Alpha Threat (51 page)

Hugo made a name for himself in the Middle East as a tracker and a cold-blooded killer.
 
That was his alter ego.
 
Once he switched into his military mode, Hugo was extremely dangerous.
 
Some in his SEAL unit likened him to a cobra, silent and deadly.
 
He could stalk anyone and still stay concealed.
 
When the time came to take out his prey, he struck with incredible precision and fury.
 
There was no wounded left when Hugo attacked, just bodies or nothing if the need be.
 
He was the kind of weapon one needed in this jungle pursuit.
 

Dane and Hugo came across their first patrol sentry about ten kilometers from the Fortress.
 
Dane was right.
 
The Nazis expected them and expanded their defenses in order to meet the two as far from the Fortress as possible.
 

Since they split from the others, Dane and Hugo’s path tracked due north.
 
Dane plotted the northern approach to the Fortress with their target being the helicopter port where they first witnessed the black helicopter taking off nearly a week ago.
 
The Nazis had no clue he and Hugo knew of the heliport entrance to the Fortress.
 
Dane hoped the Nazis were counting on a return visit to the hidden hatch Dane and Hugo used earlier.
  
Ben and his team were headed to that hatch to create a diversion.
 

Hugo turned to Dane and flashed a nasty grin.
 
“That’s two down…”

Dane returned the grin with a thumbs-up.
 
Hugo turned back north and vanished into the jungle.
 
Dane followed keeping a reasonable distance behind.
 
Less than three klicks later, Dane smelled smoke.
 
He froze and called Hugo on his comm unit.
 

“Smoke, off to the left,” he whispered into the tiny microphone.
 
Before he could finish the call, Hugo was already on it.
  
He spotted a small group of men under a tree huddled in a makeshift topless bunker dug into the ground just in front and under some large ferns.
 
They were hidden very well, almost too well.
 
If they had not smelled the cigarette smoke, neither Dane nor Hugo may have seen these guys until they were on top of them.
 
Hugo moved closer from the right and Dane moved in from the left.
 
There were three Nazis dressed in black fatigues.
 
Two were down in the bunker while one was watching for movement as he knelt behind a screen of palm fronds to the right of the bunker.
 

The Nazis didn’t know what hit them.
 
Hugo came from the right and Dane from the left.
 
They were on the men in seconds, firing their silenced Heckler and Koch MP-5 submachine guns in single-shot mode.
 
Hugo’s first shot hit the kneeling man in the temple.
 
His body crumpled without a sound.
 
Before the other two could react, Dane took both of them out with head shots as well.
 
The wounds on the two in the bunker were both spurting what seemed like gallons of blood onto the dirt floor of the bunker.
 
The blood puddled around their feet, already about one inch deep.
 
In this case a “pool of blood” was an appropriate description.
 

“Good work, Boss,” Hugo whispered.
 
“Nice call on the smoke.”

Dane smiled and pointed in the direction of the Fortress.
 

“Let’s move.”

As fast as they came, they were gone.
   

Sunday, July 17, 2011

The Jungle, Brazil;
 
3:45 p.m.

Ben sent Tecal and one of his men in the lead.
 
The two native men knew this jungle very well and it showed.
 
They cruised through the jungle like gazelles, sliding through thickets and avoiding larger trails they knew were covered by the Nazis.
 
They were right.
 

About ten kilometers out they encountered their first patrol.
 
Three men dressed in the black fatigues moved quietly down one of the major trails.
 
Tecal watched the men go past and radioed their location.
 
Ben’s group moved slightly south, concentrating on their northern flank.
 
Within twenty minutes they also saw the patrol.
 
They sat quietly as they passed.
 
Once gone, Ben and his group continued to move toward the hatch.
 

After several hours Tecal and his man stopped in the general area of the hatch for about ten minutes.
 
The two found a semi-underground bunker.
 
It was empty but had been occupied recently.
 
Tecal used the comm unit to inform Ben of their discovery.
 
The bunker was a simple eight foot wide hole about four feet deep.
 
Its sloping bottom rose until it was at ground level about twelve feet behind the front of the bunker.
 
The bunker’s face consisted of several large logs placed so they formed a long slit opening to the front.
 
Much of the earth dug from the pit was piled around the front of the logs.
 
Small ferns and other vegetation were planted at the front concealing the opening completely.
 
Viewed face on, the entire structure looked like a small rise in the terrain.
 
Tecal carefully looked inside, making certain he did not leave tracks around the perimeter.
 
Tecal and his man tied large leaves to the bottoms of their feet concealing their prints.
 
This was a jungle trick his father taught him years ago.

Tecal noticed there was a small stove in the bunker.
 
He wrapped a fresh leaf around a long stick and stuck the leaf down on top of the stove.
 
The leaf slowly began to change color indicating the stove was still hot.
 
Tecal concluded roaming patrols must have recently left.
 
Tecal motioned to his cohort and they silently crept away, leaving no trace.
 
Moving about twenty-five yards from the bunker, they found themselves in an outgrowth of large ferns.
 
They crawled under the fronds and waited silently.
 
They hid so well they seemed to vanish.
 
Tecal informed Ben of their findings and new position and sat waiting.
 

Ben acknowledged Tecal’s location and began moving in their general direction, keeping clear of the main trail.
 
Ben figured this was the trail Dane and Hugo found.
 
Within thirty minutes Ben slowly moved his group into position about ten yards off the trail and about twenty yards southwest of Tecal.
 
They too waited silently.
 

“Now it’s a waiting game until they return or we hear from Dane and Hugo,” said Ben, keeping his eyes glued on the path.
 

“So far so good,” smiled Tim, who was beginning to feel the pressure of the hunt.
 
“My hands are sweating,” he said, rubbing them together and against his pants.
 

Ben glanced at Tim.
 
“We’ll be fine if we follow the plan.
 
Dane and Hugo put a lot of work into this.
 
We have to get Dana and Randall out of there as soon as we can.”
 

Tim nodded in agreement.
 
“I keep thinking about what Dana and Randall could be going through in the hands of these guys.
 
It can’t be good.”
 

“God, I hope they are okay,” added Ben, checking his watch.
 

It didn’t take long for the patrol to return.
 

“Someone’s coming down the pathway,” Tim whispered in his comm unit while lying under the bush with a relatively good view of the trail.
 
Ben acknowledged.
 
As Tim watched, he saw one of the Nazis in black moving quietly down the side of the trail closest to him.
 
The man was listening and searching for any movement around him.
 
His eyes scoured the ground for tracks.
 

The Nazi was heavily armed.
 
Tim noticed the men were carrying the new style Heckler-Koch G36C Commando assault rifles.
 
He had read about them in several
Soldier of Fortune
magazine articles and other articles in other military magazines but had never seen one.
 
He was shocked that the weapon was in their hands, especially in compact configuration.
  
The HK G36C fired a 5.56x45mm round at a maximum rate of fire of 750 rounds per minute.
 
It is a sweet weapon.
 
These guys were obviously well financed to have such leading edge armament.
 

Tim watched silently as the man moved past, followed within minutes by two other men.
 
They too were patrolling intently, watching for movement and listening for intruders.
 

Within ten minutes Ben got a whispered comm message from Tecal.
 
The three men were back in their bunker.
 

“Men back,” whispered Tecal.
 
“They get ready to eat.”

“Ten-four, Tecal,” acknowledged Ben.
 
“We are moving into position opposite you.”

“Yes.”
 
Tecal’s whispered response was concise, just like Dane taught him.
  

Ben motioned to Tim and the other native.
 
They all moved about twenty feet away from the main path knowing the trail was under strict surveillance.
 
Slowly and quietly they slithered through the bush led by Tecal’s man.
 
They had to be absolutely quiet as they moved into position to spring their trap.
 
  

Ben and Tim decided to ambush the three Nazis while they were in their bunker.
 
It was the last place the Nazis would expect anyone to attack them.
 
Ben shifted into position on one side of the bunker and Tecal did the same on the opposite side.
 
Once situated, the two groups would attack on each side of the exposed rear of the bunker.
 
If precisely executed, the Nazis had no chance once caught in the crossfire.
 

It took about ten more minutes to get everything ready.
 

“Countdown execute from five,” whispered Ben across the comm link.
 
Tecal acknowledged.
 

“Four.”
 
The two groups glided quietly within five yards of the bunker.
 
All safeties were off.
 
Nerves were on edge.
 
This was what they came for.
 
Both groups could hear the men talking even though they were whispering.
 

“Three.
 
Two.
 
Execute!”
 
Instantly the six men leapt up and stormed the bunker.
 
Each man fired multiple shots.
 
The Nazis had no chance at all.
 
Before they could react all were riddled with bullets from the silenced weapons.
 
It was over in less than five seconds.
 

After the intensity of the kill, the group stood motionless, silent.
 
Their adrenalin levels were over the top.
 
What the hell happened?
 
Each seemed momentarily stunned at killing a human being.
 
Then calm fell over them as they realized it was necessary.
 
These guys would have killed them all without hesitation.
 
Tim checked his weapon to get his mind off the kill.
 
As he removed the clip and cleared the chamber, he looked around at each of his group.
 
He had not felt this way since his days in Iraq.
 
He felt powerful yet almost ashamed.
 
 
He loaded another fresh clip, threw back the bolt and switched the safety on.
 
He slid the empty clip into his pouch.
 
He was ready again.
 

“Everyone all right?” asked Ben.
 
Everyone nodded yes.
 

“Good job all,” added Tim.
 
“Now let’s pick up all of this brass.”
 
He was referring to the spent cartridge casings ejected from their weapons when they fired.
 
They planned to hide the bodies but Tim didn’t want the tell-tale brass lying around.
 
Tecal’s men scooped up all of the casings and buried them under a bush about ten feet away.