Ghost Recon gr-1

by Tom Clancy

  Hume turned and threw himself headfirst down the staircase, just as the explosion catapulted him against the far wall.

  As shattered pieces of the staircase tumbled on top of him, he rolled over and pressed his back against the wall, as two figures came down through the lingering dust.

  Despite his lost breath and the biting pain in his arms and legs, he thought, No, I don't die here.

  Gritting his teeth, Hume squinted and emptied his magazine into the oncoming men. He broke into a scream as they collapsed and rolled down the stairs, falling at his feet.

  The he reached forward, lifted one man's head. It was him, Major-General Chen.

  Only semiconscious now, he tugged off his ENVGs and called out to Beasley. "Bravo Lead, this is Hume. Target Alpha terminated. One more to go. Need help here. Staircase. Please."

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  TRANSFORMER STATION

  XIAMEN, CHINA

  APRIL 2012

  Maintenance Supervisor Tang Chia-jun coughed and squinted through the thinning clouds of smoke rising around the transformer station.

  Once he and his men reached the breakers that he assumed were the problem, he took one look at the damage, and his mouth fell open.

  Supervisor Tang had been working for the power company for over twenty-two years. He knew his job.

  And he knew sabotage when he saw it. That new lock on the gate and the smoke had been the first signs of something much more than a routine repair.

  Now his flashlight's beam shot up through the smoke like a laser and caught three gray bricks attached to the main lines. His breath grew shallow.

  Just then, Tang's assistant supervisor shouted from the other side of the station.

  Tang rushed over and found that the man had removed his hard hat and he, along with three others, stood near a small, robotlike camera humming softly.

  Suddenly, the camera turned, jarring all of them. It rolled forward on its treads and seemed to stare at them, its "head" panning right and left.

  "What is this?" asked his assistant.

  Tang gaped at the thing. "I don't know."

  "You don't know?" asked another of the workers. "Is this some new equipment?"

  Tang turned back to the bricks on the main lines, then faced the robot.

  He began to tremble.

  HAKKA CASTLE

  XIAMEN, CHINA

  APRIL 2012

  Roughly three kilometers away, inside one of the north building's stairwells, Beasley frowned at the Chinese power crew in his HUD. Were they about to run off? He wasn't sure, but he needed them gone now. A data bar in the right corner of his HUD displayed a preprogrammed list of commands in Mandarin that he could issue through the SUGV's loudspeaker. He chose the obvious: Go away. Fast!

  "Kuai Zou! Kuai Zou! Kuai Zou!"

  The men slowly backed off. All right, they were beginning to get the message.

  Beasley pressed a button on his wireless controller, and a detonation clock glowed and flashed on his screen: 00:00:20, 00:00:19, 00:00:18…

  Not only would the rest of the station blow, but the SUGV was also rigged for detonation with chemical charges that would melt its components beyond recognition.

  "Ghost Lead, this is Bravo Lead. Charges at the station have been activated. But I have two men down."

  TRANSFORMER STATION

  XIAMEN, CHINA

  APRIL 2012

  Tang's mouth finally worked. "Run now! Run!" He sprinted toward the gate, his men following, screaming their questions as a series of ear-piercing explosions came from behind them.

  His heart hammering, his breath all but gone, Tang neared the fence when the concussion lifted him into the air for a moment, then slammed him into the gate.

  The rest of his men joined him there, and they all turned back, breathless, staring in awe at the fireballs.

  HAKKA CASTLE

  XIAMEN, CHINA

  APRIL 2012

  Diaz ignored the muffled booming from the northeast as she targeted that door Ramirez had indicated.

  Three of the four Spring Tigers were already dead. If she could nab this guy, Admiral Cai, designated Target Charlie, the mission was over.

  But poor Marcus. Had she killed him? She was too damned scared to ask.

  And Beasley wasn't saying a word.

  She began to pant and could almost hear the rattle of her nerves as the door swung open, and there he was.

  No, that wasn't him. That was his guard. There he was, just behind, turning now to the right.

  She gave him just enough lead.

  "Yeah, you didn't just miss the bad guy, Alicia. You killed one of your friends!"

  Shut up, Tomas!

  She took the shot, but the round erupted in the earth at Admiral Cai's feet. She cursed as she threw back the bolt and reloaded, never taking her eye off the admiral.

  He dropped and began crawling around the building's edge, out of sight, though the red diamond IDing him glowed over the wall.

  A green diamond suddenly floated into view.

  "Diaz, Ghost Lead here. Hold your fire! I got him."

  Mitchell and Smith had just emerged from the south building and dove forward onto their guts. They had a perfect bead on the admiral, whose guard had dropped in behind him. Mitchell held his breath, about to fire.

  But Smith reacted first, cutting loose with his MR-C. The guard and the admiral shook violently as Smith's rounds drummed them into unceremonious death.

  "Nice," gasped Mitchell.

  Smith groaned and replied, "Thanks."

  Mitchell called up Beasley's camera in the HUD, which showed the sergeant dashing across the castle grounds. "Bravo Lead, I need a SITREP."

  "I'm here, Captain. Brown's down, but he's alive, unconscious. I'm en route to Hume's position. Not sure about him yet. Bo's got Marcus."

  "You need help?"

  "I think we're good."

  "Roger that. Everybody else? All targets have been terminated. Fall back on the SUVs! Move, move, move!"

  "Yeah, that's easy for him to say," griped Jenkins.

  Sergeant Marcus Brown was still lying in the staircase. Diaz's round had missed him by a fraction of an inch, but debris from the wall had struck him in the head. That, along with tumbling down a dozen wooden steps, had knocked him out cold.

  Jenkins had already checked Brown's pupils to see if they were equal and reactive to light, which they were, and he had already checked Brown's ears for any fluids; they were clear. In a perfect world, they would immobilize Brown's neck and haul him out on a portable litter.

  In Jenkins's world, he was charged with carrying his buddy on his back, pack-mule style.

  He carefully lifted Brown and started down the stairs, the wood creaking and bending with every step. Between Brown's massive physique and his weaponry, it took a blinding amount of force to bring him down.

  Outside, Jenkins sloshed forward as more wind whipped through, carrying a fresh wall of rain. Despite all those hours in the gym, the load was now too much. He collapsed to his knees and lowered his buddy to the ground. "Ghost Lead, Jenkins here. I have Brown, but I need help."

  "I'm going down to get them," said Boy Scout over the phone, beginning to gun the SUV's engine as though he were about to drag race.

  Buddha bit back a curse. "They're coming up to us. Don't move, you fool! We keep protected. We have the only rides out!"

  "If they all die down there, they will not need us. Let's get in there and get them out."

  "You heard what I said."

  "Sorry, old man. We don't play it safe."

  Suddenly, Boy Scout threw his SUV in gear and roared off ahead of Buddha, who wrenched open his door, climbed out, leveled his pistol, and began firing at the kid. The SUV's rear window took several holes, glass splintering, but the vehicle headed up and over the hill, gone.

  "What are you doing?" cried the kid. "Stop firing!"

  Buddha screamed into the phone, "Get back here! Now!"

  "No, you fat cow. You c
ome with me!"

  Throwing up his arms and screaming, Buddha returned to his SUV and threw it in gear.

  After sending off Smith to check on Beasley and Hume, Mitchell sprinted off to help Jenkins.

  As Mitchell headed north, a vehicle — one of those Chinese Brave Warriors — suddenly raced through the central building's main entrance and crossed into the path, heading east out of the castle. Unsure who might be in that truck, Mitchell held fire and called over the radio. "This is Ghost Lead. There's a vehicle heading east! Where the hell did that come from? Who's in it?"

  "Ghost Lead, this is Diaz. I'm en route to the rally point. See your truck. Must be that last guard, the guy who looked like the security team leader, the one that had the cane. Not sure where he hid the truck."

  "Roger that."

  "And, sir, looks like our SUVs are coming down the mountain."

  "What?"

  "That's right, sir. They're coming down."

  Mitchell swung around and watched as Fang Zhi's truck roared up onto the east road, directly toward the first oncoming SUV. "Diaz, you see that other truck."

  "I got him."

  "Fire!"

  "I'll try, sir, but he's moving fast!"

  "Just try. Ramirez? Nolan? Get to Jenkins. Help him get Brown out of there.

  "You got it, Boss," answered Ramirez.

  Boy Scout cut his wheel to the left, trying to run the oncoming truck off the road, but the driver, whose window was down, thrust his arm and head out the window and began firing his pistol.

  The first shot exploded into Boy Scout's windshield as he reached for his own weapon.

  He never brought it to bear.

  Just as the two vehicles passed each other, with the truck to Boy Scout's left, the driver fired once more. Boy Scout's neck snapped back as he thought a curse, fell forward onto the wheel, and all sensation vanished.

  Buddha rolled his wheel and drove as far off to the right as he could, bringing his SUV high onto the muddy embankment, even as he fired upon the escaping truck.

  That driver returned fire, then accelerated up and over the hill, gone.

  Beasley picked his way through the shattered staircase and found Hume sitting up against the wall, his legs and right arm pinpricked by dozens of pieces of shrapnel. Opposite him lay a guard and Major-General Chen.

  "Johnny, it's me, Matt. Getting you out of here, buddy."

  Hume did not move.

  Beasley removed the sergeant's earpiece and balaclava, then directed a small Gladius tactical light to the side of Hume's head, checking his ears and eyes. They looked all right. He examined the wounds on Hume's extremities.

  The sergeant stirred and said, "Matt, I think I'm going to puke."

  "Your ears ringing, too?"

  "Yeah."

  "You got a little shrapnel, little head injury. Ain't nothing. Let's see if you can put some weight on those legs. Ready?"

  Beasley rose, got in beside Hume to dig his arms into Hume's pits and haul him to his feet.

  Hume hadn't been kidding about feeling nauseous. Just as he leaned over, about to hurl, Smith came rushing into the stairwell, took one look at them, and said, "Guess you got it covered here, Matt."

  "Hold on, cowboy. Get back here, police up his gear, and help me get him out. Let's go!"

  Seeing that the first SUV was barreling down the road, out of control, heading directly toward the east building, Mitchell raced toward it.

  There was, however, nothing he could do as metal screeched and the vehicle crashed through the gate, heading straight for the curving brick wall. At least the gate had helped to slow the SUV so that once it struck the wall with a low boom, the bricks slid back a quarter meter or so, but the vehicle did not bust through and sat there idling, its black hood draped in dust and rocks.

  Gasping, Mitchell reached the SUV, swung open the driver's side door, and grimaced. Their young CIA contact was gone and had bled all over the seat and wheel. He shifted the lever into park and turned as Diaz came sprinting up.

  "Sir, I'm sorry, I just couldn't get a bead," she said, gasping herself, her face drenched, the Cross-Com's power light glowing like a small jewel near her ear.

  "It's all right. Help me get him out. You take the wheel. I want to stop that other truck."

  "You got it, sir. He's following our route, which is good, but he's got one hell of a lead."

  Mitchell sighed in disgust. "I know."

  As they dragged Boy Scout out of the seat and toward the back of the SUV, Diaz cried, "Wait a second. There might be a way to slow him down."

  TWENTY-NINE

  LEAVING HAKKA CASTLE

  XIAMEN, CHINA

  APRIL 2012

  Mitchell ordered the others to load Brown and Hume into his SUV. Nolan climbed into the back to better assess their wounds and treat them while en route back to the coast. Hume was in and out. Brown was just coming around.

  They raced off, while Ramirez, Beasley, Smith, and Jenkins climbed into Buddha's SUV.

  As Diaz took them up onto the slick mountain road, struggling with the wheel, Mitchell just happened to glance in the side-view mirror.

  Buddha's SUV had yet to pull out of the courtyard. A man was running toward the truck, waving one hand.

  "Ramirez, this is Ghost Lead. What's going on down there?"

  They had been screaming for Buddha to get the hell out of there, but the fat man had spotted someone running across the courtyard and had cried, "Wait!"

  Ramirez, who was sitting up front, swung his pistol around and aimed at Buddha's head. "Drive!"

  "No, that's Huang, our contact. Just wait one second!"

  "Get moving now!" shouted Ramirez. "This place'll get hot soon. Come on!"

  Buddha faced him with widening eyes. "Patience."

  "Get out of the car!" screamed Beasley from the backseat. "Out, fat man! I'm driving!"

  "Huang?" shouted Buddha, ignoring Beasley. "What is it?"

  Huang waved and continued running toward the SUV, where he saw Buddha turn back and once more scream at the men inside. The pistol was tucked into Huang's pocket.

  He had seen Fang escape in the Brave Warrior that was supposed to be Huang's.

  He had watched the men climb into Buddha's truck and knew he was going to drive away, leaving Huang with nothing.

  Fang had lied and made false promises.

  Buddha had lied and broken his promise to kill Fang.

  Huang must save face. He must.

  "Buddha! Wait! I have something for you."

  The exhaustion, lack of sleep, and the high humidity had all taken their toll on Buddha, who was slow to realize what was happening.

  Huang did not have some last bit of information for him.

  He had a bullet.

  The scrawny old man reached into his pocket and produced a pistol.

  Buddha reached for his weapon, even as the back door slammed open and one of the Ghosts burst outside.

  But it all happened too fast for old Buddha. And there was a strange sense of resignation that took hold, that feeling just before he fell asleep after a long day.

  Huang's pistol flashed.

  The first round sliced through Buddha's neck just as Ramirez fired past Buddha's face.

  The second round struck Buddha in the head, and while he should have died quickly, there was, it seemed, just enough time for a final thought, nothing profound, just a simple line from the Dhammapada, one he often repeated to calm himself: "Here shall I dwell in the season of rains, and here in winter and summer."

  Smith flinched over his wounded arm, but he still managed to leap from the SUV, and, one-handing his MR-C, cut down the scarecrow with the pistol.

  "Get Buddha out of that seat! Get him in the back!" shouted Ramirez, who then added. "Jesus, I'm hit, too!"

  Beasley and Jenkins were out of the truck, rushing to the driver's side to haul out Buddha and load him into the cargo compartment. Smith figured they'd call higher to find out what they wanted to do with the bodies
of the CIA guys, but it'd be unwise to leave them behind.

  Mitchell was still calling for a SITREP over the radio, and Beasley filled him in while Smith ran back around the truck to check on Ramirez, who had been lifting his arm when that first shot had passed through Buddha's neck. The round had continued on to strike him in the right shoulder, near his upper chest.

  "Hey, least you got shot by a bad guy," groaned Ramirez. "That old man got me."

  "Yeah, kind of embarrassing."

  Ramirez snorted. "Shut up."

  "Kidding." Smith checked for an exit wound, found one. "All right, it passed right on through. I know it hurts. We'll tape you up for now."

  Ramirez's face screwed up into a knot, and he cursed.

  "Joey, if you can get in back, we'll treat you," said Beasley. "Jenkins, you take the wheel."

  "Come on," said Smith, reaching out to help Ramirez down from the passenger's seat.

  "Bravo Lead," called Mitchell. "Get out of there and light up those choppers."

  "Roger that."

  Once the last door had slammed shut and Jenkins was wheeling them around, Beasley issued a curt, "Three, two, one," and set off the C4 packed tightly into the helicopters and trucks behind the castle.

  The idea, of course, was to keep any military or police response focused inland — and between the castle explosion and the one at the transformer station, Smith figured they had done a convincing job of baiting the hook.

  He craned his head and stared back at the castle, water streaming off the rooflines like melting wax as four magnificent fireballs rose skyward and swelled into orange mushrooms behind it. The explosions cast the place in an otherworldly glow, and as they rose higher into the mountains, the valley shone once more in the flicker of lightning.

  It was an unforgettable sight, a painting from ancient China coming alive before his eyes,

  As Smith turned back and settled into his seat, window down, rifle at the ready, he thought of his parents back home, wished they could've come along with him on this mission. They might realize once and for all that giving up his position as a Ghost to become a small-town sheriff would be like playing in the major leagues and then deciding to coach weekend softball games.