Matt watched as the two men in his vision continued to saunter toward them with no particular sense of urgency. It was clear, though, that they were carrying long rifles.
The two whispers escaping from Rampert’s M4 were welcome sounds. If Rampert had waited a few seconds longer, Matt had been poised to shoot. He heard in the distance the unmistakable sound of two bodies falling to the ground unimpeded. Matt and Rampert moved quickly to the two dead men, Rampert shining a small flashlight in their faces. While Matt knew that Rampert was conducting a quick search of the enemy, he also suspected that he was confirming that he had not shot his own men.
He had not. Matt continued to scan the horizon while Rampert checked the equipment.
“Let’s move,” Rampert whispered. Matt noticed Rampert had secured two small radios, one from each man. “Hang onto this. It may be helpful,” Rampert said, handing Matt one of the small devices that looked and felt like it might have been purchased at Radio Shack.
They moved quietly along a small ridge, angling down the slope to the north. He knew this was the direction they needed to be going. An instinctive flare ignited within him. Something from the Philippines, the memories, the smell of gunpowder, the dead bodies.
His brother.
Could it be true? Was Zachary actually alive?
They stopped at the edge of the tree line before it gave way to an opening occupied by five cabins.
“Cabin nearest the water is our target,” Rampert whispered to Matt.
“What’s the plan?” he asked, the quiet night air interrupted by a zipping noise.
Matt turned and looked at Rampert as the colonel slumped forward, obviously hit by the single, silenced gunshot. Matt moved quickly, dragging Rampert behind a hardwood with a large trunk.
“Find Hobart. Tell him he’s in charge. Get Boudreaux. It’s critical we get Boudreaux before his memory returns,” Rampert gasped in short breaths.
Another shot tore at the tree directly above Matt’s head. He turned to find the shooter’s location. Scanning the wood line with his night-vision goggles, he noticed movement near the intersection of the lake and the tree line. He quickly checked Rampert’s pulse, weak but noticeable, and wrapped a gauze bandage from the colonel’s first aid pouch around the seeping wound just above the right pectoral.
“Find Hobart,” the colonel whispered again, “and get Boudreaux.”
“Roger,” Matt said, moving silently back to the north and then looping toward the lake. The M4 was a comfort in his hand. The scar in his abdomen tightened as flashes of combat in the Philippines leapt through his mind and he spotted the large lake through the green haze of his night-vision goggles.
He knelt by a thick pine, scanning to the north. He noticed a slight reflection of a faint moon off the lake when he heard the distinct sound of AK-47 gunfire coming from across the clearing to the west. Fearing a trap, he avoided focusing in that direction and moved toward the east again, preventing anyone from trapping him against the lake and the cabins.
Taking a knee again, Matt clipped the radio he had secured from Rampert onto his belt, placing the earpiece in his right ear. He flipped the switch on the control box before speaking.
“Hobart this is Garrett. Rampert is hit.”
“Say again, call sign,” came the response.
“Rampert’s hit. Don’t have a call sign. This is Garrett. I jumped in with you.”
“Roger, what’s your status?”
“On the east side. I’ve moved Rampert from where he was hit, and I’ve circled back to try to find the shooter. What’s your status?”
“We’ve killed two and are pinned down by a team of two to four.”
“Roger. We killed two on our way to the objective. You should be fighting the remnants. How can I help?”
“See if you can move back toward the cabins and flank them from the rear.”
“Roger. Where are they located?” Matt asked. He had a general idea, given the shots he had heard, but wanted their perspective.
“They’re between the last cabin and the lake, almost a hundred meters into the wood line.”
“Moving now.” He found the water’s edge and moved slowly into the frigid lake. Quietly, he lowered himself into the water until only his head was above the surface. He held his weapon and the small radio set above the water as he smoothly glided parallel to the shoreline. Soon Matt noticed the clearing with the cabins off to his left and the dock with small fishing boats just ahead. He could feel the soft clay slide beneath his feet. He paused, grasping a wooden railing as he guided himself around the outer edges of the dock.
Matt could hear more gunfire, this time much closer. Bright spots flared as hot white spots in his night-vision goggles. He focused on a small copse of trees thirty meters to the front as his destination. Sliding smoothly, silently, through the water, he felt his adrenaline surge. He dialed in on his mission, focusing on the gunfire, his index finger rubbing absently on the trigger guard of his weapon.
Matt stumbled just a bit as he closed in on the shoreline, his feet fumbling on the steep bank. He slowed his movement as he emerged from the water, allowing his clothes to drain slowly. He centered himself in the small grouping of pine trees and waist-high shrub, scanning the horizon and feeling strangely secure in his covered and concealed position. It didn’t take him long to find two of the terrorists who were holding Hobart and his partner at bay.
Matt secured the headset and switched on the radio as he slid the monitor in his vest pocket.
“Are you there?” It was Hobart’s voice.
“Yes, I’m in position. I need you to fire two shots so I can get your location. I think I see two of the enemy,” Matt said.
“Roger. Where are you?”
“Don’t shoot in the direction of the lake.”
“Roger.”
Matt waited patiently while Hobart positioned himself to get a decent shot that would not wind up toward his location. He heard two loud pops and saw the muzzle flashes nearly fifty meters up the ridge. Just as quickly, he saw three muzzle flashes return the fire, surprisingly only twenty meters to his direct left. In fact, the enemy was using an extension of the same group of trees.
“You got us?” It was Hobart’s voice.
“Roger,” he whispered, mindful of his proximity to his targets.
Matt reached slowly to the muzzle and switched on the AN/PAQ-4C Infrared Aiming Light. He shivered against his icy, water-soaked clothes. If he didn’t move soon, it would not be long before hypothermia set in. Though cold, he refocused.
Matt trusted that Rampert had properly adjusted his aiming light as he drew a bead on the first target. His hand absently turned the silencer, testing to make sure it was properly seated and would muffle the sound of the subsonic bullet he was about to launch into the skull of this unknown person.
The man’s body was a dark mass with mild distinctions. Matt watched the aiming light dance across his target’s forehead for a brief second and then he squeezed the trigger. Before the man dropped dead on the ground, Matt had placed the aiming light on his partner, who was now just turning toward his fallen comrade. Matt had a perfect face shot from about twenty-five meters. The aiming light hung perfectly on the man’s nose as Matt squeezed the trigger again.
The second man dropped dead about the time he began to receive heavy fire from what he presumed was the third member of the ambush element. He felt a spray of bark from the tree as he whispered into his headset, “Give me some help, guys.”
“We’re on it,” Hobart said.
Matt crawled low to another position ten meters from his last location. Hearing a heavy volume of fire come from Hobart’s location, he slowly raised his head to notice he actually had a better view of the enemy from his new vantage. He watched as the third member of the team slumped against a pine tree from the precision fire.