Fortress Doctrine (Maelstrom Rising Book 5)

by Peter Nealen

  That one got a pair, though he’d turned his head to look at what was going on without turning his body or his gun, so both went in just under his armpit, tearing their way through his heart and lungs before exploding out through his upper arm on the other side. He spat blood and collapsed, swinging the Mk 46 up toward the sky as he fell.

  The last man had started to figure out what was happening, but seeing two of his buddies get murked in about four seconds had staggered him. He froze in his tracks, his brain not quite able to catch up fast enough, though he was starting to swing his SIG MPX toward the vehicle. He was just a fraction of a second too late, however, as Hank was already dragging his own muzzle toward the man, and put a single 7.62 round between his eyes from about eight feet away. His head jerked back under the impact, blood and brains spewing from the exit hole in a fine mist, and he collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut.

  Then they were past the gate, Huntsman driving with one hand, his M5E1 still held over his left arm, muzzle pointed out the window. “Whoa, boy, that was exciting.”

  He didn’t slow down, but accelerated toward the low, corrugated aluminum building just ahead. A door opened and armed figures started to spill out, but Hank leaned out the window, bracing his rifle against the frame, and opened fire. They were moving too fast on the gravel road to allow for much accuracy, even at that short range, but it was enough to make the ARI personnel dive for cover.

  Then Huntsman stomped on the brake, turning the vehicle to face the building at an angle, and Hank drew in his rifle before he kicked his door open, bailing out as soon as he had clearance. He stayed low, hitting a knee before circling around toward the hood, even as Huntsman followed him out and bullets started to smash through the window glass.

  Throwing himself flat, Hank got as much of his body behind the front wheel as he could, leaning out on his side to search for targets. They couldn’t afford to get pinned down; the entire operation hinged on taking the pumping station as quickly as possible so that they could neutralize any of the incendiary devices that they didn’t know were there, but that probability suggested the Chinese had set up to deny them the facility.

  So, he didn’t take his time pieing off the angle around the wheel, but shoved himself out, almost overshooting his first target, snapping the muzzle back and thumping two rounds into the first silhouette he could see. The ARI Risk Management guys all seemed to be wearing green collared shirts and khakis under their plate carriers, and the first thing he spotted was a pair of khakis, barely fifty feet away, on a knee beside the gravel pile partway between the building and the piping just to Hank’s right. His first bullet went into a pelvis, the second just beneath the plate carrier. The man collapsed, screaming.

  Sliding farther out, he spotted another man who’d knelt by the corner of the building, trying to barricade himself. His attempt wasn’t good enough, though, as Hank quickly slammed another pair into his side, right behind his front plate. The impacts slammed the man back against the wall as he bent over the hit, then slid down onto his face, leaving a dark smear on the blue-painted siding.

  “Moving!” Huntsman raced past the front of the truck, crossing Hank’s line of sight as he moved to the corner, popping around it to cover toward the door. Hank hauled himself up off the ground and raced to join him, trying to ignore the pains in his knees from the movement.

  “With you.” He skidded to a halt behind Huntsman as Huck and Bishop joined them. Huck was packing an AR-15, in some contrast to the Triarii’s M5E1s.

  Huntsman took the cue and stepped out from the corner, moving quickly toward the door, which was still slightly ajar. Without missing a beat, the thickset redhead yanked the door open and flowed inside, hooking around to dig his corner while Hank went in right behind him, covering his back.

  They were in a small office space, about as chintzy and cheap as to be expected in a modular office at a pumping station in the middle of nowhere. The desks were every bit as cheap as the carpet and the plastic chairs. The dividers between the main office and the two rooms to either side may as well have been cardboard.

  “With you.” Bishop was right at Hank’s shoulder, and so he drove toward the door set into the flimsy wall. The three-foot window in the door meant that this was going to have to be fast and furious. Fortunately, nobody had started shooting through it, since anyone in that office could see Huntsman and Huck behind them.

  Hank stepped up beside the door, put his back to the wall—feeling all too exposed the entire time and waiting for a bullet to tear through the thin wall and into his back—and donkey-kicked the door. The jamb splintered and the door shuddered inward with a crack as the flex broke the glass, only the interior wires holding it together.

  Bishop rode the door inside, Hank right behind him. He caught a glimpse of a figure behind the desk in the center of the room, but a split-second inspection didn’t reveal a weapon, so he hastily cleared the corner before snapping his muzzle back toward the man standing thunderstruck behind the desk.

  “Show me your hands!” Hank’s roar was almost a physical force, and the man flinched, throwing his hands up as he cowered back from the desk. Either it was an act, or this was no hardened, dedicated killer.

  “Turn around, face the wall, get on your knees with your hands on your head!” Hank had stepped to one side, clearing the desk and checking that the cowering man wasn’t hiding any nasty surprises.

  “What is the meaning of this?” The man was getting some of his composure back, even as he complied with Hank’s orders. “This is GSC Energy property! You have no right…”

  His Mandarin accent was unmistakable.

  “Shut up.” Hank made sure that Bishop was in place to cover him, then moved to the desk, slinging his rifle behind his back as he went. He grabbed the man’s wrist, torqued it behind his back, then did the same with the other, zip-tying him securely. “We just intercepted an entire convoy of Mexican sicarios on the way here. And we know that they weren’t coming to force you to hand over the oil, because this has been going on too long.”

  “You cannot do this! We are a private company!” The man was starting to get over his shock.

  “Oh, so private companies are no longer subject to the law, huh?” Huck had just walked in behind Bishop. He stepped around Hank and peered at the man’s face, then compared it to a series of photos on his phone. “Is that so, Mr. Yu Ching-wei? Sounds like something a Communist would say.” He squatted down to where he could look Yu in the face. “Everyone here is under arrest for complicity in the armed invasion of Texan territory, the theft of Texan oil, conspiracy with drug cartels, and complicity in several hundred counts of murder.” He smirked. “Well, those who didn’t try to resist, anyway. Those who did are dead.” He straightened. “Oh, and let’s not forget the big one, that even the Feds won’t be able to ignore. Violation of the Strategic Energy Conservation Act, which stipulated that no foreign company should have control of US energy extraction concerns.” His face got harder. “Just because you tried to conceal your affiliation with the People’s Republic of China by hollowing out an existing—if defunct—American company won’t save you.”

  “You have no idea what you’re doing.” Yu had definitely gotten over the shock of their entry. There was arrogance in his manner now. “Do you have any idea who has interests in this company? You will never get away with this.”

  “We already have.” Huck turned to Hank. “Two more back there. They’re cuffed and secured, but we’re going to have to leave ‘em to make sure we secure the next set of buildings.”

  “That was always the plan.” It wasn’t a great plan, but with the numbers they had available, it would have to do.

  “We’ve got some backup coming; Sheriff Larue is on the way with a bunch of deputized locals to secure our captures behind us. Mark’s pissed; he hasn’t been happy about having all these heavily-armed, unsanctioned ARI types throwing their weight around in his county. He just hasn’t had the numbers or the firepower to do anyth
ing about it until now.” Huck tapped his radio as he glared down at Yu. “In no small part thanks to GSC’s machinations, driving people out while bringing in their own labor and security.” He looked up at Hank. “They’re about five minutes out.”

  “We can’t wait five minutes if we’re going to secure this place.” Hank was moving to the windows as more gunfire cracked outside.

  A sudden storm of rapid 7.62 fire thundered just on the other side of the thin outer wall. As Hank peered out the window, careful to keep himself out of the direct line of sight, he saw the reason for Faris’ mag dump.

  Two SUVs were coming up the service road fast. They’d been fitted with some variation of the Dillon Aero pop-up turret, though they were equipped with medium machineguns rather than the miniguns that Dillon Aero had originally designed the mounts for.

  The lead vehicle had taken the brunt of the fire from the corner of the building. The windshield was starred and spiderwebbed with bullet impacts, more had smacked through the grill, and the machinegun was currently unmanned, though a hand was still caught by its glove on the mount.

  Hank didn’t even pause to think, but snapped his rifle to his shoulder, the reticle settling just ahead of the second gunner. They had to neutralize those machineguns fast, even though if anyone sane was involved, they should be reticent to rake their own structures with machinegun fire.

  He almost opened fire immediately, but didn’t trust the glass to shatter with his first shots. He punched the window with his suppressor, smacking about a three-inch hole through the glass before firing through it.

  His first shot smacked off the M240’s receiver, and the next clipped the gunner’s shoulder. The man was slammed halfway around by the impact and started to slump, but quickly recovered, self-preservation taking hold as he swung the 240 toward the building and opened fire.

  “Get down!” Hank suited actions to words a moment before a storm of bullets tore through the wall, showering him with bits of fiberboard, shattered glass, and other debris.

  He crawled rapidly away from the wall. Popping back up into that window would be a very bad idea. Huck was almost out the door already, dragging Yu with him; apparently, even flex-cuffed, Huck didn’t trust the man not to cause mischief. Necessity aside, he wanted their quarry secured.

  The walls of the building most emphatically did not constitute “cover.” The machinegun rounds were ripping through the walls with little to no resistance, and punching right through the far wall behind them. Debris floated down, torn from the walls by the impacts.

  As Hank followed Huck and Yu through the door, he saw Bishop slumped against the wall just inside the main room, his shoulder soaked with red. His rifle was slung across his lap, his wounded hand on it, while he gripped a pressure dressing against the shoulder with the other. Travis was down beside him, digging more bandages out of his med bag, though he still had his own rifle pointed toward the windows. Winning the fight was the first step in combat medicine.

  Huntsman was maneuvering for a shot through one of the back windows, but the machinegun fire was starting to descend as the gunner got his initial panic under control and adjusted his aim.

  “We’re going to get chopped to pieces in here, Hank!” Huntsman ducked under another burst as he yelled.

  For his part, Hank didn’t disagree. He was already crawling toward the door they’d entered through. But Reisinger and Faris hadn’t been idle, outside.

  A deep-throated, stuttering thunder erupted from the corner of the building—on the northeast corner, past the entryway. Reisinger had hustled around the flank with the Mk 48, and opened up on the SUVs while the up gunner was focused on the rest of the building.

  The incoming machinegun fire slackened, then stopped. Faris opened fire again from the southwest corner. Hank scrambled to his feet and plunged out the door, hooking around to the north to join Reisinger, who was down in the prone, hidden almost completely behind the building, fighting to control the Mk 48 from a 90-degree angle.

  Hank went high, standing over Reisinger and leaning out around the corner, leading with his muzzle. Shooters had piled out of the SUVs under cover of the gunner’s fire, and Reisinger had caught them flat-footed. Four corpses in green and khaki were strewn on the dusty ground just this side of the road.

  There was no sign of the gunner.

  “Moving.” Hank stepped out from behind the corner, keeping something of an eye on the buildings and cars parked outside them just to the north. He was going to have to expose himself somewhat to do this without blocking Reisinger’s field of fire.

  He moved carefully, his weapon up, angling away from the building to get a better line on the two SUVs. Faris was still shooting from the far side of the building, and he didn’t want to break that plane and expose himself to Faris, just in case the movement—while so badly outnumbered and outgunned—might draw fire. Faris had gotten better since he was no longer a squad leader, but there was still only so far Hank trusted his maturity, especially under fire.

  The surviving ARI patrolmen—that was who they had to be, given their quick response time—had taken shelter behind the two SUVs, returning fire as best they could, even as Reisinger raked the rear vehicle with fire. The SUVs were both armored, but Hank could see the armor degrading under the hammering Reisinger was administering.

  He was right online with the corner. He didn’t dare go much farther, but he didn’t have a shot.

  Or did he?

  Dropping flat, Hank rolled onto his side again, getting a sight picture on the first boot that presented itself. He squeezed the trigger and the rifle surged into his shoulder as the suppressor coughed, momentarily clouding his scope as dust and grit was blasted away from the suppressor’s muzzle. He was rewarded with screams, and when the dust cleared, he could see the man writing on the ground under the SUV.

  “Texas Rangers!” Huck was out of the building and on a bullhorn, but his shout was met with more gunfire. Hank shifted targets, found another pair of boots, and crippled yet another, shattering an ankle with a bullet and dropping yet another man screaming to the dirt.

  Then the fire petered out. A moment later, a voice, quavering slightly, in heavily accented English, called out, “Surrender! We surrender!”

  Only as the shooting stopped did Hank notice the crunch of tires on gravel and flashing blue and red lights behind them. He glanced toward the gate to see a truck in the colors of the Winkler County Sheriff’s Department coming through, with a whole lot of pickups and SUVs behind it. Backup had arrived.

  Hank was about to relax when his earpiece crackled.

  “Actual, One-One. We’ve got trouble, north end of the warehouse.”

  Chapter 37

  “We’ve got what looks like more ARI vics coming from the north, and a bunch of these assholes keep trying to get out of the buildings and make a run for the tanks.” LaForce sounded pissed, even over the radio. “I’m pretty sure they’re trying to light the oil on fire. They’ve got satchels or something with them.”

  Hank was picking himself up off the ground. “Roger. Keep ‘em bottled up as best you can; we’ll be there momentarily.” He let his rifle hang as he jogged over to the Sheriff’s Department vehicle.

  Huck had beaten him there. He turned to Hank as the Deputy behind the wheel got out and started calling some of his civilian backup over.

  Turning to Hank, Huck waved at the Deputy. “Dan’s going to bring most of his boys in to back us up. We’ll sweep these next two buildings real quick, then move up.”

  Hank wasn’t sure. The sounds of gunfire coming from the north were starting to intensify. “Can you and the Deputy handle these buildings? It sounds like things are getting a little heated up where LaForce is holding down the northern cluster.” In fact, it was starting to sound downright desperate, as he heard a distant thud that could only be an explosion. Baldwin’s comments about drones popped into his head.

  “I think so.” Huck glanced around at the deputized locals piling out of truck
s and SUVs. Most of them were even more heavily armed than the volunteers back in Presidio. They had, after all, seen a lot more of what they were up against. Judging by the hard, pissed-off looks he was seeing, a lot of these folks had been on the receiving end of ARI Risk Management bullying, backed up by machineguns, and they weren’t happy about it.

  “We’ll have to take it a little slower, but…” A long burst of machinegun fire cut him off. “Go.”

  Hank waved at Reisinger, Faris, and Huntsman as he sprinted for their truck. “Let’s go.”

  Faris was the first one there, but dithered rather than get in the driver’s seat. Hank glared at him but slid behind the wheel—there wasn’t time. “Get in.”

  Reisinger and Huntsman were already in by the time Faris got halfway around to try to get into the shotgun seat, and Reisinger had gotten in the back seat on that side. He looked frustrated, and Hank snarled, “Just get in the fucking bed, Faris!”

  Faris had barely gotten over the edge when Hank threw the truck in gear and surged forward. He heard Faris lose his balance and fall inside with a clatter, but he was beyond caring at that point.

  He raced up the service road toward the next cluster of buildings. All hell was breaking loose out there, and from the sounds of it, Marco Rodriguez was running through his Mk 48 ammo awfully fast.

  But as they drove past the last warehouse in the first cluster of buildings, he saw that it wasn’t Rodriguez doing most of the shooting.

  Two ARI Risk Management SUVs were stationed up the service road to the northwest, spread out and hammering fire at one of Bravo Element’s trucks, which LaForce had left to cover their back—and the secondary pumping complex, packed with pipes and service buildings, just off the main complex. The three men who’d been in that truck were down in the prone behind it, putting just enough fire on the SUVs to keep them back, while the other two bottled up the personnel in the main warehouses behind them.