Apocalypse unleashed

30

Outside Harran

Sanliurfa Province, Turkey

Local Time 0826 Hours

Pain filled Marcus Allen’s world. He opened his eyes and stared up at the blinding sun. Automatically, after listening and hearing no movement around him, he felt for his Oakleys, but they weren’t there. He cursed the pain and the fact that the sunglasses were probably broken. The expense didn’t bother him so much as the effort it had taken to get them.

He rolled onto his side and located the Galil rifle he carried as his lead weapon. The RPG was nowhere to be seen. He dragged himself to his feet and walked over to the wrecked Land Rover, which sat upside down.

Weaver was just rousing, dangling from the seat belt that had kept him locked in. He groaned as he felt his chest.

“Anything broken?” Allen asked.

“No, but there was definitely no lack of trying.”

Kosheib cut himself free of his jammed seat restraints with a combat knife. “Collins is dead.” He jerked a thumb at the man on his right.

Kneeling, Allen peered through the passenger window. All the glass had broken out. Collins, in his forties and a habitual smoker, hung upside down with his arms over his head like he was involved in a bank holdup. A lit cigarette singed his dead lips.

“What happened?” Allen asked.

“Broken neck.” Kosheib grabbed the dead man’s hair and jerked his head to one side. It lay almost on his shoulder, obviously disconnected. Without another word, the Sudanese released the dead man and kicked the passenger door open with a screech.

“What about Heinrich?” Allen asked.

“I’m alive,” the young German killer answered calmly. “Just waiting for the opportunity to get out.” He was thin and had a mop of unruly black hair. Even on his best days he reminded Allen of a weasel.

“What do you want to do with Collins?” Kosheib asked.

“Leave him.” Nobody got a burial in Allen’s unit. If they survived to the end of a contract, they got the rest of their bounty and maybe a bonus from a happy client. No one in the group had any kind of history that would tie them to the others.

“Is the truck going to be driveable?” Heinrich climbed out through the door as well.

“Doesn’t matter,” Allen replied. “We’re trapped between the devil and the deep blue sea. We can’t go forward because we’ll be running into the American forces in Sanliurfa that aren’t going to be happy with us. We try to go back, we’re going to end up in the midst of the advancing Syrian army.”

Weaver dusted himself off. “You thinking we’re going to get out of Turkey on foot?”

“Or find a roundabout way into Sanliurfa. We get there, Cody will help us get out of the country. Or at least keep us hid out.”

SCUDs flew by overhead. The heavy thunder of their passing echoed against the hard-packed earth.

“Maybe Sanliurfa isn’t the best place we could be,” Kosheib observed.

“We took on the contract,” Allen replied. “We haven’t been pulled off of it.”

“We’re not exactly going to have the element of surprise on our side if we go into Sanliurfa.” Heinrich kneeled by Collins’s body and quickly rifled the dead man’s pockets. He took money from the man’s pants. When he saw the others staring at him, he looked a little guilty. “What? I’m going to share it with you.” He shoved Collins’s half pack of cigarettes into his shirt pocket.

“Where’s Owens and his team?” Allen asked.

No one knew.

“Spread out and find them.” Allen held his carbine across his body and walked farther into the thick trees around them.

Local Time 0826 Hours

Goose woke with blood in his eyes and a splitting headache. He lay on his back and took a breath. Keeping calm took effort.

Move slowly, he told himself. If you’re hurt bad, you don’t want to make it worse. He’d seen wounded soldiers in the field go from manageable casualties to life-and-death situations in a heartbeat. All it took was a piece of broken bone to slice an artery.

He worked his hands and feet first. Then he drew his right arm up to wipe the blood from his eyes. He’d figured out what it was from the copper taste that leaked into his mouth. Blurred vision returned to him.

He stared up at the tree canopy. The white flesh of broken branches stood out against the verdant green and dull charcoal gray bark. Those partly explained how the fall hadn’t killed him.

He moved gingerly to explore his body. Sudden movements would be stupid. As he shifted more and more of himself, there was more pain.

Push through the pain. Pain just means you’re still alive.

The distant thunder of the Syrian heavy armor grew closer.

And you’re not outta the woods yet. Goose looked around at the trees. Literally.

A few minutes later, after he’d made sure he was intact and nothing was ruptured so that nothing that belonged inside his body was suddenly going to be outside, he forced himself to his feet. His M-4A1 lay nearby. He picked it up.

He spent a few minutes trying to connect with the Ranger communications but wasn’t successful. Either he was in a black hole for the signal or the Syrians were jamming the frequencies.

Remembering that Miller and Icarus had fallen with him, he went in search of the other two men. The throbbing in his knee hurt terribly, and he had difficulty walking. He tracked the others through the broken branches that blazed a trail through the canopy. Thankfully none of them had been impaled on the way down.

Miller lay twenty yards away, behind a large boulder he’d missed by less than a foot. The man was out cold, and at first Goose feared that he was dead. Miller’s chest rose and fell slowly, though. Relieved, Goose went over to the chaplain and did a visual inspection for injuries without moving him. There was no blood around Miller, so Goose took that as a positive. Gently Goose touched the man’s shoulder.

“Captain Miller,” Goose said.

Miller didn’t move.

Goose shook the man a little harder. “Captain Miller, you got to get up. The Syrians are coming.”

Footsteps sounded behind Goose. He spun and brought the M-4A1 up in one hand.

Icarus stepped out through the trees. He tucked his right arm behind his Kevlar vest. His features looked pale. “We’ve got trouble,” he said.

Local Time 0829 Hours

Allen found Owens’s vehicle jammed between trees and brush. A broken tree limb protruded from the driver’s chest. The jagged shard had pierced his heart and stopped it so suddenly that there was little blood.

Manfred Owens, a native Bostonian with a short-cropped beard and long hair, fumbled in an effort to free himself from the passenger seat. He was a broad bulldog of a man with burn scarring on the left side of his face and neck.

“Cody’s target I’m going to assassinate for the fee,” Owens declared as he pushed himself out and up. “I get the chance, though, I’m going to throw some of those Syrians in for free. What was that? A dud?”

“If it had been a dud, it wouldn’t have blown up,” Weaver said. “Must have had a fuel problem. Something. Fell way short of the target.”

“No joke,” Owens growled.

“Heinrich, Weaver, Kosheib,” Allen said. “Set up a loose perimeter. Could be the Syrians saw us and may have someone along soon.”

“Roger that.” Heinrich swept the hair from his eyes and set off at once. The other two joined him in setting up a three-post guard, fanning out from the wreck site fifty yards away.

When he checked the rear of the Land Rover, Allen found Purvis disoriented and McElroy just regaining consciousness. With Owens’s help, he helped both of them from the wreck. Newton was a different story. He was semiconscious and in pain. But his right leg was broken in three places.

“Can you walk?” Allen asked.

Fear tightened Newton’s eyes. He was young and desperate. The United States had a murder charge waiting on him if he returned there.

“Sure,” Newton answered. “I can walk.”

Without a word, Allen stood by and waited.

Newton forced his way out of the Land Rover and stood on his good leg. Allen shoved a hand into the man’s chest, catching him off guard. Newton tried to remain standing, but his broken leg buckled and he went down with a scream of pain. He pulled himself back up, clawing at the Land Rover like an animal.

“No! Allen, please don’t!”

Allen already had his pistol in his fist. He held it only a few inches from Newton’s face and pulled the trigger three times. The dead man’s blood spattered Allen’s fist. He wiped his weapon clean on Newton’s shirt.

Allen’s sat-phone rang. Only three people had the number. He answered.

“You missed your target,” Alexander Cody said.

“Do you know that for a fact?”

“I’m looking at video footage of Icarus and two other men falling from the helicopter at the same time the SCUD landed near you.”

Allen turned and looked north. The woods were thick and filled with brush. He suspected there was an underground spring or watershed concealed somewhere within the forest.

“Your fee isn’t going to be paid until you can guarantee the kill,” Cody said.

“Understood,” Allen said. “Are you sure the target is alive?”

“I’m sure I don’t know that he’s dead. It’s your job to get me proof.”

“I will.” Allen closed the phone, looked at his men, and explained the situation.

“More than likely,” Owens said, “all we have to do is find their bodies.”

“Then that’s what we’re going to do.”

Owens glanced back to the south. The loud noise of the Syrian advancement filled the forest around them. “This is gonna be a bad place to get caught by those Syrian soldiers.”

“Let’s plan on not getting caught,” Allen suggested.

Owens still didn’t look happy.

“If you want to hump out on your own,” Allen said, “I’ll understand. I don’t mind finding a dead guy and splitting the bounty six ways.”

Owens cursed. “I’m in.”

Allen called the others in, then explained the situation to Weaver, Kosheib, and Heinrich. They didn’t look happy either.

“I do not like this,” Kosheib said.

“Neither do I,” Allen admitted. “But that missile didn’t take us off the board-”

“Not all of us,” Heinrich said, looking down at Newton.

“-so I figure we’ve got enough luck to get paid for this.” Allen paused. “And no matter how you look at it, we’re going to have to go north in order to keep from encountering the Syrians.”

“The target may still be alive,” Heinrich pointed out.

“Then he’s not going to be that way for long.” Allen slung his rifle over his shoulder, grabbed extra canteens from the Land Rover, and set off into the brush.

Grumbling and cursing, his pack of wolves trailed at his heels.