Surviving the Dead 03: Warrior Within (47 page)

“That was close,” I muttered.

If that guard had turned on his flashlight, he would have seen me. While I felt confident that Trident could have handled the kill, I didn’t want to leave anything to chance. Gladius had already demonstrated good killer instinct, and I knew that as soon as the first guard was down, he wouldn’t hesitate to step in and take care of the second. I had been gambling that the sudden demise of the guard’s friend would give Gladius the momentary distraction he needed to do his job, and the gamble had paid off.

The Rangers followed me to the other side of the warehouse, again carefully skirting the area where the Legion troops were sleeping. Halfway past them I paused to look them over more carefully. Fully half of them looked to have passed out where they sat, too drunk or stoned to bother crawling into their bunks. The rest lay under heaps of blankets, breathing slowly. None of them seemed aware of what was happening, or what was about to happen. Regardless of whether or not we succeeded in getting the slaves out, these men’s days as marauders—boozing and raping and pillaging—were over.

I stepped closer to the area where Lucian usually hung out. After searching for a moment, I spotted him lying sprawled out on a queen-size mattress, one of his personal slave girls curled up in the fetal position beside him. I reached a hand down to the pouch on my web belt containing one of the syringes Steve had included in my kit.

Gently, step by agonizing step, I moved toward his prone form. I recognized most of his staff lying nearby, excluding Paul Harris, of course, but I didn’t see Aiken anywhere. God only knew what that creepy bastard was up to this time of night.

I drew the syringe, removed the cap with my teeth, and slowly lowered my hand toward Lucian’s thigh. Taking a deep breath, I counted down three, two, one, and then drove the needle into his leg, depressing the plunger with my thumb.

Lucian’s eyes snapped open.

I pressed a palm over his mouth to keep him from shouting while the drug did its work. For just a second or two, he reached up to grab my hand, eyes darting wildly in the darkness, and then his hand fell away and he went limp. The girl beside him stirred. I froze. She moved closer to the warmth of Lucian’s body, heaved a sigh, and went quiet.

Letting out a relieved breath, I pulled my knife, held it just below Lucian’s eye, and carved a shallow furrow with the tip. Lucian didn’t twitch. Smiling, I made my way back to the Rangers. Holding a finger over my lips, I motioned the two of them to back off into the darkness. Once we were a safe distance from the sleeping enemy troops, I motioned for them to lean in.

“That was the leader,” I whispered. “He’s drugged now, and he’ll be out for at least three hours. You two head over and take out the other guards. Be quick, and be quiet. As soon as they’re down, signal me so I can start freeing the hostages.”

The two rangers nodded and headed for the guards on the south entrance. I moved toward the pallets where the female slaves were chained. Stopping a few yards away, I knelt down and watched the Rangers creep up on the last two guards. The lantern on that side was brighter and cast a pool of illumination that was too broad to allow the soldiers to get close enough for knife work. Stopping just outside the ring of light, they drew their pistols, both nine-millimeters, and both equipped with the same type of suppressor as mine. They took aim, and after a few seconds, fired in tandem. Both guards’ heads snapped backward, and they slumped to the ground. I was halfway between the sleeping troops and the Rangers, and I barely heard the pistols. The troops wouldn’t have heard a thing.

Miranda’s bunk was on the far left side of the slaves’ sleeping area. I crept up next to her bunk, and gently shook her awake. She, like most of the other girls, was accustomed to being awakened in the middle of the night. She blinked in the pitch darkness and sat up on her pallet. I took her hand in mine and leaned in close to her ear.

“Miranda, it’s me, Logan.”

She opened her mouth to say something, but I clamped a hand over it. “You have to be quiet. I’m getting you out of here.”

She reached up and touched my face, her expression growing perplexed when her fingers brushed the thermal goggles.

“Listen, there are two whole companies of soldiers surrounding this warehouse. We’ve got helicopters and an airplane gunship standing by to blow these bastards to hell, but I’ve got to get you and the other girls out of here first.”

I held up the key I’d taken from Kasikov’s dead body, and then unlocked the leg iron connecting her ankle to the floor. Handing her the key, I said, “Go around and unlock the others. Do it quietly, and tell them not to make a sound. Got it?”

She nodded, her confusion replaced by a look of grim determination. She gave my hand a quick squeeze, and then got to work. Quickly, she started moving from one pallet to the next, waking the girls up and whispering to them what was going on. Just as I had done to her, she unlocked the manacle binding them to the floor, but left the other chains in place. Taking them all off would have taken too long, and made too much noise.

The Rangers trotted over from where they had dragged the two dead guards away from the entrance. We fanned out and covered the Legion troops’ sleeping area until Miranda finally got all the girls ready to go. They stood huddled together, blankets wrapped around their naked bodies and shivering in the cold. I motioned to the Rangers to fall back. We gathered in a huddle next to Miranda.

“Okay, Gladius, you lead the way. We’re going out the south entrance. Trident and I will hang back and provide cover. As soon as we’re clear, I’ll radio Alpha Leader to advance and get these women to safety. Understood?”

The Rangers nodded. Miranda said, “What about the men in the tunnels?”

I put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “We’ve got people on the way to rescue them as we speak. But right now, I’m only worried about you, okay?”

She nodded quickly. I motioned for her and the others to get moving.

The girls stayed close to each other, many of them weeping quietly and holding hands. Some of them looked to be injured, their friends half-carrying them along. My chest tightened at the sight, and I felt a hot coil of anger stirring in my chest, but I forced it down.

Concentrate
.

Keeping my breathing steady, I slowly eased back, following the procession. Trident held position a few yards to my left, occasionally checking behind him to look for obstructions. In less than a minute, we were at the door. Gladius pulled a small can of spray lubricant from his web belt and doused the rusty hinges with it, trying to keep the door from squeaking too much. Slowly, he opened it enough for the girls to squeeze through, and started motioning them out.

“Come on, let’s go. Run for the highway. No talking,” he whispered, over and over again. The girls did as he said, too terrified to argue. The last to leave was Miranda. She had hung back to help keep the others calm as they made their escape. Finally, they were all out the door.

Gladius and Trident followed them, and I stepped out last, pulling the door behind me, but not quite letting it shut all the way. When the two Ranger squads showed up to wreck shop, I didn’t want them having to contend with a latched door.

When I turned around, the others were running toward the highway, with Trident and Gladius carrying a couple of girls who couldn’t run. I saw another one limping along with two other girls trying to help her as she hopped on one leg. I sprinted over, offered her a hand, and then threw her over my back in a fireman’s carry. Reaching up, I keyed my radio as I ran.

“Alpha Leader, Irish. Hostages are secure. You are clear to advance.”

“Copy, Irish. Damn fine work. Alpha Company is coming your way to render aid. Bravo Leader, get your men ready to move in on my order.”

“Copy, Alpha. We’re standing by. Cocked, locked, and ready to rock.”

I grinned. Good ol’ Grabovsky.

Relief washed over me in waves as I saw the Hollow Rock militia emerge from the cover of the forest and converge on the fleeing prisoners. They ushered them back to the tree line where Army medics waited to begin treating them for their injuries. As they were being led away,
Miranda ran back to me and threw her arms around my neck. She squeezed hard, and brought her lips to my ear.

“I knew you were different,” she said. “I knew you weren’t like them. Thank you so much.”

I hugged her back, and then gently pushed her toward a waiting medic. “We’ll have plenty of time to talk later, Miranda. Let the medics look you over.”

She smiled at me, tears streaming down her face, and waved goodbye. I watched her go, and then turned to the two Rangers.

“Okay, first of all, what the hell are your real names?”

Gladius held up a hand. “Tarique Blakeney. Jackson, Mississippi.”

Trident said, “Anthony Toricelli. New York City.”

I pointed a finger back and forth. “Blakeney. Toricelli. Got it. Now, I got a question for you. You fellas down for a little more action tonight?”

The Rangers grinned.

“Fuckin’ A.” Toricelli spoke for both of them.

I keyed my radio. “Bravo Leader, Charlie Two. Don’t suppose you have room for three more, do you?”

Grabovsky came back. “Charlie Two, Bravo One. You know the layout of this place, right?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.”

“Welcome aboard. I’ll have one of my men shine an illuminator. Move to my position. You copy all that Alpha Leader?”

“Copy loud and clear, Bravo One. Charlie Two, let me know when you’re in position.”

A moment later, I saw the illuminator flashing from the tree line a hundred meters east, just at the edge of the highway. I motioned to Blakeney and Toricelli.

“Let’s go. This party ain’t over yet.”

I took off at a run with the two Rangers close behind

As Eric had warned me, the Hollow Rock access tunnel stretched for miles. Occasionally we saw side tunnels, but they only went a few feet into small caverns; storage rooms for supplies and equipment. We cleared them anyway, just to be safe. Aside from railroad ties, hand augers, spikes, and metal bracing brackets, we didn’t find anything.

The two Rangers assigned to me were designated Cestus and Spatha. The names were easily memorable, but struck me as a bit dramatic. Whoever designated them must have spent way too much time reading up on Roman gladiators and the weapons they used.

Cestus was average height, medium build, and quite possibly the least remarkable human being I had ever met, aside from the fact that he was an Army Ranger with obvious combat experience. Spatha was Hispanic, maybe five-foot seven with his boots on, and moved with the quick, fluid grace of an athlete. Both men kept the chatter to a minimum, and focused their attention on the task at hand. That was fine with me.

We set a fast pace, trusting Eric’s assessment that the tunnels weren’t booby-trapped. According to my watch, it took us just over thirty minutes to come within sight of the guards. They huddled around a small table playing cards, while the slaves sat on crude wooden pallets nearby. The Rangers and I slowed to a halt, and then backed off a short distance away.

We had run at least six miles to get where we were, and I didn’t want us engaging the enemy until we’d had a chance to catch our breath. Not that we couldn’t have done it, we could have. But the enemy wasn’t going anywhere, and in a fight, you take any advantage you can get. We had time to rest, so we took it.

Cestus leaned close, and whispered, “How do you want to handle the takedown?”

“Let’s keep it simple,” I said. “There’s enough room for all three of us to fire at the same time if you kneel down in front, Spatha.”

The short man nodded. “Fine by me.”

“All right then. Let’s move up and take position.”

My thermal imagers and the Rangers’ NVGs gave us far greater visibility than the anemic circle cast by the guards’ oil lantern. We spotted them from more than a hundred yards away, their light standing out like a supernova in our highly sensitive optics. The Rangers and I advanced until we were within forty yards of our targets and sighted in. The oblivious troops continued with their card game, unaware that three well-trained marksmen had them in their crosshairs.

“On my mark. Three, two, one, mark.”

We kept our shots high, taking the raiders through the upper chests and heads. I only had to fire once, the heavy 6.8 SPC slug pulverizing my target’s skull. The Rangers hit their targets three times center of mass, just as the Army had trained them to. The marauders fell to the ground, while the slaves next to them jumped up and shouted in panic.

“Calm down,” I called out to them. “We’re with the United States Army. We’re here to help you.”

Slowly, I slung the rifle around to my back and raised my hands in the air. I stepped into the light of the lantern, removed my goggles, and studied the men in front of me. They were all filthy, and what little clothing they had on was threadbare and falling apart. Their hair and beards were long and matted, and most of them bore bruises, cuts, and other marks of abuse. I thought back to Eric’s debrief, and the story of how he had spent more than a month amongst these men—starving, dehydrated, and enduring constant beatings and brutally hard labor. Not for the first time, looking at the evil that men do, I felt an ache in my chest.