Choke Point

SIXTY-EIGHT

Ross’s legs finally gave out before he could lower 30K to the ground. Instead, they both came down like boulders off a cliff. Boom. The shock waves of pain ripped through him.

He hadn’t said anything to 30K, but shrapnel from that grenade had torn into his arms and legs, and there was even a small piece that had stung the back of his neck. He could still move all right, but the hot flashes of pain were increasing by the minute.

As he gasped for air, Pepper’s report came over the radio, and he wanted to tear off his Cross-Com and smash it. But then he looked at 30K, rolling on to his back, coughing, blood leaking from his lips now. Saving this man was all that mattered now.

And Pepper had been so right about this. What they did was sloppy work. The heroes didn’t always capture the bad guys.

Then again, this was an island, and all Hamid had was an APC …

Ross acknowledged Pepper, ordered him to go back for Kozak, then got on the horn to Mitchell. ‘I need the Stallion or the Seahawk to track and interdict that APC,’ he told the major.

‘Roger that,’ said Mitchell.

Next, Ross called Captain Rugg. ‘Cannonball, corpsman up, my position, right now, over!’

‘You got it. On his way!’

Ross slipped off his pack and wrenched out his first aid supplies, the gunfire still popping near the huts, the APCs on fire now. 30K had been shot in the arm, both legs, and there was blood at his waist and on his neck. He was a mess, but Ross fought against the tremors in his hands and decided that the wound on 30K’s side needed the most attention. He got out some big four-by-four bandages and some scissors, beginning to cut away the man’s shirt to expose his chest. 30K looked at him, licked his lips, and was about to say something when Ross shook his head and said, ‘Don’t talk, bro. Corpsman on the way.’

30K nodded, blinked hard, then stared up at the canopy, and for a moment, Ross thought he’d lost him, but then he blinked again and coughed.

Kozak must’ve dropped the remote during the cave-in, and he forced his head up and tried to peer through the darkness. His Cross-Com’s monocle had been shoved near his ear, and he couldn’t reach up to adjust it.

He’d lied to Pepper. He didn’t want to be overly dramatic, but it felt like something very bad had crushed in his chest — ribs, spine, who knew? — and now it was painful to breathe and he could taste blood at the back of his throat.

Well, wasn’t this ironic? Here he was, the team’s technophile, the proponent of all things electronic, the gadget master who often tried to convince his teammates that it wasn’t a competition between technology and instincts — it was the technology that enhanced your instincts –

Or crushed you to death.

Footfalls came hard and fast, and Kozak bit his lip and tensed. He tried reaching for a frag in his web gear, thinking maybe he could do himself in before they did. Nope. There wasn’t anything he could do if the enemy found him, save for closing his eyes and resigning to the inevitable.

‘Kozak? Buddy? I’m back,’ cried Pepper, allowing him to breathe once again. ‘Now where’s the remote? Come on, bro, it’s gotta be around here somewhere.’

As Pepper leaned over to search near Kozak’s head, Kozak glanced past him and saw the two shadows flutter overhead. Those shadows materialized into men leaping into the hole.

He opened his mouth, wanting to warn Pepper, but no words would come, just a half-strangled hiss and groan –

But Pepper had heard them hit the ground, and in one fluid motion he drew the FN Five-seven pistol holstered at his waist and sighted the first of two FARC soldiers coming over the pile of dirt.

Pepper, knowing that his first shot would give up his location and draw fire from one or both of the soldiers, changed his mind and threw himself behind the Warhound’s legs before he took that first shot — and that’s what saved his life.

While one soldier took Pepper’s round in the head and lolled back, the second opened up, spraying rounds all over the hole until Pepper could steal a moment to pop up and drop him with a pair of rounds, one in the neck, the other to the shoulder, and that was good –

Because two more men were rushing through the tunnel, having come from the opposite direction.

He heard the grenade first as it bounced off the Warhound and struck the dirt a meter from his boots.

Purely on reflex, Pepper jerked forward and kicked the grenade, sending it arcing away, then he dove back behind the Warhound once again as the frag exploded, showering them with dirt, the shrapnel chinking off the Warhound’s heavy armor.

Now, with his hearing gone, replaced by an explosive hum, he rolled back toward the tunnel. He sighted the two soldiers, getting off two rounds before tugging free a frag of his own and letting it fly. He thought he’d shot one man before the frag exploded, consuming them both, and then, just as he raised his head, he spotted movement from the corner of his eye — more combatants jumping into the hole … three, four, five, maybe six in all.

There were just too many of them.

He tore free another grenade, shifted back toward Kozak, and thought, We go together, bro. Together …

After leaving 30K in the hands of the Navy corpsman, who assured Ross he’d do everything he could to stabilize 30K, Ross took off running for the collapsed section of the tunnel. Were it not for the adrenaline coursing through him, he doubted he could have gone on.

He’d spotted the squad of FARC troops leaping into the hole, rushing up behind Kozak and Pepper as they did so, and the moment they hit the ground, Ross lowered his HK into the pit and held down the trigger, dropping the unsuspecting bastards from behind, the last man rolling to face him, only to be hammered back into oblivion.

‘Pepper! Pepper!’ Ross cried.

No reply.

Ross winced and leaped on to the mound of dirt about two meters below, his wounded legs giving out as he made impact, sending him rolling down to the bottom. He rose to his hands and knees and saw Pepper trying to dig a furrow around Kozak, whose head appeared from beneath the Warhound.

After Ross stumbled to his feet, Pepper craned his head, pointed to his pistol, then sighed and mouthed the words ‘Can’t hear you,’ as he gestured to his ear.

In the dirt, just behind Pepper, and just barely visible, was the Warhound’s remote. Ross scooped it up and studied the display. If he could flex two of the UGV’s legs, he could raise its torso a quarter meter or so. After a deep breath, he fought to steady his hand and tap in the command. The Warhound creaked, servos whining, then rose — just as Kozak moaned and Pepper tugged him free.

Kozak’s face was twisted in agony as Pepper assured him he’d be okay. Damning to hell medical protocol that dictated they immobilize the patient right there in the pit, they hauled him unsteadily to his feet, and he clutched his chest with one arm, the other draped over Pepper’s shoulder. They started down the tunnel, toward the ladder beneath the hut, and Ross dragged himself after them. The pain shooting up and down his legs came as electrified needles now, his arms growing heavier.

He helped Pepper get Kozak up the ladder, and then as he climbed and neared the top, the night sky faded for a moment. His heart raced. Sweat poured from his temples. He clutched the ladder even tighter and fought against it. No, he would not pass out. No.

He took a long, deep breath, as Mitchell’s voice buzzed in his earpiece: ‘Delta Dragon, this is Guardian. The Seahawk has disabled the APC. I don’t see Valencia but assume he’s still inside. Hamid and Delgado look injured. They’re still trying to escape on foot. I’m tracking them now with your drone, over.’

‘Roger that, Guardian. They won’t get away.’