Diane picked up the hammer and was about to go back to work when she stopped and let it fall to the ground. The Colt .45 in the holster on her hip gave her a feeling of confidence and John’s final words to keep an eye out helped to infuse her with a sense of obligation. She turned to one of the workers nearby, a man in his fifties named Stew who wore a long beard and tie-dye t-shirt. “Did you see that?” she asked, pointing toward the forest’s edge.
Stew glanced up, looking tired and more than a little impatient. “Right now all I see is my bed.”
There was normally a pair of guards patrolling the area, but right now she didn’t see them. “Listen, I’m going to check something out. Just keep an eye out for the patrol and send them over my way. Will you do that?”
Stew shrugged. “Sure.”
Making her way toward the spot where she’d seen the dark figure disappear, Diane felt her chest tighten. Having a gun didn’t always do a whole lot to ease one’s mind when you were on the cusp of entering a dark area, a feeling only made worse when you were pursuing someone who might be up to no good.
Her holster was an old tan leather World War Two replica and she unsnapped the flap, curling her fingers around the pistol grip. She arrived at the treeline, keeping low, giving her eyes a moment to adjust. The sound of snapping twigs and crunching leaves nearby made her anxiety spike.
Heart hammering in her neck, she crept into the shadow cast by the leaves overhead, not wanting to be outlined by standing in the dying light. Still, she saw nothing. Then slowly, fuzzy shapes began to take on solid form as her eyes grew accustomed to the lack of proper light. Crouched down behind a maple tree, she spotted the shadow of a man going from left to right. He was twenty yards away, crossing in front of her on their way back toward town. Soon he emerged from the woods empty-handed.
What about the piece of paper she’d seen him carrying? Had he slipped it into a pocket? Or had he left it behind for someone else to find?
But the thought which drowned out all others was that she suddenly knew who she was looking at: Phoenix.
Diane drew her pistol and hurried out of the woods, stumbling through brush and over fallen branches. As soon as she reached the clearing, she flicked off the safety on her .45 and leveled it at the figure in dark clothing who was walking away.
“Stop right there,” she shouted.
The figure hesitated, but kept on going.
Diane broke into a quick jog, her pistol at the low ready, finger along the barrel just off the trigger.
The figure turned and glanced back and this was the first clear sight she caught of him. He appeared thin and malnourished. But the fear blooming on his face told her right away she had the right man. Only someone up to no good would be nervous when asked to stop. Guilty men also didn’t break into a run and that was exactly what he did.
Diane swore and tore after him. The temptation to fire was strong, but if she was right and this was indeed Phoenix, then they would need to take him alive.
His clothes rippled on his narrow frame. His pants were sliding down, forcing him to hold his waistband as he fled.
“This is your last warning,” she shouted as she leveled her pistol and fired a warning shot in the air.
A second later, the suspect ducked in through the doorway of a nearby building.
Nearby a group of civilians gathering chunks of steel from a pile of debris stopped and stared at her with startled apprehension.
“He went in there,” one of them, said pointing.
She spotted one of Colonel Higgs’ men heading this way, his M4 clutched in both hands.
“Soldier, I need your help clearing this building,” she told him. “We’ve got someone inside who may be a Chinese agent.”
“Let me go in first, Mrs. Mack,” he said, recognizing her. The soldier reached into a pouch and attached a tactical flashlight onto his rifle.
She followed him inside, sweeping the rooms with him as best she could. She had never been trained for this. When he entered a room from the left, she covered the right angle. Part of it was common sense, but no doubt her lack of experience meant she was making mistakes. Hopefully mistakes that wouldn’t get them killed. With the bottom floor cleared, the two made their way upstairs.
“Oneida security,” the soldier shouted, swinging his flashlight rapidly from one corner to the next. “There’s no use resisting.”
They were in what was once the office for a tractor rental company. Desks in each room showcased computers that were as dead as the people who’d used them probably were.
The door of the final office bore the name Timothy Simmons and both Diane and the soldier entered cautiously. Unless the assailant had somehow managed to dematerialize like they did on those sci-fi shows on TV, then he was in this room.
The soldier pointed to the closet behind the desk. Framed pictures with a pair of toothless kids and a plain-looking woman sat by on the window ledge, collecting dust.
Closing his hand around the closet door handle, the soldier drew in a deep breath, his M4 steadied in his other hand.
He jerked it open and that was when the man inside held up his hands, his eyes wide and filled with primal fear.
The soldier grabbed him by the hoodie and yanked him out onto his face. Diane helped place and tighten zip ties around his wrists before both of them lifted the man to his feet and all at once she recognized the gaunt and frightened face staring back at her.
It was David Newbury.
Chapter 34
Despite the heavy load of weapons and supplies the Rough Riders brought with them, John’s guerrilla force made great time. They reached the wood line facing the Jonesboro concentration camp late on the second day at just after 1700 hours.
John had pushed his horse and many of his men to near their breaking point in his determination to arrive as quickly as possible. Only warnings from Reese that John’s horse might drop dead had made him pull back.
Now in place, they sat and waited for the sun to dip beyond the horizon. At precisely 1945, John would give the order for his men to crawl into position for the main assault. About five hundred yards to the north Delta, Echo and Foxtrot squads were concealed in the forest next to the road. John kept in touch with each of his six squads with encrypted military-grade PRC-17 walkie-talkies, although he’d given his men instructions to maintain radio silence unless it was absolutely necessary.
When the signal was given, Delta and Echo would set up blocking positions along the east and west approaches on 1st Street while Foxtrot would face the camp’s front entrance. Their role wasn’t to storm in via the most likely avenue of approach, but rather to draw North Korean soldiers away from the main battle. Foxtrot’s secondary mission was to provide extra support to Delta and Echo on their flanks should the enemy reinforcements come in heavier than expected.
The main assault on the eastern side would come from John’s own squad, Alpha. Bravo and Charlie would attack the southern and western fence lines respectively. In sniper support was Reese and a soldier with the 101st named Hoffman. The crack of their rifles taking out the first tower guards would be the signal to attack.
John swept the camp perimeter with his binoculars. Beside him, Reese did the same with the scope of his Remington 700. Guards in groups of twos and threes were visible walking outside the fence. Visibility inside the camp was obstructed by the rows of barracks and other buildings. But David Newbury had mentioned a courtyard and that executions sometimes took place there, although at this point it was impossible to see what was going on. The place seemed to be quiet, which was good. Launching the assault when the prisoners were out in the open would only have complicated the operation and put American lives at risk.
Behind him, the three squads of Rough Riders kept busy checking their weapons and gear. He took that opportunity to reach into his wallet for a picture of Gregory, taken for his high-school yearbook. His hair was short and turned up slightly at the front, a reference to some pop star he’d been trying to
emulate. John stared at it for a long time before tucking it away. There was still work to do.
His mind shifted to the tools of his trade. As always, John carried his S&W along with his trusty AR-15. Many of the men with him used their standard-issue M4s, mostly because that was what they knew best. A few outliers opted for AK-47s and 74s.
Then at 1942 John caught the sound of a prop plane heading toward them from the east.
He, Reese and Moss all shared a knowing look.
Bringing the walkie to his lips, John depressed the actuator and spoke. “Prepare to move out on my signal.”
The sound of the plane’s engine grew louder until the underbelly streaked overhead, cutting through the weakening light. Although it was sporting Chinese air force colors, John knew right away Billy Ray had kept his word. The Cessna barrelled toward the camp right as John gave the order for his men to break cover and crawl into position.
Chapter 35
The Cessna came in low and fast and pulled up right as it reached the fence line. Bundles of leaflets streamed from the open back door as Billy Ray passed over the camp. It was important that he spread the papers out as far as possible. The plane would not only serve as a distraction, pulling the guards’ eyes off the perimeter, it should also suck up manpower as they scrambled to collect the falling American propaganda before it landed in the prisoners’ hands.
From their concealed position, Reese and Hoffman kept an eye on the guards in the tower, ready to warn the squads whenever they risked being seen. Alpha, Bravo and Charlie squads emerged from the woods, keeping low to the ground, but not crawling. The low crawl they would save for once they were closer to the camp. Although they weren’t visible from here, John knew Delta, Echo and Foxtrot on his right were doing the same. This was the trickiest stage of the operation, getting his men across an open field and into position for the attack without being spotted.
Their first objective was the drainage ditches a hundred yards away which ran parallel to both the eastern and southern fence lines.
“I got enemy eyes looking your way,” Reese said calmly over the walkie.
John, out front, patted the empty air by his hip, an order for his men to go prone. They dropped at once and froze.
A handful of nerve-racking seconds passed.
The Cessna was now starting to take fire and Billy Ray dumped the rest of the leaflets and tipped his wings into a sharp turn toward the east.
Come on, John thought, feeling the anxiety creeping up his legs. We don’t have time for this.
Inside the camp, the guards were already busy collecting the papers. As John had hoped, even the perimeter guards had run back in to help their comrades.
“All clear,” Reese said at last.
John gave the signal and the three squads were back on their feet, their boots clomping over uneven ground.
When they reached the drainage ditch, Bravo and Charlie dropped into it, moving south until they found the intersecting ditch. This would hopefully allow them to approach the southern and western gates without being detected.
The lack of equipment had meant only the squad leaders had a walkie and an earpiece. Once Charlie climbed out of the depression, John would move the men of Alpha to within three hundred feet. In these last few crucial moments, timing and precision would mean everything.
For now they would keep low and rely on Reese to keep an eye out for any sentries who might wander too close. A quick check in with Delta, Echo and Foxtrot informed him they were making good progress. Delta was already blocking the eastern approach to the camp. The other two were still en route to their destination.
“So far, so good,” Moss said, encouraged. In the dimming light, the black camo paint on everyone’s faces made it hard to see anything but the whites of their eyes.
John poked his head up and peered through his binoculars. The North Koreans had started a bonfire in the middle of the camp where soldiers were burning handfuls of leaflets at a time.
“How long do you think before they finish cleaning up?” Moss asked, checking his rifle for the millionth time.
“Hard to say,” John replied. Nervousness didn’t turn him into a chatterbox the same way it did Moss. Far from trying to banish the anxiety, John felt it was often the very thing which kept him fully alert and on his toes.
Then came messages from Bravo, Echo and Foxtrot. They were all in position. That only left Charlie, which wasn’t a huge surprise, since they had the most ground to cover.
John checked the time and saw that it was nearly 20:00.
Then came the sound of gunfire and everyone in Alpha perked up at once.
“Those are AKs,” Moss said, worried.
A half-second later came the sound of the American M4s answering back. John didn’t need to be told that Charlie was taking fire and possibly pinned down in open terrain. More than that, Charlie’s squad leader wasn’t radioing in, which meant he might have been wounded or killed.
John pulled out a stopwatch strung around his neck and started the countdown. If the attack on the truck depot was anything to go by, then they could expect Chinese and North Korean reinforcements from Jonesboro to show up within the next twenty minutes. Getting on the walkie to Reese, John sent his sniper a single message. “Go to work.”
Chapter 36
John and his men stormed out of the drainage ditch to the crack of Reese’s Remington 700. The round hit the tower guard just below the throat, spraying the wooden beam behind him with blood.
A second sniper shot rang out, this time from Hoffman killing another tower guard. Alpha was now charging the eastern gate at a full run, pausing here and there to fire. From the drainage ditch, Benson, their machine gunner, laid down suppressing fire with his M249. Along with Reese’s surgical strikes, the supporting fire from his weapon would keep the enemy’s heads pinned down, allowing John and his men to reach the gate without being cut down.
Soon chaos was erupting in every direction as each squad engaged the North Korean guards. For their part, the enemy soldiers seemed to be fighting back with equal determination. A small satchel charge carried by Alpha’s explosives expert, Specialist Heller, would blow the gate open once they got close.
Two shots whistled past John’s right ear. He dropped into a prone position and made a quick scan for the threat. A guard ducking behind a wooden building poked his head out and fired again. Rounds thudded into the ground, kicking up puffs of dirt. John peered through the scope of his AR, acquired the edge of the structure the guard kept popping out from behind and waited. He didn’t have to wait long. Out came the man’s head, his facial features tense with fear. John squeezed the trigger and the soldier’s head snapped back before his body fell somewhere out of sight.
Pushing back onto this feet, John spotted Heller and three other men from Alpha already at the gate, prepping the charge.
“Cover on eastern gate,” John radioed to Reese and Hoffman.
“On it,” came the reply.
When the charge was set, Heller and the others pulled back and dropped to the ground.
A second later, the satchel detonated with such force it tossed the gate twenty feet into the air, where it landed on an unsuspecting guard.
Heller looked surprised and elated. “Hole in one.”
“Good job,” John said, before he got on the walkie and ordered the men tasked with carrying the QBZ-03s to come forward. The minute those prisoners were freed, he wanted to arm as many of them as he could.
With that done, Alpha surged forward and into the camp. If everything had gone smoothly on Bravo’s end, he expected to meet them somewhere in the center of camp. As for Charlie, he could only hope he would see them there too.
Chapter 37
Half-dressed North Korean troops stormed from their military barracks in the center of camp directly into the sights of John and his men. Dropping down to one knee, John and the other members of Alpha opened fire, mowing them down in a hail of bullets. Each team member knew their role an
d which angle to cover as the group pushed forward. When Bravo showed up a moment later, pouring in fire from the south, the North Koreans’ will to fight seemed to dissolve entirely. Many enemy soldiers ran for the front gate where they were met by Echo and quickly eliminated.
John met up with Bravo’s squad leader, a young, quiet soldier named Gardner. “Any word from Charlie?” John asked, hopeful.
Working a piece of chewing tobacco under his bottom lip, Gardner spat on the ground. “Not yet, sir.”
Staring down the path that looked onto the western gate, John saw that it hadn’t been blown. That meant Charlie was still out there, wounded or possibly KIA. “All right, let’s proceed with the mission. We can check on them once we free these prisoners.”
Sporadic gunfire signaled pockets of enemy soldiers still holding out. John checked his stopwatch. Ten minutes had already gone by. They would need to hurry before reinforcements arrived.
Last Stand: Turning the Tide (Book 4) Page 12