Surviving the Dead 03: Warrior Within

by James N. Cook

  “Is used to be,” Steve replied. “We live in a different world now. You men have your orders. Update me if anything changes. Any questions?”

  No one responded.

  “Good. I’ll contact you when the Pave Hawk is inbound with your supplies. Good luck, gentlemen.”

  McCray reached forward, and the screen went blank.

  *****

  The Pave Hawk caught up with us on our way back to the Legion’s central headquarters. It dropped off food, ammunition, and explosives. Additionally, Steve had provided combat gear for Eric—MARPAT fatigues, ghillie suit, web gear, NVGs, a radio, M-4 carbine and Beretta M-9 sidearm (both suppressor equipped), first-aid kit, tactical light, combat optics, laser sights, and an assault pack stocked with MREs. We divided the rest of the new equipment among us. No one was happy about carrying the extra weight, but we were determined not to let it slow us down.

  At the bottom of the crate was a black metal box. Eric opened it, and showed it to me with a broad grin. Inside were three stainless steel syringes with short needles and plungers, and a small handbook with detailed instructions explaining what was in them, and the correct way to use them. I didn’t recognize the name of the drug. It had about a two dozen letters, and was completely unpronounceable. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought it was just a random assortment of consonants.

  “I’m guessing that’s for Lucian?” I said.

  He nodded. “And Aiken, and the engineer in charge of constructing the tunnels.”

  “Let’s hope we get a chance to take them alive.”

  Eric’s grin faded. He closed the box and stashed the syringes in his pack.

  We made good time getting back to the warehouse, reaching it in a single day’s hard travel. Great Hawk took point the whole way, and set a blistering pace. Eric and I were beat by the time we reached our destination, but the Apache was no worse for wear. I was beginning to understand why General Jacobs held him in such high esteem.

  Under cover of night, we set up hides on three hillsides that, between the three of us, gave us 360-degree coverage of the compound. Once set up, we settled down to wait.

  Two more days passed before all the pieces were in position. It was a tense time for Eric and me, but Great Hawk seemed to be enjoying himself. Nothing amused him more than having a patrol pass a few feet away, and not see him.

  “Do me a favor, Hawk.” I radioed to him after watching him ghost three Legion troops for nearly an hour.

  “What is that?”

  “Don’t tie anybody’s shoelaces together. We don’t want them getting suspicious. And don’t slit any throats either.”

  “I will make you no promises.”

  I don’t think he was joking.

  I stayed on the satellite phone when I could, and worried over my dwindling supply of batteries. It was a relief when Steve finally got all the leaders on the net at the same time and we hammered out the final details.

  Grabovsky was with the Ranger squad to the north, and Marshall was with the one to the east. Both were dug in less than half a mile from the Legion compound. Neither had been spotted by patrols yet, but the longer we waited, the more likely that possibility became. Captain McCray was leading the Hollow Rock militia straight up the middle from the south, and Wilkins had met the infantry platoon converging from the west. The Rangers would be the primary assault force, with Steve’s troops providing reinforcements, and the regular infantry staying put to catch anyone who tried to escape. Their commanding officer wasn’t happy about not being in the middle of the fight, but Steve explained to him that we needed seasoned, experienced troops on standby to hunt down anyone who got away. It would be better to herd them in one direction than have to chase them all over hell’s creation. The CO hadn’t liked it, but he’d agreed. Not that he had much of a choice; General Jacobs had made it clear that McCray’s orders were the law.

  The two Apache Longbow attack helicopters were standing by and could be on station within a matter of minutes, along with a pair of Chinooks to transport hostages and prisoners back to Hollow Rock. The AC-130 would be in the air shortly after nightfall, but other than helping us track down escapees using their FLIR, I hoped we wouldn’t need its services. Gunships aren’t known for subtlety.

  Per Eric’s request, Captain McCray had selected a team of six Army Rangers to assist us with infiltrating the warehouse. Each one had extensive combat experience, including night ops and urban warfare, and had been made aware of the importance of our mission. Two men each had been assigned to Great Hawk, Eric, and me. Steve had sent them the details Eric had provided—maps, diagrams, locations of guards and hostages, and so on—which made briefing them on the mission relatively easy. I told them where to take up position, and then instructed them to wait for further orders. As night began to fall on the Legion base, my radio crackled, and Eric’s voice buzzed in my ear.

  “Doesn’t this seem like a bit of overkill? I mean, two hundred troops, a gunship, attack helicopters. It’s like killing a cockroach with an RPG.”

  “That’s an apt comparison. And no, I don’t think it’s overkill. The whole point of warfare is to win. Why make it a fair fight, when we can attack with overwhelming force?”

  He was silent for a moment, then said, “You know, that’s a damn good point.”

  If he had any further commentary on the subject, he kept it to himself.

  The sun went down, and the light faded into darkness. At my request, Steve sent out an order to maintain radio silence unless engaged by the Legion, and wait for me to give the order to advance. I waited long into the night, drifting in and out of consciousness. I didn’t sleep, really. Just let my mind go blank and floated along numbly through the hours. It was a technique I had practiced extensively in the Marines, and while it wasn’t as good as a night’s sleep, it was better than nothing. Finally, at just after three in the morning, when I was fairly confident that most of the Legion troops were out cold, I keyed my radio.

  “Hawk, Irish, this is Wolf. How copy?”

  Great Hawk checked in first. “I am here. Standing by.”

  Eric keyed his radio. “Ready when you are.”

  Next, I checked on the Rangers accompanying us. “Charlie One?”

  “Ready to go, sir.”

  “Charlie Two?”

  “Standing by.”

  “Charlie Three?”

  “Chomping at the bit, sir.”

  I smiled. “Charlie Squad, hold position and stand by. Hawk, Irish, let’s move out. Alpha Leader, we’re going to get this party started. If you don’t hear from us in ten mikes, tell my momma I done my best.”

  There was laughter in McCray’s voice when he replied, “Will do, Wolf. Bravo and Echo Leaders, be ready. Make sure your men keep their fingers off the triggers until it’s time to kick ass. Am I clear?”

  Grabovsky, Marshall, and Wilkins all acknowledged.

  “All right then, Wolf. Work your magic.”

  “Copy. Moving now. Standby.”

  I lowered the volume on my radio, picked up my .338, and started down the hillside.

  Chapter 25

  Non-Combatants

  While waiting for Gabe’s order to start the evening’s festivities, I decided that NVGs with thermal imaging capability were the coolest invention in the history of cool inventions. It’s a powerful feeling, having goggles that turn night into day, and let you see an enemy that can’t see you.

  Evidently, Great Hawk had a pair of them as well. I caught sight of him moving through the woods on the northwest side of the compound heading for one of the sentry stations. With his ghillie suit masking his movements, it was hard to track him, even though I could see his infrared signature. The guy was even sneakier than Gabe, and that’s saying something.

  Slowly, with footsteps more careful and gradual than anything I could ever have managed, he closed the distance to a pair of sentries. They were both facing away from him, sitting on folding camp stools and leaning close to speak to each oth
er. One of them held a small, red-lens flashlight that he occasionally shined at the surrounding trees—the only lights Lucian allowed his men to have outside at night. The lens cover muted the light, and limited the distance from which it could be seen.

  Leveling the thermal scope on my rifle, I watched as the Apache stopped barely two feet behind one of the guards. His hands came out from under his ghillie suit, one of them holding a knife, and the other clutching the handle of a tomahawk. He raised the weapons, and like a bolt of lightning, he struck. The knife went into the back of one marauder’s neck, while the tomahawk came down and buried itself in the other’s skull. Using the handles of his weapons for leverage, he gently eased their bodies to the ground. It was an impressive feat of strength, controlling the weight of two grown men like that. Even Gabe would have struggled with it.

  Great Hawk made it look easy.

  Retrieving his weapons, he wiped them off on the dead men’s clothes and moved at a slightly quicker pace toward the next guard station. As he neared it, he approached the marauders head-on, crawling on his belly with glacial slowness. Every time the guards’ flashlight beam swept around the forest, he went still. When it went off, he moved again. Finally, after what felt like forever, he stopped less than a foot from where the doomed men sat. The flashlight swept over his prone body, first to the left, then to the right, the guards barely even bothering to look. When it clicked off, Great Hawk stood up, inch by creeping inch, and then went still as a rock, waiting. The guards sat and chatted, unaware of the towering death standing less than an arm’s length away.

  The next time the flashlight came on, the guards went rigid with shock. Great Hawk’s arms shot forward in a flash, the knife in an upward thrust, and the tomahawk in an arcing, backhanded chop. The two men twitched, and then slumped over. The Apache cleaned off his weapons again, and then set out to intercept a patrol on the other side of the building. His path took him out of my line of sight.

  I shifted the scope back to the slain marauders, their heat signatures growing dimmer as their bodies cooled, and wondered what the final seconds of their lives had felt like, especially those last two. One minute they’re just sitting, chatting, passing the time until their watch is over, and then they turn on the light and BOOM! Out of nowhere, there’s a big, stone-faced killer standing in front of them, weapons in hand. I shuddered, and thanked my lucky stars that Great Hawk was on our side.

  A little while later, my radio crackled to life and Gabe gave the order to advance.

  Finally.

  With my new eyes, avoiding the Legion’s patrols on my side of the compound was easy. They always stuck to the same routes after nightfall, not wanting to get lost in the pitch black where the forest blotted out the moonlight. From high up on the hillside, I could see all five of them, their infrared signatures standing out stark white against the charcoal-and-silver background. With the thermal scope on my M-4, I could have taken them out but restrained myself. I had made a promise to the people trapped in that warehouse, and I intended to keep it. The bad guys could wait.

  The two Rangers, designated Trident and Gladius, were waiting less than a hundred yards from the back entrance to the admin building. They blended perfectly into their surroundings, and if not for the thermals, I never would have spotted them. I keyed my radio to let them know I was en route and not to perforate me with 5.56mm holes as I came up behind them. Staying low and moving quietly, I knelt down beside the Ranger to my left.

  “So which one are you, Trident or Gladius?”

  “Gladius,” he whispered back. I looked over at Trident. It wouldn’t be hard to tell them apart; Gladius was a foot taller, and black. Trident was a lean white guy.

  “You must be Irish,” Gladius said.

  “Only on my father’s side.”

  In the courtyard ahead of me, I saw the familiar figure of Paul Harris sitting on a picnic table and smoking from his pipe. Good. That meant Lucian was still here. Past him, I knew there were two guards posted by the door even though I couldn’t see them.

  I keyed my radio. “Wolf, Irish. In position and standing by. I just spotted one of Lucian’s personal staff. He’s the one sitting in the courtyard, smoking weed. If he’s here, chances are good that Lucian is here as well.”

  “Copy. Stay low and quiet. I’ll let you know when it’s time to engage.”

  “Roger that.”

  I lay down flat on my belly and let my ghillie suit drape over me. Settled in, I positioned my rifle and fixed the reticle on Harris.

  “Hey, guys.”

  The two Rangers looked at me.

  “When Wolf gives the order, we tandem snipe the motherfucker on the picnic table. Once we’re inside, let me take point. I know the layout, and I’m not completely useless in a firefight.”

  Trident spoke up, just off the train from Brooklyn, “You a spook or somethin’? You don’t sound military.”

  I spoke slowly. “Who I am is not important. What is important is rescuing the seventy or so hostages in that warehouse over there. Let’s focus on that, shall we?”

  He lowered his face back to his rifle. “Yep. Definitely a spook.”

  I shook my head, and went back to concentrating on Harris. “Remember, guys. On Wolf’s mark, we fire.”

  They acknowledged. A few minutes later, Great Hawk came over the radio. “Wolf, Hawk. The guards on the northwest perimeter are down. Charlie Three is in position and standing by.”

  “Copy,” Gabe said.

  I waited. One heartbeat. Two. Three. Harris picked up his pipe and lit it.

  “Charlie One, on my mark.”

  I took in a breath, let half of it out slowly, and held it. The men beside me did the same.

  “Three, two, one, mark.”

  Five triggers pulled at the same time.

  Three of them were from my team, Charlie Two. Harris had his pipe up, the flame bright around his hands as he took a hit. Two splotches appeared on his shirt, center of mass, courtesy of the U.S. Army Rangers. I aimed for the head, shattering the glass pipe in his hand and blowing his teeth out through the back of his head.

  As he tumbled to the ground, ten cloudbursts of cement plumed from the wall behind him in rapid succession. High explosive fragmentation rounds, fired from two .50 caliber Barrett long-range sniper rifles, punched through concrete like tissue paper, perforating either side of the door in an expanding zigzag pattern. Contrary to what Hollywood once depicted, thermal imaging does not allow people to see through walls, so the shooters couldn’t see their targets. But if you use the right ammo, and enough of it, it doesn’t matter where your target is standing when you blast through a barrier. If the frag doesn’t get them, the ricochets will. As long as they’re somewhere within the blast zone, they’re hamburger.

  When the report reached us, it was surprisingly gentle, like distant thunder. I doubted the troops in the warehouse heard anything at all. The troops on patrol, however, were a different story. Great Hawk had taken out several of them, as well as the three sentry stations on our side of the complex, but there were still six more sentry stations and three patrols.

  “They heard us, Bravo Leader,” Steve’s voice said over the radio.

  “Copy.” Grabovsky this time. “Ghost team, Bravo One. Weapons free.”

  The five Army snipers and twelve designated marksmen positioned around the perimeter didn’t bother acknowledging; they just went to work. I stayed still and quiet, listening. Muffled cracks echoed in the darkness, like the sound of sticks breaking. They must have been using smaller-caliber, sound-suppressed rifles. I heard the occasional strangled cry of pain, but they were quickly silenced.

  God bless our troops. Especially the snipers.

  “Alpha Leader, Bravo One. All targets neutralized. Charlie is clear to advance.”

  “Outstanding work, my friend. Bravo One and Bravo Two, advance to within one hundred meters of position designated India, and standby. Charlie Squad, proceed on mission.”

  Gabe’s voice
crackled in my ear. “Copy, Alpha Leader, Charlie is moving in. Wish us luck.”

  “Good luck and godspeed, gentlemen.”

  Gladius stood up. “ ’Bout damn time.”

  Quickly, I dropped my ghillie suit and led the way down the embankment to the door. When I tried it, it was locked from the inside. I motioned to the Rangers.

  “Back off a minute, guys.” I keyed my radio. “Wolf. We’re locked out.”

  “Copy. Get your men clear.”

  The three of us ran around the other side of the building. “Charlie Two is clear.”

  By way of response, Gabe fired his .338 at the offending lock. It shattered on impact, the door slowly yawning open. The suppressed report sounded like a dull, faraway thud.

  “Nice shooting, Wolf. Charlie Two is making entry.”

  We ran back and stacked up on both sides of the door. After adjusting my scope to its close-quarters combat setting, I counted off and we went in. I took point, stepped over the dead bodies of the sentries the Barretts had nearly torn in half, and moved left along the wall. The Rangers flipped down their NVGs and did the same on the other side.

  “Clear,” I said.

  “Clear.”

  “Clear.”

  “Which way?” Trident asked.

  I motioned to the other side of the building. “Over there. Basement entrance.”

  Again, we stacked up outside the door and executed a textbook dynamic entry. The stairwell was empty, so we proceeded down into the basement. I took point and tried to sweep as much of the room as I could with my thermals. It was unlikely that anyone was hiding behind the assorted equipment, but I hadn’t stayed alive this long by taking dumb chances. Not seeing anyone, I motioned the Rangers forward.

  Just as we cleared the staircase, the door to the tunnels opened and a man with a bald head and thick glasses stepped through. I recognized him immediately as the engineer in charge of the tunnels. Gladius raised his M-4, but I held up a hand and motioned him back.

  Happy birthday to me.