Читать книгу Maelstrom - Don Pendleton - Страница 8

His name was David McCarter, and he was team leader to some of the most dangerous men on earth.

The fox-faced Briton turned to study the profile of one of those men now. Just the way the man held his tall and lanky form betrayed his readiness, and his sharp, brown eyes intently searched their field of fire. In all the years McCarter had known this man, he’d come to respect his professionalism and integrity, not to mention his skills in the heat of action. This guy could hold it together in the toughest situation. He was a first-rate soldier.

Calvin James cast a sideways glance at first notice that McCarter was watching him, then turned his head fully and grinned at the Phoenix Force leader. “What?”

“Just thinking,” McCarter replied, turning his attention back to their assigned watch.

“Well, if you like what you see, I’m free Saturday night,” James cracked.

“You’re not my type, mate,” McCarter said, grinning. Then the smile disappeared. “Actually, I was just wondering when Hal sent us out on this bloody mission if you might have been thinking the same thing I was.”

James shrugged and scratched his chin. “What, that this is a waste of resources? Much as I hate to admit it, any decent security team could have handled this. We should be out chasing down bad guys, not baby-sitting a bunch of tight-assed military contractors.”

McCarter chuckled and said, “You got to start saying how you really feel about stuff, Cal. You hold back too much.”

“Well, I can’t believe you disagree. Say it isn’t so.”

“Maybe a little,” he admitted. “But remember that Hal sent us here to get a feel for these new weapons systems. Kissinger has him convinced they’ll be useful in the field for future operations.”

James nodded toward the field. “Yeah, and Cowboy’s down there right now in the firing area with a ringside seat to this circus. We should be down there with him instead of standing on the sidelines and feeding peanuts to the elephants.”

John “Cowboy” Kissinger was the top weapons smith for Stony Man Farm, America’s premier counterterrorist organization, and one of her best-kept and most effective secrets. It was Kissinger who had convinced Harold Brognola, chief of the Stony Man operation, to let the members of Phoenix Force accompany him to Australia for their first look at the weapons of the future. Naturally, Phoenix Force was on call at a moment’s notice at all times, ready to be dropped into anything, at anytime and in any place. Nonetheless, all of its men were consummate professionals who had taken the job without complaint, and McCarter couldn’t have asked for more. Still, James was right—this was a waste of talent.

McCarter chuckled. “You’re beginning to sound as cynical as Carl.”

Before James could reply, McCarter keyed up the wireless transceiver attached to his belt, which was no larger than a standard pager. Phoenix Force had recently decided to go with one of Akira Tokaido’s latest inventions—a communications system for the team to use during sensitive or covert operations that might require distance between them, thus splitting up one of the world’s most effective counterterrorist units. This system was quite different from the one they’d used in the past, since these transceivers sent microwave signals. Under normal circumstances, such transmissions would have required line-of-sight, but with a satellite linkup there was no such limitation. A programming algorithm designed by Tokaido to control the burst-rate provided the security. This system had a range comparable to Los Angeles County, and all of those factors made it much more effective and reliable for the team.

“All units check in,” McCarter said.

“Red team’s clear,” came the voice of Gary Manning, indicating he and Rafael Encizo, positioned at the other end of the field, had things well under control. McCarter detected the boredom in Manning’s voice, but he didn’t let that bother him. Both the men in red team were as dedicated to their jobs and Phoenix Force as James.

“Blue team’s clear,” echoed T. J. Hawkins, who had partnered with the liaison of the parade ground security chief.

Leaving the youngest and newest member of Stony Man on his own with a much less experienced man hadn’t been McCarter’s first choice. After one look, the Briton could tell that the security chief was nowhere close to being as experienced or seasoned as Hawkins. Still, McCarter knew Hawkins was the best choice, since blue team was working the bleachers where the military observers were seated and the younger guy was “best fit” to act as an active Army soldier. Hawkins, a former member of a Delta Force team, had immediately taken to the role since it allowed him to put on the uniform once more.

McCarter nodded with satisfaction and was about to kill the transceiver when Hawkins added, “Gold team, check that last comm. Looks like trouble in grid six.”

McCarter checked that direction. It was a large open space comprised of mostly tall, dry grass, scattered trees and the occasional boulder that separated the demo field from a busy uptown street. However, it was a fairly open space and it didn’t make a whole lot of sense that someone would launch an attack from that direction. It wasn’t until he saw the dozen or so ATVs racing toward the demo field that McCarter changed his mind.

McCarter keyed the transceiver. “Red team, move to defensive posture. Blue team, stand post and watch for alternates in case this is a diversion. First to targets calls the ball.”

As both teams acknowledged his transmission, McCarter and James burst from their position and sprinted down the slight grassy knoll bound for the center of the demo field. It was long odds they could make it in time to implement a fully effective defense, but what had the Briton more concerned were the intentions of these new arrivals. It was possible they were just a group of crazies who wanted to stir the pot, but McCarter didn’t buy it. They were attired in desert camouflage uniforms and the Phoenix Force warrior was certain he’d seen light reflecting off gunmetal. Kids weren’t so brazen and showy, and they certainly didn’t congregate in those kinds of numbers. McCarter smelled nothing but bloody trouble.

And he didn’t like it one damn bit.

RAFAEL ENCIZO and Gary Manning spotted the group on ATVs at the same moment Hawkins reported them, and the pair of Phoenix Force warriors immediately bolted into the fray.

“First to targets calls the ball,” McCarter had said. Well, Encizo knew exactly what the hell that meant. While the Phoenix Force leader was charged with all final decisions, it sometimes made sense to let whoever was closest to the enemy direct the action. After all, a field soldier’s report of troop movement and direction was much more accurate than that delivered by some armchair quarterback in the rear. Encizo’s and Manning’s position put them much closer to the approaching ATVs, and that meant they would likely reach the perimeter of the demo field before James and McCarter. In that event, Encizo would take the lead.

The two men reached the demo field and sprinted for the fence line. Encizo could hear Hawkins shouting at somebody from the bleachers, but he didn’t bother to risk a backward glance. The young Texan was probably yelling at the Aussie security team to clear the field of all nonessential personnel. Those weren’t soldiers seated in those stands, they were officers and defense contractors who were slow and well stocked on doughnuts. And the guys by the weapons were nothing but engineers, thereby incapable of putting up a fight with their prototype weapons, except of course Kissinger.

Phoenix Force would handle this.

“Definitely hostiles…at least ten…well armed,” the Cuban reported to them as he breathed heavily from the exertion. “We’re engaging.”

Encizo produced the MP-5K he’d concealed beneath his jacket, and in his peripheral vision he noticed Manning had already drawn a SIG-Sauer P-239 with an extended 8-round magazine. The big Canadian preferred not to indulge in compact machine pistols like the MP-5K, finding them too bulky for a mission of this type. However he was no less deadly with a semi-automatic pistol than Encizo with a machine pistol.

Encizo was the first to demonstrate that fact as he stopped near the fence, knelt and steadied his sights on the first target. He’d set the MP-5K for 3-round bursts, and the first trio of rounds took one of the ATV riders in the chest. Blood stained the man’s shirt as the impact lifted him from his ride. The ATV careened toward the fence, spinning only at the last moment, the two left wheels striking the fence, which held firm despite the weight of the vehicle.

Manning missed once in his opening salvo, but round two caught another rider in the gut. The driver keeled over, and his ATV slowed considerably as the man clutched his abdomen. Even from that distance, Encizo could see the agony on the guy’s face. The driver looked up in time to see that he was going to hit the fence and he tried to avoid it, but the ground was still damp from rains that morning and the ATV slid into the fence. The rider was hurled face-first and the impact twisted his head at an odd angle. Encizo could tell the guy was dead from a broken neck before the body hit the ground. The warrior looked for his next target, but McCarter’s voice interrupted the action.

“Incoming!”

Manning and Encizo threw themselves to the ground in time to avoid the whistling projectile that passed only yards above them. A moment later the ground shook as a blast erupted. Encizo risked a glance long enough to determine the source of the attack. A few of the ATV riders had stayed back and were providing covering fire utilizing CIS 40GLs. The Singapore-made grenade launcher was almost identical in design to the M-203—it fired 40 mm grenades with a maximum effective range up to 400 meters.

“That’s some heavy shit we’re up against here,” Manning muttered.

“Tell me about it,” Encizo replied.

“Get some cover,” McCarter advised even as the two Phoenix Force commandos were on their feet and converging on their position. “We’ll lay down some fire for you.”

“Roger,” Manning answered through his transceiver.

The sounds of James’s and McCarter’s MP-5Ks resounded through the air as they laid down a full-auto onslaught against the enemy troops. Encizo knew there was no way they could hope to repel an attack of this kind, and that the fence would serve only as a minor barrier.

The best bet was to evacuate the innocents and hope some window of opportunity opened.

JOHN KISSINGER WASN’T exactly a warrior, but he knew how to take care of himself. Unfortunately he’d been serving in the capacity of VIP to the weapons demonstration and, being that close to the prototypes, he wasn’t allowed to carry a firearm.

Not that it really mattered. A pistol was no good against high-explosive grenades anyway—at least not when the grenadiers were at the range they were. Staying alive seemed a bit more important to Kissinger and he saw it as his duty to keep the weapons operators and engineers that way, as well. After all, they were fellow gun junkies, and Kissinger watched out for his own kind. Besides, the men of Phoenix Force could take care of themselves. The best he could do was to get the innocents out of the way.

“Move!” he told the engineers and operators. “Go for that cover over there!”

Kissinger waved them in the direction of a low-slung building that ran parallel to the bleachers. It was made of heavy concrete and steel, with a small open-air observation window that provided a full view of the field. It was actually a bunker-style observatory, designed for inclement weather and to provide some relative protection during demonstrations similar to this one.

One of the operators tripped and Kissinger reached down and hauled him to his feet. He practically dragged the guy as he rushed toward the cover of the observation building. They had just reached the door as the second grenade struck the bleachers and sent an explosive blast of sharp, superheated aluminum shrapnel in every direction. A pang of fear stabbed at Kissinger’s heart even as he pushed the operator—whose name he remembered was Randy Wallis—through the door of the building. The armorer turned his attention toward the bleachers and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw they were already empty.

HAWKINS HAD BEEN the first to spot the team of ATV riders approaching the demo field, and he knew immediately they weren’t an Olympic cross-country team just out for some fun. He’d started screaming orders at the surprised military observers and contractors. A couple of the generals in the crowd had at first acted as if he were nuts, giving Hawkins stern looks that signaled he was violating military protocol. The explosion of the first 40 mm grenade a mere twenty-five yards from their position turned annoyance into pandemonium, ending any further doubts the observers might have had about Hawkins’s maintaining a military decorum. People scrambled down the five rows of bleachers, moving toward the bunker-like building in the rear under the direction of Hawkins and the head of security, a young and inexperienced lad named Thaddeus Kornsby. What the youth lacked in experienced he made up for in enthusiasm and steadiness under fire. His handling of the situation was admirable.

Which is why Hawkins felt anger wash over him when, halfway to the building, he turned at the sound of the second explosion that blew apart the bleachers and toppled Kornsby, who was now short his left arm. The young security officer stared blankly into Hawkins’s eyes, oblivious to the sound of the woman pinned under him, who was screaming and kicking. Hawkins realized something the woman, covered in the gore that had erupted from the stump of Kornsby’s wound, didn’t. He’d sustained his injuries throwing himself on top of her to save her life.

Hawkins turned and rushed to retrieve both of them before the situation could get any worse. Although he really didn’t see how that could be possible.

MCCARTER AND JAMES went prone about the same time they’d warned Encizo and Manning to grab cover. The Phoenix Force leader watched helplessly as a 40 mm grenade sailed over the demo field in a lazy arc and came to land about thirty meters on the backside of where they had set up the new prototype weapons. Less than a minute passed before there was a loud crack and a second grenade landed in the bleachers, although it appeared Hawkins and Kornsby had already cleared the spectators.

McCarter also noticed that Kissinger had managed to gather the weapons operators and engineers away from the hot zone. With innocents out of the way, it would make it easier for Phoenix Force to do its job.

McCarter keyed the transceiver. “Blue team.”

“Go,” came Encizo’s voice.

“We’ve lost sight of you, mate. Are you clear?”

“We’re in the range building.”

McCarter scanned the grounds and quickly found the location. The range building was, in fact, a small wooden structure dug into the earth, its roof and about two feet of uprights actually aboveground. McCarter had seen many like it. It was designed for range cadre to mark distances during live-fire exercises and call back the data to weapons operators. McCarter had familiarized himself with the process long before, when competing in pistol matches all over the world. But that had been a lifetime ago, when he was still with the SAS. Now the enemy seemed to have the advantage.

McCarter meant to change that.

“Red team, what’s your status?”

“We’re inside the observation building,” Hawkins replied.

“Do you have a clear line of fire?”

“We did…until they blew up the damned bleachers. Now there’s too much smoke.”

“Hang tight, mates,” McCarter said, hearing the tension in his teammate’s voice. “We’re coming for you.”

McCarter and James got to their feet and continued charging toward the demonstration grounds. The group of ATV riders was now inside the fence line and headed straight for the prototypes. The Briton got within what he deemed was a reasonable distance, then knelt and steadied his MP-5K. He delivered another sustained burst, with James following suit. Another rider’s body flipped sideways off the ATV and his machine caromed off that of one of his partners before rolling onto its side and stopping, one handlebar leaving a gouge in the soft dirt-sand mix of the demo grounds.

James entered the fray, capping one of the several hardmen in a group that had reached the prototypes. Rounds from the MP-5K slammed into the rider’s back as the man dismounted from his ride, and he pitched forward violently and landed face-first.

McCarter could now see the winking of muzzles from the open slit in the range building. It looked as if Manning and Encizo had them in a cross fire. The Briton grinned. That pair was performing admirably, despite the overwhelming odds. Phoenix Force was neither heavily armed nor prepared for this kind of an assault. They weren’t packing any spare clips, heavy weapons or explosives of any kind. The enemy had every advantage here.

As if in response to the thought, McCarter heard the unmistakable sounds of two grenade launchers being fired. He yelled at James to get clear as he got to his feet and sprinted toward a large boulder. The natural terrain here was rocky, comprised of heavy dirt and sand. There were plenty of boulders like this around, especially in their area, which is why McCarter had chosen it as strategic for observation. That decision was probably going to prove to be one that saved his life and the life of his colleagues.

When the grenades struck, he’d managed to get far enough away. The only consequence was the shower of dirt and rocks—the direct result of his proximity to the explosions. As the last of the debris settled, McCarter risked exposure by glancing at the area over the boulder. His heart sank into his stomach when he saw the motionless form of Calvin James lying close to the smoldering impressions left by the twin blasts.

“I’ve got one down,” McCarter said into the microphone of his transceiver.

Then he left his cover and rushed for his friend.

IMMEDIATELY FOLLOWING McCarter’s transmission, Hawkins made it a point to find Kissinger so they could discuss their options.

“This isn’t good,” Hawkins said.

“That’s an understatement,” Kissinger replied. “You’re the pro here. What do you want to do?”

“Our first mission is to protect these people,” Hawkins said in a hushed tone. “I can’t very well leave you alone with them, and if I try to get to David, I’ll get my ass shot off.”

“I can stay here with them.”

“And do what?” Hawkins asked with disbelief. “You’re not packing. I’ve got the only weapon, and it’s just a pistol. And if we don’t get out of here very soon, Kornsby’s going to bleed to death.”

“Yeah, we really got caught with our pants down on this one,” Kissinger replied. “But I think we’ll be okay without you. I think whoever the hell that is out there is after the prototypes, and nothing else.”

“Maybe,” Hawkins replied, gritting his teeth. “But I just can’t take that chance.”

ENCIZO AND MANNING could barely see through the haze and smoke left in the wake of additional grenade explosions. This didn’t account for the smoke that was filling up their position. It stung their eyes, causing them to choke, and it wasn’t dark or thick, which told the pair that they were the victims of CS gas. The enemy was stealing the prototypes and there wasn’t a damned thing either of them could do about it.

Encizo couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this helpless.

As Manning wiped tears from his face, he said, “I hope Cal is all right.”

“I’ll tell you what,” Encizo said, one muscle twitching in his cheek. “If he’s dead, I’ll hunt down every one of those bastards and kill them barehanded.”

“Let’s not jump the gun, Rafe,” Manning said quietly. He cleared his lungs with a fit of coughing and then continued. “We don’t know if he’s dead or not dead. David just said he had one down. We don’t know what that means.”

Encizo’s eyes were as haunting as his expression. “I know what it means.”

Manning decided not to argue with his teammate; partly because he didn’t see any point and partly because he knew it didn’t much matter. The roar of the ATV engines and subsequent fading as they moved away from the demo grounds told the whole story. Their enemy had escaped with their booty and Phoenix Force had been unable to stop them. The reasons no longer mattered, that was just the way the chips had fallen.

One thing was certain in Manning’s mind. This wasn’t over. Not even close.