He had known this moment would come, and yet he had no idea how he would respond. It was not an issue you could resolve in a vacuum. This was not a theoretical debate. This was not an exercise. Albeit for reasons he considered valid, this was the slaughter of sentient human beings. It was immoral. It was wrong. It was something he could not do – would not do.
The guard jeep slowed to a halt.
It was the other side of the double fence and past him by about ten meters. At the most they were fifteen meters away from his position and looking away from him.
Two dismounted from the jeep and went to look more closely. The driver and the machine gunner remained in position.
Shanley faced with the immediate reality, no longer rationalized.
Reflex took over and basic survival instinct took over – and something more. A determination not to let his people down. They were not perfect. Some he did not even like.
Not important. They were a team. There was a shared purpose, shared loyalties, shared experiences. They were his people. Better yet, even those he did not warm to were his comrades. They were his friends.
He fired four quick, silent bursts and then a further burst at the machine gunner who was still alive. Black blood fountained from the man's throat as the second burst hit him, and he fell over the pintle mount, his arms seeming to reach out toward the wire.
"Blockhouse power off," said a voice in his ear. "The wire is tame."
Shanley cut his way through the fences and drove the Guntrack toward the blockhouse.
Al Lonsdale had watched the entire exchange through high-powered vision equipment. He reached down a helping hand as Shanley climbed the Clucas pole. "Welcome aboard," he said.
Dana smiled at Shanley as he stepped on the OP roof. It was a quiet smile, but it said all that was needed. Shanley thought he was going to be sick, but then things seemed to come into focus and he looked at Al Lonsdale and nodded. "Yeah," he said. "No problems."
"I should hope not," said Lonsdale with a slight smile.
Then they all heard the same transmission. It came from Brick Stephens, who was on road watch.
"More guests at the party, boss," said Stephens, his voice quiet but clear, his remark directed specifically at Fitzduane. "Tanks, APCs and trucked troops on the perimeter road and heading north towards us. ETA five to ten minutes. They are moving fairly fast. The sound was blanketed by the hill, but you'll be able to hear them now."
Shadow Two, the strongpoint commanding the two valleys below them now secure, looked south at the new arrivals. A quick estimate suggested a battalion-size force.
No matter how you looked at it, it was not a visit from the tooth fairy.
The Barracks, The Devil's Footprint,
Tecuno, Mexico
Rheiman made sure the small window was covered and then lit the six candles he had brought. He liked to look at her by candlelight, and he had made the occasions something of a ritual.
It was his eighth visit, she thought. Her mental makeup, she was discovering, was tougher than she would ever have believed.
Rheiman had undressed her after his last visit, and as her soiled clothing was removed she had expected the inevitable to follow. There was not much she could do to resist. A chained victim was every rapist's dream. But he had not raped her. Instead, he washed her and tended to her cuts and bruises and gave her water and extra food and vitamin pills and antibiotics. He was saving her life.
The Voice and the other terrorists thought he was screwing her every time he visited, but all he actually wanted to do was undress her and look at her by candlelight and talk.
And his talk was not sexual. He talked of his creation and the destruction it would wreak and the fame it would bring. He talked of the missile it would carry and the lethal nerve agent it would carry. He digressed into technicalities and explained at length why hydrogen was a superior propellant to anything Bull had ever thought up.
It came to Kathleen with some force that her plight was of little significance in the scheme of things. The carnage that Rheiman's warped mind threatened to let loose must be stopped.
He talked on, and Kathleen encouraged him. He held her hand.
Chifune prepared to enter Kathleen's door.
Freeman turned the handle and flung it open. There seemed to be candles everywhere, and she could see a naked figure chained to the wall.
"FRIENDS, KATHLEEN!" she shouted.
Kathleen! It did not look like her at first. The contrast between the beautiful full-bodied woman she had met in Ireland and this abused figure was truly shocking.
Bile rose in her throat.
She took in another figure, a European in desert khakis, and was within a tenth of a second of shooting him when Kathleen screamed. "NO! NO! DON'T KILL HIM. WE NEED HIM."
Chifune grunted, and smashed Rheiman against the wall.
She spun him around and tied his wrists with plasticuffs. She had a great desire to put a burst through his head, but she heard Kathleen's plea, and if she, who had been through all this, wanted the bastard kept alive there had to be a good reason.
There had better be, or she would kill him where he stood.
Freeman removed the hostage's blindfold, then took the bolt cutters from a belt pouch and cut through the chains. Kathleen! It was definitely her. She was crying and gesturing toward the man in khaki. "You mustn't kill him. We need him. He knows."
Freeman wrapped her clothes around her and then a bulletproof vest. "Hugo is outside," he said. "We're taking you home." He indicated Rheiman. "What about this fuck? Friend or enemy?"
Kathleen looked at him, her hands rubbing her eyes. "He's one of them," she said, "but we must take him. He knows too much."
"Roger that," said Freeman. He picked her up and slung her over his shoulder. He was used to exercising with a hundred-and-fifty-pound pack. She felt disturbingly light.
"Shadow One," said Chifune. "Yaibo barracks clear and we have Kathleen. She's okay. We have a prisoner. Leaving now."
"Roger that, Shadow Two," said Fitzduane. He felt light-headed with relief at the news, but fought to keep his mind focused. "Move it fucking fast. We have visitors coming up the perimeter road from the southern. ETA less than five minutes."
A prisoner? There were to be no prisoners. Chifune knew that as well as anyone, so there had to be a reason.
"Shadow Four," said the Brick. He was inside the supergun bunker working on the firing mechanism, aided by Hayden, while Sergeant Oga kept watch outside. The shattered bodies of the Yaibo guards lay where they had fallen. The work was demanding. "We are in, but we need a minimum seven to ten minutes more – I repeat, seven to ten."
Fitzduane made a quick assessment.
He currently had four teams inside the camps. Two had neutralized the Yaibo barracks and looked like they would get out in time, but the remaining two units would be cut off when the approaching column arrived.
It would occupy the road end to end, from the main camp to way beyond the supergun valley. It was dark, and he considered having them infiltrate the column, but that would mean leaving the Guntracks, and they still had to make the pickup point forty kilometers away. The logic was simple and the outcome would be bloody, but there was very little choice.
The lights flickered as the generator in the main camp coughed and then died again. Suddenly it was dark. Chifune and the five other members of her assault group ran for the main gates and then across the perimeter road to their waiting Guntracks.
"I'm going to thin out the approaching column," said Fitzduane. "Heavy shit for the next ten minutes and then we all bug out for the emergency RV. Acknowledge."
The four teams acknowledged in numerical order.