“Stay down,” he yelled at Renee as he looked to see who was shooting at them.
He saw a bullet-riddled van against the side of the building, and a car that was facing north down the road. A man was firing at them from the trunk of the sedan. Mason pointed the reticle over the man’s chest and fired. When he shifted to the next target, his finger froze on the trigger. Mason immediately recognized the bearded face that appeared through the optic. It was his old teammate Jones.
Jones ran back to the sedan in disbelief. He couldn’t believe that Barnes had just murdered one of his own men, and it was only his deep-rooted discipline that enabled him to follow orders. Behind him, Villa stared open-mouthed at his gore-soaked hands and at Hoyt’s lifeless body.
“What the hell just happened?” Scottie yelled at him as he fumbled with the door.
His hand paused on the latch. Villa was just turning his head to answer when Scottie lurched backward before tumbling to the ground.
Jones turned to look for the shooter when a round shattered the side-view mirror near his head. He hit the ground and low-crawled around the car, where he found Scottie sprawled against the door with a gaping head wound. Blood and brain matter were sprayed against the side of the car. Jones stared at the large exit wound peeking out of his hair.
“Scottie’s down. We need to move,” he yelled over the radio.
“Yeah, no shit,” Boz replied.
“Break contact, all elements break contact,” Harden yelled, getting to his feet and pushing Boz toward the car.
Mason lowered his rifle and flipped the selector on safe. The man he’d just shot in the head was down, and his mind was racing over the problem before him. The van lay less than ten meters in front of him, its front end buried in the thin concrete of the building. He knew he would have to break cover to check it out. He wanted Zeus to back him up.
“Zeus, its Barnes’s van,” he said, pointing past the pickup.
“What?”
The rifle fire made it impossible to communicate, and as they were yelling back and forth, Renee moved to Zeus’s side, eager to see what was going on.
“Tell her to stay back,” he yelled, pointing at the woman and raising a closed fist.
Zeus glanced over his shoulder just as Renee crept past him, moving parallel along the east side of the pockmarked building.
“Shit,” Mason yelled as she moved into the open space to his right.
His rifle at the ready, Mason sprinted toward the van, hoping to get there before anyone saw Renee. The front sight of his AK bobbed up and down, in time with his steps. He swept the rifle to the left and right, searching for threats as he moved.
Villa had moved back up the driver’s-side door of the van to lay down suppressive fire so that the rest of his team could break contact. Mason could only see the top of his head through the shattered window, but he was able to see the barrel of his rifle snap toward Renee as he acquired his target.
Mason fired four shots through the door before ducking around the front of the van. Zeus jogged to catch up with Renee. Mason saw him grab the back of her shirt and pull her behind him. The American tried to get his attention and signaled for him to take her back to safety, but the Libyan had just pulled a frag from his kit. After pulling the pin, he tossed it to the north.
Mason didn’t wait for the explosion. He moved around the front of the van and squeezed between the front end and the crumbling concrete wall. The van’s bumper pressed into his thighs as he forced his body through the narrow space and looked through the open cargo door.
Clearing as much of the inside as he could, he stepped up into the van. It was empty. His boots stuck to the coagulated blood covering the floor. He ducked low to clear the ceiling, and his boots made a ripping sound as they tore free of the tacky blood.
Two large artillery shells were fastened to a wooden pallet, which was ratchet-strapped to the floor. His heart skittered as he took in the wires and blasting caps drilled into the unstable ordinance. This was not a good place to be.
He had to make sure Villa was down before worrying about the bomb. He slipped his rifle through the space between the two front seats and wedged himself into the cab of the van. The van’s windshield was riddled with bullet holes and was impossible to see out of. Bright arterial blood stained the center console, and he could see more blood on the inside of the driver’s-side door.
Taking a knee on the driver’s seat, he leaned out and saw Villa lying on his back with his hand clutching his throat. Dark blood seeped through the fingers, and his tan face was ashen. Mason raised the rifle with his right hand while holding himself steady with his left and fired a round through the man’s forehead. Before Villa’s head hit the ground, the American was pulling himself back into the vehicle.
The improvised bomb was expertly crafted from two 105-millimeter artillery shells daisy-chained together and attached to a complex detonator. On top of the shells was a silver tube, which had a small gouge cut in the casing. Mason could see that an errant round had caused the gouge. There was no way to know if the container was still intact or if it was leaking.
He slipped the AK’s sling over his head and swung the rifle out of his way so he could get to his knife. Flipping the blade out of the handle, Mason cut the two black zip ties securing the biologic to the bomb and stowed his knife.
Crouched over in the van’s cramped interior, he held the metallic casing up to the dim light filtering into the cargo compartment. It was lighter than he’d expected, but he knew it could easily kill everyone in the area.
Gunfire erupted to the rear of the van, causing him to shove the metal cylinder into his pocket and get back into the fight.
Flinging open the rear door of the van, he saw Boz standing in the middle of the street firing at Renee’s last position. Mason’s left hand found the wooden forearm of the AK and raised it up as his right hand found the trigger. The rifle wasn’t even to his shoulder when he fired the first round, which was low.
The 7.62-millimeter bullet skipped off the ground and grazed Boz’s foot. He yelled in pain and swung the barrel of his rifle at the new threat. As he turned, Mason fired again, hitting the man in the side of the chest and through the jaw.
Blood misted into the air as Mason stepped out of the van, his rifle following the wounded man downward as he fell. He kept firing until Boz had hit the ground.
Jones was firing at Zeus and Renee from the side of the car. Mason snapped off two shots before his rifle jammed. The bullets went wide, and he was trying to get to cover when a round caught him square in the chest.
Mason stumbled to the west side of the van. More bullets peppered the concrete wall as he ducked behind cover. Chips of brick and mortar peppered his face, sending dust into his eyes. Still, he ripped the magazine from the rifle and pulled on the charging handle to clear the jam. He could feel the blood running down his side as the mangled casing was flung out. He struggled to catch his breath. Blocking out the pain, he inserted a fresh magazine and chambered another round.
Mason saw Jones pop up near the trunk of the sedan and fire two short bursts from his rifle. He was raising his AK-47 to take a shot when he caught movement across the street. Two men were running for the entrance to the alley. As the last man turned to call Jones to him, Mason recognized Harden.
Mason fired at Jones, knocking him to the ground, and then swung his rifle toward the alley. Harden stopped and propped his HK against the concrete corner. The scene seemed to unfold in slow motion to Mason as his finger closed around the trigger. Harden fired two shots. Mason pulled the trigger hurriedly to the rear, rushing the shot.
He thought he saw a flash of blood, but the man was gone in an instant. The American had just started across the street in pursuit when he heard someone yelling his name.