Dead Six

Chapter 19:

Best Laid Plans

VALENTINE

It was like an old John Woo movie. Lorenzo and I stood in my little room, not six feet from each other, guns drawn. Neither of us fired. I don’t know why. My arm was bleeding badly and burned with pain. I was dizzy and felt sick. It hurt to breathe. Only the Calm kept me focused enough to stay in the fight. I barely noticed the pain, and even though I was terrified, I felt no fear.

He was so focused on me that he didn’t notice the door opening behind him. Tailor, Hudson, and two of Hunter’s security guys came rushing in, weapons at the ready. I lowered my gun just as Hudson bashed Lorenzo in the head with the buttstock of a carbine. The intruder’s gun clattered to the floor as he collapsed. He lay there for a second, staring bleary-eyed at the ceiling before losing consciousness.

I stepped back, setting my revolver down on the bed, and clutched my bleeding arm. The Calm was wearing off, and I was beginning to notice the pain. And holy crap did it hurt.

“Michael!” Sarah said, pushing her way through the men in my room, holstering her Sig .45. She threw her arms around me and hugged me tightly. “What happened?” she asked. “Your face! You have a cut on your face! I was walking back to the dorm when I heard the shots. Oh my God! Your arm!” She turned to yell at Hunter’s men as they picked Lorenzo up off the floor. “Get a medic up here right now! He’s injured!” Shouts went out for the doc.

“Val, what the fuck happened up here?” Tailor asked. He lowered his carbine as Hunter’s two security guys dragged Lorenzo away.

“That’s the guy from Hasa Market,” I said, wincing with the pain.

Nervously, Tailor looked around for anyone who wasn’t in the know. “Did he come back for his money?”

“He was in here looking for that puzzle box I found in Adar’s safe. I jumped him. Son of a bitch is a hell of a fighter. If I hadn’t got the drop on him he’d have sliced me open.” I said, straining. “Where the hell is Hal? Christ, I’m bleeding like crazy here.” I wiped the blood from my cheek, smearing it across my face.

“Stop being a pussy,” Tailor said. “Focus. You sure he wasn’t after the money?”

“He only seemed to care about the box.”

“Tailor looked thoughtful. “Shit. We need to tell Hunter.”

“You’re going to tell him about the money?” Hudson asked, concern in his voice.

“No. Especially not this dude’s cash,” Tailor said. “We found that box and a bunch of money in Adar’s safe. We’ll just tell Hunter about the box and shut up about the rest.”

“Damn.” Hudson whistled. “You guys find a lot of money laying around, don’t you?”

A moment later, Hal, the medic, came rushing into the room, carrying his jump bag. Tailor gave everyone the eye so there would be no more talk about the money. “Everybody get back,” Hal said. “Let me see him. Sit down on the bed, Valentine. Goddamn, you got yourself all cut to shit, didn’t you?” He looked me over, illuminating my wounds with a small flashlight. “Yeah, that one on the cheek is going to leave a nasty scar. Not too deep, though. Let me see your arm. Wow, yeah, you’re going to need stitches on this.” I winced as he poked and prodded the bleeding gash. “Quit being a little girl,” Hal chided. “Holy shit, you’re lucky. Any deeper and this would’ve severed your radial artery.”

“Just patch me up, Doc. Was anybody hurt in that explosion?”

“I don’t think so,” Hudson said. “I was outside when the truck blew. Nobody was nearby. Did that guy have something to do with that?”

“I think so. Hal, please hurry. I need to talk to Hunter right away.”

“Just hold still,” Hal said. “This is going to hurt.”

He wasn’t kidding. Hal expertly stitched up the long gash on my arm without bothering with anesthetic. He then bandaged my face and stuck cotton balls in my nose to stop the trickle of blood. Lorenzo had elbowed me pretty hard, but my nose wasn’t broken.

I turned to Sarah as Hal applied the last of my bandages. “Go get your body armor on and tell Hunter I’ll be there in a minute. Tell him that the guy we caught is the same shooter from Hasa Market. They call him Lorenzo. Bring the puzzle box to him, too. We have a major security breach here. Somehow this guy was able to track us back to the fort. If he found us, Al Sabah’s forces might have, too.”

“Okay,” Sarah said. She picked up Adar’s puzzle box and turned to leave the room. She paused by the door and looked back at me.

“I’ll be right there,” I said. “Don’t worry.” Sarah flashed me a worried smile and was out the door.

It wasn’t until after she’d left that I remembered that the key Sarah was wearing on her necklace had been inside that box.

LORENZO

I woke up in terrible pain. “What time is it?” I asked.

“Time for you to start talking,” a voice said. The screeching banshee death wail in my right ear had calmed down enough that I could hear, but I had the worst headache ever. Waves of throbbing suffering cascaded through my skull with each heartbeat. Every bit of me hurt.

There was a blinding light aimed at my face. The light moved away, and I blinked in confusion. It had been a flashlight. “All yours, sir,” a young man said. “He’ll live as long as you want him to.”

“Thank you. That will be all, Hal,” said the man with an eye patch. He was probably sixty but looked tough for his age. The medic picked up his bag and left us. We were in an old room. It smelled of mildew and decay. The walls were made of rough, crumbling brick, and down the center of the room was a line of rusty iron bars cemented into the floor and ceiling. A jail? On the other side of those bars were two other men, both armed and watching. I was sitting on the floor, back to the damp wall. When I tried to move, a chain clanked. My left arm had been handcuffed to a bar.

The old man was sitting on a folding chair, just out of reach. “This was the original brig for Fort Saradia. Appropriate right now, don’t you think?” He took his time lighting a fat cigar, finally blowing a pungent cloud of smoke in my direction.

I took stock of the situation. I couldn’t have been out long. My vest was gone. My shirt had been torn open, and there was a spreading black and purple blotch over most of my chest and stomach. Something was packed into my ear, and the blood that coated my neck and chest was still slick. I tugged on the cuff. The bar was rusty, but solid.

He got tired of waiting for me to answer. “Why is this important?” he asked, cigar in one hand, Adar’s box in the other. “It’s an Arabian puzzle. Very old from the looks of it.”

“I’m into antiques.” It hurt to talk. My face was too swollen. I bet I looked like a mess.

The old man smiled, only there was nothing friendly about it at all. This dude was dangerous. “I don’t think you realize the world of shit you’ve gotten yourself into, boy, or maybe you do. Maybe you know exactly who you’re messing with.”

I recognized the voice now. I’d heard him on the radio. “So, Big Boss . . . How’s Nightcrawler?” I chuckled. “Did I manage to take his arm off? You Dead Six guys get good medical, right?”

Big Boss scowled. That had gotten his attention. “Mr. Valentine will be just fine. You, I’m not so sure about.” He didn’t seem concerned to drop actual names, which meant he wanted me to know I was dead, no matter what. The only question was how much it was going to hurt first. “I’ll ask you, just one time, who you are and who you work for. You will answer me truthfully, or I’m going to make you suffer in ways you can’t even imagine.”

That’s where he was wrong. I had one hell of an imagination. And I just had to keep these people occupied until whatever apocalyptic thing the Fat Man had been talking about happened at midnight. “I’m not telling you shit. I’ll only talk to Gordon. I don’t have time for his flunkies.”

Big Boss nodded. “I see. Either you know what you’re talking about, or you’re full of shit and I know where that missing radio wound up. Speaking of radios, who were you talking to on yours?” Big Boss pulled my radio out of his shirt pocket. “I tried to be polite, but someone just started calling me names in what I believe was Portuguese. They’re not answering now, for some reason.”

“They’re picky like that.”

Big Boss paused to address the two men who had been watching. “Conrad, Walker, come here for a minute. And remove your sidearms. I’m afraid this one’s tricky.” The two men drew their pistols and placed them on a table, then came through the bars. The gate had probably been missing for years.

One was a taller dude, and he accidentally bumped his head on the only light bulb, sending it swinging wildly back and forth, casting crazy shadows in the old brig. The other was about my size, with sunglasses perched on his head, who looked like he knew his way around the intricacies of hurting people. They grabbed on and smashed me into the wall.

“To warm up, I want you to take our friend here and break every one of his fingers.” Big Boss paused as the door opened.

A woman entered. Young, auburn hair tied back, and rather cute, she was totally out of place in this dismal setting. She seemed a little ruffled when she saw the two goons holding me. It was pretty obvious what was about to happen. “Colonel, we’ve sighted the boat. It’ll be at the dock in a few minutes.”

Big Boss glanced at his watch. “They’re early. Spread the word and start loading. I’m on my way down.”

The two thugs were dragging me to my feet. I didn’t resist and the handcuff scratched its way up the bar until I was standing. The girl’s voice sounded familiar too. It was worth a shot. “Hey, Sarah.” She twitched in surprise. Yep, that was her. “Sorry about cutting up your boyfriend.”

“You bastard,” she spat. “I’ll—” Then her eyes flashed as she changed her mind. She crossed quickly into the cell, apparently surprising the men holding me. She cupped her hand and smacked me upside the head, right across my bandaged ear.

The pain was nauseating. I grunted, but forced it into a laugh. “What kind of limp-dick carries a gun like that anyway? He’s compensating for something.” I forced myself to laugh so hard I started wheezing. It actually hurt. And that’s when I saw the briefest flash of a metallic trinket hanging inside her shirt. The necklace looked familiar. No. That’s impossible. But then she was backing away, hands balled into fists, and it was out of sight.

She was really pissed off now. She was about to come at me again when the old man spoke up. “That’ll be all, McAllister,” he said gruffly. Sarah gave me one last defiant look before leaving.

Big Boss then turned his attention back to me. “Don’t worry, friend. This won’t take too long. I’ll have you singing like a bird by the time my men get packed. I was interrogating Communists when your mommy gave your daddy the clap for the first time.” Big Boss strode out, pausing just long enough to drop the box and my radio on a table by the exit.

“Don’t hurry on my account,” I called after him.

He paused and smiled. “Oh, don’t worry. You don’t have to wait up for me. Walker, start with the pinky.”

Oh hell.

“Yes, sir,” said the shorter one cheerfully, obviously excited. The other dude slammed his weight into me, pinning me into the wall. I thrashed, but with my wrist handcuffed, it wasn’t like I had a lot of maneuverability with that hand. The one called Conrad punched me in the stomach, which got my attention just long enough for Walker to latch onto my fist. While I struggled, he pried my pinky loose and yanked it back. I screamed as it broke with a sick crack.

VALENTINE

Goddamn it, I thought to myself bitterly. I knew it was too good to be true. I cursed myself for staying with Dead Six. We should’ve used the confusion of Project Heartbreaker being terminated to sneak out and link up with Ling’s people. We could’ve slipped away, and with everything being packed up and shipped out, they’d have had no time to try to find us. It would’ve been perfect.

Instead, here I was, decked out in full battle rattle with a rifle slung across my chest and a bandage on my arm. The fort was on full lockdown. Everyone healthy enough to hold a weapon was kitted up and told to be on the alert. Despite Hal’s painkillers, I hurt, and my face was bruised and swollen. Worse, the sky had clouded over. Thunder rumbled overhead; it was threatening to rain.

Most of us were standing by on the docks at the north side of the fort. They sat just beyond a huge stone arch in the old wall of Fort Saradia. Colonel Hunter had ordered patrols of the compound as well. Every person that could be spared hurriedly loaded equipment onto the dock. Word was Hunter was going to try to get the boat to come sooner. My own personal gear, including a backpack full of money, was still in my room. I really hoped I’d have time to get it before we had to board the boat.

We were prepared for the worst. We’d emptied the armory and broken out all of our heavy weapons. We quickly set up defensive fighting positions covering both the gate and the docks, backed up with machine guns, RPGs, Javelin missile launchers, and everything else we had lying around. If the Zubarans came looking for a fight, they were in for a big surprise.

We couldn’t take everything with us. I was shocked at how much weaponry they’d stockpiled in our armory. Most of it had been locally acquired, either captured or given to us by the Zubarans. There was a lot of Chinese and Russian hardware. We’d rigged the supply building, where the armory was, with explosives. As soon as we cleared out, we’d blow the rest of it in place so General Al Sabah’s troops couldn’t make use of it.

Sarah was with me. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail. She’d put on her body armor like I asked. It was soft armor, useless against rifle fire. We couldn’t find any regular armor that would fit her. She carried a Mk. 16 5.56mm carbine in her hands and had her Sig .45 on her hip. Sarah had a serious look on her face as she kept watch over the harbor.

God, she’s beautiful.

“I’ve got a boat in sight!” someone shouted. He was looking out over the bay with a pair of night-vision binoculars. “It’s a ways out, approaching slowly.”

“Is that our ride?” someone else asked. “Did the colonel talk them into showing up early?”

“Sarah, go tell Colonel Hunter we have a boat in sight,” I said. Most of our radios were packed away, and our network had been dismantled. We had to communicate the old-fashioned way.

“Okay. I’ll be right back.” Sarah trotted off, disappearing from sight.

The group was smoking and joking, eager to head for home. Holbrook, the only surviving member of Singer’s chalk, was telling everybody that the beers were on him as soon as we got to a non-shitty country. Now I could see the lights of the boat. They were growing quickly.

“Gimme those.” Tailor stole the binocs from the guy using them. He scowled. “Val, that boat looks too small. . . .”

There were several quick flashes from the boat. I could see them clearly without night vision. The sound came an instant later. “Get down!” I screamed, pulling Tailor to the ground. The tracers were high, hitting the fort wall behind us, showering us in dust and debris. But then the gunner adjusted fire and walked the bullets into the dock. Chunks of concrete and wood went flying as heavy rounds punched through walls, equipment, and men. Two streams of tracers zipped from the boat as it hosed our position with twin fifty-caliber machine guns.

“Return fire!” Tailor yelled, trying to make himself heard over the chaos. A fire erupted behind us as the boat’s armor-piercing/incendiary rounds ignited something flammable. “Take that boat out! Somebody grab a Javelin!” Fillmore and Chetwood ran for the missile launcher.

The boat was still hundreds of yards out. It gunned its engines and sped up, continuously firing on our position. Several men were able to bring their weapons to bear and return fire, but to no effect.

Through the three-and-a-half power magnification of my ACOG scope our attacker looked like a patrol boat of the Zubaran Coast Guard. Leaning around the barricade of sandbags I was using for cover, I squeezed the trigger, popping off shot after shot at the incoming boat. It strafed the dock again, twin tongues of flame tearing into our position with lethal results.

“Where is that goddamned Javelin?” Tailor screamed again, firing his weapon as he did so. I looked around, trying to figure out what happened to our missile crew. They were on the other side of the entrance to the dock, about twenty-five meters from my position. Fillmore and Chetwood were lying behind a pile of sandbags, blood everywhere. Chetwood had been decapitated. Fillmore was missing an arm and screaming his head off. Christ . . .

“I got it!” Holbrook shouted. He slung his weapon behind his back and ran into the open just as the incoming patrol boat opened fire again. I watched in horror as a heavy .50-caliber round smacked into him, punching through his body armor like it wasn’t there. The bullet exploded out his side in a spray of blood, guts, and bits of shattered ceramic. Holbrook didn’t make a noise as he went down.

If we didn’t get that missile, we were all dead. “Tailor, I’m going,” I said, feeling no fear as the Calm pushed all emotions aside. Without hesitation, I sprinted for the other position and jumped over Holbrook’s body. I made it across. I dropped to the deck and slid to a stop on my knees. I roughly pushed aside Fillmore and picked up the Javelin launcher. Shouldering the heavy beast, I looked through the sophisticated sight and pointed the weapon toward the Zubaran patrol boat.

The Javelin achieved missile lock. I pressed the firing stud. The missile’s expelling charge caused it to belch out of the launcher. A fraction of a second later the rocket motors ignited, sending the missile roaring up into the night sky on a column of smoke. It took the missile a few seconds to arc through the sky. It came screaming down, slamming into the boat from above and detonating. The hull was ripped in half in a flash of light.

My comrades on the dock stood up and cheered, holding their weapons in the air while the sinking boat burned. For my part, I simply dropped the Javelin launcher and exhaled heavily, taking stock. Fillmore was already gone. My pant legs were coated in the blood of my dead teammates. The patrol boat’s strafing run had killed several of us, and the screaming told me others were wounded. Thunder rumbled overhead again, and the rain began. Within moments it was pouring.

Seconds later something shrieked overhead and detonated inside the compound. Then there was another, then another. The ground rumbled as mortars struck the armory and the admin building. My heart dropped into my stomach. Sarah!

“Val, where are you going?” Tailor shouted as I took off at a run.

“I have to find Sarah!” I said, not looking back.

LORENZO

The big lump of meat, Conrad, let go of me, and I sank to the ground, retching. Walker didn’t just snap my finger bones, he broke them slowly, grinding away, joint on joint, until he was sure he’d hit every nerve bundle. He was a fucking artist.

“Two down, three to go,” Walker said. “And I’m just getting warmed up on this one. This is going to be a long night. You really shouldn’t have come here. You’re my bitch now.”

“No shit,” I gasped. I had no weapons. They’d searched me, disarmed me, and I was already hurt and handcuffed to a wall. Options were limited. There was no room for error. I had to kill both of these men. I felt around the wall behind me. This place is old and crumbling. There has to be something I can use. There.

“Ready for the next one, Stan?” Walker asked.

Conrad shrugged and started in. “Sure, but I don’t get off on this like you do.” He grabbed me around the back of the neck and dragged me up the wall, loose brick scraping my back. He slugged me in the stomach again, hammering the tissue that had already been pulverized by a stopped bullet. It hurt so bad that I just wanted to curl up into a ball and die, but that’s why I did all of those damned sit-ups. I took it. I had to let them think I was helpless, but I still had one hand free, and I clutched the chunk of brick tight.

There was a burst of noise from outside. Walker and Conrad glanced at each other. “Gunfire? Who’s shooting?” Walker queried. My hearing was still all buggered up. I had no idea. “Check it out,” he snapped. Conrad let go of me. This was my chance. I slid to floor, limp, gagging, as if that last punch had leveled me.

“Okay,” Conrad said, jogged toward the exit. I waited until the door closed.

But Walker wasn’t stupid. He’d stepped out of arms’ reach to wait for his backup. Chicken shit.

I crawled to my knees. I had to make this count. “Wait? You hear that?” I gasped, looking toward the door.

Unconsciously, he turned. “Wha—” But was cut off as I hurled the brick as hard as I could. His glasses flew off and he stumbled back, hands clutched to his face, screeching in pain, one eye obliterated. I scrambled for him, but the cuff chain snapped tight, just short, just out of arm’s reach. Shit!

“Help!” Walker, blinded, was tripping, stumbling, but getting farther away. “Conrad! Help!” he cried.

His aviator shades were at my feet. I snatched them up, ripping them apart, knocking the remaining lens out. I bent the wire spine straight and went to work on the cuffs. Men like me have an instinctive fear of being in handcuffs, so I had practiced this a few hundred times. I could pick a handcuff with a toothpick. “Maybe Big Boss will lend you an eye patch, asshole!”

The door flew open and Conrad ran back in, shouting, “We’re under attack! It’s the army.” Then he collided with his bleeding friend. “What the hell?”

“My eye!” Walker screamed. “He put out my eye!”

The cuff clicked loose and I ripped my damaged hand out, leaving a lot of skin behind. I crossed the cell, reaching up and swatting the lone light bulb, shattering it and plunging us all into darkness. They never saw me coming.

I kicked Conrad’s ankle out from under him. The bone splintered and he toppled down to my level, where I ridge-handed him brutally in the throat. Conrad choked, gagging, still confused as to how I got all the way over here. I grabbed him by the hair and slammed his face into my knee, knocking half his teeth out. He was down.

Walker was groping about, searching for his gun. They’d left them on the table by the door. He found the table just as I found him. My arm slid around his throat, injured left hand putting pressure on the side of his head as I cranked back, taking us both to the ground. He thrashed, kicked, elbowed me in the side, but once I’d cut the flow of oxygen off to his brain, he was out in ten seconds. The elbow hits got weaker and weaker, then finally stopped. When I was convinced the struggle was over, I rolled his unconscious form off.

Gasping, I struggled to my feet. There were flashes of light coming through the narrow windows. A high-pitched whistle terminated in a explosion against one of the walls. The compound was under attack. I had to get the hell out of here. I ran my good hand over the dark table until I found what I’d come here for. The box went into one pants pocket, radio into the other. I kept Walker’s gun.

The two men were groaning, stirring. I could have just put a bullet into both of them, but I might need the ammo. I booted Conrad in the head once more to be safe, then rolled Walker over, stripping him of two spare magazines. Blood flow restored, the man was starting to come to.

Being an asshole, I just couldn’t help myself. Squatting down, I grabbed all the fingers on Walker’s right hand. “Wake up.” Then I cranked them back so brutally hard that they touched his wrist, breaking every one of them so fiercely that the skin of his palm split open. He sat up, screaming, so I smashed him in the face with his own gun.

It was time to go.

VALENTINE

Fort Saradia was in utter chaos as mortars rained down on us. I left the relative safety of the stone archway that led to the docks and ran into the open, desperate to find Sarah. She was probably either in the admin building or the old brig, where theytaken Lorenzo.

The admin building was easier to get to, and it was where Hunter’s office was, so I started there. Hearing the screams of more incoming shells, I huddled by the wall of the closest building and covered my head. Two big military trucks, wearing Zubaran Army markings, were parked by the north wall of the supply building. Those trucks had been sitting in the compound since day one, but we hadn’t used them. I hoped they’d protect me from fragmentation.

Five more mortars exploded in the compound. The first one didn’t hit anything. The second struck the admin building. The third hit the dormitory building and destroyed several rooms on the top floor. The fourth hit the big gas tank directly west of my position. Hot wind blew across my back as the fuel tank erupted in a huge fireball and burned. I didn’t see where the last mortar hit, but it was close. The barrage ended. An assault was coming, and we were undoubtedly outnumbered. Through the torrential downpour, I saw the survivors from the docks running back into the compound, toward my position, as they prepared to make a stand.

I had my own mission, though. Clenching my MK 17, I took off at a run again, rounding the east corner of the supply warehouse. One of the shells had struck the ground right next to the building, making a small crater and collapsing part of the wall. I didn’t stop to see if anyone was hurt inside. I jumped over the crater and continued running.

A loud crash echoed across the compound. I stopped and took cover. A French-built Leclerc tank smashed through the front gate, busting the heavy metal doors open. The turret had been turned around to keep from damaging the barrel. As it cleared the gate, it began to swing its gun around, looking for a target.

A few seconds later, a Javelin missile shrieked down onto the tank and slammed into the top of the turret. The missile hit with a loud metallic BANG, sounding like someone hitting a metal plate with a sledgehammer. The tank rumbled to a stop just inside the gate, burning. Brilliant flames shot out from under the turret as the ammunition inside cooked off and burned.

The destroyed tank effectively blocked other vehicles from entering the gate, but that didn’t stop the onslaught. Armed troops began pouring into the compound, coming around the tank on both sides. They were a mix of Zubaran Army regulars, with their desert-camouflage uniforms and helmets, and irregular militia, who wore black fatigues and masks over their faces.

Holy shit. There’s a lot of ‘em. I backed up and dove into the mortar crater and used it for cover. I acquired a target through my ACOG scope, a militiaman with an RPG, and popped off a shot. He dropped to the muddy ground. I shifted my carbine to the right and fired three shots at another cluster of soldiers, Zubaran regulars. One went down, but the others took cover behind the tank.

They just kept coming. To my left, my teammates had gotten a couple of machine guns set up. They tore into the soldiers as they filed in past the tank, but the enemy was relentless. I fired continuously, pausing only to change magazines. I don’t know how many I hit. More than a dozen Dead Six operatives were all firing into the same enemy position, mowing down the Zubaran soldiers, but there were too many of them. Rounds began to strike the dirt around my little crater, and the wall behind me. I suddenly felt very vulnerable. Taking a chance, I came to my feet and ran for the admin building, bullets snapping past me as I went. I hugged the wall, hoping the hostiles wouldn’t see me through the rain.

Thunder clapped overhead, barely audible over the roar of the battle as I reached the admin building. My heart sank when I saw the damage. A mortar had struck the roof, partially caving in the second floor. Hunter’s office was on the second floor. Oh God, no . . .

My Calm began to fail. I was nearly in a panic. I busted the ground-level door open and entered the building, heading for the stairs.

“Sarah!” I shouted, hoping she would hear me. It was dark inside. The impact had knocked out the main lights. The emergency lights had kicked on, but they didn’t provide much illumination. I switched on my weapon light as I vaulted up the stairs two at a time. “Sarah!”

I made it to the second floor and shined my light down the hallway. The roof had caved in at the far end of the hall where Conrad’s office was. A small fire burned within, and the hall was quickly filling with smoke. Hunter’s office was closer. The door had been knocked off the hinges, and the ceiling was cracked all the way down the hall, but the roof hadn’t caved in yet. The old building’s solid construction was the only reason it had been able to withstand two direct mortar hits.

“Sarah!” I shouted, growing desperate.

“Here!” Sarah replied, her voice resonating through the low-pitched roar of the battle outside.

“Sarah, where are you?” I shouted, running into the hall.

“I’m—” She coughed. “I’m in here!”

I followed the sound of her voice to the first room in the hall. The door was open. A smear of blood was on the floor, leading into the dimly lit room. I found Sarah sitting on the floor. She was holding Anita King in her arms. Anita was dead.

“Oh God, are you alright?” I cried, dropping to my knees and throwing my arms around Sarah. She had a few cuts and bruises. Blood trickled from a scrape on her arm.

“She’s dead,” Sarah said. “She . . . she was in the hall when the shell hit. She got hit by shrapnel or something. She wasn’t wearing her vest. I . . . I just stepped in here. I was knocked down. Anita died.”

“Sarah!” I shouted, shaking her. “Hey! We can’t stay here. I need you to focus, okay? Are you hurt?” She was shell-shocked.

“I don’t think so,” she responded, still sounding distant. “I just fell down when the shell hit. I think I hit my head on the floor.”

“C’mon, we gotta go,” I said.

“I can’t leave Anita.”

“We have to. She’s dead. There’s nothing you can do for her now. Come on now, please!”

Sarah took a deep breath and jerkily nodded her head. She gently lowered Anita’s body to the floor, and I extended my arm. Sarah grabbed it, and I pulled her to her feet.

“Come on, we have to get out of here,” I urged. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine,” she answered, sounding more collected. She brought her slung carbine around and grasped it in her hands. “I’ll be okay. Let’s go.” I nodded and led the way back into the hall, heading for the stairs.

“Wait!” Sarah cried. “The Colonel! He was in his office!” She turned and ran down the hall to Hunter’s office without waiting for me. I swore aloud and followed.

Hunter’s office door was lying on the floor in the hall. Sarah stepped on it as she crossed into the room. I coughed in the smoky air as I followed. The office was smashed. Part of the ceiling had collapsed and fallen right on Hunter’s desk.

“Mike!” Sarah was kneeling on the floor next to the pile of rubble that had come from the ceiling. Colonel Hunter was trapped under the debris. It had all come down right in his lap, smashing his chair to the floor and crushing him.

“Colonel!” I crouched down next to Sarah. “Jesus,” I said, surveying the damage. It was bad. Hunter was broken and bleeding. A massive pile of blocks and rebar had landed on his abdomen. Only one of his legs was visible under the rubble.

“Valentine?” Hunter asked weakly, blood tricking from his mouth.

“I’m here, sir,” I said, leaning in so I could hear him over the noise of the fighting outside. “We’re gonna get you out of here. Hang on.”

“Bullshit,” Hunter wheezed. “I ain’t goin’ nowhere. You . . . you get her out of here, you hear me, boy?”

“Yes, sir,” I replied solemnly.

Hunter coughed up a small amount of blood. “You know I was supposed to leave last night? All of us were. Not you guys, but the support staff. I said no. I told Gordon I wasn’t leaving until all my guys got out. I think maybe that wasn’t such a good idea,” he said, somehow managing a raspy laugh.

“What happened, Colonel? That boat was a Zubaran gunboat. It strafed the docks, killed a bunch of us.” Sarah gasped as I told them that. “What the hell is going on?”

“Gordon Willis sold us out,” Hunter said quietly. “He . . . he told the hajjis where we are. Made a deal with somebody. Same thing with that raid on Montalban’s yacht. That was his own idea, not a sanctioned hit. Gordon’s playing both sides. Son of a bitch sold us out.”

My eyes narrowed, and my hands clenched into fists. I was so angry I was shaking. I closed my eyes for a second and tried to remain focused.

“Take this,” Hunter said. He pushed a small object into my hand. It was a thumb drive. “Everything on Project Heartbreaker is on here. I’ve been doing some homework. Everything I found out about Gordon’s double-dealing is on here, too.”

“What do I do with this, sir?” I asked. The thumb drive had Colonel Hunter’s bloody thumbprint on it.

“Give it to the right people,” the colonel replied. “Find someone you can trust. Be careful. This is a lot bigger . . .” Hunter’s voice trailed off. He coughed up more blood.

“Colonel! Stay with us!” Sarah cried.

“This is bigger than you know,” Hunter whispered, his one eye staring at me intently. “There’s something else, too, not on the drive. Another project. Like Red, only bigger this time.” Hunter trailed off again. His breathing was ragged now. Blood bubbled out of his nose. “Project Blue’s ready. You’ve got to . . .” His words tapered off, too faint to hear.

Hunter was almost gone. “I can’t hear you. What?” I asked urgently.

Suddenly he grabbed my armor and pulled me close with surprising intensity. “Evangeline!” he hissed. Then his grip relaxed. His eye unfocused. “Find—” He coughed, painful and wet, gasping for air as his body shut down.

Colonel Curtis Hunter died before he could finish that sentence. I quietly swore to myself before gently closing his eye. I pocketed the thumb drive and stood up.

“What was he trying to say?” Sarah asked.

I shook my head. “I hope it’s on this drive. I hope it’s not for nothing.” I stepped across the room and looked out the window. My remaining teammates had fallen back to the supply building behind my position. They were being pushed back to the docks. Enemy troops continued to pour in around the disabled tank, spreading out through the motorpool as they entered the compound. There was literally a heap of dead Zubaran militiamen all around the tank, but more kept coming, stepping over their dead comrades. General Al Sabah was using the local radical militants as cannon fodder.

Sarah huddled close to me. “What are we going to do?” There was fear in her voice.

“I still have the phone Ling gave me.” I was scared too. “If we get out of the compound, we can contact her. She said the deal was still on if we needed her help. We can—”

Before I could finish that thought, the entire compound was rocked by a huge explosion. The concussion hit my face through the shattered windows. A section of wall just down from the gate was blasted high into the air. I turned and shoved Sarah to the floor, covering her with my body as pieces of the wall rained on the compound.

I risked another look out the window. Through the new hole in the wall, dozens more soldiers streamed into the compound, a lot more Zubaran regulars, supported by some kind of wheeled armored car. They had to be hitting us with a company-sized element, if not bigger.

Sarah shook her head. She grabbed my hand and held it tightly. “We’re . . . we’re going to die here, aren’t we?”

I stood there helplessly watching as the Zubarans pushed my remaining friends back even farther. The compound was being overrun, and they weren’t taking prisoners. I looked down at the floor, then over at Sarah. I nodded slowly as my last hope died.

Sarah closed her eyes for a second while she took a deep breath. “Promise me you’ll stay with me until the end,” she said, looking into my eyes.

“I promise,” I replied. “I won’t leave you. No matter what.” Tears welled up in Sarah’s eyes as she leaned forward and kissed me. I stepped back and steeled myself. “Are you locked and loaded?”

Sarah pulled back the charging handle on her carbine slightly, checking the chamber. “I’m ready.”

“Stay behind me. Stay low. Move when I move, stop when I stop. We’re going to circle around the backside of the building and link up with our guys on the other side. Let’s go,” I said, leading the way out of Hunter’s office. Zubaran soldiers were running past the admin building, one floor down from where I was. I didn’t have much time before they entered the building. It’s a strange feeling, knowing you’re running off to your own death.

I didn’t make it three steps before my phone rang.