Choke Point

FORTY-SEVEN

Kozak kept close to the van, his rifle held high, his Cross-Com picking out a host of targets about fifty meters away, down the street. The gunship had just banked hard, coming around for another pass, laying down machine-gun fire that tore pockmarks in the road and struck the parked cars and the troops huddled behind them.

What happened next caused Kozak to blink. Hard.

Three of the rebels ran directly into the road, placing themselves in the gunners’ sights.

At first, Kozak thought it was a suicide mission. Then he realized with a start that the Hind’s pilot had been far too aggressive and had just made a fatal error.

Before the chopper’s gunner could bring his machine gun around, each rebel shouldered an RPG, and nearly in unison all three fired, the rockets whooshing up from the ground as if attached to thin plumes of smoke, the chopper hovering there, too big and too slow to evade this expertly timed attack –

And again, in a moment torn from the screenplay of Kozak’s imagination and brought to life against a pitch-black night rich with stars, three separate explosions resounded from the Hind, those rockets targeting the main and tail rotors, the smoke and roiling flames whipped by the heavy blades, the chopper beginning to list as the engines coughed and whined, and every rebel troop below screamed and turned their rifles skyward, showering the bird with small arms fire, the fuselage suddenly alive with a thousand sparking and ricocheting rounds. This poorly equipped band of warriors hooted and hollered, realizing they had just slain a dragon.

Trailing black smoke, the engines sputtering louder in their death throes, the chopper rolled to port on an erratic angle, then came around –

Plummeting straight toward Kozak.

He blinked again. Really? Right toward me?

With a stab of panic, he shot a look back, where 30K and Ross were helping Pepper hobble toward the van.

Off to the left came Naseem, running and waving his hands, screaming something, his voice completely muffled by the gunship.

‘Oh my God,’ 30K muttered as the light from the exploding chopper played over his face and the heat from the engines came at them like a million barbecues. He glanced at Ross and screamed, ‘Let’s get the —’

But he cut himself off, because the captain was already dragging Pepper toward the wall on their left — the nearest cover.

For his part, Kozak had already left the van and was sprinting toward the same rally point, his face contorted in an expression 30K had never seen before.

Naseem wasn’t as lucky. Even though he’d turned around and started running in the opposite direction, the Hind pitched again, colliding with the van, crushing it like a can of Bud Light, then rolling on to its side, the five rotor blades slashing into the ground until they snapped off and boomeranged away, the fuselage continuing to roll several times, coming up behind Naseem — and then, with a twin thunderclap, the 500-liter external fuel tanks exploded.

30K could barely watch.

The colonel was swept into a pair of fireballs that blasted across the cemetery, leaving dense clouds of inky black smoke in their wake. The stench of all that burning fuel and rubber and flesh came with the concussion, and 30K took one breath and gagged.

‘You see that shit?’ cried Kozak, fighting for breath. ‘Naseem’s dead. He’s dead, man. What now?’

‘Time to call Guardian,’ said 30K. ‘See if he wants to send in backup.’

They all looked to Ross, whose eyes were narrowed in thought, his lips set. He’d just learned that their contact was killed, their ride destroyed … but the captain’s expression was implacable.

‘He’s right, boss,’ said Pepper. ‘We ain’t gonna make it to the port. Not through this attack.’

Ross took a long breath and finally opened his mouth. ‘I know the address of the safe house. Kozak, get me the location of one of those APCs, the M113s used by the Army. We’ll commandeer ourselves a little ride.’

Pepper made a face. Kozak was already seeing the impossibility of it all, but 30K began to nod and smile. ‘I like it, sir.’

Ross snorted. ‘I knew you would.’

‘What about Pepper?’ asked Kozak.

‘What about me?’ Pepper snapped. ‘I won’t slow you down. I’m good to go.’

‘You don’t look good to go.’

‘I’m old. That’s my normal look.’

‘All right. Let’s head back behind the mosque. Get the camouflage up.’

As the rebels and government troops began to clash in the cemetery behind them, gunfire and grenades booming with an almost rhythmic pulse, the chopper wreckage still burning, the renewed stench of gunpowder heavy on the wind, 30K kept close to Pepper, and in a couple of minutes they were back at the mosque. They’d found the place empty, the imams and other staff all evacuated once the mortar fire had commenced, but 30K wished they’d run into some civilian who’d take one look at their desperate faces and large-caliber weapons and hand over his keys without protest.

The M113 Armored Personnel Carrier, better known by grunts in the field as simply a ‘track,’ always reminded Kozak of the chariot from the old Lost in Space TV show, whose episodes he’d downloaded on to his iPod and had watched with an almost religious fervor. He was a science fiction fan from the age of seven, with a penchant for 1960s sci-fi films and TV series, a secret hobby that he’d never reveal to his fellow Ghosts, lest they have another reason to talk smack about him.

They’d found the APC parked on Queen Arwa Road near the bank building, one of the six they’d spotted earlier. After a few minutes of close-in reconnoitering to confirm that only the commander and .50-caliber gunner had been left on board, Kozak and 30K moved in.

The commander stood in his cupola and chatted quietly with the gunner, standing in his own hatch. They felt the vehicle shift and creak, and as they turned their heads back toward those vibrations, they saw a curtain of water part before their eyes –

And then, at once, they were staring down the barrels of two rifles. 30K aimed at the commander, and Kozak had the muzzle of his rifle just a few inches from the gunner’s nose.

‘Where did you come from?’ gasped the commander.

‘From Pizza Hut,’ 30K said evenly.

‘Ghost Lead,’ Kozak began over the team net. ‘We’ve got two for you.’

That was the signal for Ross. The captain mounted the APC from the front and shot both men with the Taser while they were preoccupied and stunned over the appearance of these aliens dressed like soldiers.

Pepper hustled up from behind and lowered the troop door from behind while 30K and Kozak dragged the stunned men from their hatches and with Ross’s help got them down to the asphalt.

‘Born to be wild,’ grunted Ross as he dropped into the commander’s cupola.

With that, he started the old diesel engine; she roared like a tyrannosaur and sprang forward, tracks clicking over asphalt.

Kozak manned the big gun, checked the ammo, and was already itching to fire.

Ross throttled up, and soon the wind was blasting in Kozak’s face as they sped up the highway, explosions rising to the east and west, the sounds of more helicopters thrumming near the mountains, the lightning flashes of fragmentary grenades crackling from the alleys ahead.