“Roger that.” Marks, in the crawl space above the theater, confirmed based on his different viewpoint. “Skylar’s on the move with May Wen, heading towards stage stairs. I don’t have a clear shot at him. Copy.”
“Copy. Leo. If you don’t have a shot at Skylar, get off the stage now. You’re too exposed.”
“Copy.” She parted the drapes a little more with her index finger. Her sliver of a view was made even slimmer by fat boughs of blue spruce trees, bows, and ornaments. She had enough clearance to observe Skylar on the stairs at stage left. May Wen screamed and clawed at his hands as he dragged her with him. Her emerald-green dress clung to her delicate curves, making her seem small, too weak to fight off the larger man.
No shot at Skylar, thanks to a wriggling May Wen and Christmas trees. However, if he turned slightly…
Leo held position, hoping for a better shot. It all depended on where Skylar was going, and how fast she could track his movements.
“Three M84s will detonate on my count of one. Hostage safety is top priority. Right up there with us not killing each other. Sure shots only. Employing sector room clearance.” Leo felt the gravity underlying Ace’s words. It was one thing to disable enemy operatives when outnumbered. It was another thing entirely to do it with more than one hundred innocents in the room. People under duress and untrained in combat tended to move unpredictably when bullets started flying.
“Marks and Wen—your sector’s all encompassing. Fire at anything you have a shot at from above. Work from stage to rear. Kamin—your sector’s port side, from rear to stage. Branch—you’re starboard, rear to stage. Leo—stage area. I’m going straight up the middle aisle. Communicate, people.”
Through the slit in the drapes, Leo watched Howell shrink into the chair as Skylar, between the front of the stage and the first row, moved in his direction. A Quan operative bent towards him. In the rows behind Howell, hostages with wide eyes and mottled cheeks huddled into their seats. Wrenching her eyes back to the stage, Leo eyed the man who’d be her first camo-wearing target. He stood five feet to her left, three feet in front of her. Tall. Heavyset. Broad shoulders. Cantaloupe-sized head. No helmet.
Easy.
“Three,” Ace said, as fresh screams erupted from May Wen.
She’d fire through the fabric rather than risk exposure by aiming her pistol through the opening. Pressing her muzzle against the firm backing of the drapes, she aimed at the Quan operative’s bare head.
“Two.”
Checking her muzzle position, she confirmed that the trajectory of her bullet would be over the heads of the hostages in the seats at stage left if she missed. Which she damn well didn’t plan on doing. Adjusting her weapon to the right and slightly lower, she willed her target not to move. She took a deep, calming breath.
“One.”
In the milliseconds before flash-bang detonation, instantaneous happenings registered separately as the theater doors burst open.
Leo fired at Melon-head.
The pop-pop-pop, pop-pop-pop of gunfire exploded from above.
People screamed.
Ace yelled, “Get down! Down!”
“Rear doors. All men. Theater,” Skylar yelled. “NOW!”
She briefly shut her eyes against blinding bursts of light, then felt the repercussive boom! boom! boooooom! of the grenades. She shook with the force of the sounds and light, but confirmed that Melon-head was face down on the stage. Unmoving. The other two men who’d been on the stage with Skylar were also face down.
She moved forward, through the drapes, as rapid-fire pop-pop-pops sounded from all sectors. Fat branches of the densely-needled trees provided a measure of concealment. As she shifted position and peered around branches, the crisp, fresh scent of pine seemed odd, given the hell that was erupting in front of her. Smoky haze drifted forward from the M84s, blocking her view and making her eyes burn. She blinked back the tears as she looked for more Quan operatives. The haze hit a smoke detector, causing fire alarms to screech.
The sprinkler system went off, exacerbating the chaos and noise. The water would ultimately drain through the bilge system, where pumps would dispose of it. For now, though, the water had the effect of clearing the cloud that had wrapped around her. She would’ve been happy for it, but it was also giving the bad guys a better view.
“Leo to Evans. Stage is clear. For now. Skylar’s in front of the stage. He’s crouched, midway to the floor. He’s now directly in front of Howell’s seat. May Wen is struggling against Skylar’s chokehold.”
“Copy.”
“No clear shot at Skylar.” Damn it. Not at Skylar, but she did have a clear shot at a short, squat Quan operative who was huddled in the seats, in Branch’s sector, about thirty feet behind where Howell was sitting. A quick glance down the aisle told her Branch’s attention was on two operatives who’d come through the rear door of the theater. Unlike Branch, the operative hiding in the seats was facing the stage. Aiming. She glanced towards the center aisle and spotted Ace, with his rifle lifted. Between gunfire, she thought he might have glanced in her direction, but there was too much haze to be sure.
“Leo. Get the fuck off the stage!”
She ducked down low as she aimed her Glock at the operative who’d taken cover in the seats. With a fast pop-pop-pop, a cluster of Christmas ornaments that were close to her right arm exploded into shards of thin glass. Tree branches splintered. Needles stung her eyes. Before she could fire, all the air left her body with a whoosh of an exhale, as bullets thudded into her chest.
Shit!
She reeled back, as though an unseen hand had given her a hard shove. She fought to stay upright. For a fleeting second, she was glad she’d kept her one armor plate on her chest.
Her confident relief that she’d protected herself faded as she tried to inhale and couldn’t. She looked down. There was a long gash in the loose black shirt that covered the thinner, anti-ballistic layer that fit close to her body. Both layers of clothes were ripped, exposing torn skin and flesh through which red blood started flowing. More pain than she’d ever imagined overtook her in waves, spreading from her right arm to her right shoulder. Gritting her teeth, she opened her mouth and tried hard again to inhale. And couldn’t.
It’s just a scratch. Shake it off. Keep moving.
Chapter Seventeen
2:36 a.m.
Before starting the downward count of three, Ace braced his foot flat against the gold-painted theater door, ready to push it forward. Due to the curvature of the rear wall, Kamin, on his left, and Branch, on his right, were out of his line of sight. Two Quan operatives who’d been guarding the hallway that led into the theater were dead, three feet behind him. May Wen’s screams sounded loud through Leo’s open line.
Ace believed in God, but details were beyond him. That was fine with him. He figured that if someone as smart as Albert Einstein believed that God and religiousness were mind-bending puzzles that defied simplistic explanations, his own mind wouldn’t figure out the definitive answer.
Now, in the split seconds before entering the theater, the one thing he was certain of as he collected his breath and leaned his weight into his heel, was that some men were evil. To combat that, God had given Ace the capability of killing them.
Please, God. Guide me. My agents. Let us save every hostage.
“Three.” Since his early days of Marine Corps Special Forces training, the downward three-count was usually calming. When calling it, no matter the operation, with the count of three he was able to quiet his mind. Demons disappeared. Doubts became nonexistent.
This job, though, wasn’t usual. He tried to ignore the nagging, foreboding-like worry that wouldn’t let go of his mind. He tried not to remember the weight of Kat in his arms, tried not to remember watching her take her last breath. Tried not to superimpose Leo’s face over his last love’s death mask. Fuck it. He clenched his jaw, and hesitated for a second before the two count, failing to find calm.
Leo’s not Kat. The
woman you now love is one of Black Raven’s best. She’s damn well got this. STOP WORRYING ABOUT HER!
“Two.”
Ace focused on pulse-lowering breaths until his thoughts cleared. He forced his mind to click through his next actions: kick the door open, pitch the M84, clear the middle sector, get on the stage, and liberate the hostages. Kill Quan operatives until only a room full of innocent hostages and Black Raven agents was left.
“One.”
While kicking the door open, he yelled, “Get down! Down!”
He crossed the threshold at a run, pulled the pin, and tossed the grenade towards the bank of empty theater seats on his left. In the milliseconds before detonation, he started running along the wide middle aisle. Lifting his rifle, his gaze crawled right, left, and forward, to the stage, where decorated Christmas trees were lit with twinkling lights.
“Rear doors,” Skylar yelled. “All men. Theater. NOW!”
Gunfire erupted, echoing as the grenades exploded with heaven’s light and hell’s thunder. More than a million candela of light and 170 decibels of noise scared most of the hostages enough that they huddled in the foot space in front of their seats. Others were slumped in their seats, heads down, not moving. Most Quan operatives, also taken by surprise, hunched down in place.
Through smoky gray haze, Ace saw a Quan operative rise to his feet, ten feet ahead of him. Ace fired as he ran. While his gaze was focused on his sector, Ace heard everything in the theater. As the M84 booms faded, pop-pop-pop sounded. From above. Pop-pop-pop. From the stage. More gunfire sounded on his right and his left.
When smoke alarms went off, water from the ship’s sprinkler system helped to clear the haze. Without breaking his stride, and with his eyes burning, Ace aimed at a camo-wearing Quan operative who was getting to his feet, about fifteen feet ahead of him. As the operative stood, he lifted his rifle and aimed towards the stage.
Leo.
Ace fired three times. One for certain. Two for insurance. The Quan operative went down. Ace ran forward, leapt over the man, while glancing to the left of his sector. Another Quan operative was jogging, somewhat unsteady, towards the center aisle between empty seats. Apparently suffering from the repercussive effects of the flash-bang explosion, the jogger had lost his rifle. He reached out to grab Ace, while fumbling at his hip for his pistol. Dodging the man’s reach, Ace slowed his stride, twisted to his left, and fired.
As the man dropped, Ace continued running towards the stage, noting the sounds of gunfire from all sectors. The Black Raven-issued M1-A, with its shorter barrel length, fired slightly faster and louder than the QBZ-95s carried by the Quan operatives. The good guys were firing more, as yells, cries, and screams sounded from all around the theater.
“Leo to Evans. Stage is clear. For now.” He shifted his gaze. Through sprinkling water and clearing haze, he saw Skylar standing exactly where Leo indicated—to the right of the stage, crouched low and holding May Wen in a chokehold, surrounded by three Quan operatives who were providing protective cover.
“Copy.”
“No clear shot at Skylar,” she said.
He glanced up at the stage, where he could see Leo. Christmas trees provided partial coverage, but not enough now that smoke was clearing. If he could see her, so could Quan operatives, and she made a damn easy target.
“Leo. Get the fuck off the stage!”
Tearing his eyes off her, he saw another Quan grabbing Randy Howell and pulling the man to his feet. He lifted his rifle at Skylar’s group as he ran forward, but realized, like Leo, he didn’t have a sure shot at any of the Quan operatives. Not with them moving towards the exit, as a unit, holding May Wen and Howell so that they shielded the rear of the group.
“Scott.” As he called the agent who was nestled in the Compass Rose bar, he hoped to God the agent hadn’t passed out from the pain of his gunshot wound.
“Yes, sir.”
Scott’s voice sounded alert. Steady. Ready. Ace’s blood pulsed a little easier, as he tried again for a shot at any of the Quan operatives in Skylar’s group, who were now just a few feet from the exit. “Standby. Action’s coming to the helipad.”
No shot. Not without risk to May Wen or Randy Howell.
Ace ran forward, watching as Leo finally gave up on getting a shot at Skylar and started moving to safety. She moved to the periphery of one of the Christmas trees, lifting her pistol and aiming into the theater seats as she started to run.
With a QBZ-95 pop-pop-pop sounding to his right, Christmas tree ornaments around Leo exploded. He looked to his right. Through the sprinkling water, at frist he didn’t see who was shooting at her.
He shook his head, blinking water out of his eyes. Foreboding exploded in his gut, snaked upwards, and threatened to choke him. He glanced over the heads of hostages who had now recovered from their disorientation and were moving. Some stood. Others sat upright.
Branch, who’d advanced to midway through his aisle, had his back to the stage and was aiming towards the rear of the room. Two Quan operatives had entered the theater from the door that Branch had entered. Further up, hunched about thirty feet from the first row, a Quan operative had hunched down low and was aiming at Leo. Ace aimed.
Fuck.
In his sights, a woman in a red dress stood and screamed, blocking his shot. As a tuxedo-clad man pulled the red-dress woman roughly back into her seat, the two of them solidly blocked his shot. Ace adjusted, stepping forward. Another hostage stood, this one a male in a bathrobe, wiping his eyes and blocking his shot.
“Marks! Branch’s sector. About thirty feet from the stage. In the seats. Now!”
“Yes, sir.”
“Get. Down. NOW!” Ace yelled to the hostages, as another pop-pop-pop sounded from the operative’s rifle. Ace ran forward. He reached the first row and, without breaking stride, he turned and bolted towards the right. As he ran in front of the stage, he adjusted his aim over huddled hostages and dead Quan operatives.
Thankfully, all the hostages between Ace and his target stayed still. Marks’ rifle fire mingled with his. The operative who’d been shooting at Leo went down.
Ace glanced behind him, onto the stage, where tree limbs were snapped and mangled. Bows were tattered, dripping wet. Broken ornaments were scattered on the stage floor. A couple of feet from the mess of holiday decorations, Leo had stopped, seemingly in mid-stride. He didn’t think he heard her weapon fire. If she’d managed to get off her shot, she’d missed. She was glancing down, at her right arm.
Fuck!
Feeling like his windpipe had collapsed, he only managed to breathe when she shook her head and continued moving towards the side of the stage. Slowly. Too slowly. His breath caught again in his throat. “Leo?”
Silence.
“Answer, goddammit.”
“I’m…f-fine.”
Not having the luxury of immediately running to her side to check on her, Ace shifted his rifle aim to the side door in time to see Skylar and his group slip through it. Given the positions of the hostages, he didn’t have a clear shot at Skylar. “Scott. Skylar’s moving out of the theater with at least five Quans. Two hostages. Randy Howell and May Wen.”
“Copy,” Scott answered.
Ace breathed easier when he glanced over his shoulder and saw that the stage was empty. Leo had managed to move. He took it as a good sign, having no choice but to face the audience again and stay focused on the task at hand. “Given the firepower that Follower has aimed at Imagine, we have to assume that as soon as Skylar’s in the chopper, and it lifts off, Imagine will be blown to hell. Have you ever disabled a chopper with rifle fire?”
“No, sir. No Quans are on the helipad yet. It’s lit, like the rest of the ship, but the landing lights aren’t on.”
“Copy,” Ace replied, managing to keep his voice calm, while fighting the ever-growing urge to run to Leo. “If you see anyone, hold your fire. We don’t want to reveal your position yet. Talk to Denver. Figure out how to shoot down a chopper. Every seco
nd will count when the chopper’s landing, but the Compass Rose will give you a bird’s eye. You’ll be my backup.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m heading to the helipad. ASAP.” And I’ll check on Leo along the way. “Ragno. Has the chopper lifted?”
He lowered his rifle so as not to scare the shit out of the hostages, and let his gaze crawl over the audience as he looked for the enemy. For the moment, one agent, no matter how important that agent was to him, was not as important as securing the hostages.
“No,” Ragno answered. “Chopper remains in prep mode. Rotors are still.”
“Tell me when the rotors start.” Ace fired at a Quan operative who was reaching for a hostage, managing to kill him before he succeeded in using a hostage as a shield.
“Will do.”
“Were you able to disable Skylar’s comms?”
“Yes, immediately before your entry to the theater.”
“Evans. What the…” Scott’s words trailed. “Ling Wen’s on the helipad, running toward the port side of ship. He’s moved out of eyesight, presumably taking cover.”
“Wen left the crawl space when it was clear Skylar was going to make it out the theater door with May,” Marks reported.
“For the record,” Ace said, “I stand by my belief that he’s on our side.”
Though, fuck! Could I be wrong?
He shook his head against the self-doubt. No time to worry about that now. He’d figure it all out soon enough. Drawing a breath, Ace leapt onto the stage. Amidst hostages who were stirring, moving slowly while looking dazed and scared, there were plenty of dead Quans. In aisles. Hunched over theater seats. No live ones. He did a quick mental tally. By his best guesstimate, aside from Skylar and the Quans who were with him, only a few remained alive. “Agents. Report.”
“Clear,” Kamin said. “No live Quans.”
“Clear,” Branch said.
Marks said, “From overhead, all clear.”
Personally, the fact that Leo didn’t report tore at his chest. Professionally, he pushed his emotions where they belonged–firmly to the side. “Kamin. Head to the stage. You’ll hold the theater. Manage the hostages. Keep your eyes on the doors. Marks. Get down here now. You’ll assist Kamin. Branch. Leo needs medical attention ASAP. Ragno?”
Imagine (Black Raven Book 4) Page 17