The humiliation of the Third Reich was about to be avenged.
And once Kammler’s gunmen had finished off Jaeger and his team, he would slip away to another place of hiding. He had many.
It was all coming together, despite the damage inflicted here by a few desperate individuals.
Such was war, Kammler reflected.
Plans evolved as necessity dictated.
And revenge truly was a dish best served cold.
81
There was a squawk of static in Jaeger’s earpiece. Message incoming.
‘Going dark,’ Raff confirmed.
Seconds later, the dull, rhythmic thud of the generator ceased. Raff had considered a few options for stopping it: blowing it up, cutting the wires, slicing through the fuel pipe. But in the circumstances – and once he’d picked the lock on the generator shed – it was just as easy to press the STOP button.
Sure, Kammler might send out his gunmen to get it restarted, but to do so they’d have to leave the bunker’s entrance, which any second now was going to get hosed down by Alonzo. And the big African American wasn’t exactly short of ammo: Jaeger and Raff had handed over all their remaining 40mm grenade rounds.
Screw it, Raff told himself. He ripped off the generator’s fuel hose and stuffed it in his pocket. Now it definitely wouldn’t start.
Raff’s radio message had been the signal. As Alonzo opened fire, the noise of the blasts echoed through the stunted tree cover. Jaeger figured Kammler had set his command bunker here, in the densest thicket of bush, so as to hide it from the air.
Well, thanks to Hing, they’d found it anyway.
Jaeger glanced over his shoulder and saw Hing give a reassuring thumbs-up. He added a tug of the earlobe, which in this part of the world signified that all was well.
Hing struck Jaeger as being remarkably cool under such circumstances. But then you didn’t exactly get wrapped in cotton wool in the People’s Liberation Army. Having found himself working for Kammler and enduring whatever horrors that had entailed, the man would have a core of inner toughness.
Raff rejoined them, and they crept closer to their intended point of entry. The skylight proved to be perfectly disguised amongst the vegetation. Without Hing, they would never have found it.
It allowed natural light to enter the bunker complex, and there was also a thin metal ladder running from the skylight down to the floor inside. Clearly it was designed to act as an emergency exit in case of fire or attack.
In his left hand, Jaeger cradled a grenade. He counted down the seconds. When he figured they were long enough into Alonzo’s assault, he crept forward, pulled the pin and rolled the grenade across the skylight.
By the time he heard it come to a stop, he was dashing for cover. The standard NATO fragmentation grenade had a four-second fuse, and a lethal rage of five metres. The delay gave Jaeger just enough time to go to ground. Moments later, there was a deafening crack, and the howl of shrapnel cut through the air.
The team were instantly on their feet, sprinting for the breach. Jaeger reached it first, dropping some seven feet through the shattered opening, aiming for a clear patch of floor in the smoke-filled interior.
He hadn’t even bothered with the ladder. He needed speed and surprise. He landed in a crouch, his P228’s flashlight sweeping the room as he steadied himself. He blanked all else from his mind, scanning for human figures.
He panned right with his weapon, the torchlight dancing in the ghostly swirls of smoke. The light caught on a form slumped over a desk.
Kammler.
82
Behind him Jaeger heard a second pair of boots thump down. He knew instinctively that it was Raff, and that he would be sweeping the room on the opposite side. A third figure vaulted in beside them: Hing. Narov had to be bringing up the rear.
‘Kammler at my eleven o’clock,’ Jaeger intoned into his SELEX. The bastard looked injured, or at the very least stunned by the blast. ‘We need him alive. I repeat: alive.’
It was vital they captured Kammler living, breathing and sentient. He was the key to stopping all of this. His knowledge. His say-so. His authority. His orders to call back those sent to wreak devastation and vengeance. Or if not, his leads so they could hunt the bombers down.
Jaeger spotted a target. To the far right of Kammler a figure was reeling about, senses dulled by the blast, as he struggled to bring his weapon – a Type 79 sub-machine gun – into the aim. Jaeger nailed him with his torch beam: phzzzt, phzzzt, phzzzt.
Two shots to the body and one to the head, just to make sure he was finished.
‘Enemy down,’ he breathed into his SELEX.
Inside his head a voice said, ‘Three.’ He’d fired three rounds from the P228’s thirteen-round magazine, so ten remaining.
A fourth figure dropped in beside him. Narov, weapon at the ready. They swept the room, seeking further targets. As they did so, Jaeger marvelled at what they had stumbled into here. Banks of computer terminals and stacks of complex communications gear lined the walls.
The place resembled an ops room for a small but very tech-savvy army.
Jaeger noticed Kammler trying to move. ‘Taking Kammler,’ he barked.
As he broke from his stance and began to steal across the room, a figure darted out of cover, weapon raised at the shoulder.
Raff nailed him before he could squeeze off a shot.
‘Enemy down,’ he breathed calmly.
The big Maori was in his element. He was never more at home than when he was fighting in the darkness and closing with the bad guys at close quarters.
Jaeger moved in on Kammler warily. But as he stole ahead, keeping light on his feet, a figure flashed past on his right-hand side. In a blur of speed, Hing launched himself at Kammler – his former boss, jailer and tormentor – hands reaching like claws to rip the man’s eyes out.
Kammler moved surprisingly fast for someone of his advanced years. He whipped up the compact form of a Type 92 handgun and let rip. Two 9mm slugs hammered into Hing, stopping the man dead in his tracks. He went down hard.
As Kammler went to pivot around with his weapon, Jaeger fired, blasting the gun out of his grasp. Moments later, he smacked him around the head with the butt of his P228, Kammler reeling and collapsing against the wall.
Jaeger grabbed him by the hair, jerking his head backwards. There was a cut across his cheekbone, but otherwise he seemed merely stunned. He kicked the man’s legs out from beneath him, Kammler dropping like a sack of shit.
‘Room clear,’ Raff’s voice intoned over the radio.
‘Room clear,’ Narov echoed.
‘Secure the entrance,’ Jaeger ordered. ‘Plus Hing’s down. Check Hing.’
He spent a brief moment frisking Kammler, making sure that he wasn’t armed, then knelt until they were eye to eye.
‘Hello, Mr Kammler. You invited us to drop in. Well, here we are.’
He brought the barrel of his P228 into Kammler’s face, until the muzzle was jammed hard against the man’s bleeding cheekbone.
‘Got a few questions.’ He ground the muzzle closer, blood starting to seep round the hard edges of the weapon. ‘I’m going to ask this only once… where are Ruth Jaeger and Peter Miles?’
Kammler’s face twisted into a cruel smile. ‘You’re too late. To save them. To stop any of this. Heil Hitler, and long live the Thousand Year Reich.’
Jaeger took a step back and kicked Kammler square in the chest. He reeled backwards.
Jaeger glanced at Narov. ‘He’s all yours.’
Jaeger eyed Raff, who was bent over the fallen form of Hing. The big Maori shook his head. Fearless to the last, Hing had died doing what he’d vowed to do – going after Kammler.