall, toppling them out into the heaving undead mob outside.
Now they were hovering ten feet above the heads of all those dead guys, Reich apparently happy to have some solid timber between them and any more missile strikes, while the co-pilot/ATO, Muralles, frantically worked the sensor suite. This meant they were safe for the moment.
But it also meant Ali couldn’t do her goddamned job.
Which was to be in overwatch and protect the men on the ground, of whom there were now three – and who were nothing like safe. For all Ali knew, Handon was dead.
She had seen him fall.
* * *
Handon knew he was alive because he could feel a body on top of his, pressing him face down into the mud at the bottom of a dark and dirty hole. He guessed it was one of the entrances to those underground tunnels Baxter had told him about. When he got the body off him, he found it was Baxter, so that supported his theory.
Evidently he’d either shoved or dragged Handon in here in the second or two after he got hit. The two high-velocity rounds that punched him in the spine had momentarily stunned him, and still hurt like a sonofabitch. But they had also been stopped by the ESAPI plate he had ultimately decided to leave in. He knuckle-tapped it once in gratitude to Jake.
Always listen to the man on the ground.
Though he now wished he’d listened to Jake and Henno about not trusting al-Sîf. It looked like they’d been ambushed after all.
Handon nodded to Baxter, who was crouching down in the hole beside him, cradling his weapon. The young man had perhaps saved his life just now, but Handon would thank him later. Right now he had to get in the fight – and, mainly, he had to go out and secure their goddamned mission objective.
From the noise, it was obvious all hell was breaking loose up there – small-arms fire, both full-auto and rapid single shots, explosions, shouting… When Handon stuck his head up, he could see guys on the walls firing – but, confusingly, they were firing in multiple directions, including outward. There was only a torn-up and burning patch of earth where the Seahawk had been sitting – but no wreckage, so he assumed it had made it out.
More importantly, Handon could see Patient Zero still lying in the same spot out in the open. The two guys who’d been carrying it, plus al-Sîf’s other two minions, were down on the deck, unmoving.
That looked like Ali’s handiwork.
But just as Handon had generated some situational awareness, and tensed himself to leap out of the ditch and make a run for the prize, one or more of the guys on the walls – probably a lot more – spotted him, and dirt started kicking up on all sides of the hole. It was plunging fire, falling on his and Baxter’s heads.
He dropped back down, moved to the other side of the trench, and prepared to pop again. But he figured he may as well benefit from his best asset. He hit his radio.
“Ali, Handon. Could use a little supporting fire here.”
* * *
“Copy that, stand by.” Ali ignored ICS and instead stuck her head, and entire torso, straight up into the cockpit. She wanted to shout at the pilots face to face, and man to man.
“Get us back in there! Over the wall!”
She was actually never going to believe Handon was dead, at least not until she saw a body. So hearing him pop up on the radio was no big surprise. But it did increase her frustration that she couldn’t do her damned job. And the way she saw it, the pilots’ job was to make sure she could do hers – whatever the risk to the aircraft.
But when Reich swiveled to face her, he said, “Are you crazy, lady? What the hell was that exploding under us back there?”
“Laser-guided anti-armor missile, I think.”
Reich’s eyes went wide. “And it missed us by inches! A direct hit by one of those things will turn everything and everyone in here into magma!” He didn’t even mention the small arms or machine guns they could all hear going off on the other side of a couple of feet of juniper wood. Ali figured she better not mention the talented sniper she was pretty sure had just double-tapped her commander.
There was no time for polite argument anyway, so she drew her USP Tactical .45 from its drop-leg holster, pressed the muzzle against Reich’s helmet, and looked him in the eye.
“Captain, I urge you to consider the fact that I know how to fly this aircraft.” Her point was clear – she could dump his body out, then take the Seahawk wherever the hell she wanted. Of course, neither Reich or Muralles thought for a second she would do it. But she’d made her point.
“Jesus,” Reich said, facing forward again. “You fucking SOF guys. What you really need is a little healthy fear of death.” But the Seahawk’s nose was already tipping forward and the bird moving – but forward, rather than up, circling around the stockade. Ali didn’t need to ask why. Popping up again in the same place they’d just disappeared from wouldn’t have been very smart. This was a better plan, even if it took a few seconds longer.
Ali clapped Reich on the shoulder. “Don’t worry,” she said. “This airframe isn’t armored anyway.”
“How is that supposed to make me not worry?”
“Because an anti-armor missile might just punch straight through and go out the other side.”
She clapped his shoulder again, then moved back into the main cabin, taking up her firing position. Whatever happened next…
She was going to have to make her first shots count.
* * *
Handon decided to make his run for Patient Zero now. He couldn’t wait for support. That priceless corpse was lying in the open, and if a stray round caught it in the brainstem, they were all done for. Their prize would be worthless within an hour, as infected cells across the body died and the virus became inactive. He had to go now.
“Baxter.”
“Yeah!” The young man was still hunkered down and hunched up, but when he turned to Handon he straightened up, his eyes bright and alert.
“I need you to pop from the left side of this hole, and cover me by putting suppressing fire on the ramparts.” What Handon really needed him to do was draw fire. But telling him that would make it less l
ikely that he would stay up and actually do it.
“Okay! Got it.”
Handon gave him time for two deep breaths to steel himself. But before he could say “Go” and leap out of the hole, another big body leapt in.
It was Henno, rifle to shoulder.
“Hullo, lads!” he shouted over the noise of the battle. “All right?” If he was pleased to have been right about not trusting al-Sîf, he didn’t seem to be gloating about it now. Or maybe he was.
“Good to go,” Handon said. Henno had clearly disobeyed yet another order – exiting the helo and fighting his way to their position. But Handon couldn’t make himself feel angry about that, and they didn’t have time anyway. “I’m going out. Covering fire.”
Henno nodded once, and winked at Baxter.
The two of them popped from opposite sides of the trench and started putting rapid fire on the defenders surrounding them on the parapets. Instantly, unarmored bodies began to rain down from the side Henno was engaging. Not so much on Baxter’s side, but he was putting enough fire up there to get their attention, which was the main thing. Handon leapt up and out, then powered himself forward, over open and bullet-ravaged ground.
Straight toward that precious corpse.
* * *
When the Seahawk rose over the eastern wall of the Stronghold, Ali was perfectly positioned, leaning against the edge of the open hatch, clipped into her harness, rifle to shoulder, eye an inch from her scope, both eyes open for situational awareness, switched on and ready to work. She’d put Kate in the half-length minigunner window beside her. Juice was still on the radios, but had his rifle handy, ready to pitch in if needed.
Ali knew she might only have seconds to help keep Handon and the others alive down there. And she didn’t need to wonder what they were likely to be doing right now.
They’d be trying to complete the mission.
As the helo crested the top of the wall, the pilots immediately turned and banked, and put them into a counter-clockwise racetrack pattern, pointing the left side, and all guns, in toward the center.
And Ali immediately saw she was right.
Handon was racing over open ground under heavy fire, Henno and Baxter shooting over and around him, straight toward that bagged body, which lay unattended in the open, with several other unbagged and unmoving bodies surrounding it. Rounds were kicking up dirt beneath his boots – and, without a doubt, also cutting the air all around him. He was basically running through the proverbial hail of bullets.
And, typically for him, he still somehow wasn’t getting hit. Totally unwounded since they left Britain, Handon had started to seem like some kind of Jesus figure, blessed with life eternal.
But seriously, Ali thought, as she dialed in and started shooting. His number has GOT to be coming up soon…
She followed the tangents of the rounds tracking him – and started placing shots with laser-like precision into the most dangerous shooters on the walls. One, then two, three, and four of them took center of mass hits and tumbled down.
Handon was still on his feet.
Ali reset and had started acquiring her next set of targets when suddenly she and Handon both learned, in an instant, who the real ambushers were.
They hadn’t been betrayed by al-Sîf.
Instead, another helicopter rose over the western wall across the courtyard. And to Ali’s surprise, it wasn’t an attack helo after all. But it was one she knew well – a Kamov Ka-60 Orca transport. And it was almost certainly the same one she’d faced over the Atlantic – and which had all but destroyed the last Seahawk she was in.
Cresting the wall, minigun blazing away like doomsday out one side, small arms firing out the other, the Orca dropped down again inside the courtyard, swooping forward and landing in seconds. The pilot was a pro. The Orca touched down like a precision tool die, practically on top of the dark oblong shape that sat out in the middle of no-man’s land.
Patient Zero.
A Parting Fuck You
Stronghold – Courtyard
Handon didn’t mind running through a hail of bullets – however heavy or intense the fire pouring down on him, there was still a lot more open air around him than lead.
But he couldn’t run through a transport helicopter.
And one was now coming straight at him, set to collide with him right in the vicinity of Patient Zero. This wasn’t a game of chicken the helo pilot was going to take very seriously. And one Handon couldn’t afford to play.
Even worse, there was a minigun mounted in the side port, currently sweeping the parapets with murderous fire. But the helo was turning as it came in, the side with the minigun spinning his way. And when the minigunner inevitably saw and engaged him, it might actually put more lead than air in his vicinity.
With no choice but to retrench, Handon dug his boot in, pivoted, and took off again, racing toward the nearest hard cover, which was that big diesel generator. But as the helo roared and touched down behind him, and he heard the whine of the minigun growing louder, he knew he wasn’t going to make it. He’d have to settle for concealment, rather than cover.
It beat being caught in the open.
But as he crashed into the lee of a corrugated tin shed, he also knew concealment wasn’t going to be enough, not for long. Because that minigunner had tens of thousands of rounds. And he must have seen Handon dart back there – because he started using them to dismantle the structure, slicing the walls into ribbons and scraps of tin. Hundreds of holes blossomed in the shed behind Handon, stretching from ground to roof, starting from the left edge.
And walking toward his position on the right.
* * *
Yep, Ali thought, that’s Handon’s number coming up RIGHT there.
She could see the geometry of his doom laid out below, and knew he wouldn’t last four seconds in that. She sighted in on the minigun’s firing port as the Seahawk looped around it, but they were too high, and the angle too steep. She couldn’t see the gunner, only the protruding barrels. And even as she opened her mouth to tell the pilot to bring them the hell down—
“Minigun, minigun!” Muralles shouted over ICS, causing the aircraft to immediately go evasive again – and, worse, rise up to swoop back behind the wall again.
“Yeah,” Ali answered over the same channel, “but he’s not fucking shooting at us. Bring us back in and hold it steady!” In peripheral, she could see Kate hanging on in the gunner window, trying to take aim. But the wild motion of the helo was making it impossible for either of them to engage effectively. Neither were going to get a shot in time. Not before Handon was chewed up behind his shed.
But then Ali saw another figure on the ground, running through the maelstrom. And he was not only running out in the open – but heading directly toward the Orca.
Henno.
* * *
“Hullo, mate!” Henno shouted as he slammed into the steel superstructure of the Russian helo. In a quirk of battlefield geometry, there was only one weapon or firing port on that side – and while it had been focused on murdering Handon, Henno was able to run right up to it at an angle, getting inside its fighting arc.
Now he simply drew his pistol, stuck it in the open doorway and into the gunner’s face, fired twice – and blew the contents of the man’s head out the back of his helmet.
But his position outside that port also allowed him to see why the Orca had landed like this. The minigun faced out, covering them – while, on the opposite side, the big cargo door was open and disgorging a dozen tooled-up shooters from the main cabin. And it was only because they faced away, spilling out on to the ground on the opposite side, that they didn’t see Henno.
Then again, Henno figured they’d be coming around the sides, and be on top of him, in the next three seconds. He spared one look toward the body bag, lying 25 feet away. He might get to it. He might even get it up over his shoulder. But he’d never walk away with it.
He put his head down and sprinted toward Handon’s shed.
* * *
Ali and Kate, circling above it all and half-hanging out the helo on their safety straps, had a box-seat view to what happened next. With the Orca’s minigun silenced, they’d persuaded Reich to stay in the air – though he also increased their airspeed and altered their flight pattern to make them a harder target. Which also meant it was still nearly impossible for Kate or even Ali to make shots.
But they could see what played out with perfect clarity.
Almost before the Orca had settled in the mud, two columns of big and heavily armed shooters spilled out from around behind it, and pushed out a salient in front. They fired in all directions, mostly up at the al-Shabaab fighters on the walls. The jihadis, despite their elevated firing positions and advantage in numbers, were instantly back on their heels. Smacked in the nose with speed, surprise, and violence of action, they panicked, shot wildly, and seemed to have very little idea what the hell was happening to them.
Ali could see they were utterly outclassed.
Kate, never having seen that Orca, nor any soldiers like these, shouted across ICS, “Hey – who the fuck ARE these guys?”
Ali knew exactly who they were. The way they moved and shot, their uniforms and weapons, the brutal and menacing vibe they gave off, all made them unmistakeable – unlike anything else in this world or the last one.
“Russian Spetsnaz!” she shouted in answer.
She always knew it. She’d known it up on that mountaintop – known they were back. And, though he hadn’t yet shown himself, her nemesis was with them, too. Ali rarely doubted her instincts. And she had never really doubted this one.
Now she just had to work out what the hell to do about it.
ARISEN, Book Eleven - Deathmatch Page 11