Luther’s voice blared through his earpiece. “Team Ricardo has met major resistance in the false town,” he said. “Mop up here and move out.”
Drake swore. Was Luther implying this wasn’t major resistance? Shit, what were the other team up against? He shot a man emerging from a tent with an RPG cradled across one shoulder; kicked out at one more that lay in the dirt, still lively enough to cause trouble.
Alicia spun. “You in one piece?”
“More or less. You?”
“Think I broke a nail on some bell end’s tooth.”
“Shit, I’m so glad you added that last word.”
Again, they were parted. Drake threw a man over his shoulder; then staggered beneath another’s heavy blow, finding himself on his knees, staring at bloodied earth. A quick twist and he launched his body to one side, gaining precious seconds. The next attack was stalled, though, as Dahl turned up and confronted Drake’s opponent.
Four seconds later, Drake, Alicia and Dahl stood shoulder to shoulder.
“There,” Alicia said.
Luther, Mai and a dozen others had converged on the center of the tent town. The mercs and the terrorists were rallying there, showing the last of their resistance. Luther carried a machine gun in each hand, their barrels so hot with constant use they appeared to be on fire. Smoke surrounded the scene. Kenzie launched herself in to it so carelessly, armed only with knives, that even Dahl winced.
“Shall we?”
Scooping up the weapons they needed, the trio hurried across earth that was thick with clumps of matted soil, grass, dirt and blood. The battlefield was laden with the dead and the dying. Drake saw their own men being tended by others. They came at the center to either side of Luther and Mai, seeing mercs falling ahead, unable to shoot in any one direction for fear of an enemy at all sides. Team Luther came from north and south, east and west, routing and devastating the mercenary lines. Every trainee terrorist that Drake could see knelt in the dirt with their hands on their heads — defeated.
Soon, the tent village was captured. Luther ordered men to bind the captives and just a few to stay behind to watch them.
Drake gazed over to the makeshift town, the last and worst area of resistance. Buildings were on fire, spitting flames from their roofs. RPGs fired and grenades exploded.
And of course, it was right where Team SPEAR needed to be.
CHAPTER FORTY THREE
The makeshift town was a war zone but, for Drake, a special sight as dozens of elite Special Forces soldiers fought in conjunction with each other. The mercs were holed up in a diner, complete with red and yellow shutters and lettering, their firepower clear to see as they held off any attempt at assault. The terrorists also sniped from nearby windows — a bank, a coffee shop, a burger joint — recognizable features of American living. Some were heading to the roofs.
Through comms, Luther and the other three coordinators organized their teams. Groups ran through shops and stores, six at a time, sweeping the place clear of enemies. Another team backed them up. Terrorists were allowed to head to the tallest heights of the town simply because world class Special Forces snipers already waited there for them. An incredible pride swelled in Drake’s chest.
“Everyone wants the same thing,” he said.
“If only it could always be like this,” Dahl said.
They had come up against special ops teams themselves — both on the same side yet forced into confrontations. The lines were always blurred.
Not today. Drake listened to the comms chatter as he crouched in the shadows between two structures. It was being reported that the buildings were of inferior design, no doubt through necessity and speed of assembly, and would crumble under heavy assault.
This gave Luther an idea.
When he voiced it, Drake looked to Alicia and Dahl, shaking his head ruefully. “Trust that bloody dinosaur,” he said.
“I like it,” Dahl noted.
Drake laughed and they backed away, following the lead of every other spec ops soldier in the town. Snipers scurried down from their perches and those that were engaged in combat broke it off as quickly as they could.
The mercs were jeering at the retreat.
Drake frowned. “Not clever.”
Terrorists could be seen here and there, sticking their heads up like meerkats to see what was going on. Shots were fired. Drake returned that fire, giving a dozen of their men the chance to run forward, RPGs braced across one shoulder.
They knelt quickly and fired instantly.
The effect was shattering. In all his life, Drake had never seen anything like it. Powerful rockets sped in pairs into every building, detonating on impact and filling the interiors with fire and death. Not one structure was strong enough to withstand the flaming devastation. Drake whistled as six buildings collapsed onto themselves, timbers and spars, bricks and blocks tumbling down together on top of the killers inside, crushing and devastating everyone within. Luther was at the head of the RPG line, the man most exposed, and already loading another rocket into its barrel.
“You gotta hand it to the man,” Alicia said. “That worked really well.”
“Devastation is his forte,” Drake said. “And yeah, he just saved a lot of lives.”
“Who would even think that way?” Dahl muttered.
“Quit that,” Drake said. “You’re just pissed you didn’t come up with it.”
It became clear that just one building hadn’t entirely collapsed; its left side shored up by a rubble of fallen debris. Within, several mercs were still active. They fired now and Luther ducked, but one of his companions was struck in the chest. More bullets flew. Dahl and Drake were best placed to help.
“You got my back?” Dahl asked, already sprinting.
“Always, pal.”
The Swede darted around the surviving mercenaries’ blind side, coming up around the rear of the building. Drake expected him to leap and run up the collapsed side of it, maybe throw a grenade through a gap. What he didn’t expect was for the Swede to run at full pelt smack-bang into the side of the fragile structure.
“Always the bloody show off.”
Dahl’s sheer momentum shook the entire shop, shifting rubble and the new supports. It wavered and then it collapsed, falling on top of all those inside and cutting their enraged shrieks short.
“I saw that, Dahl,” Luther said, “Couldn’t have done it better myself.”
The Swede smirked at Drake. “Bet you were shocked.”
Drake coughed to hide a grateful smile. “Actually, I wasn’t.”
“Check your sixes, boys,” Luther came over the comms. “But I think we just won the fucking day.”
Alicia came over to where Drake and Dahl rested in the rubble, followed by Luther and Mai. Twenty spec ops soldiers held captives over by the tents and the school; a further seventy surrounded the town. Terrorist remnants were being rounded up with minimal resistance. Drake threw down his weapon and wiped the dirt from his hands.
“Tempest is fucked,” he said. “At least here.”
Alicia threw herself down into the dirt beside him. “Can somebody please call Hayden? I can’t relax knowing they’re still fighting.”
Mai held up a satphone. “Already on it, Taz.”
“Thank you,” Alicia mouthed and closed her eyes for a moment, letting the waning sun wash the stress from her features and the horrors from her mind. A few seconds later, she opened them as Mai began to speak.
“You took them out? All of them? Gleeson and those assholes that attacked Lauren? Oh, that’s great. We closed them down over here too. And Secretary Crowe is safe.” Her short repeated comments were for the benefit of the people around her.