Читать книгу War Tides - Don Pendleton - Страница 11

Namibia, Africa

The chopper crash hadn’t seemed to produce any ill effects on the crew that emerged from her smoking fuselage. Oily clouds vented into a sky colored a dark hue by the desert sunset and initially obscured their numbers. David McCarter counted roughly a dozen men. They toted machine pistols and assault rifles, which meant they were probably trained to use them, but McCarter knew it would take more than that to intimidate the battle-hardened veterans of Phoenix Force.

Behind a nearby rock, Manning had set up his M-60 E-4, and he opened up on their enemies as soon as they broke from the chopper. The steady chug of the heavy-caliber weapon played like music to the Briton’s ears as Manning poured on the heat. Manning wasn’t trying to hit anyone as much as keep heads down and attention away from Encizo and Hawkins, who left McCarter’s side as soon as Manning triggered the first salvo.

McCarter watched the two beat feet across the uneven and treacherous floor of this Namibian desert hellhole. At the moment, the Phoenix Force leader wished to be anywhere but here. He concentrated his thoughts and put all his energies into raising the muzzle of his Fabrique Nationale FAL battle rifle and triggering short bursts on sure targets in support of Manning’s efforts. The plan they put together was almost too simple. Encizo and Hawkins would try to gain a flanking position on the enemy and take them out with ordnance from Hawkins’s M-203 when they had a clear field of fire.

McCarter had ordered Calvin James to take one of the vehicles and escort Dr. Justus Matombo in the opposite direction from their position, not to stop until they hit Lüderitz and could notify the Namibian militia. At first, they had thought they were up against the militia, which served as the country’s national guard, but that seemed unlikely now. Matombo swore the military would never have fired on civilian vehicles—and especially not those with government markings—without ample warning. McCarter tended to believe that from his own experiences, even in a country that had experienced as much strife as Namibia. That left terrorists. Whether they were IUA didn’t matter at that point—staying alive was what counted right now.

McCarter made that point loud and clear as two enemy gunmen fell under his marksmanship. Years in the British SAS and training as a pistol champion had made McCarter a sharpshooter with few equals. The first terrorist he hit took a double-tap to the chest that flipped the man onto his back. The second gunman caught a slug that took out his knee and tripped him up so he landed hands and knees on the ground, sparing him the next shot. McCarter didn’t miss a second time and he finished the terrorist with a burst to the left flank.

McCarter paused to assess the results of Manning’s handiwork, who was no more a stranger to small arms than him. The M-60 E-4 sported a swivel bipod that operated smoothly and featured built-in recoil dampeners that prevented slippage even on smooth surfaces. The heavy weapon boomed a ceaseless, ear-busting tune as Manning swept the firing zone with steady side-to-side motions. The 7.62 x 49 mm NATO rounds pummeled the enemy gunners who were angling for any cover they could find, without much avail. Phoenix Force had claimed the only real protection among these rocks, and the area around the road where the chopper had put down was sparse, affording their adversaries little protection from Manning’s onslaught.

McCarter watched another moment and then took up position and continued firing.

T. J. HAWKINS and Rafael Encizo didn’t waste any time picking their way across the uneven terrain to gain a flanking position.

Not that their enemies weren’t mindful of that fact, as several of them charged the Phoenix Force pair while they were still on the move. Whether an accidental rendezvous or simply dumb luck on the part of the terrorists, Encizo didn’t wait to ponder the point. The Cuban raised his Heckler & Koch MP-5 subgun and triggered a 3-round burst that struck the first man in the upper chest and sent him reeling as the weapon he’d been toting flew from lifeless fingers.

The second terrorist didn’t fare any better as Hawkins fired his M-16 A-3 from the hip. A pair of 5.56 mm zingers punched through the target’s face and blew out most of the back of his skull. The gunner’s body stiffened a moment, the arms and legs making herky-jerky movements, and then he toppled to ground and left a cloud of dust in his wake.

The last of the trio realized the odds were no longer in his favor and smartly decided to find cover. Unfortunately for him, the thought came a moment too late. Encizo caught the man with a well-aimed trio of shots to the midsection. The bullets perforated the stomach and one lung. A crimson geyser erupted from the terrorist’s mouth. He stopped in his tracks a moment, dropped his weapon and then slowly collapsed in a heap.

Encizo shook his head. “That was close.”

“As a razor,” Hawkins added with a nod.

The pair continued toward their destination and in less than a minute they had come around on the enemy’s right flank. Hawkins went prone behind the base of a large tree while Encizo took up a firing position between two branches that would allow him to cover his friend from most any angle. As some of the chopper smoke cleared, Hawkins could see the terrorists were completely preoccupied with McCarter and Manning, and he and Encizo had reached their position undetected. Time to act before their luck changed for the worse.

Hawkins flipped up the leaf sight on the M-203 and quickly figured his range. They couldn’t have been more than half a football field from where the terrorists were cloistered together behind a couple of small boulders about ten yards apart. Hawkins sighted down the rails at his target and squeezed the trigger. The 40 mm HE grenade arced silently across the sky and landed dead-on. The explosion blew apart several of the closest men and disoriented the remaining terrorists.

Hawkins immediately loaded a second grenade, this one a red smoker, and let fly just forward of their position. As soon as it went, he and Encizo were up and moving. Hawkins loaded a third grenade on the run as Encizo sprayed the area ahead with repeated bursts from the MP-5. A couple of the terrorists tried to use the smoke to retreat from McCarter and Manning, completely oblivious to the fact they were trapped between the Phoenix Force warriors. In whatever direction they ventured, Phoenix Force had them covered and they wasted no time taking advantage of that fact.

Encizo dropped two terrorists with the subgun he triggered from the hip, holding low and steady on the run. The Cuban had honed his skills on hell-grounds around the globe, and the first terrorist fell with blood spurting from his side where twin 9 mm rounds had punctured his heart. Encizo’s shots caught the second man through the breastbone with enough force to flip him off his feet. Hawkins and Encizo were careful to keep some distance from the wall of red smoke because they could still hear the steady chop-chop-chop of Manning’s M-60.

It wouldn’t do to get caught up in the Canadian’s fire zone.

Not that it made any difference because a few more seconds elapsed before the machine gun fell silent and the echoes of small-arms fire utterly died away.

The Phoenix warriors converged and met at the center of the battle zone, which for all intents and purposes had become little more than a graveyard. Broken and bleeding bodies were strewed across the rocky desert floor. The odors of spilled blood and spent cordite, the smells of war, pelted their nostrils like the little bits of sand and gravel from a sudden swirl of dust devils around their fatigues.

“Well,” McCarter said, waving at a cluster of gnats buzzing around his nose as he inspected the devastation. “I’d say that’s the bloody lot of them.”

Encizo looked at the carnage and then toward the sky, which had completely reddened. “We’ve got maybe another twenty minutes of daylight before it’s totally dark. What time is it?”

Hawkins glanced at his field watch. “It’s going on 2100 hours.”

“We should do a quick recon on that chopper,” Manning suggested.

“You think it’s safe?” Hawkins said.

McCarter shrugged. “Guess we won’t find that out until we take a look-see.”

The warriors agreed on their approach and moved toward the chopper in a sweep-and-cover maneuver they had practiced hundreds of times before. Much of the smoke had dissipated and they could see the crumpled shape of the chopper clearly as they approached. When they were close enough, Hawkins could make out the emblem of the Namibian flag on the side, a red stripe running diagonally from the left bottom corner, bordered by white with a green triangle in the lower right and blue triangle in the upper left. Within the blue field was the image of a sun.

Encizo checked a pulse at the neck of the pilot, who sat motionless in the cockpit, and then shook his head at McCarter.

Manning made a quick inspection of the chopper, and after a time said, “Sikorsky CH-53G. I remember these babies when I trained with the GSG-9. Probably surplus purchased from the German Bundeswehr after the Cold War ended.”

“That pilot,” McCarter said to Encizo. “What nationality?”

“Hard to tell for sure but he looks Middle Eastern.”

McCarter nodded. “Yeah, they’re bloody IUA, all right. Only question is, how did they get hold of military equipment?”

“Maybe they stole it,” Hawkins offered.

“Would’ve been some kind of report on that, don’t you think?”

“Maybe there was,” Manning said. “Maybe we just didn’t know about it.”

McCarter frowned. “Well, whatever the explanation is, we better head out to see if we can catch up to James and Matombo. They ought to have at least a half hour on us.”

And with that, they headed for the remaining SUV.

CALVIN JAMES HADN’T LIKED the idea of separating from his unit, and he especially despised trading combat action for this baby-sitting detail on Matombo. But like every professional in Phoenix Force, James did his job and he knew how to follow orders. Whether he liked it or not, he had a responsibility to pick up his share of the risk but he also had a responsibility to work as part of a team. That team took its orders from leader David McCarter, and there was no room for negotiation in that sense.

Fortunately, the attack had come when they weren’t too far from Lüderitz, and it took less than a half hour before they found themselves entering the eastern fringes of the city. Lights twinkled and a chill south Atlantic breeze blew across the Namib Desert coast. Like most seaports, Lüderitz had known prosperity greater than the less hospitable cities inland. Its origins as a trading post and fishing village lacked fanfare, but the discovery of diamonds in 1909 changed the fortunes of its citizenry. The one stigma had been the rocky and shallow floor of the harbor, effectively preventing the entry of larger seacraft. However, this had increased the appeal of the port for historical tourist value and its prime, seaside real estate in both the commercial and residential sectors.

“Would you like me to show you to the waterfront district?” Matombo asked.

“What’s there?” James asked.

“This is where the medical center is located.”

James thought it over and shook his head. “I’d rather not until my team’s reassembled.”

“You do not operate alone.” Matombo’s voice implied it was merely an observation.

“Sort of,” James replied, keeping his eyes on the winding, narrow road glowing in the headlights. “We take individual paths when mission parameters dictate it.” James cast a glance at Matombo. “Like keeping you alive. But as a habit, no, we don’t like to operate independently. Our teamwork is what makes us most effective.”

Matombo cleared his throat. “I will say that while I disagree with your deception, your friends seem to be men of good character. Such a trait is considered admirable and honorable in my country.”

James nodded appreciatively. “Thanks. We like to think so, too.”

They rode the remaining distance to their hotel in silence. The Lüderitz Seaport Hotel occupied a prime seaside location with a stunning view of the Atlantic. In other circumstances it would have been a paradise for the getaway vacationer, but James somehow had trouble getting comfortable. Matombo had arranged for an entire block of rooms adjoining one another where the doors separated three two-room suites. Fortunately, Lüderitz was in its off-season and the hotel was all but completely vacant.

Once James had unloaded the gear from the vehicle, he attempted to contact McCarter by secured satellite phone.

The Phoenix Force leader answered midway through the third ring. “Yeah?”

“You’re clear?” James said with an audible sigh.

“Right-o and no casualties. At least, nobody friendly. You’re at the hotel?”

“Roger that.” James looked over his shoulder at Matombo, who was digging busily through the portable refrigerator for a complimentary drink. “Our digs are pretty nice, although I don’t think we’ll be here much to enjoy them.”

“All the best vacation spots seem to get taken up by mission-minded blokes like us,” McCarter joked.

James chuckled. “It’s our lot in life.”

“That it is, mate.”

“Instructions?”

“Hold tight until we get there. I’d say we’re no more than ten minutes out.”

“Understood. Dr. Matombo wanted to show me straight to the medical clinic but I figured I’d wait up for you. Didn’t feel right going it alone.”

“That’s a good call. And, James?”

“Yeah, chief.”

“I didn’t give that to you with the idea of a shit detail in mind. You were the best man for the job under the circumstances.”

“Aw, shucks, you say the sweetest things, boss.”

“Just keep your eyes open. Matombo’s our only decent connection right now and his credentials should go a long way to getting cooperation from the locals. He’s a key asset and that’s why I want you watching his back.”

“Got it.”

“Stay frosty and we’ll see you shortly.”

The click of the call disconnecting wasn’t as loud as the one James heard coming from the slightly open window. The curtain billowed inward and James caught the flicker of light on metal. The Phoenix Force warrior shouted a warning at Matombo even as he dived for the doctor, who stood at a nearby table with a pocket-size bottle of liquor in one hand and a tumbler filled with ice cubes in the other.

The sudden chatter of autofire was followed a heartbeat later by the shattering of that tumbler in Matombo’s grip. James caught just a glimpse of Matombo’s surprised expression before he tackled the physician, saving him from a maelstrom of hot lead buzzing the space they occupied a millisecond earlier.

James felt one round tear through his shirt and the burn of a graze. The Phoenix pro landed on top of Matombo, and then rolled them both together until they were behind the moderate cover of the bed. James ordered Matombo to stay down as he reached beneath his shirt on his right flank and produced a Colt M-1911 A-1 pistol. James didn’t like the thought of firing blindly without confirming his backstop but the tattered curtain and continuous weapons fire offered a viable target. The firing ceased just a moment before James triggered three rounds, aiming for what he estimated as center mass.

The curtain barely wisped with the passage of the 185-grain .45-caliber slugs, but the tormented squeal outside the window left little doubt to their effect. James got to his feet and pressed the attack by sprinting across the room and diving out a second window he’d noticed open on check-in. James landed catlike, crouched and aimed his pistol down the walkway. The gunman he’d shot lay on the ground, body still twitching. James heard footfalls behind him and spun in time to see a second attacker level a machine pistol at his hip and spray the area with rounds. James rolled into the cover of a rocky outcropping, the beginning of massive rocks bordering the sea.

The rounds ricocheted off the surrounding rocks with buzz-whines and then the firing stopped. James poked his head up long enough to watch the retreating gunner as he rounded the corner of the hotel. James gave it only a moment of thought before he jumped from the rocks and sprinted after his attacker. If he could take the guy alive, Phoenix Force might be able to obtain critical mission intelligence. He hated disobeying orders but he knew McCarter would understand given the circumstances. Nobody posed a threat to Matombo at that point.

The chase covered the distance of the parking lot and continued over a waist-high wrought-iron railing, through a decorative hedgerow and then across an open oceanside square overlooking a harbor filled with sailboats and fishing trawlers scattered at anchor. The antique lamps cast eerie shadows across the decorative square that sported benches and massive, decorative slabs of concrete underfoot. James’s lanky form and long strides propelled him across the distance and before long he was on his quarry’s heels.

They crossed a street and entered a shopping district before James overtook the gunman. He delivered a trip-kick maneuver that toppled the man and sent him rolling along the sidewalk head over heels. The gunman lost his weapon somewhere and came to his feet gracefully only to find himself facing down James’s gun barrel.

The guy delivered a spin kick with greased lightning behind it that took James utterly by surprise. He didn’t drop his pistol but the kick deflected the barrel long enough to provide the distraction his enemy needed to follow with a front kick directed toward James’s groin. Reflexes honed from years of training and experience in hand-to-hand combat saved James from a crippling injury. James took the brunt on his thigh and ignored the shooting, numbing pain that lanced up his leg.

James pivoted and delivered a left haymaker that landed on the man’s jaw and snapped his head sideways. James immediately followed with a back-fist to the exposed temple and then delivered a smash kick that took out a knee. The guy dropped like a stone and howled in agony. James cut the outburst short by sticking the barrel of his .45 into the gaping maw.

“So much as try anything else and you’re dead,” James said.

Wisely, the man whimpered around the barrel and nodded once to signal his compliance.