Target Deck - 02 (53 page)

From the single shots ringing out across the industrial area, it sounded like someone had posted snipers up on the overpass on the other side of the warehouses. More mortar fire was raining down on a position somewhere on their left flank. Ignoring the distractions, they moved through the war zone until Deckard took a tactical pause at an intersection.

Two burnt out car hulks sat in the middle of the road, one of them with flames still flickering inside. Charred corpses were twisted around inside until they became unidentifiable from the rest of the wreckage, but the mercenaries did recognize the smell of burning flesh from previous battles. With no signs of immediate enemy presence, they made another road crossing, one man at a time while the others faced out and pulled security.

Along the main commercial ribbon, there was a residential area that Deckard guided the patrol through towards an open lot. The houses were small, single story affairs with windows barred up, hardly a single light shining through the windows. Many of the locals had fled the area long ago as the cartels heated up the plaza.

Taking a gulp of water from his Camelbak, Deckard took them through the open lot, skirted around a condominium complex, and across another open lot. It was slow going, but worth the effort. Five men, no matter how good, wouldn't last long against the kind of fire power rolling around Torreon on this night. The mercenaries crawled through a dump and dashed across another road, nearing the airfield.

Now they only had to cross three blocks to the airstrip beyond. Moving with his AK-103 at the ready, Deckard motioned for the mercenaries to push up alongside the houses on his right side where they disappeared into the shadows. As their leader took a knee, the other four men followed suit. In a few moments, they saw why Deckard had halted them. A half dozen cartel gunmen carrying American-made M-4 rifles were also out on patrol. They were well trained, maintaining noise and light discipline as they stalked through the neighborhood. The mercenaries waited several minutes after the enemy patrol passed before picking back up.

The airport was surrounded by a double barrier, a concrete wall and barbwire chain link fence. The bolt cutters would be awkward on the fence so Kurt Jager found some thick pieces of cardboard in the trash outside one of the homes. The concrete wall was easy to scale, but then they had to lay the cardboard over the barbwire and shim their way over one at a time. Pat took a knee next to the fence to allow the others to step off his upper leg and pull themselves over.

Inside the airport perimeter, the mercenary unit headed to the military base as several helicopters lifted off from the other side of the runway. Deckard looked at the twin lines of blue lights alongside the runway, the landing lights wavered and twinkled through the heat mirage coming off the tarmac.

This was how they fought, warfare on the margins. They were slipping through a conflict, a fight to get to the fight.

Finding an irrigation ditch, Deckard led the mercenaries down into it as he spotted guard towers looming in the distance, silhouetted against the dull glow of burning fires somewhere in the city. Getting down to the prone, the five infiltrators high crawled through the stinking mud and garbage. When they got within a couple hundred meters, he called Nikita forward.

The sniper extended the bipod legs on his HK 417 rifle and turned on the Universal Night Sight attached to the rail system in front of his ten power scope. They were not close enough for Nikita to use sub-sonic bullets, they would bleed velocity to the point of ineffectiveness by the time the rounds reached their targets. With the suppressor in place, the bullets would dump some velocity as it was, going from super-sonic to a trans-sonic snap as they left the barrel. With a full-fledged war raging in the city, no one would notice a couple suppressed shots.

An eight foot tall concrete wall with a couple rusty strands of barbwire ringed Militar No. 3 with large pre-fabricated circular guard towers facing outwards and spaced around the perimeter. They were the type used by American forces abroad. The concrete sections were poured and cured in country, then shipped out to Forward Operating Bases where each section would be stacked on top of one another with a crane. The modular tower system could then have a ladder placed inside that led to a platform at the top that included overhead cover.

Nikita settled into a slow, rhythmic breathing pattern. At the bottom of his breath, he squeezed the trigger. The 417 snapped and he quickly transitioned to the next target. The gun let out another snap and both of the tower guards facing in their direction had been eliminated.

Moving while crouched over, the mercenaries jogged towards the wall. This time it was Deckard that took a knee and helped each man hurtle over the wall. With the barbs on the barbwire only occurring every few feet, it was easy for them to use the wire as a handhold and avoid the sharp parts. With Pat sliding down the opposite side of the wall, Deckard kicked off the side of it, reached up to grab the wire, and then pulled himself over the top.

His joints were sore and stiff, the wound in his thigh burning with the strain, even if the pain was dulled by the pills he had been taking. He could use something stronger from the aid bag he carried, morphine for instance, but the opiates would affect his situational awareness. They were cutting corners as it was, with his senses at half capacity or worse he was sure to get them all killed.

Inside the military compound, they saw a few hangars, what looked like barracks, and some other outbuildings, but it was the warehouse that drew their attention. The mercenaries stayed behind a half empty water tank while they waited for a two man roving patrol to pass. Nikita made a hand signal to Deckard, asking if he should take them out.

Deckard shook his head.

Once the patrol has passed he looked over at the four mercenaries.

“Let's hit the warehouse. If they are really moving war material through this base that is where it is going to be stockpiled until they can have it driven down to AMIZ.”

Finding a row of palm trees, they used the shadows to disappear into and stay well away from any light sources until they came to the warehouse. Taking a knee, Deckard watched and listened, trying to figure out the best way inside. Across the airfield they could hear the thumping of another helicopter readying for takeoff.

The military base was adjacent to the civilian airport and it shared the same runway. A taxiway led from the runway and right into the military base where there was a hangar prepared to receive aircraft. The warehouse itself looked locked up but Deckard noticed that high up on the side of the brick wall were a series of windows that had been canted open for ventilation. An old two and a half ton truck collecting rust alongside the warehouse would help them gain access.

Hurrying across the open area, Deckard climbed up onto the hood, leveraging himself off one of the front tires. Once on the roof of the truck, he could reach up and grab the windowsill. Conducting a pullup, he took a quick look inside. The hot air blasted him in the face, but he instantly knew that he had found what they were looking for.

“This is it,” he hissed as the other mercenaries looked up at him.

With his AK slung over his shoulder, he pulled himself through the window and hung inside the warehouse. The heat accumulating inside was nearly enough to kill him on its own, the effect only exaggerated by the fact that he was wearing body armor and a helmet. An I-beam stuck out of the brick wall where it helped hold up the roof. Grasping the edges, Deckard straddled it with his feet and slid down to the ground. Pain shot up his leg when he hit the floor as he had aggravated his wound.

The warehouse was absolutely packed. Down the center were two rows of armored vehicles. Along the sides were crates stacked nearly to the ceiling in some cases. There was pallet after pallet packed with boxes of ammunition, each box containing at least two ammo cans of 7.62 or 5.56 bullets. Others looked to be eastern bloc ammunition, 7.62x39 AK-47 bullets and RPG rockets.

As his teammates slid down behind him, Deckard walked closer, examining crates with stenciled markings indicating that they contained
AT-4
Anti-Tank missile launchers.

“Damn,” Aghassi said. “I can't believe I'm seeing this.”

“I'm afraid I can,” Deckard said.

“These armored vehicles are straight out of Libya.”

“Are you sure?” Deckard said, turning to face him.

“Yeah, that is a Konkur,” he said pointing to a wheeled Armored Personnel Carrier.

“It looks like a
BRDM-2
,” Deckard added.

“It's a variant that was sold to Libya by the Russians. Look at the
BMP-1
vehicles,” he indicated the tracked vehicles. “They still have the Libyan military color scheme on them.”

“Are you positive?”

“Yeah, dude. I was on the receiving end of that 73 millimeter cannon more than once during the Libyan Civil War.”

Pat walked over to a metal tub and cut off the lock with his bolt cutters. Opening the lid, he pulled out a dusty AK-47.

“Look at this,” he said, holding the rifle out to them. “Check out the Arabic markings. This is an Iraqi Tabuk.”

Deckard slipped off his assault pack and handed the explosive charges to Pat.

“Wire this place to blow. There is enough live ammunition and explosives in this place to sympathetically detonate and render everything in the warehouse destroyed. Kurt, give him a hand and I will take the other two to find the base commander.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Kurt said with a smile.

“A combination of brand new American hardware and military hardware captured in the Middle East,” Deckard thought aloud. “What the hell is the point behind all of this?”

“They are just flooding the country with all the guns they can get their hands on,” Aghassi said.

“But who is
they
?” Kurt asked the six million dollar question.

46

Once outside, Deckard had an easy time locating the building that housed Militar No. 3's Commanding Officer. It was the only building with air conditioners sticking out of the windows. A single guard stood outside the door. Loading his magazine of sub-sonic ammunition, Nikita gifted the guard with a third eye. The only sound from the sniper rifle was the hammer striking the firing pin inside the gun.

The guard dropped to the ground like an empty jacket. Deckard moved to the door and used Kurt's Hooligan tool to pry between the door and the frame, creating a decent working space. Working the pry bar deeper and deeper, he managed to pop the lock right out of the frame and the door swung open. Setting the tool down, he shouldered his AK and stepped inside.

The first room was an office with a desk and computer sitting in the corner. The Mexican flag hung on the wall. The name card on the desk read that it belonged to General Gonzalez. Easing open the door to the second room, he found the General asleep in his boxer shorts, snoring while the air conditioner cycled cool air into the room.

Slapping the General in the face, Deckard rolled him out of bed and onto the floor. His pot belly broke his fall.

Nikita delivered a few kicks before Deckard and Aghassi grabbed him under the arms and helped him stumble through the door and into his office. Gonzalez hadn't even gotten a word out before they shoved him down into his swivel chair and put him in flexcuffs.

“W-what is the meaning of this?” The general stammered. The commanding officer of the only military base in town had been working on his beauty sleep while the city fell apart around him. To Deckard, it was a clear signal that the escalating war raging just outside the base's walls was all part of the plan.

“What's the meaning of enough American and Arab weapons to outfit an Army in that warehouse right next door?” Deckard answered his question with a question.

“Are you mad?” The General spoke reasonably good English. “You're American, we got all that shit from you guys. You told us to store it for you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Who are you?” the General demanded. “Military advisers that the Yankees sent down to work with the military? Listen, we both get our orders from the same people. Call down to OBI, they will fill you in. You are making a huge mistake here.”