Mega #02 Baja Blood (25 page)

Amateurs. At least by Darby’s standards.

But heavily armed amateurs.

Keeping her legs kicking below in a slow rhythm, Darby lifted her hands out of the water an inch at a time so there was zero noise except for the lapping of the waves against the dock’s pilings. She held an H&K MK23 with a KAC sound suppressor attached. Underneath the barrel was a LAM (laser aiming module) that allowed her to put three dots that were only visible to her NVGs on any man she wanted.

She watched the random movements of the ineffective sentries and took aim. She squeezed off ten rounds. Each man fell, some into the water, some onto the deck. Darby slipped back under the water as rifles clattered against the deck boards. By the time other men came out to investigate, she was lost from sight; the night returned to gentle waves and the sounds of sea birds.

***

Kinsey and Max made their way towards the engine room, their steps careful and quiet as they walked through the passageways of the B3. They could hear men shouting back and forth and the bark of radios echoing to them. It was only a matter of seconds before they had to engage.

The first man came around the corner, a dull LED flashlight in hand, and just stared at the goggled operators. Kinsey and Max aimed their M-4s, outfitted with modified flash and sound suppressors, at the surprised man. He never had a chance to even lift his TEC-9 before Kinsey put two rounds in his chest and one in his head.

The two operators stepped past the man’s body, easily avoiding the pooling blood as it showed up as dark black in their NVGs.

***

The second the lights went out Mike snapped the smelling salts and tossed it up onto Diego’s face. He ducked back under the table and waited for the man to come around. When he did, it was with a loud gasp of surprise. Then screams of pain.

“My fucking legs!” Diego yelled. “Motherfuckers took my legs!”

He thrashed against his restraints, his arms straining to get free, but he was held tight and all he could do was yell.

Mike had to fight the urge to reach up and smack one of Diego’s stumps; he wanted to hear the man really scream. But El Serpiente was making enough noise for their needs so he just waited under the table with two AK-47s, ready to open up on anyone that got too close.

***

Thorne, with Shane right behind him, rounded a corner and came face to face with four of Espanoza’s men. He jammed the suppressor on the end of his M-4 up under the first man’s chin and squeezed the trigger. Before that man fell, Thorne grabbed him, spun the body around so it was facing the other men and used it for cover as those men opened fire.

Shane took a knee and spun around the corner, the muzzle flashes from the men’s guns like fireworks in his night vision. But they also told him exactly where to shoot. A shot to the chest and one to the head each and the men dropped to the floor.

“Clear. You good, Uncle Vinny?” Shane asked as he stood up and went to his uncle.

“Solid, kid,” Thorne replied, letting his shield corpse drop. “This guy was wearing body armor. Good thing I gave him a shot to the chin.”

“Just a nudge,” Shane replied.

“A simple tap,” Thorne grinned. “Come on, I can hear the party has started.”

The far off sounds of Diego’s screaming drifted to them.

“Well, we’d hate to be late for that party,” Shane laughed.

***

Men ran towards the sound of their boss screaming his head off, their flashlights bobbing up and down as they sprinted through the B3’s passageways. Five, ten, twenty of them. A good amount more than Ballantine estimated. While the surveillance system in the Toyshop was top notch, many of the cameras had been damaged by bored men looking to just break shit. It was the bane of any commander’s existence: bored men.

Several reached the hatchway at the same time and they rushed inside, unable to ignore the wails of Diego. They all knew they could be rewarded well if they were to rescue him. They also knew they would be punished brutally if they didn’t. Not just them, but possibly their families.

Six of them got all the way to Diego before Mike opened fire, ripping their legs apart. As they fell he put several bullets in each head then set the empty AK-47s aside and grabbed the rifles from the dead in front of him.

Lights flashed into the lab from the hatchway and Mike focused on those, taking careful shots instead of the wild sweeping automatic fire from before. He’d drawn in the men so he could get more ammunition, but now that he had it he needed to conserve rounds. He had no idea how many were actually out there and how long it would take part of Team Grendel to get to him.

Like a true SEAL, he knew he wasn’t alone, but he had no illusions as to his safety. It was up to him to keep the men outside the lab, or at the very least pinned down, so he and Gunnar could stay alive.

Shots rang out and Diego screamed.

“You fucks! YOU FUCKS! YOU SHOT ME! FUCKING ASSHOLES!”

Mike smiled as the wild gunfire stopped. He focused on a flashlight and took another shot. The light went dark, the man fell dead.

“GET ME OUT OF HERE!” Diego screamed.

Mike welcomed the idea.

Come on in, fucker
s
, he thought
.
Come and get it.

***

Darby surfaced in the corner of the marina hangar, her head melding into the shadows of the dock. The inside of the hangar was lit up enough that she didn’t need her NVGs and she slowly lifted them so they rested on top of her head. She wedged herself against the pilings that made up the corner of the dock and watched as men walked this way and that, talking hurriedly, panicked, as they stress smoked cigarettes.

A butt dropped right in front of her, its cherry sizzling out in the seawater. She glanced up and saw the horrified face of a teen boy that couldn’t have been more than eighteen. Darby had a hard choice to make. It took all of half a second to make that choice as she aimed her pistol up and fired. The bullet entered the soft flesh under the teen’s chin and the top of his head was ripped open, sending brain, bone, and blood flying into the air.

The element of surprise gone, Darby decided to make her presence known.

***

“Clear,” Max said as he stepped over three bodies and kept moving towards the engine room. “Not as many as I thought there’d be.”

He turned a corner and came face to face with eight men, all holding AK-47s trained on him.

Still around the corner in the other passageway, Kinsey saw Max’s body language change in a split second. Everything slowed down and she watched as Max, M-4 to his shoulder started firing as he backed away from the corner. Kinsey dove and rolled, every movement of every muscle taking an eternity.

As she came up facing the men, the world slammed back into focus and speed and she sent bullets flying with surgical precision as her cousin did the same. Flashes erupted from the barrels of the of the cartel men’s rifles and Kinsey felt hot air brush her check then that distinct sting of a bullet wound. Warm blood trickled down to her chin, but she ignored it as she got to her feet and pressed the offensive, walking in lock step with Max.

He grunted and went down to a knee, but didn’t stop firing. Men fell and men screamed and then there was nothing left in the hallway but smoke and blood.

“Max? Talk to me!” Kinsey barked as she kept her carbine up. “You good?”

“I’m cool, Sis,” Max said, getting to his feet. “Took one in the armor. Ribs hurt like split fuck, but I’m good to go.”

“You sure?”

“You know it,” Max said then pointed his carbine down the passageway. “One more deck and we are there.”

“These numbers aren’t adding up,” Kinsey said as they stepped around the corpses. “Either all the men came this way or Ballantine doesn’t know how to count.” She activated her com, having maintained radio silence since leaving the Toyshop. “Dad? You read me?”

“Loud and clear,” Thorne said. “You two good?”

“Solid,” Kinsey replied. “How many hostiles are you running into?”

“Too many,” Thorne said. “I think we were sold a bill of goods on their numbers.”

“That’d be like Ballantine,” Kinsey said. “The guy can’t help but play with people.”

“I can hear you, you know,” Ballantine said over the com.

“Yeah,” Thorne replied. “We know.”

***

“I didn’t want you to think the numbers were overwhelming,” Ballantine said as he watched the open entrance to the Toyshop, a suppressed Desert Eagle in each hand. “Sorry for the deception. It’s from too many years as a lone wolf in the field.”

“Lone wolf? Field?” Thorne asked over the com. “When we’re done, I’m getting your story, Thorne.”

“We’ll see about that,” Ballantine smiled. “It’s a story long dead and buried, so it will be hard to find. Even for me.”

The passageway outside the Toyshop lit up as flashlights came around the corner.

“Like you said,” Thorne replied. “We’ll see.”

Ballantine didn’t respond, just stayed quiet as he waited for the men to show themselves. He picked out three distinct voices as they whispered to themselves. He listened hard to their footfalls and slowly counted in his head as he brought up his pistols.

As soon as all three were in sight, he fired. They dropped one by one and he scrambled forward.

“Lake!” he hissed, setting the pistols on a shelf as the acting captain appeared from the shadows. “Grab one of those bodies.”

They dragged the bodies in and pushed them off to the side, out of sight from the passageway. Then Ballantine picked the Desert Eagles up again. He looked at them then at Lake and smiled.

“I can see why you prefer this gun,” Ballantine nodded. “Great feel.”

“I have to use both hands for just one,” Lake said. “And I didn’t know they even made suppressors for them.”

“You’re learning all kinds of new things today,” Ballantine replied. “I should charge you tuition.”

“Ballantine?” Thorne asked over the com. “You there? What happened?”

“Getting my hands dirty just like you, Commander,” Ballantine said. “No need to worry about me.”

“Nothing we can do about the blood,” Lake said as he stared at the smears on the floor that led from the passageway to the Toyshop.

“No, but these men aren’t exactly rocket scientists,” Ballantine responded as he reached down and clicked off the only flashlight left working, plunging the passageway and Toyshop back into darkness. “If anything, the blood will make them hurry to us faster.”

“Ballantine,” Thorne snapped. “How many men are on this ship? Did more come over while we were in the water?”

“Yes, Commander,” Ballantine said. “Quite a few more. But I know you can handle them. I only hire capable people, after all.”

***

Grabbing onto the side of the dock with one hand, Darby continued firing with the other as she pulled herself up out of the water, rolled across the boards, kept firing, and then came up into a crouch by the hangar wall. It was all one fluid motion from grab to roll to stop.

Men fell as she took careful aim. Then her pistol clicked empty and she popped the magazine free with her thumb, tucked the pistol into her belt, picked up a TEC-9, and opened fire. The cartel men all ran towards her, despite the automatic fire she sent at them. Darby stood and ran along the wall, heading for the office door in front of her. Bullets trailed along behind her, ripping through the hangar’s sheet metal wall.

But Darby was fast, not faster than bullets, but faster than the men that controlled the rifles barking at her. She knew the pull and kick of almost every firearm in use around the world and she could tell she had about one second before the bullets caught up with her.

She let the TEC-9 fall from her fingers as she fell to her knees, her back bending backwards so the bullets flew over her. Slivers of sheet metal rained down on her face and she skidded to a stop as she pulled her MK23 from her belt and slapped a fresh magazine home. Whipping back upright, Darby squeezed off six shots, sending six men plunging into the water.

She kept her momentum going and went into a forward roll as a fresh round of gunfire splintered the wood where she had just been. Darby came out of the roll and pushed off with her feet, diving forward towards the wall perpendicular to her. And the office door.

Lowering her shoulder, Darby burst through the hollow, paper thin composite wood door.

“Move and die,” Darby said as she put three bullets into the foreheads of the three men with rifles that stood there, gaping at her. She got a sick satisfaction that the last looks on their faces were so idiotic.

Her pistol then turned to Dr. Morganton and McCarthy who sat in office chairs in front of a bank of equipment.

“They didn’t move,” Dr. Morganton snapped. “Why did you shoot them?”