Last Man Standing

CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR

Michael Crouch was having his best workout of the last ten years. Once, he’d been above the best — at first the young rookie trying to fit in and impress his peers, moving on to acceptance and respect. In the Army, the man that carried his load and looked out for his men was a man to admire, and Crouch had those qualities in abundance. Leadership values elevated him to the top, yes, but he knew the support of his team, his men, was the real backbone that kept him strong.

Now, having being chained to an office for more years than he could count, having allowed himself to lose that knife edge, he found himself back in the field. Trying to avoid young and seasoned mercs. Trying to save a small town and a great many civilians from those forms of terror the British intelligence and military services saved them from every day.

And now they were at the crux of it all. He wondered if Drake had found Shelly yet. Coyote! He berated himself. Stop thinking of her as… something personal.

Dark fields spread out to left and right. Crouch tried to retrace the route he’d used previously and soon found himself near the outskirts of town. There was no mistaking the British presence. Great floodlights revealed their HQ, unlit now, and choppers hovered nearby. Crouch hoped he wouldn’t come up against some upstart of a sentry that might find it amusing to throw him into some makeshift prison. But he wasn’t too worried. He possessed enough high-level, code-red passwords to wake the entire war cabinet.

The carnival lay ahead, with its big circus tent at the far end. Crouch decided to cut through, thus saving himself precious minutes. He doubted that many workers remained after last night, but imagined more than a few would have slept through the ruckus. As he moved, he kept an eye on the British contingent. The more he saw, the odder it seemed.

Helicopters whirring at speed. But no men, save for the odd figure standing around. Obviously he couldn’t see through hastily erected tents, but…

It hit him.

The assault had begun. The British were on their way. Damn, he was only ten minutes away. If Karin hadn’t taken SaBo’s surveillance grid down, half these men were going to die for nothing. Crouch doubled his speed, feeling the burn in his lungs, the strain in places he’d never felt it before. As he moved he began to see shadows ahead; tall, thin shadows that existed in places they shouldn’t be.

Coyote’s mercs. Lying in wait inside and around the edges of the carnival. Lying in wait for the approaching liberators.

Crouch thought it through quickly; his sharp, strategic mind snapping it all together. Most likely the SAS would lead, negating the advantage the mercs currently possessed since it was clear the British Special Forces would sniff them out before a shot was fired. The only advantages for Coyote were SaBo’s surveillance system, a defensive position, and foresight that this might happen, and…

… and the civilians.

Coyote was sacrificing these mercs and no mistake. No way would she want to be captured. Crouch knelt in the cold earth, the soft mound giving way like castles in the sand. In his left hand was a gun filled with a dozen bullets. The mercs weren’t expecting an attack from the direction of the town.

Time to use it and hope to God the SAS didn’t kill him. Wouldn’t that be ironic?

Crouch stood. Instantly, the color of flames washed across his face as a nearby electrical point blew up. The SAS had already prepped the place. Mercs opened fire, seeing shadows. Crouch fired twice, dropping the easily identifiable mercs in their Kevlar and face masks. Once out of the shadow of rides, slides and sideshows, the random stands and mini-arcades, the generators and food stalls; the army of mercs shocked Crouch. There were more than he’d thought.

A lot more.

And they carried missile launchers. Grenades. They moved in formation. Before him, a mass of men capable of holding off the British forces moved out.

Crouch saw the British coming in the distance. He didn’t see the SAS, but hoped they were reporting back. More incendiary devices went off. Bullets flew. The bigger rides started to shudder and shake as lead smacked into them.

Crouch realized he was superfluous. This battle was going down hard, right now. The British came from all angles except the town, firing at targets. Crouch, from his low vantage point, saw choppers rising over the heads of the running men.

C’mon Karin. C’mon Drake, he thought. One single needless loss of British life was one too many. Give us an edge.