PRIMAL Unleashed (2) (40 page)

Bishop checked his phone again. It had finally acquired a satellite link and he dialed into PRIMAL HQ.

“Bunker, this is Bishop.”

Vance came through immediately. “Holy fuck, buddy, Jumper’s signal dropped off the scope and we thought you’d cashed your chips.”

“The team’s fine. We've got the package but the pilots are dead. We need Ivan to pick us up ASAP.”

“That’s a problem. We’ve lost comms with Ivan. Right now you’re on your own and you’re about to have half the Ukrainian Army crawling up your ass. Military radio chatter’s gone off the scale.”

“Ack, we’ll be on the move in five.”

“We’ll keep trying to raise Ivan. In the meantime try and find somewhere to lay low.”

“We’ll try. Bishop out.” He checked the phone’s mapping function. “Fuck!” he cursed. They were still well within Ukrainian territory and there was no chance of a quick dash across the border. He zoomed in to the immediate area, quickly identifying a structure of some kind a few hundred meters away at the corner of the field. In the distance he could just see what looked like a squat stone building and a number of sheds. That would be their first move.

As Bishop pocketed the phone, he thought he could hear something on the icy morning breeze. He turned his head and the noise increased. It sounded almost like the dull thud of a tractor, maybe even a helicopter. He sprinted back into the aircraft where Aleks was organizing the team.

“Grab your gear! Chopper inbound. Dostiger’s onto us.”

The four men had already donned their battle-rig, full-face helmets, body armor with pouches, and heavy weapons. They’d packed the extra ammunition stored onboard the aircraft into their backpacks.

“Aleks, how are the canisters?”

“Bagged up and ready to go, boss.” The Russian pointed at two black duffle bags.

Bishop slung one of the heavy bags over his shoulder. “Big man, you grab the other one.”

He noticed Miklos was struggling with his machine gun. “Miklos, you hurt?”

“Dislocated my shoulder, Aden. Should be OK.”

“Give me the MG, mate.” Bishop swapped his compact submachine gun with the heavy caliber machine gun. Kurtz had the other MK48 and Pavel was carrying the grenade launcher.

“Aleks, I want you to take the team and set up a defensive perimeter in one of the buildings to the north.”

“Da, boss, right away.” The big Russian started off down the ramp and out into the faint glow of early dawn with the rest of the team in tow.

Bishop waited for them to leave before he slid back a panel on the wall of the aircraft, revealing a digital touch pad. He punched in a code and held up his phone, activating a custom program. The screen displayed:

-
INTRUDER ACTIVATION
ARMED-

Closing the panel, Bishop grabbed the carry-handle of his machine gun and jogged down the ramp after the rest of the team. The helicopter was louder now. It sounded like it was landing somewhere to the south, beyond a thick line of trees. Bishop ran faster. The cold morning air stung his lungs as he struggled with the canister and the machine gun.

Low farm buildings appeared out of the gloom and he made for the largest of them. The old stone barn was filled with farming paraphernalia, bags of fertilizer, machinery parts and drums of oil. Aleks already had the men at work moving equipment, building a barrier across the open front of the shed.

“Good work, team,” gasped Bishop, fighting for breath as he dumped the canister and his machine gun behind the barrier.

“Boss, there’s a truck parked over by the other sheds. Bit beat up but I reckon I could get it started,” Aleks reported.

The beat of the helicopter’s blades could be heard clearly to the south of the farm.

“It’s too late. If they catch us in the open with that helicopter, we’re finished. We’re going to have to hide here.”

“And if they find us?” the big Russian asked.

“If they find us,” replied Bishop, “we fight. Pavel, you and I will cover the field and the crash site; we’ll get the most out of the grenade launcher and the MG in the open ground. Miklos, you and Kurtz cover the northern and western sides. Be prepared to back us up when we need it. Kurtz, come with me. We need your gun covering the most dangerous approach.”

Bishop quickly toured the building, satisfied that it was as good a place as any for a last stand. There were a couple of tin sheds to the east, along with the truck, but they offered little protection. The barn, with its stone walls, was a much better choice. The open front of the building wasn’t too much of an issue. It faced back across the field towards the crash site: a perfect killing ground, easy to defend.

The eastern side was another matter altogether. There was only one small window covering the other buildings fifty meters away. With the first glow of sunrise appearing on the horizon, Bishop could just make out the two sheds and a large elevated fuel tank.

“They’ll come from the sheds, Kurtz. Probably use smoke to try and conceal the attack.” Bishop gestured out the window. “If we’re going to get out of here alive, you’re going to have to hold them off.”

The German was already preparing his ammunition, laying out the belts of heavy caliber rounds. “Too easy, boss. I’ll chop the bastards down like corn.”

Bishop slapped his shoulder and turned to check back on Miklos and Pavel. They were already set in their positions; all they could do now was wait.

The team was deep within hostile territory and up against an army of unknown size. Bishop checked his watch; sunrise was only minutes away. Already darkness had started its retreat, taking with it the advantage of night vision.

Thank god Saneh’s not here,
he thought. There’s no other way of looking at it. We are royally fucked!

Chapter 67

The Crash Site

Dostiger was determined not to underestimate his enemy again. He ordered the helicopter to drop his force well clear of the crash site, fearful it would be shot down if it ventured within weapons’ range.

Now his men were spread out in the treeline to the south of the crash site, weapons covering the downed aircraft, while two of them probed forward to investigate.

All thirty fighters were battle-hardened Chechen mercenaries equipped with the latest weaponry. Wearing woodland camouflage and black balaclavas, they gave off an aura of deadliness. Like half-tamed animals, they were killers who could never exist in a normal society.

Dostiger felt confident surrounded by the mercenaries. He watched with satisfaction as the two scouts crept forward cautiously, weapons raised, ready to cut down any sign of resistance. Clad in his own fatigues and armed with his sniper rifle, he felt like a young man again. The Chechen leader was crouched next to him, listening to the radio clipped to his battle harness. He turned to Dostiger, explaining, “The scouts are at the aircraft; it looks empty. Do you want them to proceed inside?”

“Yes,” Dostiger snapped. “I must know if the canisters are there.”

“Very well.” The Chechen commander relayed the order and they both watched as the scouts walked up the rear ramp of the aircraft.

As the pair disappeared into the cargo hold, the Antonov exploded! A bright orange ball of flame obliterated the airframe and the blast threw Dostiger on to his back, sucking the air from his lungs. Twisted pieces of wreckage sliced through the trees above him, sending branches crashing to the ground.

For a moment Dostiger was back in the hills of Afghanistan and his damaged leg started twitching as he rolled on to his side, coughing heavily. He wiped the spittle from his face and slowly regained his feet. The Chechen commander was still on the ground, dazed from the blast. Dostiger had a wild look in his eyes as he hauled the mercenary to his feet.

“Find them!” he snarled into the Chechen’s face, the look in his eyes maniacal. “Find them and fucking kill them.”

Despite the shock of the blast, the mercenary commander responded without hesitation, barking into his radio, giving his team leaders orders to search the immediate area.

The lead group of ten fighters moved through the heavy vegetation, avoiding the open ground and burning wreckage. They worked their way around the field towards the farm buildings, barely visible in the grey shades of dawn.

Having lost two of their men to the booby-trapped aircraft, the Chechens were even more cautious. They probed forward in pairs, leapfrogging past each other, never moving without someone providing cover. The lead scout crouched when he reached the edge of the trees, hiding behind the thick stone wall. The slightest movement had drawn his attention to the window of an old stone barn. He keyed his radio.

The commander was still at the rear with Dostiger, watching the movement of their men. “Sir,” he said, turning to the arms dealer, “Alpha team have spotted movement in one of the buildings.”

“Good. Which one?”

“The stone one, just past the sheds.” The Chechen pointed in the distance.

A thin smile came to Dostiger’s lips as he brought the scope of the sniper rifle up to his eye and inspected the building.

Lowering the weapon, he gave his orders. “Tell them to maintain observation. Get Bravo to provide fire support from behind the fence over there,” he said, pointing out the long wall the aircraft had collided with. “They can use the machine guns to pin the bastards down. Once Charlie are in position with Alpha, then we’ll attack from the flank!” He looked up at the shades of color visible on the horizon. “In a few minutes we’ll have more than enough light.”

The mercenary gave his commands over the radio and within seconds the balaclava-clad fighters were moving into position. Charlie team moved silently along the tree line to Alpha. The other Chechens moved at the same time, crawling along behind the stone fence until they took up their support position, ready to fire on the single building.

As the last few men moved into place, the sun had only just started to appear over the horizon, throwing soft light across the battlefield. Even with the burning aircraft, the setting was surreal.

The Chechen commander turned to report to Dostiger. The Ukrainian was leaning against a tree, using the trunk to steady the barrel of the battered sniper rifle.

“Sir, we are ready.”

Dostiger replied without lifting his eye from the scope, “No survivors. Open fire!”

***

“We’ve got company, boss,” Kurtz announced from his position at the window on the eastern side of the building. “I can see at least three armed men. They’re hiding in the tree line.”

“Roger,” answered Bishop. “I’ve got observation on at least two hostiles on the other side of the field. Anyone else got anything?

“Negative, Aden, nothing at the back.” Aleks was covering the rear of the barn with his submachine gun.

“All clear north,” Miklos reported.

“The shit is about to go down, lads! Miklos, I want you to take over from Aleks. Big man, you need to back up Kurtz. The fuckers will hit us hard from that flank. Fire support will come from the south, Pavel and I will—”

Before Bishop could finish his orders, a hail of gunfire hit the barn from across the field to the south. The team hugged the floor as bullets ripped into the fertilizer bags and sparked off the stone walls, sending shards of rock slicing through the air. The initial burst of fire lasted only a few seconds before the Chechen force waited for return fire.

“Steady, lads, they’re probing. Still not sure we’re here,” Bishop broadcast over radio.

“SMOKE!” Kurtz yelled as smoke canisters burst in front of the treeline, grey clouds billowing out in a line.

“Shit, here they come,” Bishop murmured under his breath. “Aleks, get over there now.”

“Da, boss.” The big Russian crawled low across the floor, sliding through the dirt and straw to where Kurtz was crouched under the window.

The German lifted his head and peered out. His goggles picked up at least ten figures dashing through the smoke to the cover of the other sheds and the fuel dump. He lifted the Mk48 and fired a long burst into the running figures. Return fire smashed into the building and he dropped back into cover. “Two Tangos down!”

Bishop opened fire with his own machine gun, sending a stream of tracer fire across the open field, raking the stone fence where Dostiger’s support team was taking cover. The return fire was instant and intense. Bullets hit the barn like rain on a tin roof, creating a deafening noise. The team’s fully enclosed helmets adjusted, cutting out the loud frequencies while amplifying the team’s radio traffic.

“Two hundred meters, Pavel. Give ’em a couple of HE grenades,” Bishop ordered.

The stocky Russian had rolled onto his back behind a heavy, cast iron plough, the grenade launcher held against his chest.

“My pleasure, boss,” he said as he adjusted the weapon’s sight and rolled out from cover, launched three grenades and rolled back.

The high explosive projectiles detonated amongst the Chechen support team, jagged pieces of shrapnel wounding one of the gunners and sending his comrades scurrying for cover.

With the Chechen machine guns temporarily silenced, Kurtz and Aleks took the opportunity to send a fusillade of fire into the assault force that was trying to advance from behind the other farm buildings. Their bullets ripped through the tin sheds and their rounds shredded one of the men as they dashed for cover. The Chechen assault ground to a halt as the mercenaries stopped to return fire, forcing the two PRIMAL operatives to drop for cover.

“Chewing through ammo fast, Aden: last four hundred,” Kurtz announced.

“Da, I’ve got three mags, boss,” added Aleks. Hundreds of spent cartridges were scattered on the floor around them.

“I can spare a belt,” Bishop replied as he slung a belt of ammunition across the room before firing another burst.

“It’s all clear on my side, Boss,” Miklos yelled out as he crawled along the dusty floor, wincing as he tried to ignore his dislocated shoulder. “I’ll back up Kurtz and Aleks.”