The other two APCs were the basic armored variant, carrying crews of ten and fitted with two exterior-mounted light machine guns and eleven shooting ports so the crew could fire their personal weapons from within the vehicle. Ross strained to hear their engines in the distance, assuming they were on patrol, rolling up and down the island along the beach or on that narrow dirt road they’d crossed.
Well, plan A was shot to shit. Ross and 30K were supposed to place their blocks of C-4 between the APCs and take them out the easy way. They moved inside the empty lean-tos, and Ross whispered into his boom mike: ‘Guardian, Delta Dragon. APCs are out and on patrol. We’ll need the Seahawks to take them out.’
‘Roger that, Delta Dragon.’
The LCS’s two Seahawk helicopters were each armed with eight AGM-114 Hellfire Missiles, single 7.62mm pintle-mounted machine guns, and equipped with an AN/AAS-44 Infrared Laser Detecting/Ranging/Tracking set.
Despite the choppers’ offensive capabilities, the ship’s skipper and the Seahawk pilots and crew would not be thrilled by this news because while they could stand off and fire beyond the range of enemy surface-to-air missiles, they were also needed to provide Close Air Support for Ross and his men. The Seahawks were tolerant to small arms fire and medium-caliber high-explosive projectiles, but Hamid and his troops did indeed possess those Grinch SA-24s, and any one of them could lift a launcher to his shoulder, get off a shot, and send one of the Seahawks exploding across the sky.
30K signaled to Ross: They would leave the lean-to now and head toward the forward bunkers past the tree line.
Ross understood what 30K wanted to do now, and he nodded.
If they couldn’t blow up the APCs, they’d take out some bunkers for the Marines. That C-4 was, after all, burning a hole in their pockets.
The Eurocopter EC275 Caracel transport/cargo chopper sat in the dirt clearing where it had landed the morning before, after dropping off Hamid.
At the edge of the clearing, facing the beach, sat two bunkers about ten meters apart, each manned by two guards equipped with night-vision goggles (NVGs). There were no men posted near the chopper itself, so if Kozak and Pepper made it past the bunkers, they were home free to plant their charges and withdraw toward the jungle behind the bird.
Kozak reminded himself that this was a no-brainer — nothing to be worried about. Create a diversion. Cut off your enemy’s lines of escape. Celebrate with beer and rock ’n’ roll. All in a night’s work. What could possibly go wrong?
Shit. He shouldn’t have considered that question.
They each clutched a block of C-4 with remote detonator, but damn, from their position they had no choice but to move in the wide open, right between the bunkers to reach the chopper. Active camouflage or not, this was pucker-up time.
Pepper signaled that he would go first. Hell, yeah, he would. No argument from Kozak. Taking long, deliberate strides, Pepper advanced several meters, then stopped and crouched down, allowing his camouflage to catch up with the surroundings. The NVGs worn by the guards would make it even more difficult to spot Pepper, but he remained vigilant, his footfalls light, his movements slow and practiced. By the time he reached the helicopter, Kozak gasped. He’d been holding his breath the entire time.
Pepper, whose outline stood in sharp juxtaposition in Kozak’s HUD, waved him over.
Walk and stop. Walk and stop. Swift and silent. Once he was between both bunkers, Kozak stole a look to the left, a look to the right. The guards were just sitting there, one of them cleaning his .50-caliber machine gun, the other staring out across the strait. At the other bunker, practically the same thing. And then a shout in Spanish:
‘Hey, you got one of those snacks?’
‘Yes, come over and get it.’
One man climbed up a small ladder and on to the beach, marching a few meters behind Kozak to the opposite bunker. As he neared his comrade, Kozak took a deep breath and started off, reaching the chopper precisely two seconds before his heart exploded. Or at least it felt so.
They planted their charges fore and aft, then retreated to the shadows of the forest, where Kozak issued his report: ‘Ghost Lead, we’re set over here.’
‘Roger that. The Marines are about twenty minutes out. Shift to your secondary and stand by.’
‘On our way.’
SIXTY-TWO
‘Delta Dragon, this is Cannonball,’ came a familiar voice over the command net. Ross had met Captain Pat Rugg on the LCS. At six-five, 270 pounds, the Marine was an irradiated beast, lacking only the green skin and glowing eyes. His biceps were as thick as Ross’s hips. He had this Genghis Khan/Conan the Barbarian rap about not being happy until his enemies were crushed, their cities reduced to ashes, their women lamenting. This, he explained, was what was best in life.
Well, it was time to make the platoon leader happy.
‘Cannonball, this is Delta Dragon. Where are you guys?’
‘Getting into position now.’
‘Roger that. Wait for our charges, then cut loose.’
‘Understood. Cannonball, out.’
The Marines had planted charges along the railroad tracks and would also take out the trip wire booby traps Ross and the team had marked for them.
A window popped up in Ross’s HUD, and there was Mitchell, seated at a command terminal back home in Fort Bragg, his face illuminated by the bank of monitors around him. ‘Ross, the Stallion and Seahawks are inbound, ETA two minutes.’
‘Roger that, sir. We’re set. I can already hear the choppers.’
‘Good hunting, Captain.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
30K, who was crouched down beside Ross in the trees behind the bunkers, lowered his binoculars and said, ‘They’re starting to freak out now.’
‘Kozak? Pepper? You ready?’
They chimed in, one after the other.
‘All right, guys. On three. One, two —’
Ross thumbed the button on his remote detonator, as did 30K. Two of the bunkers vanished in white-hot flashes followed by an echoing boom and blast wave that stretched as far back as their position. Even as the dirt was still flying, multiple explosions went off behind them, and that was Rugg and his people exercising their addiction to high explosives.
As those random thunderclaps rose, an even larger explosion resounded from the opposite side of the outpost, where Kozak and Pepper had planted their charges on Hamid’s helicopter.
Not a gasp after those fires lifted into the air, the remaining men in the perimeter bunkers turned their machine gun fire skyward, tracer rounds gleaming like laser fire and reaching out toward the approaching Seahawks –
But that offensive lasted only a few seconds before Rugg’s Marines, carefully concealed in the jungle, opened fire on those bunker positions, while he sent in another squad to flank them.
Ross and 30K sprinted off, weaving through the trees and toward the huts, just thirty meters away, where their own intel indicated that Valencia, Delgado, and Hamid were inside the center hut, where they’d established a command post. Bahar had not been spotted since his first appearance with Hamid near the chopper. They were about to find out if he was still there.
‘Delta Dragon, if you’re gonna move, move now,’ cried Cannonball over the command net. ‘I’ve got the bunkers tied up for you, but I don’t know for how long.’
‘Roger, we’re on it!’
As Ross and 30K drew closer, 30K tossed out a sensor grenade that revealed six more men posted beside and on top of at least three of the huts.
‘Kozak? How’re you doing?’ Ross asked.