And then he was gone, swept off the screen as West piloted the drone around the rest of the command block. We didn’t find anything else.
“Let’s check out the hangar,” I suggested.
He nodded, switched back to infrared and flew the drone over the vehicles and high above the roof of the huge hangar. It was pocked by large holes and West took the device down through one at the heart of the building. The hangar was dark so he stayed on infrared, but we didn’t need light to spot the cluster of twenty-three blindfolded, gagged, and bound people huddled in the center of the vast space: Dinara, Feo, and the rest of the Private Moscow staff.
We had found Alekseyev’s hostages.
“I count six hostiles,” West remarked, pointing out half a dozen large men who brandished what looked like ShAK-12 urban assault rifles, extremely powerful short-range fully automatic machine guns.
I nodded. “Heavily armed and likely very well trained. You still sure you want to do this?”
West smiled. “What better way to spend my vacation?”
“Let’s get ready then,” I said, my stomach churning and adrenaline setting my body alight at the prospect of what was to come.
Chapter 93
Master Gunnery Sergeant Marlon West was no stranger to combat, but he had never faced odds quite this bad. He checked his watch, the luminous dial gently lighting the digits to tell him it was four minutes to midnight. Jack Morgan would be in position now, and it was West’s job to neutralize the guards outside the hangar so the hostages could be rescued.
West inched closer to the edge of the treeline and lowered his night-vision scope, which was attached to the headset that also supported his field radio.
“Go,” Jack said, and West peered at the corner of the hangar and saw the green glow of Morgan’s scope by the back wall.
West broke cover and ran for the vehicles parked in the yard. The four men guarding them had moved to the other side of them. West crouched, moved silently, and slowed as he approached so they wouldn’t hear his steps in the dirt.
He could hear them though. They were talking in Russian, discussing the situation in Ukraine, complaining that Russia should be taking stronger action. West crawled alongside the camouflage operations truck until he reached the hood. He leant over it to see the men with their backs to him. He targeted the tallest of the four with his HK416 assault rifle fitted with a custom suppressor.
He lined up his sights and applied pressure to the trigger.
The rattle and crack of automatic gunfire sent his heart into overdrive as bullets hit the ground and truck beside him. West turned and saw one of the guards from the hangar was off position and had caught sight of him. The guard was shooting from fifty yards away, which was the only reason West hadn’t been killed instantly.
He was about to return fire when he saw muzzle flash from the rear corner of the hangar. Jack Morgan felled the guard instantly.
There were shouts and commands barked across the base, and West heard movement behind him as the taller of the four men jumped over the hood. West wheeled round and opened fire instinctively, catching the man in the chest as he tried to raise his own gun. He fell forward, tumbling to the ground inches from where West stood. His comrades raised their weapons but West was already on them and squeezing the trigger. The HK416 sprayed a burst of bullets that put them down.
West didn’t even wait to watch them fall. He started running toward the hangar, aware of shadows and shapes moving around the base. He had to neutralize the guards by the entrance if Jack was to have any chance of rescuing the hostages. Thanks to him, the first guard was already down. West passed his motionless body as he drew level with the hangar.
“I’m almost at the target,” he said breathlessly into his radio. “The four by the vehicle pool are down.”
“Copy that,” Jack replied via the earpiece.
“I owe you.”
“Don’t mention it. Let’s get this done.”
“Copy that.”
He ran along the edge of the hangar, which curved like the side of a bell, so that he was obscured from the view of anyone at the entrance. West saw armed figures running toward the vehicle pool and knew he didn’t have long.
He slowed to a walk and then a creep as he reached the apex of the curve. He raised his rifle and—
There were two incoming shots. The first hit the hangar beside his head and the second caught him in the shoulder, missing his body armor and tearing through the bulb of flesh at the top of his arm.
He cried out.
“West?” Jack said urgently. “West?”
“I’m hit.”
“I’m coming.”
“No!” he replied, pressing his hand to the wound.
He saw three men across the yard. They were heading away from the command building and one of them had his gun on West.
He tried to raise his weapon but his arm wouldn’t work, so he grabbed the rifle with his left hand and lifted it to take aim. He was about to fire one-handed when he heard a noise behind him. One of the hangar guards had got the jump on him. He drove his rifle stock into West’s face.
West went down like a derelict building being demolished and blacked out an instant later.
Chapter 94
West had left his mic open so I heard voices speaking in Russian as they carried him away. I prayed he was still alive and wondered whether I should go for him or stay on mission. If he was dead, I’d be wasting my energy and risking complete failure. If he was alive, I could rescue him later. Making the correct decision felt straightforward.
I hurried over to my ingress point, a section of hangar wall directly behind the main entrance. West was supposed to engage Alekseyev’s men in a frontal assault while I used the cover of the hostages to attack from the rear, but the plan was in tatters now. I’d have to improvise.
I took a canister of nano-thermite foam from my equipment belt, sprayed the contents in a thin arc from the ground to an apex about six feet above it, and then back down again. The explosive foam expanded and took on a more solid texture as it clung to the hangar wall. I primed a small detonator, stuck it in the foam near the top of the arc and backed away a dozen paces. I turned my back and covered my ears as there was a staccato blast from the thousands of tiny explosive charges that made up the foam, detonating in rapid succession.
The moment the noise subsided, I ran toward the hole I’d made, raised my HK416 rifle and went through.
The interior was gloomy but I had my scope. Through the smoke I saw two figures by the main door and three more by the hostages. There were shouts, commands barked in Russian, and the men turned toward me, guns raised.
The first cracks of gunfire broke out. Bullets whistled around me. I picked out my first target and squeezed the trigger. The bullet hit him in the chest, and I had moved on to the second man before the first dropped.
Headshot.
The third guy made the mistake of moving away from the hostages, so I ran toward him at an angle. The space he had created between himself, Dinara, Feo, and the others meant I didn’t have to be so careful with my aim. As he opened fire and tried to compensate for the speed and direction of my movement, I sprayed a volley in his general direction and a cluster of bullets caught him in the knees and thighs.
He went down screaming.
The two men by the door were firing wildly now and one or two of the bullets went into the assembled hostages. I heard grunts, nothing more because they were all gagged, but I knew someone had been injured. I had to take those guards out, so I pulled an M67 grenade from my belt, released the spoon, and threw it over and past the hostages.