PRIMAL Unleashed (2) (37 page)

Aleks used a pair of bolt cutters to cut through the padlock on the side hatch of his vehicle. He swung the heavy door handle, unlocked the mechanism, and the bottom part of the hatch dropped down, forming a step, while the top half swung upward. Using a small torch he found the internal lighting switch and a number of tiny bulbs filled the hull with a sickly yellow glow.

The inside of the BTR smelt like a mechanic’s workshop, the air heavy with the stench of diesel and solvents. Aleks clambered past the gunner’s cage onto the driver’s seat. Using his torch he looked at the buttons and switches. The layout was different to the BTR-70 he’d trained on
.

The Russian flicked a few switches and thumbed the ignition button. The big engine clunked as it attempted to turn over, the starter motor straining. He thumbed it again and the same thing happened; the engine refused to catch. Cursing, he was about to try again when Saneh slipped into the command seat next to him. She leant forward and examined the control panel, flicking a number of switches.

“Try it now,” she said in her soft Iranian accent.

Aleks frowned, thumbing the starter. The diesel engine turned once and caught, roaring to life. He lifted his bushy eyebrows in surprise.

“You need to turn on the fuel pump and glow plugs,” Saneh yelled over the roar of the engine. “We have BTRs in Iran as well, you know.”

The Russian grinned at her, pulling himself from the driver’s chair. Kurtz had already pulled the ammunition boxes out of the van and Aleks helped him load the heavy, belted rounds for the guns, showing him how to arm the cannons and use the remote weapon station. The German learnt quickly, rotating the electronic turret, using the camera to zoom in and out.

Aleks left him to check on the progress of Pavel and Miklos at the other vehicle. Their BTR was ready; they had no problems with the start procedure and were loaded, waiting to refuel.

“OK, let’s go, guys,” he said before hurrying back to drive his vehicle. They didn’t have much time left and he knew it would take at least ten minutes to fill the six hundred liter tanks.

As the two crews drove their BTRs across to the diesel fuel point, Bishop was sitting in the back of their van waiting for a call from Ivan. He glanced at his watch. He still has a few minutes if we’re going to be on schedule, he thought. If he doesn’t—
A beep in his helmet interrupted his thoughts.

“Fischer, this is Ivan. I’m in position at the airfield.”

“Roger. Is there anything to report?”

“Yes, there’s lots of movement here: over eighty hostiles, possibly more.”

Jesus Christ, thought Bishop. Good thing we’re bringing the BTRs. “Any sign of heavy weapons?” he asked.

“Negative, you chaps ought to be fine,” Ivan replied.

Bishop smiled. He found it amusing that Ivan’s voice sounded more like a British politician than a Russian trained spy. “Roger, we’ll be inbound soon.”

“Acknowledged, Ivan out.”

Bishop used his wrist-mounted flex-screen to change over to the Bunker’s frequency.

“Bunker, this is Bishop.”

“Chua here, aircraft is twenty-five minutes out.”

“Roger, we’ll be rolling in five.”

“Acknowledged. Jumper will be waiting for you once you’ve recovered the package. Good luck.”

“Thanks, mate. Bishop out.”

He jumped out and walked swiftly across to the fuel point where the team was pumping the final liters into the two BTRs. He switched back to the team frequency. “It’s on, lads. Aircraft is inbound; eighty plus hostiles at the airport with no heavy weapons.”

“I almost feel sorry for the poor bastards, da,” Aleks responded as he thumbed the starter on his BTR.

Almost on cue the roar of both big diesels filled the air as Miklos started his own vehicle. He and Pavel were in one BTR with Bishop. The other crew consisted of Aleks, Kurtz and Saneh.

The two armored personnel carriers turned out of the barracks and onto the main road, Pavel following the GPS provided by Ivan. Bishop looked at his watch. They had exactly twenty minutes. Timing would be critical. They needed to reach the airport immediately after the AN-12 touched down and not a moment earlier. Chua had confirmed Dostiger’s aircraft was on time, they had two bulletproof vehicles fully bombed up with fuel and ammunition, and the extraction aircraft was waiting for them. In a little over half an hour we should have this all wrapped up, he thought.

Chapter 63

Antonov AN-12

Odessa International Airport

The AN-12 landed heavily, hitting the end of the runway with a squeal as the tires slammed into the tarmac. Yanuk grinned at the rest of Dostiger’s security contingent. “I can almost taste the vodka, comrades,” he yelled over the roar of the four turboprop engines. They all laughed; every man involved in this operation was expecting a significant bonus, although none would be receiving as much as the Russian engineer.

The old aircraft lumbered onto the taxiway and Yanuk unclipped his safety belt, standing up. He walked over to one of the fuselage windows and peered out at the floodlit airport. There were armed men everywhere. He smiled to himself.

The big transport plane spun around slowly until the nose pointed back towards the runway and the tail faced the terminal. The whine of hydraulics announced the opening of the ramp and Dostiger’s men inside the aircraft shivered as the cold night air whipped into the hold.

Looking out over the ramp, Yanuk could see a blue armored van driving towards them. Just behind it were half a dozen black four-wheel drives and a cordon of heavily armed men.

Yanuk moved down the ramp as the truck turned and started to reverse. His brow furrowed and he looked past the vehicle into the distance. Over the idling props and the truck’s reversing indicator, he thought he could hear what sounded like the distant roar of a very large diesel engine, a sound that brought back vivid memories from the Chechen war over ten years ago.

He stepped halfway down the ramp, looking towards the airport terminal for the source of the noise, squinting as his eyes adjusted to the bright security lighting. The growl of engines grew louder; Yanuk’s eyes narrowed, and then widened suddenly as the thump of a distant explosion plunged the airfield into total darkness. All the security floodlights, runway beacons, passenger terminal and tower lighting died at exactly the same moment. The engine noise rose in a crescendo and the Russian finally recognized the sound that was once so familiar to him.

“GO, GO, GO!” he screamed, desperately gesturing at the loadmaster, who looked at him in confusion. Yanuk took two quick strides and roughly grabbed the man, shaking him, yelling in his face, “TAKEOFF! TAKEOFF!” The aviator looked shocked, thumbed his radio and relayed the message to the pilots. Almost immediately the big aircraft started rolling forward, the ramp dragging on the tarmac.

From the airport tower Dostiger’s Chief of Security stood in the darkness, watching as the black shape of the AN-12 started moving away from his armored van. He had known something was wrong a minute earlier when one of the police patrols was cut-off over the radio, a crashing sound transmitting clearly through the speaker on his Motorola before it went quiet. A few seconds later the lights had died, plunging the tower into darkness. Now the unmistakable sound of armored vehicles could be heard approaching in the distance. A feeling of dread filled his stomach.

Yuri turned to the Alfa commander, speaking in a steady voice. “Get your men out there. Find out what’s happening. Do NOT let anyone touch my cargo.”

“Acknowledged," the Alfa operative nodded, his face glowing green as he activated his night vision goggles. He keyed his radio as he made for the stairs. “All teams, this is Alfa One. Identify targets and engage.”

***

The two BTR-94 armored personnel carriers were less than two minutes from the airfield when Ivan reported in to Bishop over the team’s radio frequency.

“Fischer, this is Ivan. The aircraft has just landed. No change to the security situation; we’re looking at eighty plus hostiles.”

“Roger, we’re one minute out. Prepare to kill the lights.”

“OK, standing by.” The generator farm that fed power to the airport was located outside the perimeter fence and it had been a simple matter for Ivan to rig a small amount of explosive to the power cables.

The two BTRs roared as the drivers gunned them around the last corner before the airport. In the lead vehicle, Miklos spotted the police car blocking the road only forty meters ahead, its blue lights turning lazily. He mashed the accelerator to the floor. “HOLD ON!”

Thirteen tonnes of steel impacted violently with the small sedan at seventy kilometers an hour, flipping it sideways. The two policemen sitting inside were smashed into the roof and windows, breaking limbs, knocking them unconscious.

“SORRY, OFFICER,” yelled Miklos as they ploughed through the police checkpoint. He could see the airport now a few hundred meters away, the outer fence lighting and colored beacons above the control tower clearly visible.

“OK, kill the lights,” Bishop transmitted over the net.

“Killing lights now,” Ivan’s voice replied.

Miklos watched as the airport was plunged into darkness, his panoramic night vision goggles adjusting for the change. He slowed the big vehicle, wrenched the steering wheel left and smashed through the dense vegetation at the northern end of the runway. The front two wheels of the BTR drove straight over the anti-vehicle ditch, the rear pair following with a jolt. The ditch was designed to stop regular cars, not eight-wheeled, all-terrain vehicles.

The security fence was hit next, knocked flat without slowing the armored juggernaught’s momentum, crushed beneath its wheels. Miklos slowed the vehicle slightly as he hit the runway, waiting for the second BTR to catch up. Once both were side by side, they accelerated across the tarmac.

Bishop’s voice came across the radio net. “OK, team, weapons free: engage all hostiles. It’s time to ruin Dostiger’s day.”

Kurtz was in the other vehicle, using his weapons turret to scan for targets as they raced towards the taxiing AN-12. He identified the group of men and vehicles to the rear of the aircraft, close to the terminal, the flashes of weapons fire obvious in his night vision sight. As rounds pinged off the BTR’s armored skin, he depressed the trigger and the whole vehicle shuddered as the auto-cannons roared, spitting out their cigar-sized projectiles. Chunks of concrete were gouged from the tarmac twenty meters in front of the target.

Kurtz adjusted his point of aim and the electric motors whined, inching the long barrels slightly higher. He triggered another burst. The rounds slammed into a pair of four-wheel drives, detonating their fuel tanks. The auto-cannon’s weapon sight flared white as the explosion overwhelmed the infrared sensors.

“Scheisse! Soviet junk,” Kurtz smacked the screen with the palm of his hand.

“Aircraft‘s on the runway,” yelled Aleks from the driver’s seat.

Saneh was sitting next to the Russian and screamed at the top of her lungs, “Ram him, Aleks, before he takes off!”

Aleks pulled the BTR in behind the AN-12 as it gained speed on the runway. He nudged the back of the ramp, tipping the aircraft slightly, trying to knock it off course. He ducked instinctively as Dostiger’s men fired at them from the open hold. Kurtz swiveled the turret around, opening up with the machine gun that was mounted beside the auto-cannons. A twenty-round burst hosed down the side of the aircraft, bullets ripping through the aircraft’s thin skin and silencing the gunfire.

“Take it easy, Kurtz, you’ll hit the cargo,” Aleks barked as he accelerated the BTR, swerving to get around the aircraft’s wing and the spinning propellers. Kurtz depressed the gun turret, shooting the aircraft’s rear tyres. The nitrogen-filled rubber exploded and the aluminum rims cut into the tarmac with a screech. The aircraft slowed suddenly, falling behind the BTR and pitching sideways. Aleks ripped the steering wheel to the side to cut it off. With a crunch the heavy steel armor smashed into the flimsy aluminum nose of the aircraft, the front landing strut collapsed and the aircraft dropped onto the back of the BTR. Aleks slammed on the brakes and both the aircraft and the personnel carrier slowed together, sparks streaming off the Antonov’s bare rims while the BTR’s brakes screamed in protest.

While Aleks’ vehicle stopped the Antonov, the second BTR, carrying Bishop, moved to the rear. Pavel had been using the weapons turret to suppress the security forces, expertly firing short bursts from the dual 23mm cannon, scattering Dostiger’s men and ripping apart the vehicles. He had targeted the control tower, smashing it with the high explosive projectiles, denying anyone use of the vantage point.

As the big transport aircraft ground to a halt, the second BTR pulled in behind it, the side hatch opening like a clamshell. Bishop was first out, sprinting towards the still lowered aircraft ramp. Behind him, Miklos lobbed a
flash-bang
over his head; it detonated in the plane with a crump. Bishop kept moving, the full-face helmet shielding his eyes from the blinding flash and blocking out the deafening noise. He ran up the ramp into the dark cargo hold, submachine gun ready. His night-vision identified Dostiger’s security team as glowing shapes and he engaged the first two men he saw, dropping them with quick bursts.