OUTCAST Ops: Red Ice

CHAPTER TWELVE

“Copy, execute Dunkirk,” Liam returned over the radio. The lights were now on, making it easier to see the guards. He raised his Commando and fired at the closest so-called 49. The five-slug volley caught the man in the chest as he turned toward the warehouse. As the man went down, Dante shot a second Triad soldier with the same result.

They moved out of the bushes and angled toward a pile of rusting steel. Gunfire from near the cars and shouts chased them the last ten feet to cover. Several bullets ricocheted off the steel as the two dove for cover. Liam rose to his knees, pointed his Colt in the direction of the enemy’s location and fired off several controlled bursts. “Bravo to Able. Dunkirk underway, one-third complete.”

Behind him, Dante was on his feet, firing his submachine gun in the same direction as Liam. There was a scream, then silence. Liam glanced though the opening he was using as a firing port, but saw nothing but another body lying on the ground near the cars. “Fifty percent complete.”

“Able, Bravo!” Danielle’s voice was strident with urgency. “Two cargo trucks just turned onto your street from the northwest. They’re heading your way fast!”

“Doesn’t sound good,” Liam muttered.

“Two Tangos running for the gate,” Danielle continued. “The trucks are slowing and they’re opening the gates!”

“Definitely not good. Five, see the fourth Tango?”

“Yeah,” Dante replied, changing his Colt’s magazine for a full one. “Behind that white BMW.”

“Cover me. I’m going to move to that dumpster over there.” Liam motioned to a dark blue garbage bin thirty yards to the right and front of their position. “I can cover the loading dock from there.”

“Right.”

Liam got to his feet and crouched. “Ready… Now!” He sprinted for the dumpster as Dante fired a long burst at the BMW. The front tires exploded and the car sagged as the passenger’s side suddenly acquired a dozen 5.56mm bullet holes.

Dante stopped short of firing his entire magazine, and waited, his weapon poised. As he expected, the 49 quickly popped up from behind the car, his rifle seeking a target. Dante pulled the Commando’s trigger and the guard went down, blood splattering the BMW’s hood as he fell onto it.

“More Tangos!” Danielle said. “Confirm ten to fifteen new tangos are getting out of the trucks!”

Liam dove for cover behind the dumpster. He wrinkled his nose at the smell as he slipped a CS round into his grenade launcher. “Bravo to Able,” he said, switching magazines. “We’re about to have company!”

Tanner hit the stairs at a full run, taking the steps three at a time. Naomi and Stephen followed a few steps behind him, covering their flank and rear. Around them, the shouts of guards were joined by yelling from the awakened prisoners.

“Copy, Bravo,” Tanner said. “Keep them busy.”

Half way up, two gunmen appeared at the top of the stairs. Tanner’s finger tightened on the M-203’s trigger. A score of 24-grain metal pellets ripped into the 49s, shredding them. One fell backwards, but the other dropped his rifle and fell forward, sliding down the stairs face-first. He came to a stop half a dozen steps above Tanner, forcing the OUTCAST leader to shift to his right, closer to the wall. A hail of bullets went through the space where he had been, missing him by inches.

Tanner reached the top of the stairs. He brought the Colt up to his shoulder and swung it in a sixty degree arc, looking for targets. Naomi cleared the stairs two seconds behind him and dropped to one knee, covering another sixty degree arc. Stephen was next, spinning to cover the stairs and the other sixty degrees that wasn’t warehouse wall.

The second floor was free of cages and divided into two halves. To the right was a storage area with large blue plastic barrels lined up on shelves and more shelving behind them holding other supplies. To the left were a series of large plastic sheets attached to steel frames anchored to the floor, making it difficult to see more than a few shadows. A freight elevator was set into the far wall.

They moved toward the supplies. As they reached the first set of shelves, a Triad gunman stepped into view, finger tightening on his shotgun trigger. Tanner was quicker, stitching the shotgunner with a four-bullet burst to the upper chest and throat. As the 49 fell, the shotgun roared, sending its load of shot over the team’s heads.

“Crap.” Naomi read the barrel’s content labels. “Phenylacetone… N-methylformamide… sodium hydroxide… Definite meth material and enough to make a sea of it.”

“The lab must be in there.” Tanner pointed to the plastic wall. He loaded another buckshot round into the 203’s breech.

“Let’s go.”