The McClane Apocalypse Book Nine

by Kate Morris

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Cory

  As he rides into battle with his friends and comrades in arms, Cory takes a moment to get his head in the game. John is driving while Simon sits quietly beside him, occasionally tapping his index finger against the forearm of his rifle. Four of Robert’s men are riding in the bed of the truck. With everything that has been going on lately, it’s hard to focus on the job at hand. His brother is driving with Lucas and Paul on another road. John has AC/DC’s Thunderstruck blasting through the speakers. However, when they come within a mile or so from the drop zone, John cuts the radio and turns to face them in the back seat.

  “Ready?” he asks.

  “Yes, sir,” they answer in unison.

  “Stick to the plan,” he emphasizes. “Don’t deviate if you don’t have to. Make small adjustments, call it in. Got your radios?”

  “Yep,” Cory answers and so does Simon.

  “Conserve ammo if you can,” John warns. “The first strikes will be with knives like we said. Professor, you hold back until either Derek or I call you. When it gets rockin’ and rollin’ remove your silencers and give ‘em hell.”

  “No prisoners,” Cory says.

  “No surrender,” Simon adds, and they punch fists.

  They had discussed the fact that there could be men who were taken captive by these highwaymen, too, but the general consensus and from what they’ve learned from Adam and the women, they converted or were killed. Men were killed almost immediately during their highway raids anyway, most women, too.

  “If you find the senator before me,” John says, “Hogtie that scumbag and club him over the head if you have to. We need to know who he’s working with.”

  “The president thing could be a code for something else,” Simon says.

  “Yeah, let’s just assume it’s a legit name for someone and take him for questioning,” John says.

  “Roger that,” Cory acknowledges.

  “Mic check,” John says.

  “Got ya’,” Cory returns and says the same until they all three have checked their coms.

  “Hold your positions!” Dave’s voice comes over the radio. “I repeat, hold your positions, over.”

  “What’s going on, brother?” John asks.

  A static-filled pause is followed by, “We’ve got movement. Something’s going on.”

  “What’s your location, over?” John asks next.

  “Drone has a front row seat,” Dave tells them. “Major, you gettin’ this?”

  Derek immediately answers, “Roger that. I see it.”

  After a few seconds, Dave says, “We’ve spotted definite movement different from what we’ve seen, over.”

  Derek is running this operation from what is being called base command, which is the farm. Derek had sent a team of men earlier to spy on the goings on at the compound and to gather intel before the battle.

  John taps his fingers anxiously against the steering wheel. Cory knows he is anxious because he wants in this fight.

  Static and then Dave’s voice comes over the radio, “Unless mortars are the new pink flamingoes, we’ve got us a little redecorating on the front lawn. We need to take out some men now. Either they’re setting these up as lawn ornaments, or they’ve been tipped off again.”

  Derek commands, “Dr. Death and Hulk, continue forward movement and double-time it, out.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” John growls and steps on the gas.

  “How the hell’d they get tipped off this time?” Cory asks a question nobody can answer.

  John speeds to the end of the street and slams it into park.

  “Stick to the plan,” John says in the dark as Cory pulls down his night-vision gear. He waves the two volunteers from town and Robert’s men forward. “Move out.”

  They jog quickly through the neighborhood and into the forest that surrounds the historic mansion. It is well after midnight. These people shouldn’t be moving mortars around on the lawn in the middle of the night unless they are expecting trouble. It concerns him that they could lose the element of surprise, but soon enough it won’t matter anyway. He consoles himself with that.

  “Ready, Professor?” John asks as they come to the edge of the woods.

  Simon nods firmly, his face coated in black and green face paint, his hair covered in a black stocking cap just like Cory. They are all dressed in dark tactical clothing. Their enemy will be using whatever they’ve got to beat them. Robert McClane sent as many Kevlar vests as possible, so Cory is wearing one tonight, which is slightly more cumbersome than he’d expected and what he’s used to.

  They all pull out their binoculars to spy on the enemy. The drone was right. They are pushing heavy artillery into place along with mortar launchers. It’s strange because they don’t seem to be in a rush about it. Nobody is running around in a panic to prepare.

  “Team three in position, over,” Kelly says into their headsets.

  John looks at them and nods. Then he kneels and removes his backpack. He begins stashing his extra mags into his pockets, “Team two in position, over.”

  Cory and Simon follow suit and do the same. The backpacks are too bulky tonight. They are not looting the mansion. That is not why they’ve come. They need stealth, flexibility, and free movement.

  One by one, the other teams sound off that they are ready. Not everyone is moving in early with them, though. As a matter of fact, only a few of them will be. Then the team leaders will call the others forward as soon as the situation has been assessed and some of the dirtbag guards have been silently taken out.

  “Forget the house, Simon,” John says, changing the plan slightly. “Anyone on a mortar goes first. If they know we’re coming tonight, take out those mortars.”

  “Yes, sir,” Simon answers firmly.

  “Be careful of friendly fire, guys,” John warns. “We’re working with people we’ve never worked with before.”

  He’s referring to Robert’s men, but other than that annoying prick Parker, the rest seem cool, and many have a lot of experience.

  “Yes, sir,” Cory says emphatically.

  He’s ready. His mind is calm. That deadly second hand is ticking already and has been for most of the evening, even back at the farm. His hands are steady and able. Cory touches the gold bracelet wrapped around a leather cord on his neck that used to belong to his little sister. He sends up a quick prayer to God to watch over the family back home and his friends and brother, who are in this with him and to take care of the family should he be killed. He releases the safety on his rifle.

  “You are clear to move,” Derek’s calming voice comes over the radio.

  Then, in typical Dave the Mechanic style, he sings in a falsetto that no man should be able to do, a new version of the classic tune from the 1960s, “It’s my party and I’ll shoot you if I want to, kill you if I want to, and you’ll cry like little bitches ‘cuz I say so. You would cry, too, if I was shooting at you.”

  Cory chuckles and shakes his head. Simon scowls, of course.

  There is a long pause, and then Kelly says dryly, “That was beautiful.”

  “Thanks. I’ll be here all night.”

  “I think I overpaid,” Kelly jokes.

  “Let’s get to work, boys,” Dave returns. Then in a deadly tone, he says, “Let’s show these fuckers who they’re fuckin’ with.”

  Cory smiles ruefully. This is the Dave they know so well. His joking is done.

  “I’ll handle the three moving that mortar on the back lawn. Cory, stick to your plan,” John says.

  He nods to his friend. John, more serious now, nods again, and together they take three men and move forward. Of the three men, two were active duty combat in the Marines, and the other was in the National Guard who served in Syria. He and John and his brother had traded war stories. He’s just glad they didn’t get saddled with Parker, who is going to be working with K-Dog. Hopefully, he helps guard the roads for escapees and doesn’t actually join the fight.r />
  It doesn’t take long to spot movement. John calls them to a halt behind a grand old oak and takes a knee. He only uses hand signals now. They are too close to the enemy, within earshot. He indicates Cory should continue forward. They rise and move out again.

  John splits off from him with the other men, leaving Cory alone, which is the original plan. They know from prior intel that guards run this route. He is to take them out quietly and efficiently while the others do the same in their assigned areas or get themselves set up to breach the buildings.

  “On my count, boys,” Dave says in his mic.

  He spots the first guard coming toward him, but he is well concealed in some sort of tall, once-fancy hedgerow even taller than him. It is called the boxwood gardens and provides fantastic cover, especially since it has not been maintained in recent years. He is just south of the rear entrance where they will breach, but he is to take out guards.

  “And three…two…fire,” Dave orders over an open mic.

  A second later, Cory hears it whirring through the air. The mortar round slams into the guard shack on the other side of the property. It is quite a distance away at the main entrance but still manages to rock the ground beneath his feet. It is the distraction they were waiting for.

  The guard swiftly spins, and Cory easily steps out of the hedges and wraps him in an unaffectionate hug. Then he slices the man’s throat.

  Another highwayman further away calls out, “Was that us? What’s going on?”

  Another man closer to him says, “Jeff, you hear that? What’s goin’ on? I think they’re here! They’re here now, man!”

  Cory can hear the padding of feet above him on another plateau of landscaping. He circles behind and climbs the short, grassy hill. The man is so intent on finding “Jeff” who Cory probably just killed that he doesn’t realize Cory is behind him until it is too late.

  He dashes to the next guard circuit and finds two more. The first he is able to stab directly in the chest as he pops out from around the corner of an elaborate trellis.

  “Hey!” someone behind him calls out as Cory is shoving the man away from him. He holds onto the knife, though.

  Cory jumps to the side around the back of the wrought iron trellis again and comes at him from the front. Just as the man is bringing up his rifle, Cory lunges and takes him down. He is bigger than the other three. They roll a few yards down a slight incline and land in water. Great. Now he’s wet.

  He manages to choke the man out and stab him in the shallow reflecting pool. This sucks. He knew this pool was here but hadn’t planned on taking a swim in it. No matter, though. There isn’t time to change. Glancing around, he gets an eerie feeling shimmy up his spine. Then he realizes what it is. The moonlight illuminates a dead woman in the shallow water near him. He jumps back and gets to his knees. It isn’t a woman, though. It is a stone statue of a woman lying on its side about ten feet from him. He stands in the four inches of probably mucky, disgusting water and shakes off the excess as another group of men run around the corner with their rifles already up, probably notified to his presence by the thrashing around in the water with their friend. Mortar rounds strike at another location, disturbing the water around his ankles. Cory pulls up on his rifle and takes aim. The silencer will help to suppress the sound, but his enemies’ rifles are not going to be quiet. It is clear they do not see him and are not wearing night-vision headsets. The first one doesn’t even realize what has happened to him before he has killed him. The other two go just as quickly. Another jarring boom lets him know Dave is still mortaring the guard shack, which helps to cover his suppressed rounds even further.

  The point of the strike at the front guard shack is threefold. One, it will help to get rid of the men in there because they counted around thirty stationed in it. Two, it will make their enemy think they are attacking from that direction at the main gate. Three, it will give the teams coming in from the back some extra time to eliminate some of the guards before it even starts.

  Cory uses the stone stairs and sneaks up to a grassy landing looking over the reflecting pool that was probably a nice spot to view the property at one time. Parked near it is a ’67 Corvette. What he wouldn’t give to take it for a joy ride. As he passes it, he notices the keys in the ignition. If he survives tonight, he’s calling dibs. It would be a shame if Dave accidentally hit it with a mortar round. The house he doesn’t so much care about, but that car is sweet. He doesn’t dwell on it but sprints up the hill carefully and keeps going in the direction of the mansion. He and John are to enter from the back.

  “Coming your way, Dr. Death,” Cory says in his mic and does not receive a response.

  He keeps going, runs into another man coming toward him, and disables him with a single, silenced shot. Even though the silencers he has built and distributed to the men help, the shot is still audible. A long-range suppressed round fires off, and he looks in time to see a man sprinting toward the mortar launcher go down hard and not get up again. Simon is nothing if not good at taking orders.

  Along the outside wall, Cory takes cover when he spots a flashlight beam to his right. He squats low as three men come around the far side of the house. Pulling his rifle to his shoulder, he tucks it tight and takes aim. He wings the first one in the shoulder. The man beside him doesn’t realize what’s going on, so Cory is able to hit him square in the chest. The last man, slightly behind them takes off again. Cory has to let him go. He can’t pursue. His orders are to get inside the main house, not chase after one man. It doesn’t matter, Simon takes him out a second later.

  “In position, Stalker,” John says to him finally.

  He joins him on the terrace and takes a knee behind a massive stone pillar, one of four.

  “Took time for a dip?” John asks, raising his night-vision gear to look at him and point.

  “Got hot,” Cory jokes, and John lowers his headgear again.

  There are two-story doors that cover the entire section of the mansion here. Circular, intricate windows are above those to add an esthetic appeal. The coffee business must have been a good one. A brick and stone patio leads to these doors, and a long, former dining hall-atrium awaits them just inside. Herb told them that this is the place where they’d been served lunch when he’d toured the place. This space is called the loggia, which Paige knew all about since she loves architecture and told him that it’s just another name for a terrace. A fast peek inside tells another story. There are cots and sleeping bags everywhere, and the dining tables and chairs are scattered on the lawn as if tossed out with zero care. This is technically the second floor they are walking into, and the front where Dave will breach is the first floor, or ground level on that side.

  “Breaching main structure,” John says in his mic.

  The other men go ahead of them so John can receive the message in return.

  Dave says, “Threat in the love shack is neutralized. Team one is advancing.”

  Dave’s group is Team One, and he’s letting them know he’s moving toward the front entrance.

  “Ready by the school,” Kelly says. “Awaiting orders.”

  “Give it hell, Mechanic,” Derek says into the radio.

  “Pop goes the weasel, Hulk,” Dave replies.

  A few seconds later, more heavy rounds rocket through the night sky. Dave’s men have fired on the learning center, or school, as Kelly referred to it. Hopefully bombarding it with some heavy mortar fire first will take out a good portion of them. The learning center is not made of the same limestone as the main house. It used to be a horse stable but was later converted to an arts learning center with a café.

  Out front, more mortar rounds are let off from Dave’s men, who have come tonight with plenty of toys. IED’s are being detonated along the exit paths, as well, and they are hoping to catch some of the woods on fire with them to further deter escape. If it doesn’t work, K-Dog’s team is going to torch it. They also have two trucks with .50 cal’s mounted in the back, which they will use to
take out large groups who go running away in clusters.

  An immense explosion goes off next. He believes that would be K-Dog, who is also in addition to detonating IED’s working with some of Dave’s men to block all exits from the mansion. They are literally blowing up roads. Anyone who might escape is going to have to do so on foot through the woods, which is where Cory and some of the other trackers will come in.

  While the mortar rounds are exploding, John and Cory remove their silencers and stow them in their cargo pockets since they make the rifles too long.

  “That ought to do it, Mechanic,” Kelly says, telling them his team has made a direct hit with that round.

  Kelly is also letting the others know he is ready to enter and do some damage. Cory hopes all goes well for him because that seemed to be a central hub for a lot of the soldiers in this group.

  John tries a door and finds it locked. There aren’t men in their cots asleep, so he uses the butt of his rifle to break the glass on the door and unlock it. They are still trying to sneak where possible.

  “Professor, Lucky, and Jazz,” Derek states on the radio. “Move in a hundred yards, over.”

  This isn’t his first rodeo, nor his twentieth. John told him before how good his brother is at planning, strategy, and running the show. He’s watching it all transpire through the drones which are signaled back to his base command center in Herb’s office, which in the last week has been transformed completely. It now looks like some sort of military operations base with maps and coordinates and plans.

  Outside, the fight begins to grow louder. Mortar rounds continue to rocket into buildings, large-scale explosives sound off as more possible escape routes are destroyed, and the constant firing of rifles tap-tap-tap out a cadence of violent intent. The chatter through the radio comes almost constantly as adjustments are called in by Derek for the mortaring and confirmed by Dave’s demo experts. It is escalating as the highwaymen realize they are under full attack from many angles. Silence is no longer necessary outside. In this house, it will help them, though. The enemy is familiar with the home, but Cory and the rest are going on the memorization of a map that could be too old to be reliable anymore.