“I want a weapon,” Jolaine said. “You might be John Wayne and the cavalry, but I still want a means to protect myself.”
“She’s really good with it,” Graham said. It was the first time Jonathan had heard him speak.
Generally, it was a mistake to let PCs arm themselves, but Jonathan weighed this time as an exception. Given her past experience, an extra trigger might not be a bad idea. “Just don’t confuse the good guys and the bad guys,” he said.
“I’m set,” Boxers announced. “Can you walk, kid, or do I need to carry you?”
“I’m okay,” Graham said. His right arm cradled his shattered left as if it were a baby. “We just need to go slow.”
Yeah, right, Jonathan didn’t say. “Here’s how it’s going to work,” he said. “We’re going to become a human snake. I’m the head, Big Guy is the tail, and you two are the belly in the middle. Follow in lockstep, do everything I tell you to do the instant I tell you to do it, and we’ll get you safely out of here.”
“Do you know anything about my parents?” Graham asked. “Are they both dead?”
Jonathan hesitated, then let him have it. “Yes. I’m sorry.” It would have been wrong to lie. “Now let’s make sure you don’t join them. Let’s move.”
Jonathan led the tiny parade to the freezer door, where he raised a hand to stop them while he peeked out and swept the space with his muzzle. “Clear,” he said.
From behind, he heard Boxers say, “Put your safety on, young lady. And keep the muzzle pointed at the floor. I’ll tell you if and when we need your help.”
Jonathan hadn’t realized the extent of Boxers’ firefight out here. The walls and floor had been chewed to hell. One of the attackers had gotten disturbingly close.
He turned a hard right and started back toward the loading dock. They were in the middle of the open space when the throwaway radio broke squelch. “Um, Scorpion?” LeBron’s voice said. “Were you expecting people by parachute?”
Anton Datsik continued to be impressed by the resources that the American government could make available when they were motivated. He’d requested parachutes for his team, an airplane, and a pilot who knew not to speak. All things were available to him with two hours.
Dangling from his harness, watching through night vision as the ground approached beneath his feet, his only worry was whether he was too late. With about three hundred feet to go before impact, he checked to his right and to his left to make sure his team was still together. They were, of course. They were six in total, plenty enough to confront a bunch of Chechen amateurs.
Datsik was gratified to see the cars still parked behind the factory, interpreting it as a sign that the interlopers had not yet accomplished their mission. Once the code was revealed, there would be no need for the enemy to stick around.
At slightly under one hundred feet, he saw two dead bodies sprawled astride the entry door on the loading dock. Startled and distracted, he nearly missed nailing his stand-up landing. On the ground, with his chute under control, he said to his team on the radio, “Gather on me. There is a complication.”
Jonathan watched from a window at the rear of the building — the closest exit to the Expedition that would get them out of here. At first, Jonathan saw only two invaders land from the sky. Their technique was perfect, and even from this distance, he could see their night vision and their weaponry. This was trouble.
“I’ve got two,” he said over the radio.
“I’ve got four,” Boxers said. He was watching through the loading-dock windows.
Jonathan’s two dumped their parachutes and scurried to the right. “Mine are coming your way, Big Guy.”
“I see them. Let me know what you want to do.”
It took all of two seconds for Jonathan to decide their next move. “Disengage,” he said. “We’re going out the rear.” It made no sense to start a firefight, especially when the enemy seemed competent. Truth be told, those parachutes unnerved him a little. For all he knew, they could be a souped-up team of feds coming in to lend them a hand. He doubted that, but you never knew. Opening fire on the unknown without provocation was always a bad idea.
He knew that Boxers would disagree, but Big Guy was first and foremost a soldier, and he knew when an order was an order.
When they were all gathered by the back door, Jonathan delivered his instructions. “I don’t know who these guys are, and they clearly haven’t seen us yet. We’re going to head out this door and move carefully to a car we have stashed about a hundred yards from here. There are a couple of dead guys on the other side of the door. Don’t freak out.
“Graham, I know you hurt and this is going to be tough, but I need you to keep your good hand on my rucksack. Do not let go. As long as I can feel the tug, I know you’re still with me. If there’s shooting, do exactly what I tell you. If I tell you to drop to the ground, you become one with the dirt. Do you understand?”
The kid’s eyes grew huge and he nodded.
“I need a verbal response. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Jolaine.”
She looked up.
“Do not engage with your firearm unless we are engaged first. If it comes to that, remember the only ammo you have is what’s left in your one mag. I’d make them count if I were you, and watch your background. Every miss goes somewhere, and I don’t want to be responsible for any collateral damage.”
“I understand,” she said.
“Done,” Jonathan said. “Mother Hen, we’re moving.”
“I copy,” Venice.
“Hand on my ruck, Graham.”
He felt the tug.
“Big Guy, IR Lasers off. They’ve got night vision, too. Here we go.” Jonathan pushed the door open and led the short parade out into the open and into the night. He pivoted to face right as he confronted the threat at their three o’clock, using his body as a shield for PC One, and walking sideways in a kind of bastardized grapevine step. He glanced left periodically to stay in line with the IR glow stick he’d dropped at the hole in the fence.
All it would take at this point would be for one of the bad guys to glance their way and they’d be made, all advantage of operating in the dark lost. His one advantage over the OpFor was their use of the outdated two-tube NVGs. The tunnel vision they created all but eliminated detection of the periphery. To capitalize on that, Jonathan led the way at a painfully slow pace. Particularly in reduced light conditions, the human eye was much more likely to capture motion than it was to capture a single image. Throw in the fact that both his PCs were essentially blind, and one of them was crippled, it was a bad idea to run.
And then running became a very good idea.
“People have already been here,” Datsik said to his assembled team in Russian. “See the bodies at the door.”
“What does that mean?” a team member asked. His name was Leonid, and while always aggressive, he never seemed very bright to Datsik.
“I do not know,” Datsik replied. “But this looks like professional work. The fact that we do not hear continuing gunfire means that we are either just on time or perhaps too late.”
“The enemy of our enemy is our friend, is he not?” Leonid asked.
Datsik had learned years ago that all surprises were inherently bad. If the US was sending a team here for action, Philip Baxter should have told him. And if the shooters were not American agents, then who else would want to kill the Chechens? “We need to enter carefully,” he said. “We don’t know—”
“Look!” Leonid said. “To the right!”
Snatching his Kalashnikov to his shoulder, Datsik turned and saw what appeared to be two American Special Forces operators, one huge and one of average height and girth, moving slowly away from the factory with two other people, a lady and a boy. Beyond them, Datsik saw the glow of an infrared marker on the ground near the woods line.