James Acton 03 - Broken Dove (30 page)

And it would give them an excuse to just kill everyone, which was what he had to assume their goal was, since they had clearly attacked the crash site.

No. His best bet, and everyone else’s, was to stay out of sight. Monitor the situation, then try to tail them for when help arrived. He took another look at the headlights. They were definitely making straight for them. He surveyed his surroundings, then at a crouch, ran as quickly as he could to an outcropping several hundred feet distant. He was sure they would search the area, especially if they knew how many people they were looking for. He took up position behind a rock and waited, the opening in the boulders housing his companions, now small.

A full moon lit the landscape in a dull white, suddenly interrupted by slices of yellow as headlights cut through the stillness, the roars of engines straining against the upward climb and the constant lurching as natural potholes swallowed tires filled the air. The first vehicle crested a nearby rise and stopped. Something was yelled in Farsi and men jumped out of the vehicle, including those grinding to a halt behind the first. Within moments the entire area was crawling with troops, at least a dozen, guns at the ready, moving closer and closer to the hiding place created eons ago.

His finger rubbed along the trigger guard.
Easy. There’s nothing you can do now.

A soldier rounded the mass of stones and stepped inside the entrance. A burst of gunfire sent him flying through the air, his now lifeless body slamming unceremoniously on the ground. His comrades in arms raced toward the opening, spraying gunfire into the darkness. Acton prayed Chaney and the Pope were deep inside, shielded from the bullets, but he couldn’t be sure. Gunfire continued to pour into the entrance, Acton’s heart racing faster and faster with each volley.

He was hiding so he could save them later. He had hoped to tail them until help could arrive.

If no one is left to save, then why are you hiding?

Acton sucked in a lungful of air, then carefully took aim at the soldier closest to him, behind his comrades. He squeezed the trigger as he slowly exhaled. The man dropped, apparently unnoticed with all the noise. Encouraged, Acton took aim at the next target, partly shielded from his friends by a large rock.

Exhale.

Squeeze.

Another dropped.

He forced to the back of his head that these were human beings he was shooting. That didn’t matter right now. They were the enemy. Trying to kill the good guys. This was black and white, not grey. He squeezed off another shot, another dropped. This time one of his comrades noticed the gunfire behind him had stopped and turned his head to look. Acton quickly took aim and squeezed. The man dropped, but he was in plain view of all the others.

Four down plus the one Tino had shot.

He counted eight more. And they had all stopped firing, and were aiming their guns in his direction.

Sort of.

They had no idea where the shots had come from, only that four more of their platoon were down. He knew if he fired again, they would immediately have a bead on him, both from the sound, and the muzzle flash.
The sound might echo. Empty the magazine, hopefully take a few out, then retreat, using the rocks as cover?
He looked to his right and saw a series of large boulders that would make perfect cover, the first less than five feet away. If he could only…

The platoon leader, using hand signals, indicated his men should fan out, then started to walk forward, flanked by two of his group. Acton picked his targets. First shot, left flank down, second, platoon leader, spinning to see what happened, took a shot through the neck while the third jumped to the right, escaping the shot meant for him, but now, prone and on his side, took the next shot in the stomach.

Gunfire erupted as Acton leapt from behind the rock and dove behind the larger boulder to his right. Ricochets surrounded him, bouncing off the very boulders he was using as cover, some of the altered trajectories coming close to hitting him. He rounded his new hiding place, and made a beeline for another boulder, further behind and to the right. Crouching, he rushed behind the next boulder, and pulled another mag from his pocket as he reexamined his situation. Their fire was concentrated where he was originally hiding. He had apparently successfully evaded them.

Now what to do about it.

He had taken out seven. There should only be five left. This was his last mag. Twelve rounds. There was no way he was going to be able to take out five people with just twelve shots, now that he had lost the element of surprise.
You did seven in eight. Why not?
Acton pulled the crisp night air in through his nose, filling his chest and stomach. He pushed the air out from between his lips, then dashed to the next rock.

Still unnoticed.

The gunfire had stopped however. They were no longer convinced they were shooting at anything. Acton watched as the five stood, looking around, apparently uncertain what to do.
Cut off the head…
The headless snake of a platoon floundered for a few moments until one took the initiative and began to advance, indicating to the others they should follow.

They did.

Organized again. Dangerous again.

He darted to the next boulder, but his foot caught on a rock and he tripped. His finger, not on the trigger guard, but on the trigger itself, squeezed with the impact, a single round firing off into the night. Harmless to others in the vast wasteland he now occupied, but deadly to him, his position now given away. He scrambled the last few feet as bullets ripped up the ground where he had just lay.

Now you’re fucked.

Three miles in, Three miles up.

Iran

Dawson’s heart pounded in his chest. Not from fear, but from excitement. He loved wingsuit flying. His arms were stretched out to his sides, his legs spread, the thin lightweight material increasing his surface area, giving him enough lift to be able to control his direction of descent, and to slow him enough that his parachute wouldn’t rip off when deployed. Niner and Spock were flanking him to the rear, with Stucco, Casey and Jimmy behind them, forming a flying wedge in the night sky. The terrain below whipped by at well over one hundred miles per hour, nearly a blur, and almost irrelevant. The Heads Up Display in his helmet told him all he needed to know. Altitude. Location. Distance and direction to target.

And they were close.

He eyeballed the ground, but could make out little, the night vision display mode showing nothing but rock and mostly barren terrain.

“BD, do you see that, straight ahead?”

Dawson raised his head slightly. Flashes. “Looks like gunfire.” They rapidly closed on the position and an indicator pulsed in the bottom right of his display. “Deploy chutes, now.” Each of his team indicated their deployment in his comm, but he waited.

“Jesus, BD, deploy your chute!”

It was Niner.

“I need to get a little closer.”

“You’ll pancake, boss, and I ain’t gotta spatula.”

Dawson chuckled and watched his indicator. He yanked on his chord, the jolt as his chute opened above him tore him momentarily from reality. Now, floating gently to the ground, or at least slower, his descent still leg breaking speed at the moment, he grabbed his toggles and scanned the action below him. “I’ve got five hostiles firing on a single target. Could be one of our hostages.” He adjusted his trajectory so he’d come in from behind those firing. He readied his MP5K.

“Coming in on your right.”

“On your left.”

Dawson’s head pivoted in both directions. “How the hell did you two get down here so fast?”

“A whole lotta flarin’ goin’ on,” said Niner in a rather poor imitation of an Elvis ditty.

“Okay, the rest of you provide cover from above once we hit the ground.”

“Got ya covered, sixty seconds behind, BD.” It was Jimmy.

An explosion rocked the scene below as a hand grenade exploded.

The firing stopped, and the person hiding behind the rock now stood, hands raised in the air, the weapon he was using being held by one finger looped through the trigger guard. The attackers who he now recognized as Iranian regulars, lowered their weapons slightly as one motioned for the man behind the rock to throw the weapon. It was tossed to the ground several feet to the man’s right.

Not a good toss. I wonder if—.

Dawson never got a chance to finish the thought.

Acton slowly stepped out from behind the rock that had been sheltering him. There had been just too many bullets, and too many close calls, and once grenades entered the picture, it was over. Luckily for him whoever tossed it was a pansy and it had fallen short, but it had done its job. He was finished. His hands raised, they yelled something in Farsi, and he tossed the gun a few feet away.

Just in case.

He rounded the rock slowly, his heart pounding. Would they take revenge for the death of their comrades? These weren’t soldiers he could trust even knew what the Geneva Convention was. Then again, he wasn’t a uniformed soldier, so it didn’t apply to him. He was a civilian who had just killed seven of their friends. Seven friends who were trying to kill him, but he was quite certain that was semantics in their minds.

The middle one who seemed to have taken charge raised his weapon and fired. Acton saw the weapon rise and was already diving for his gun when the muzzle belched its first round. He hit the ground, his hand grabbing the weapon and rolled, straightening out his arm as he did so and took a fast bead on the Iranian as the man lowered his weapon to regain his target.

Acton squeezed the trigger.

Gun fire filled the air and all five soldiers went down in heaps.

Acton turned his hand to examine his gun.

How the hell—

Something fluttered over his head. He rolled on his back and pointed his weapon, but didn’t fire. He counted several chutes, all with what almost appeared to be winged demons under them, some type of material connecting their arms to their torsos, and their legs together.

He lowered his weapon, and they lowered theirs. He tossed his to the ground, only two rounds remaining, and rose to his feet, brushing himself off as the first man touched down less than ten yards away. The soldier smacked the center of his chest and shrugged out of his harness. He immediately ran toward Acton, his helmeted head scanning the surroundings, his weapon following his line of sight. He came to a stop in front of Acton who silently prayed he hadn’t been delivered from the hands of one enemy and into another. The man pulled off his helmet and Acton breathed a sigh of relief.

“Am I ever glad to see you,” he said, his shoulders slumping and head dropping slightly as he realized his ordeal was over.

“Just happened to be in the neighborhood. Thought we’d drop by.”

Acton raised his head and smiled as he looked at the man who had once tried to kill him and the woman he loved. And who he now at least considered an acquaintance, and definitely someone he could trust. “You got my message.”

“We got your message.”

Acton let a long slow breath out, his eyes closed as he looked up and through them to Heaven, saying a silent thank you. He opened his eyes and extended his hand. Dawson’s iron grip enveloped his.

“Good to see you again, Professor.”

“Holy shit, Professor, did you do all this yourself?” Acton recognized the Asian member of the group from their last meeting as he trotted up.

He nodded and shook the man’s hand. “Niner, wasn’t it?”

“Ten-four, Doc.” Niner looked about the area. “I count eight besides the group we took out. Is that right?”

Acton nodded.

“And you took them all out yourself?”

Acton nodded again. “All but one.”

“Props, dawg!” laughed Niner as he extended a fist.

Acton shook his head with half a smile and a chuckle as he bumped fists with Niner. The third man walked up as three more chutes flared above. “Chutes secured.” He looked at Acton. “Hey, Professor. Judgin’ by what I’ve just seen, I’m not sure you really needed us.”

The tension of the moment gone, Acton found himself starting to loosen up again. “One more mag and I would have called off the rescue, but”—he patted his pockets—“out of ammo.” He took a step toward Niner and leaned forward. “And I think I took out the guy who tried to shoot me. So that makes eight for me, four for
all
”—he swung his finger at the now six men—“of you.”

Dawson laughed, then the smile wiped off his face. “Secure the area, police the chutes. I don’t want the Iranians knowing we were here.” His men immediately fanned out, and Dawson turned back to Acton. “Where are the others?”

“Oh shit!” In all the excitement Acton had forgotten what he was fighting for. He slipped around Dawson and rushed to the entrance of the shelter that only minutes before had had hundreds of rounds emptied into it. He stopped at the entrance and stuck his head inside as Dawson stepped up behind him along with another of his team. “Is everyone okay?”

No reply.

“Chaney, Your Holiness, it’s me, Jim. I’ve got the Delta Force team here with me. It’s safe now!”

“The same bloody chaps that tried to kill us in London, and you say we’re safe?”

Acton laughed in relief. “The very same.”

Niner stepped forward but Acton placed a hand on his shoulder and raised a finger for him to wait.

“Is it safe to come in?”

“Yes. He’s dead,” echoed Chaney’s voice.

Acton tapped Niner’s shoulder and nodded. Niner thanked him with a nod, and entered, weapon raised, and the night vision visor on his helmet lowered. Dawson stepped around Acton, following Niner in, his helmet once again perched on his head. Dawson pointed at Acton then the ground. Acton nodded.

A few moments later he heard Niner’s all clear call. “Come on down, Doc!” yelled Niner in his best Bob Barker impression. Acton stepped inside and a few feet in found the area lit by glow sticks, the green light illuminating the hollow nicely.