by Brian Drake
The chopper swept around behind him, the spotlight creating a circle of light around the entire boat. Dane tore the .45 from leather and fired at the canopy as the machine gunner let loose a string of fire that cut through the front of the boat. Dane fired twice in return, looked over his shoulder to correct his aim and fired twice more. The chopper backed off a little. Dane cut the wheel right, the spotlight trying to follow. As he steered parallel with the chopper, he fired two more blasts from the .45 with little or no effect. He cut under the chopper as it tried to swing his way, reversing course, but now he was heading toward shore and the troops that had chased him had found their own boats and were speeding his way.
Dane shoved the throttle forward, the rear end dipping again, the nose of the boat rising as he flew headlong into the line of boats before him. They scattered to avoid him, crashing into one another and Dane slowed a little as he neared the beach. He turned left, aiming for the coastline, following it as close as he could without running aground.
The chopper relentlessly stayed on his tail, finally catching up as he ran the boat along the coastline, the door gunner blasting away. The bullets cut the air over Dane’s head, smacked into the body of the boat. Dane followed the right-hand drift of the coastline and turned the wheel, his mind racing for a solution. He couldn’t outrun the chopper. He couldn’t hide. The aircraft would act as a beacon for the other boats once they organized again. Dane ran to the mounted machine gun and swung it around. He fired at the chopper’s underbelly, raised his aim to the engine. Smoke began pouring out of the back. He’d scored a hit, but the machine wasn’t slowing down. It circled again, trailing smoke. The door gunner fired a burst that stitched through the floor and side and smacked the gas tank with a loud thwack. Dane zeroed his sight and fired. The windshield caved under the impact of the bullets and the chopper dropped nose first into the water. The explosion lit the night, flame shooting skyward, chunks of debris splashing in the water and sailing over Dane’s head.
The other boats rounded the curve. Closing fast.
The motor still chugged but without much life. Dane pushed the throttle forward, but the motor only responded with half the enthusiasm as before. His gas tank gauge read near empty. The machine gunner not only blasted his fuel supply but damaged his engine. Dane spun the wheel toward shore, coaxing as much power as he could from the motor. When he reached the sand, he grabbed his M-4 and leaped over the side.
He trudged over the wet sand, his boots unable to get any traction and that cost him time. The pursuing boats raced closer, the barking dogs more audible as the engines cut off. Dane looked back once. Three dogs launched themselves from the boats and charged at him like heat-seeking missiles. Dane finally reached dry sand and took two steps before his left foot struck drift wood and he tumbled face first, the M-4 flying from his grasp. He snatched the .45 and rolled over, taking aim at the lead dog. The animal’s eyes glinted in the low light of the moon, his gray coat thick, muscles contracting beneath his fur. Dane tightened on the trigger but by then they were on top of him, mouths open and when those mouths closed on flesh, Steve Dane screamed.
43
Dane’s puffy eyes opened. His right cheek rested on scratchy carpet. His arms had been wrenched behind his back, both wrists secured with a plastic tie. He felt neither arm, but the combat blouse was torn, bite marks on exposed skin still bleeding a little. A coating of dry sweat and bits of sand clung to the rest of him. The pain from the bites hadn’t come to life yet; it would presently, but Dane saw another sight that took his mind off his condition.
Mason Graypoole sat a few feet away in a leather chair, legs crossed. He shook his head.
“We finally meet,” Graypoole said. “And once again I’ve come out on top. You should have picked another career. If you were on a football team, they’d have traded you.”
Dane said nothing through his swollen lips. Pain flared through his body. The dogs had bit his legs and arms. The bites throbbed.
“Don’t worry about rabies,” Graypoole said. “I wouldn’t put my men at risk with rabid dogs. I spend too much money on the troops for that. But those bites may become infected, you know. Also, I don’t have detention cells in this facility, so this suite in the living quarters will have to suffice.” Graypoole smiled. “Hope you don’t mind.”
Dane was content to breathe.
“Are you the advance force or something? I sure hope there are others more competent than you. Of course, we haven’t found any yet. I’m beginning to think the US has no idea how to respond to me.”
Dane blinked.
“We keep checking the radar for any ships or planes. Nothing so far. We wouldn’t see stealth fighters, but none have arrived yet. I think you’re all alone here, pal.”
Dane let out a little laugh.
“I think you’re going to be here a little while, until I can figure out what to do with you.”
Graypoole rose, turned for the door; with his hand on the knob, he looked back and said, “What I want is a final showdown. Maybe I’ll make a video with you and taunt them a little. They have to show up sometime.” Graypoole opened the door and went out.
Dane breathed into the carpet. The door closed quietly. He finally let out a groan. But he forgot the pain when a thought occurred to him.
Where were Nina, Stone and McConn?
Nina watched two troopers drag Dane into the housing unit, his boots clunking up the steps, his body slack. Obviously unconscious but cut and bleeding as well. Well now they had two objectives and she wouldn’t leave until the baddies were done for and she had Steve back beside her. She lay in a hiding spot on the slope behind the troops’ quarters and let out a breath.
Slight movement to her left. She turned slowly, bringing the M-4 around with her. Stone whispered her name.
“Here,” she said.
He crawled on knees and elbows beside her with McConn slithering close as well. The leaves surrounding them were wet, the ground soft. Mud covered their combat clothes and packs.
“Where’s Steve?” McConn said.
She pointed at the barracks.
“It’s up to us then,” Stone said.
“I’ve found the radar tower,” Nina said.
“We located a power station,” McConn said. “If we can blast that, this whole place will go dark.”
“Okay,” Nina said. “Todd, lights out is your signal to hit the barracks. Dev, take the power station. I’ll knock out the radar.”
Stone departed as quietly as he arrived. Nina told McConn good luck as he moved out. McConn checked his weapon and began the agonizing slow move down the slope to the base of the mountain where it met the rear of the barracks. The voices of the troopers inside drifted his way; three stood guard around the front steps. He hoped it wouldn’t be a long wait before the lights went out.
The two troopers inside the radar station left the door propped open with a rock. They talked quietly as the glow of the screens filled the shack-like structure with the array of dishes and antenna adjacent.
Nina crept closer, staying at the edge of the foliage and the clearing the radar station sat in. Wind rustled the leaves around her. She placed her M-4 on the ground and took out her silenced Smith & Wesson. She raised the gun and fired once, twice. Both troopers slid out of their chairs and onto the floor with head shots, the bloody mess left behind covering the floor.
Nina holstered the pistol, slung her rifle and unloaded two bricks of explosive from her pack. She placed one brick at the base of the shack, the other at the edge of the fence surrounding the dish and antenna array. She set the timers for five minutes each and beat it out of there, following the path she had taken to the top, almost sliding onto her bottom when she stepped on a flattened leaf slick with moisture rather than solid ground.
She made her way back toward the barracks. McConn would need covering fire.
When the bombs went off, the flash of the explosions lit the night, the concussions following a moment later. An alarm st
arted to blare, a loud klaxon and then another pair of explosions shook the island. Lights around the compound snapped off. Hand-held spotlights popped on as troopers tried to discover where the attack originated.
At the barracks, McConn fired from cover, stitching the three troopers near the front steps before they knew what hit them. Their bodies fell and McConn, his night vision guiding him, stepped over the bodies and up the steps and into the barracks.
An open area, beds and lockers on either side, troopers in various stages of undress confused and trying to get dressed and grab weapons. McConn broke left up some steps, turning right at the landing and going up another flight. Carpeted floor, three closed doors. McConn tried the closest on his left. Locked. “Steve!”
“In here!”
McConn shifted to the door on his right, giving the knob a solid kick. Shouts below; heavy footsteps; nobody coming up the stairs. All troops were mustering outside. When he heard the crackle of automatic weapons fire, McConn knew Stone and Nina had returned from their individual tasks.
McConn found Dane on the carpet, dropped beside him. He set his rifle down and used a knife to cut the bonds holding Dane’s wrists. As Dane shook his hands to get the circulation going, McConn handed him the knife and picked up the M-4. He stood near the doorway, watching the stairwell, while Dane cut the straps on his ankles.
More shouting below. Heavy footsteps coming up the stairs. Somebody remembered Dane after all. McConn shouldered the M-4. As the two troopers cleared the landing, he squeezed the trigger. The long burst cut both men almost in two, sending their bodies back down the stairs in a bloody and mangled heap. Dane said, “I could use a weapon,” and they advanced down the steps, Dane taking an AK-47 and ammo belt off one of the troopers.
McConn led the way out of the building. They broke left and ran for cover. Nina and Stone continued popping off bursts of rounds, keeping troopers down, some of them returning fire but none of the shots striking home.
McConn found Nina behind a stump. She whistled to Stone and the four started running through the growth, swatting branches and other obstacles aside.
Shooting behind them nicked at their former hiding space. Dane stopped long enough to look back and trigger a blind burst. Lights around the camp were snapping on again. Back-up generator.
“They’ll be organized in a few minutes,” he said, running with his friends again.
They reached a gulley and dropped into it.
“If they spread around the island chasing us, that leaves Graypoole exposed,” Nina said. “He’s not the type to join the hunt.”
Nina reloaded her weapon. “Here they come.”
Dane looked where Nina pointed. They dropped low. Dane couldn’t see the approaching figures as well as the others, but their movement was unmistakable.
Nina sank as low as she could. Dane kept his eyes forward. One of the troopers exposed too much of his upper body. Dane fired. The round hit the man’s chest dead center. The other two opened up, shifting their bursts, the stingers from their automatic rifles ripping into trees and brush, geysering the dirt around their position. He fired at the next trooper as McConn and Stone started shooting too. Dane missed. The gunner rolled to better cover.
Nina crawled out of the dip and moved off to Dane’s left, staying low as she ran between the trees.
“Damnit, Nina!”
One of the gunmen saw her and swung the M-4 her way.
“Nina down!”
Dane’s AK spat flame. The trooper’s head snapped back, painting a nearby tree with specks of red.
More shots from the troopers split the air overhead, the slugs singing like bees. Dane put his face into the dirt as McConn and Stone alternated bursts. Somebody on the other side screamed.
“More coming,” McConn said.
Dane looked in the direction Nina had gone. Where was she?
44
Nina peered through brush at the troopers fifteen yards away. She wanted to be closer than she was now. The closer she could get, the better chance of wiping them out the first time.
She broke from cover, closed the gap between her and the nearest trooper, swinging the butt of her rifle to connect with his head. He landed hard, his two buddies snapping their heads around. Nina’s M-4 hammered against her shoulder as she riddled both men with slugs. When the rifle clicked empty, she popped out the magazine and replaced it with a spare. Staying low, Nina scanned for more. The crackle of weapons filled the night, boots stomping through the foliage, shouts here and there. She advanced, dropping and rolling every few feet, dirt flying each time she hit the ground. A large tree lay ahead. She ran to it, bracing against the rough trunk. A lone gunner, focused on where Dane, McConn and Stone were, didn’t see her. She stroked the trigger and flame flashed from the M-4.
The burst stitched up the gunner’s back to his head, which popped like a crushed watermelon. The man hit the ground.
The shouting grew louder and she looked back. More troopers closing in. Her throat felt suddenly dry as she realized the true odds they faced. They couldn’t hold them off forever.
She cut across the battlefield and back to the gulley.
“Are you out of your mind?”
“More coming,” Nina said as she settled beside Dane.
“I see them,” Stone said.
“We can’t stay here,” McConn said. “I’m down to my last mag.”
“Dev?”
“Two more.”
“The dead have plenty of ammo,” Nina said.
“We’re not in a position for a shopping spree.”
Dane held up a hand for everybody to stop talking, then made a downward gesture. They slid under as much of the foliage as they could. The troopers moved quickly, a leader shouting commands. He wanted to split the team three ways and directed them so. He led his group straight toward the gulley. Dane watched him through a gap in the leaves. If the troopers walked by, and they could hide until they were well inland, then going back for Graypoole wouldn’t be so bad. Not ideal, but not certain death, either.
And that last Bell helicopter was calling his name.
The squad leader guided his team around the gulley but they still marched dreadfully close, and presently continued on their way, not bothering to stay quiet. They cut and slashed at anything in front of them, only the two in the rear really paying attention and keeping their rifles at the ready.
Dane and his crew waiting for at least a half hour, letting nature settle around them. Activity at the command center, once the generator put the lights back on, seemed quiet. Had every available man gone searching for them?
Dane started to move, the others following and they spread out in a line. They stopped at the dead bodies to help themselves to rifles and ammunition, all they could carry and started for the buildings. At the edge of the forest, Dane looked around.
There were a few troopers behind, two near the helicopter, two in front of the control center. But it was the bungalow that Dane focused on. Graypoole and the Iranian were still there, armed, with a trooper on the balcony as well.
Dane gestured for everybody to gather around and they made a plan.
Presently McConn broke off and worked his way closer to the helicopter. He waited.
Stone approached the control center.
Dane and Nina eyed the bungalow.
Dane freed the pin from a grenade and aimed for the control building, executing a perfect overhand toss. The grenade landed at the feet of the troopers there, exploding before they could react. The blast shook the ground and sent a ball of flame skyward.
McConn opened fire on the troopers near the chopper, cutting them down. One of his rounds cracked a window on the side of the helicopter.
Dane and Nina broke cover and ran for the bungalow.
Stone kicked in the door of the control room, tossing another grenade. He jumped out of the doorway. The blast filled the room. Swinging back inside, he opened fire on anybody still standing. Bodies not the ground fell over as th
e slugs ripped open their flesh.
Graypoole, Rostami the Iranian lawyer and the other trooper braced themselves on the railing, firing on Dane and Nina. The slugs kicked up dirt around them. Dane dropped and rolled, stopping near a Jeep, and fired over the hood. The trooper’s chest exploded and chunks of bloody mush splattered on Graypoole’s suit. He didn’t seem to notice. Nina continued running, gaining the foliage on the other side, starting her climb toward the stilts.
Dane tossed another grenade that sailed past the bungalow and detonated behind it, but the blast was enough to make Graypoole scream. The Iranian kept his aim on Dane, a salvo of shots tearing into the hood of the Jeep and shattering the glass. Nina triggered a burst that stitched through the deck floor but missed the Iranian, who then shifted his position and returned fire.
Dane ran forward, charging up the slope, firing as he moved. The AK-47 clicked empty. He dropped and rolled into the foliage, changing magazines as Nina returned fire. Dane rose and a shot split the air above his head. Graypoole adjusted his aim. Dane rolled as the second round punched into the ground where he’d been.
Dane stayed low and crawled through the foliage like a burrowing tick.
Dane stopped when he reached Nina. “I’m going around to the front.”
“I’ll cover you.”
Dane pushed through the foliage with Nina’s rifle hammering behind him. He scooted under the deck and crawled through the dirt beneath the house, stopping when the floor became too low, turning to crawl out on the side. He stayed low, avoiding the covered windows and circled around to the porch. More gunfire from the opposite side hid the sounds of him running to the porch and kicking in the door. He somersaulted through the entry way and came up on one knee.
Graypoole and the Iranian turned from the balcony at the same time. The Iranian’s rifle came up as Dane fired, the muzzle flash filling the room. The Iranian took the salvo high in the chest and screamed as he tumbled over the railing to the slope below. Dane shifted to Graypoole, who dived to one side. Dane’s weapon spat a burst and stopped, the weapon clicking empty. Dane tossed it aside and jumped to his left and Graypoole ran at him with flame spitting from the end of his gun.