The Ghost Ships of Arizona

CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN

Drake raced around the edge of the valley, sand trickling away from his boot heels, the wind whipping at his clothes. To all sides ran his comrades, his team, each a hero in their own right, and prepared again to lay it all down for the sake of peace and wellbeing.

Behind them a bank of helicopter gunships rose like a swarm of insects, Sikorsky Blackhawks all, cannons, rocket pods, anti-tank missiles and short-range air-to-air missiles, locked on targets. The rim around which Drake ran was short but still the major battle engaged before he got even halfway. The mercs fired first, RPGs shooting off like wayward fireworks and leaving trails of smoke in the air. The choppers deployed evasion tactics, ducking and diving this way and that. Several opened fire, the thick clunk clunk of their guns assaulting the air. Sand chopped up like mini-tornadoes wherever the shells struck; men twisted and fell, some firing off RPGs as they collapsed which flew like misbehaving rockets at the ever-lowering skies.

Drake completed the circuit at last, Alicia on his heels. Gun raised, he approached the dune above the galleon. Faces turned toward him. Cries went up.

“At your backs!”

Drake zig-zagged. Alicia ran headlong into a merc, taking him to the ground. Dahl and Kinimaka replicated her, barging opponents aside. Smyth dropped to one knee and picked off all who drew beads on his friends. Hayden swept around the sides, Glock in hand, surveying the terrain and the enemy’s formations.

Beyond the ledge the choppers flew and fired hard, loosing as much firepower as possible before the storm came in and forced them to the ground. Drake guessed they were clearing an area on this side of the valley to land. A bullet flashed past his right shoulder. Perfect aim in the midst of real battle was impossible, but that went both ways. He fired back and succeeded only in making his opponent flinch. They came together hard, both men flexing muscles and slamming foreheads, locking together and rolling to the ground, sand erupting all around them. The team ran hard, skirmishing among the dunes, falling down shallow valleys and then scrambling back to the top. Dips and mounds characterized the ground between them and the valley’s rim. A crazy merc let loose an RPG in their direction. The rocket flew between Dahl and Kinimaka, its vapor trail singeing their clothing. Dahl laughed but Kinimaka blanched.

“Come on, man,” Dahl said. “That wasn’t even close.”

“Too close for me. Men weren’t meant to ride rockets.”

“Not even you?”

“Especially not me.”

Dahl bounded up to the individual, separated him from his rocket launcher and then slapped him across the face with one of its grenades. A satisfying crunch signified that the threat was ended. Dahl knew this battle covered too small an area to make RPGs effective so hurled a remaining grenade at his next opponent, causing as much shock as pain. When two more mercs came at him he swung the rocket launcher like a baseball bat at both of them, cracking heads.

Smyth had taken a bullet to the vest, nothing major. Yorgi helped to cover for him until he could focus again. Hayden saw it all, ranging around the periphery. She saw the overall battle — Drake, Alicia, Dahl and Kinimaka cutting through their quarry like a wedge; Smyth and Yorgi picking off stragglers and back-stabbing cowards; the Blackhawks pounding shell after shell into the sand like five hammers of God; the storm now looming only a mile away and growing bigger and bigger, a tornado of sand and debris, stealing the light from the sky like an irresistible thief. The sound of its coming was starting to overpower even the clatter made by the choppers. To her right ran the crumbling ridge and below it the trapped galleon. Mercs even stood atop the wooden deck, firing, probably guessing correctly they would not be fired upon.

Drake used Alicia’s bent back to gain momentum for a flying kick, dislocating a merc’s jaw. The man collapsed. A boot to the back of the neck ensured he would stay that way. Dahl stumbled down one side of a dune — almost comically at first — but then Drake topped the same rise and saw half a dozen mercs waiting below. Calling Alicia he dived after Dahl, backing up the Swede and crashing into their enemies all at the same time. The tangle fooled him for a split-second — he ended up grabbing Alicia’s thigh to the sight of a highly arched eyebrow, then thrust it away and punched a merc right on the nose.

“Get down.”

They rolled, they snared other arms and legs. Bullets flew through short spaces. Alicia grunted as one took her in the gut. Its firer jumped on her, expecting an easy finish, but was amazed to find his teeth showering down onto the sand, and then his face planted in the desert up to his ears like a new conifer. Alicia hadn’t let the bullet slow her down.

Dahl kicked and Drake fought. With their adversaries finished they tramped back up the slope. Darkness, it seemed, had fallen.

“Shit, this is gonna be bad.”

Drake’s words were lost as the storm hit. In truth, it didn’t fall fully dark. The whirling sand was shot through regularly by patches of sunlight, and the heavy breeze blew it all away. Around them, the general area was still visible. Together they struggled toward the valley’s edge.

Hayden watched the choppers come down. Four drifted over the valley with its incredible trapped galleon, firing as they came, soldiers crowded at the doors, preparing rappel lines. Mercs lined up at the valley edge and fired back, bullets flashing and clanging off black metalwork and bulletproof cockpits. Bullets then tore among them — their bodies tumbling down the side of the valley, some smashing into the ship’s deck. Sand and blood pursued them in steady streams, some flows staining the whole side of the valley.

All four choppers cleared the mercs and spun to set down in an area at their backs just as the storm swept in. The fifth chopper dived to avoid a missile but not fast enough. The grenade detonated on impact, fire bloomed around the fuselage, and the entire craft bucked. Men leapt free, hitting the sand and rolling. One soldier slipped halfway down the side of the valley, one gloved hand arresting his fall after a hundred feet. Hayden imagined he’d spend the remainder of the battle climbing back to the top. The chopper wasn’t so lucky, crashing down in a fireball and tumbling down the cliff, chunks of metal and smoldering ruin bouncing in its wake. The four intact choppers disgorged their occupants, eight fully armed men from each. Gunfire shattered the roar of the oncoming storm.

“Go for the boat!” Hayden heard Drake’s voice.

Drake angled toward the barely visible valley edge. Several rolling dunes lay before him. Sand propelled by wind tore at his face, pushing him back. Head down, he almost missed the attack of a merc, but heard the loud panting and twisted his shoulders at just the right time. The merc flew off and tumbled away, hopefully lost underneath the piling sand. His inner radar warned him that he’d been turned around. Shit, which way is bloody up? Alicia loomed at his side and took his arm, but Dahl was nowhere to be seen.

Stick with the agreed course.

Drake saw another figure, unmistakably a mercenary dressed in combat fatigues, and fired two head shots. The guy went down. Multiple bursts of gunfire could be heard as the pitch of the storm waxed and waned, the wind blasting and receding and spiraling into the upper skies. Ahead, a huge mass became evident and so did their intentions.

“It’s the mercs,” came Dahl’s calm voice from Drake’s side, almost making him cry out in shock. “They’re massing.”

“What? And for fuck’s sake, Dahl, make your presence known next time. I coulda hit you.”

The Swede smiled tolerantly. “No,” he said. “You couldn’t.”

“Forget that,” Alicia said. “Where’s the bloody army?”

“Do I look like a friggin’ sand monkey?” Dahl spluttered. “How the hell do I know?”

“Shit, I thought you were better than that, Dahl.”

Ignoring the Swede’s shocked and unhappy expression, Alicia smirked to herself and moved away. Drake followed her, grinning. The land sloped sharply downhill and then rose back up. The trio moved carefully, eyes slitted, guns at the ready and fully loaded. By Drake’s calculations the valley edge could only be forty feet ahead but then he could be wrong. He wondered briefly what had happened to Kinimaka and the others, but knew they had to take care of themselves. The mass ahead solidified and, as the swirling sands briefly parted, revealed dozens of tightly packed mercenaries, all with guns at the ready.

Oh fuck.

Most of them saw the trio and instantly opened fire, raking the air with death. Dahl flung himself headlong, hitting a slope and rolling out of sight. Drake flung himself at Alicia, grabbing her around the waist and registering two bullets slamming into her before they were landing hard and then rolling, rolling, rolling far too fast and for far too long.

It couldn’t be the cliff edge. But Alicia was screaming, and it was impossible to stop.