James Acton 03 - Broken Dove (32 page)

He fired.

The man dropped, writhing on the ground. Acton turned his attention back down the hill. He could see Dawson and Niner about ten feet ahead of him, each positioned behind rocks about waist high. Both had their MP5’s out, resting atop their cover, belching controlled shots calmly, occasionally ducking and switching to the other side of their cover. Back and forth, several shots at a time. Never panicking. Acton wondered what was going through their minds. Were they calm? Were they disconnected? He thought back to earlier, when he killed all those men, and he had to admit there was a disconnect. Not with Nazario who he had killed with his bare hands. But those he had shot. Those faceless men. He felt nothing. They probably had wives, children. Families who loved them just as his loved him. His stomach churned.

He doubled over and vomited.

Enough thinking!

He spit his mouth clean and glanced over at Chaney.

“You okay?” he asked.

Acton nodded. “Just realizing what I’ve done today.”

Chaney gave him a slight smile of understanding, then graciously returned his attention to the action below, leaving Acton alone with his thoughts.
Deal with this later. Now you’ve got to focus.
He kicked some dirt over his mostly bile laden vomit, and checked their flank again.
Clear.
His stomach growled.
Now you’re hungry?
He pictured a Chicago deep dish. His stomach growled some more.
Not helping!
He looked at Dawson and Niner as they fired, then turned his attention to the enemy below them, his eyebrows shooting up his forehead. There were almost no lights left, and he could distinctly see several vehicles listing to one side or the other, one or more of their tires deflated. He glanced to his left again and took aim. Three targets. He couldn’t risk handling it by himself this time.

“Left flank!” he yelled, then squeezed the trigger rapidly, emptying his magazine. Two went down, the third dove for cover and returned fire. Acton jumped back, hugging the rock, the angle too shallow to provide much cover. He looked over. The shots were ricocheting off the front of the jeep.

The front passenger side tire burst, the entire jeep jolting as it collapsed several inches.

Shit!

“Jeep’s out!” he yelled. He glanced around the rock and saw the third man reloading. Acton took aim, and fired. Nothing. He ejected the mag, reloaded, and looked again. His target was safely hidden behind his rock, his hand out as he indiscriminately sprayed the area with fire. Acton pressed against the rock again, his back chilled, the sweat of the moment clashing with the cold of the rock sending icy shivers through his body.

The firing stopped. He peaked out and saw a body tumble from behind the rock, then Dawson step into the open, giving Acton a thumb’s up.

Acton waved, pointed at the jeep, then gave a thumbs down.

Dawson nodded and disappeared.

Now how the hell are we getting out of here?

“Chaney!”

The young detective looked over at Acton.

“Are you clear over there?”

Chaney nodded.

“Cover my side then.”

Chaney took a final look around, then slid over, taking up position where Acton had been covering. Acton pointed toward the left flank. “Watch there, four of them have tried to come up through there.”

“What are you going to do?”

“See if I can change that damned tire. There’s a spare under the rear bumper.”

“Good thinking.”

Acton ran to the back of the jeep and dropped to his stomach, rolling under the truck. He unscrewed the bolt holding the spare in place, then shoved it out. Underneath was a lug wrench. He unclipped it, then removed the jack. Sliding out, he tossed the jack and wrench beside the flat tire, and rolled the spare over. Gunfire erupted over his head and he hit the ground.

He heard Chaney squeeze off several rounds. “Got him!” he yelled.

Acton shoved the jack under the frame and started to pump rapidly. The gap filled, then the jeep started to lift. He took the wrench and loosened the lug nuts, then jacked the car up far enough to pull the tire off. He removed the nuts, then the tire. Shoving it aside, it rolled down the hill, past Chaney and out of sight. Acton lifted the spare, shoved it in place, replaced the nuts, then lowered the car until the tire touched the ground. Tightening the nuts, he tossed the wrench to the ground and gave the tire a good shake. It held. He removed the jack and the jeep dropped the rest of the way to the ground, on four good tires again. He hoped no one told Laura; the last time they had a flat on a dig site he had pled ignorance on how to change it, deferring to her greater automotive knowledge. The look she had given him made him quite certain she knew he was full of it, but when she had finished in half the time he could have, his manhood was thankful for the avoided embarassment.
Beautiful and handy too.

He tossed the jack aside, knowing if they needed it again, there were no more spares. He jumped behind the wheel and fired up the engine. It roared to life and he smiled, the few rounds that had hit the hood apparently not doing any damage.

Back in business!

Dawson watched a flat tire jerk its way down the hill.
What the fuck?
He took out another of the enemy as he evaluated their situation. Red should be here soon, doubling their number. But they still had no way out, and the second, larger group tailing them were at the bottom of the hill, their headlights in plain sight. Once they arrived, they might be outnumbered five to one. Surrendering was an option. It would create one hell of an international incident, but the survival of the Pope was paramount. He would die for certain if they were overwhelmed by the opposing force.

But if they surrendered…

He activated his comm, selecting an open frequency.

“Command, Bravo One, come in over.”

“Bravo One, Command. Go ahead over.”

“Command, Bravo One, I need to speak to Command Actual, over.”

There was a clicking sound and he heard Colonel Clancy’s voice. “This is Actual, go ahead, over.”

“Command, Bravo One, we’re under heavy fire, about two miles from the Green Zone. About to face overwhelming opposition. Request extraction, over.”

“Bravo One, Actual. Negative, extraction not possible at this time, over.”

An engine roared to life behind him. Dawson smiled.
Fifty bucks says the doc has something to do with that.
“Acknowledged, Command. We are surrendering. For the record, our entire team is intact at this time, only one non-fatal injury. Repeat, we are all intact, along with all three hostages, over.”

“Acknowledged, Bravo One. Entire team is intact. It’s your call, will contact you in five mikes, over.”

“Command, Bravo One. Acknowledged, five mikes, over and out.”

Dawson switched to the unit’s channel. “Cease fire! I say again, cease fire! We’re surrendering. Does everyone hear me five by five?”

A round of five by fives filled his headset, and the firing from their position ceased, and with it, the Iranian fire dwindled, then stopped.

An eerie silence swept over the hilltop, interrupted only by the gentle idling of the jeep behind the rock. Dawson looked at his tactical computer showing his position, and Red’s. He sent a text message advising Red of their situation.

A squawk echoed through the stones, then a voice over a megaphone sliced through the night. “American Imperialist Dogs, we have you surrounded. Surrender and you will not die. Resist, and you will burn in hell for eternity.”

Laying it on a little thick, aren’t we? And where’s the ‘infidel’ reference?

“You infidel American dogs have been captured on blessed Iranian soil, and are now our prisoners. Lay down your weapons, and you will survive. You have one minute to comply.”

Dawson looked at his display. It had been three minutes since his call to Command. The Colonel had said five minutes until next contact. He looked up as fresh headlights bounced into view. He counted perhaps eight vehicles, each probably carrying six to eight men. They were now facing an additional fifty to sixty of the enemy. If it weren’t for the civilians, he’d count their chances pretty good, especially if Red were here. He glanced at his display. Down the hill dozens of troops were now swarming amongst the rocks, rapidly closing the gap between him and his men. In the midst of these fresh troops strode a man whose insignia was the highest he had seen tonight. Colonel. The man took the megaphone and raised it to his lips.

“United States soldiers, I am Colonel Zarin. Surrender your arms, and you will be taken prisoner and treated with respect. After all, we know why you are here. This is a
rescue
mission. Are Professor Acton and your Catholic Pope with you?”

This man had a different tone. Less dogma, more chutzpah. But then again, if the good Colonel knew he had just used a Hebrew word to describe him, he’d probably try to slit his throat.
Try.
His wrist vibrated. He tapped the display and read the message.
ETA 60.

This is it.

He rose from behind the rock, arms raised slightly above his head.

“Yes, they’re with us.”

The Colonel lowered the megaphone and climbed the final distance separating them, two of his men flanking him, the rest spread out across the hilltop. He stopped about ten feet from Dawson.

“I am Colonel Zarin of the Revolutionary Guard. Whom do I have the honor of addressing?”

“Command Master Sergeant Dog.”

“Dog?”

“Well, it’s spelt D-A-W-G.” Dawson smiled. “I get teased all the time. It’s really quite tragic.”

This seemed to satisfy the man. “Sergeant Dawg. Do you surrender?”

His wrist vibrated again. He glanced at the display.

“Well, Colonel, I’d love to, but I’m not sure I can do that.”

“Sergeant. You are on Iranian soil, surrounded by overwhelming numbers. You have little choice.”

“I understand that Colonel. But unlike others you may have dealt with”—he lowered his arms—“we’re not hikers.” He dove behind the rock he had been hiding behind, narrowly missing the shots from the Colonel’s guards. Immediately the scores of troops below opened fire, as did Dawson’s men.

“Look!”

Dawson glanced at Niner who was pointing to their left flank, down the hill. Dawson picked off two more guardsmen as they tried to flank his position, then looked where Niner was pointing. Heavy gunfire was being concentrated on the rear flank of the now scattering troops as Red opened a second front. Dawson smiled and activated his comm. “Good of you to join us.”

“Kind of busy right now, saving your asses.” Dawson chuckled as he picked off another target. In the confusion of the second front opening, it was clear the Iranian Colonel had lost all control of his men. Some of those nearer Dawson’s position were actually firing on their own further down the hill. In less than sixty seconds half their opposing force had been eliminated.

A whooshing sound that Dawson recognized instantly caused him to spin around. And smile. Three Ghost Hawks, their almost whisper-quiet rotors slicing through the night air rose above the hilltop from the other side, and cut an ominous silhouette against the moonlit sky. Dawson turned back to see their enemy fleeing, some jumping in their vehicles, roaring away, others chasing them and jumping headlong in, and a few simply dropping their weapons and raising their hands.

“Bravo One, Ghost Leader, ready for retrieval on your command, over.”

Dawson rose from behind the rock and gave a wave at the choppers, then activated his comm. “Ghost Leader, Bravo One. Find an LZ and we’ll come to you, over.”

“Bravo One, Ghost Leader, roger that, LZ spotted two hundred yards west of your present location, over.”

The three choppers banked and dropped below the hill, out of sight. “Bravo Team, Bravo One, rally point west side of hill, over.”

Dawson, joined by Niner who covered their ascent to the top of the hill, rounded the large rock concealing their vehicle, and found the Pontiff lying across the back seat, with Acton and Chaney still covering either side of the rock. Dawson looked at both of them. “Excellent job. Both of you.”

Acton nodded. “I suggest we use the jeep to take His Holiness to wherever those helicopters are going to pick us up.”

Dawson nodded. “Agreed.”

Acton walked over and holstered his weapon. He lowered his voice. “What the hell kind of chopper was that? It was like something out of Blue Thunder! I didn’t hear it until it was right on top of us.”

Dawson chuckled and leaned in. “It’s the type of chopper that’s so top secret, they’re afraid to use the damned thing.” Then he straightened and looked about. “Wait a minute. What chopper? I didn’t hear any chopper.”

Niner laughed and jumped in the driver’s seat, Acton and Chaney climbing in the back with the now sitting Pope, and Casey, his wounded leg not having kept him out of the battle, in the passenger seat. Dawson climbed on the running board as Niner gave it gas and popped the clutch, heaving them over the ridge and headlong down the slope, this side riddled with far fewer rocks.

Below, two of the choppers had landed, the third still in the air providing cover. Dawson scanned the scene and saw Red’s group rounding the hill to his right. Behind them the remaining three men of his team descended backward, their weapons trained on the hilltop should any of their enemy rediscover their balls. Within minutes the jeep skidded to a halt thirty feet from the nearest chopper. Chaney and Acton helped the elderly Pontiff to the chopper as Dawson and Niner helped Casey. All aboard, the chopper lifted and rose quietly into the night sky, Red’s team on the second nearly silent machine. They banked toward Turkish airspace, and within less than a minute the pilot turned and gave the thumbs up. “Green zone!”

Dawson returned the thumbs up and faced the rest. “We’re safe.” Fist bumps were exchanged by his men, Niner using his head to bump Casey’s fist as he worked at redressing the leg wound. Acton and Chaney shook hands, and the Pontiff made the sign of the cross, his eyes closed in silent prayer.