It was early evening, and the light was fading. Nolan, Carl and Gracia had spent the past hours checking and rechecking the mechanical workings of the Soviet APC. They came to the gun, the big, heavy 14.5-millimeter KPV. It was mounted in a narrow turret, which allowed the gunner enough room to poke his head inside and use a variety of day and night vision devices to locate targets and shoot the gun. Aligned to the same firing mechanisms was the 7.62-millimeter PK machine gun, with the ammunition fed through a belt into the breach.
“If you wish, I will handle the machine guns,” Gracia said quietly. “I have had experience with both weapons. If there is a problem, it will be best for me to deal with it.”
“You used both these types in the FARC?” Nolan asked, interested. “The KPV seems heavy for a guerrilla unit.”
“We were equipped with a wide range of weaponry, including heavy machine guns. We used them mainly for anti-aircraft operations. The Colombian Air Force made frequent raids on our camps. Our KPVs were linked in a quadruple mount, and they were very effective.”
Carl winced. “I’ll bet the fuck they were.”
“But we also had missiles, Strela 3 man-portable systems. I brought down three aircraft with those.”
“Yeah, I’ll remember to stay on your good side,” Carl grimaced. “Hold tight, I’m going to run up the engines and just try running her around the courtyard. We don’t want to wait until they need us to find it doesn’t steer properly.”
He sat in the cramped driver’s position and fired up both the V8 engines. Gracia wormed inside the turret. There was a small seat that she could perch on and peer through the gunsights that surrounded the firing position. Nolan took the commander’s seat next to the driver. The deafening roar of the V8s quieted as they warmed up, and Carl reduced them to idling. Then he used the complicated gearing and clutch mechanisms to get the vehicle rolling. They maneuvered around the courtyard until Carl pronounced himself satisfied.
“She’ll get us to Copacabana and back, but Jesus this is one helluva pig to drive.”
“It’s a pig to ride in,” Nolan agreed. “I’d imagine the troops would be permanently sick riding in this thing over a battlefield.” He looked around as Gracia descended from the turret. “How did you get on with the firing position? Any problems?”
She shook her head. “Nothing I can’t handle. I was able to check the night vision devices. It is just about dark enough. They all work as they should. If we get into a battle, I will need you to help me with loading the belts onto the machine guns.”
“Yeah, I can do that. You’d better show me how it all works.”
“Here, climb up next to the breach of the main gun.”
He climbed up and was aware of the closeness of her, the earthy, raw scent of a fit, athletic young woman. A spicy tang, mixed with herbs, perspiration, and God alone knew what else. The end result was he found himself becoming aroused, and he had to control his breathing and his emotions to concentrate. Gracia showed him the ammunition lockers, the way the belts fitted into both guns, and how to join them together and clear a jam if one occurred. Finally, he couldn’t take any more.
“I think I’ve got it, but I need to go outside. The air is stuffy inside this thing.”
“Sure, I’ll come too,” she said cheerily. He groaned inside. It was the very distraction he could have done without. Yet he was male enough that he couldn’t argue.
“I’ll get something cold to drink. That’ll make you feel cooler,” she grinned. There was a sparkle in her eyes, and he realized this incredible girl knew exactly what kind of powerful effect she was having on him. The last thing he needed.
“You want a beer, Chief Nolan?”
“That’d be fine.”
She came back with three bottles of beer, and chill condensation had formed droplets on the glass. They called for Carl to come out, and the three of them sat enjoying the coolness of the beer and the night chill that was beginning to set in. They looked up as Talley came over to them.
“The men are all ready. Jorge found enough civilian kit for them to change into.”
“What about us?” Nolan asked. “You want us to change?”
Talley grinned. “They see you coming in that thing, and it’ll take more than a flowery shirt to convince them you’re not military. No, you may as well keep your kit on. Besides, the flak vest may be useful if a firefight develops, and that’s likely to happen. Stay inside of here until you hear us call on the commo net. Then come like a bat out of hell. You’re designated Bravo Four. Vince is Bravo Two.” The unit sniper, of course, and he’d be busy this night. “And we patched the Colombians through to the same net, designated Bravo Three.”
“I’ve got it. We’ll be there.”
He nodded to Gracia and walked back to the men. The Colombians had already started slipping out in small groups through a narrow side gate.
They sat around waiting. Jorge joined them and fiddled with an adjustment on the idling of one of the V8 engines so that they were perfect, or so he said. Nolan couldn’t hear any difference and supposed it was just nerves. From time to time, he heard his comrades on the commo, whispered orders, and reports.
“Bravo Two, this is Bravo One, watch that building on your right. We just saw a possible sniper looking out the window.”
“Roger that, One, I’ll take him out now.” It was Vince Merano’s voice.
“Copy that, Two. Keep it quiet. They don’t know we’re here yet.”
A patch of silence, and they looked at each other and then around the courtyard. They were sat on top of the hull, ready to go into action at a moment’s notice, but at least it was cooler. Inside the BTR it was like a furnace. Another burst of static.
“Bravo three, this is One. Is your perimeter ready? Make sure no one comes in or out, Raoul.”
“This is Three. Perimeter is ready, and we have the place buttoned up tight.”
“Copy that.”
“All units, this is One. We’re going in.”
Then all they could do was wait. The Seals, with their night vision and sound suppressed weapons, had a chance of killing the guards and spiriting away Castro’s family before the Salazar soldiers even knew they were there. Nolan fervently hoped it would go down that way. If not, well, a pitched battle with well-armed narco traffickers with nothing to lose could be very, very bloody, and there were a lot of civilians in this equation. It wasn’t to be. Even at a distance of several miles, sound carries a long way at night. They heard the distinctive sound of an assault rifle puncturing the still night with its staccato sound. Someone had emptied a full clip, one of the Salazars. So the battle had started.
“Bravo Four, this is One.”
Nolan keyed the mic. “This is Four.”
“Come and get us, Chief. We’re inside a factory compound in the street behind the market. Raoul's men are defending the gate. It’s the only place of its type, and we have gunfire all around us, so you shouldn’t have any problems finding us.”
“Copy that, One. We’re on our way.”
He was about to shout, ‘go!’ to Carl Winters, but Carl had listened to the call, and the two big V8s were already revving hard. Then he slammed down on the gas and Nolan and Gracia had to stop themselves from being thrown against the steel hull. The APC arrowed straight for the gates, but Jorge was ready, and they were already opening. The armored behemoth surged out onto the streets of Bello, and Gracia started shouting directions, picking up her bearings from the sights inside the turret.
“Left, next left. No, not that one, I meant right.”
The eight-wheeler heeled over hard and took out part of a storefront as it lifted up on the suspension, Carl grimly steering it in the new direction. He flicked a glance over at Nolan, who grinned.
Women! Did any of them know their right from their left?
“Keep along this road. It’s about four miles, then take the right fork.”
“You sure this time, Ma’am,” Carl shouted up at her over the roaring of the motors.
“Yes I am fucking sure, soldier. I made a slight mistake back there, that’s all.”
“Yeah, let’s hope that store owner sees it like that. Right fork it is.”
They hammered along through the night. Twice they met oncoming vehicles in the road; big, old American trucks, with the local lowlifes high on Tequila and cocaine, returning with their dates for a fumble on the back seat. Both Colombian drivers saw their lights and tried to play chicken, until they saw what was bearing down on them. Both times, the trucks wound up pushed into the long ditch that ran along the side of the tarmac.
“It’s a local game,” Gracia explained. “They like to show how macho they are to their girlfriends.”
“Not this time they didn’t,” Carl said happily.
Talley’s voice came over the commo. “Bravo One for Four, how close are you, Chief?”
He shouted so the girl could hear. “What’s our ETA, Gracia?”
“Five minutes, no more.”
He relayed it on to Talley.
“We can hold out for that long, Chief, but we’re in a heavy firefight here. We grabbed the woman and the boy, and then the Salazars’ soldiers came pouring out of the woodwork. We’re facing upwards of two hundred of them here, and they’re heavily armed.”
“What about a Reaper strike, Boss? That’d do the trick.”
“It would, yes. But we’re in the middle of a civilian area, lots of private housing and apartment blocks. The bastards are very clever, and they’ve set the place up to be almost impregnable, without killing a pile of civilians. The last thing they want back in Washington is an international incident. Besides, killing civilians is not on my agenda. You’ll need to take them down strongpoint by strongpoint. When you get here, you can lead us out and we’ll follow. I reckon that heavy machine gun will keep their heads down for a time.”
“Copy that, we’re making full speed.”
“Acknowledged, they’ll open the gates when they see you coming. And keep it buttoned up, the place is like a hornets’ nest since they found out we were here, and they started shooting.”
“Copy that.”
They were driving into the main street of Copacabana now, and already shots were ‘pinging’ off the hull. Gracia’s voice came down from the turret.
“I see snipers’ positions, Chief Nolan. What do you want me to do?”
“Take ’em out, Gracia.”
Scarcely had he shouted the reply than the inside of the BTR-70 echoed to the cacophony of the two machine guns, the 14.5 mm main gun and the co-axial 7.62. He peered through the commander’s periscope and adjusted it to see the area they’d just past. Their gunfire was devastating, taking great chips and lumps of brick and rock out of the front of the houses that were sniper positions on the street. The fire on their steel hull slackened as they raced along. Gracia alternated between shouting orders and firing the turret mounted machine guns.
“Left, yes, here, Carl. It’s a tight turn, yes. Oh, you just knocked down half the front of their house. The guy that lives there is a Salazar soldier, so I wouldn’t worry.”
“I won’t,” was Carl’s laconic reply as he wrestled with the controls.
“The street you need is a third of a mile along this road. Wait!”
The din of the machine guns assaulted their eardrums as the hull became like the inside of a boiler being hammered by a score of blacksmiths. This time they heard screams as the hail of lead smashed into the defenders.
“As I was saying, about a third of a mile, take a right turn just before the used car lot. It’s coming up now. That’s it, yes, right here. Oh, Paco will be unhappy. You just took away the front of his special offer of the month.”
“He’ll find another.”
Carl swerved to the right, and in front of them, they could plainly see the factory compound where Talley and the rest of the troops were holed up with Castro’s family. The place was under siege, and gun flashes could be plainly seen coming from firing positions all around the high brick wall guarding the building.
“Take it slow,” Nolan ordered. “We need to weaken their forces as much as possible, so the more we kill now, the easier it’ll be to get out. Gracia, take out as many of the attackers as you see.”
“Chief Nolan, I need you to load. The last belt just went through the gun.”
“Okay, I’ll be right there. Carl, stop here. We need to knock out a few of these gunners before we drive the last few yards.”
He ripped of his night vision goggles and climbed out of his seat, conscious that the guns had ceased firing, and the incoming fire had intensified. Up in the turret, there was barely room for one, let alone two. They were close to each other, very close, and kept bumping heads as Nolan worked rapidly to change the belts, linking the new one to the empty belts so that the guns would fire again. Bullets kept clanging against the turret, only inches from his head, and he thanked his stars for the Soviet built armor, almost half an inch thick, that protected them. In the dim light of the turret, he could see the warlike gleam in her eyes, and the brilliant white of her teeth as she pulled her lips back in a half snarl. And the smell of her now, it was so overpowering. She’d been sweating in the enclosed heat of the BTR-70 and the fierce battle she’d been waging against the Salazar soldiers. The thick, deep scent of musk, combined with a spicy, floral odor, perhaps her perfume, to make a heady mixture. He was almost done when both their heads turned at the same time to face each other. It had never occurred to him that his male scent might be having the same effect on her, yet she was clearly as aroused as he was. They leaned slightly forward, their lips just about touched, the faintest brush.
“Later,” she said hoarsely.
“Yes, later,” he replied, just as hoarsely. Then she was firing again, and he squirmed out of the turret, donned his night vision goggles, and sat back in the commander’s seat.
“Okay, Carl, take it slow, and ease her into the factory yard.”
Carl nodded and engaged the gears. The huge V8 engines throbbed, and the ungainly vehicle lurched forward again. Nolan keyed the commo.
“Bravo One, this is Four, we’re right outside.”
“We see you, Bravo Four. Opening the gates now.”
The double gates slowly swung open, and Carl drove through into a scene of indescribable carnage.
Nolan climbed up through the hatch and onto the hull. Talley ran across to him. Sniper fire was still coming into the compound, and both men ducked behind the hull. As they leaned forward to talk, they heard Gracia using the turret gun to take on the snipers.
“Thank Christ for the APC,” Talley said. “We got in here without any of them knowing we’d arrived, but there were literally hundreds of them. The moment one stumbled into us, he shouted the alarm, and this firefight started.”
“Are the hostages safe?”
“Yeah, as I said, we got them out okay, and they’re inside the factory building. Raoul is with them.”
Nolan looked around the factory yard. There were dozens of bodies lying on the ground.
“He should be out here, directing his men.”
Talley just shrugged. “The ones on the ground are not ours. The whole platoon came through without a scratch. Half of them are Salazar’s people, and the rest are Castro’s Colombians.”
“Yeah, without him, the rest will be demoralized. Can you get him out here, Boss?”
Talley nodded. “Sure, I’ll go get him, then form up the convoy to go out. You’ll be leading us with the APC. The machine gun trucks can go at the back and in the center. The rest will be strung out in between.”
Nolan nodded. “It’s a plan. They’ll be keeping their heads down after the hosing that Gracia’s giving them. We can wrap this up and go to the next stage of the operation.”
Talley looked back at him, his face grim. “There’s another complication. Raoul interrogated a couple of Salazar’s people. Jacks is running out of time.”
“How long has he got? What’re they planning?”
“We’ll talk when we get back, but it’s not looking good. I’ll round ‘em up, and we can get out of here. How’s the ammunition in the BTR?”
“It’s okay. We have enough to see us out of here. When we get back, we need to ask Jorge if he has any supplies stashed. That is, if we need this beast again.”
“Okay, lock and load, and I’ll get the rest of them moving.”
Nolan climbed aboard the BTR-70, and immediately he started to sweat again as the clammy heat enfolded him. The interior stank of oil, gas, gunpowder residues and most of all, the strong, musky scent of woman, of Gracia. She was checking the alignment of the feed belts for the heavy machine gun. She looked out and smiled as he came near.
“How long before we leave?”
“A few minutes. How’s that gun, any problems?”
She shook her head. “Not really, no. This Soviet equipment needs more maintenance than American weapons, so I was just running through the standard checks. It’s all loaded and ready to go. We have over four hundred rounds of 14.5 millimeter and almost a thousand rounds of 7.62, so that’s plenty to fight our way out of here.”
“Is there anything I can do?” he asked her.
She gave him a searching gaze. “Not right now, no, Chief Nolan, but if the guns have problems, I’ll shout for you to come up and help fix it. Otherwise, I’m ready.”
They’d moved closer so that their faces were only six inches apart. They stared into each other’s eyes, and Nolan felt her looking inside his soul. They rocked together slightly, and then they were kissing. Their arms went around each other, and they held their bodies close.
“If we get out of here,” Nolan breathed when they pulled slightly apart. “I’ll…”
“Ahem.” They whirled as Carl Winters cleared his throat. “I thought I’d come aboard and start up. Or do you want me to…”
“We’re fine, Carl. Get this beast rolling.”
He gave her a last look and then climbed down and into the commander’s seat.
“How’s it all looking?” he asked Carl.
“All good, Chief. I dipped the fuel tank. The gage isn’t working, but we’ve got more than enough to take us back to Bello. Engines are running well, so we’re ready to move out. You okay, I mean, you know?”
Carl looked at him in a mischievous way. Nolan returned the stare. “I’m fine, Carl. But I’ll feel better when this one is over and we can go home. This one is turning real messy.”
“Don’t they always?” he grinned. Nolan realized that Carl was actually enjoying himself. Maybe that was to be expected when you were driving an armored antique. Carl had always had an affinity for all things mechanical.
He’ll soon change his tune if the Salazars bring out any missiles, he reflected soberly. I’d better warn Gracia.
He climbed back to the turret and mentioned the possibility of shoulder-launched rockets.
“I am well aware of the dangers of MANPADS, Chief Nolan. I shall keep alert.”
“Yeah, that’s good.”
He climbed through the top hatch and onto the hull. The convoy had assembled and looked ready to go. Talley was in the center truck, standing next to the gunner manning the M60. He waved to Nolan, and the Chief heard his voice through his earpiece.
“We’re ready to go. Raoul has two of his men on the gate. As soon as we start rolling, they’ll open up, and jump on the nearest truck.”
“Copy that. We’re ready to pour it on as soon as we get out there.”
“You’ll need to. I downlinked a map just now from the UAV they have over our heads. Infrared shows trucks loaded with men still arriving. It’s going to be a close run thing.”
“Are the Colombians up to it, you think?”
“They’re Special Forces, so they should be,” Talley replied.
“We are ready,” a new voice came on the net. Captain Raoul Castro. “We have fought our way in here to save my family, and I will not fail them now. These animals will be beaten, have no fear, Chief Nolan. My men will play their part.”
“Yeah, I hear you, Captain. Boss, we’re ready to roll.”
Talley’s voice came over loud and clear. “Head ‘em up. Move ‘em out!”
The net was alive with laughter. The trail boss’ traditional shout from the old TV series ‘Rawhide’, that started Clint Eastwood on his movie career.
“I’m on it,” Carl shouted across to him over the roar of the engines.
He slammed his foot down on the twin throttles, and the heavy APC lurched forward. Nolan watched through the open viewport to see the gates already beginning to open. A few rounds struck the more heavily armored front of the BTR, and then they nosed through into the open street. It was time to run the gauntlet of Copacabana.
They made a sharp turn and headed towards the main street that led out of town. The firing increased, and the steel hull echoed to the jackhammer sound of the heavy machine gun as Gracia went into action. She fired in short, controlled bursts, the mark of a trained machine gunner. Outside, Nolan could hear the cries of the besiegers as her bullets started to find their mark, but there were a lot of them, too many of them. He could hear the shouts over the net.
“One of the Colombian trucks got hit, and they must have got the driver. He’s swerved out of position.”
“Watch out, there’s one up there, he’s aarrhgh!”
“Vince, on your three o’clock, at a window twenty feet up. He’s killing Castro’s men.”
Nolan was a sniper. It was his skill, his trade, and the specialty that set him apart from other men. Hearing Vince’s sniper skills being called into action jolted him into action. He leaned across so Carl could hear him.
“I’m going on the hull to take out some of these shooters. There’re too many of them.”
Carl nodded. “Stay low, Chief. You can shoot from out of the hatch, and it’ll give you some protection.”
Nolan nodded, grabbed his SWS sniper rifle, and unfastened the hatch. Gracia popped her head down from the turret to see what he was doing.
“Chief Nolan, no, the gunfire is too heavy!”
“That’s why I’m going out there, Gracia. Besides, the trucks behind haven’t got an armored hull. They have to take their chances. I’ll shoot from behind the steel hatch.”
Before she could answer, he clambered up through the hatch and wedged himself so that he could shoot over the top of the open lid.
The first target came into view, the window of a third floor apartment. Four Colombians were leaning out shooting; three with assault rifles and one with a large pistol. Nolan sighted on the man with the pistol who could be their leader, and fired, four shots, four hits, despite the movement of the APC. This was no time for double taps, and no time for making sure. Just shoot the enemy as fast as possible and move on. He sighted on another shooter crouched behind a car parked in the street. The car offered visual cover only, as it was not armor plated. The man ducked down. Nolan estimated his position and fired through the car doors. His 7.62-millimeter bullet smashed through the thin metal, and the man shrieked as he was thrown backward by the shot. Another man ran out of a nearby apartment block to pick up his rifle, and Nolan shot him even before he’d got back into cover. The noise was deafening, Gracia’s 14.5 millimeter and 7.62 millimeter machine guns firing quick, short bursts. The two M60s, also firing disciplined bursts, interspersed by the HK416s of the Seals and the Heckler & Koch G36 5.56 millimeters of the Colombian Special Forces. Firing back was an assortment of weapons from the Salazars’ soldiers. American M-16s, Soviet made AK-47s, and just about every rifle and pistol that had ever fallen into the hands of the traffickers. Nolan felt a tug on his jacket as a slug narrowly missed him, then a bullet hit him fully in the chest. Despite his flak jacket, he was thrown back to hit his head against a steel stanchion fitted to the deck of the APC.
“Chief Nolan! Are you okay?”
It was Gracia. She’d stopped firing when she saw him hit.
“I’m fine, don’t stop firing. We have to get out of here.”
“Driver, take the next lane on the left. It will lead us out to the main highway that will take us back to Bello,” she shouted. Then she started firing again.
Carl swerved into the narrow lane, barely wide enough for the Soviet armor, and he accelerated down the street, squashing flowerpots and bicycles that were leaning against the sides of the apartment block. But there were no shooters, and they were almost clear. A man ran into the road ahead of them, and Nolan shouted a warning.
“Missile, dead ahead. Someone take him!”
The man had the missile pointed at the armored car, ready to shoot. He must have had his finger on the trigger when Gracia hit him with a long, concentrated burst from the two machine guns. The man was thrown back as if hit by a truck; his missile launched and soared harmlessly into the sky to land in the distant jungle. Nolan felt the bump as they rode over his bullet riddled body, then Carl swerved onto the main highway, and they were heading back to Bello.
Nolan watched the vehicles as they turned out onto the main highway. As far as he could tell, they’d all made it. No, one was missing. He’d heard an explosion and burst of heavy gunfire seconds before they made the turn, someone had been ambushed by the Salazars. He keyed his mic.
“Bravo One, this is Four. How are we doing, Boss?”
“Our platoon got out okay, but Castro’s men lost a truck, about fifteen men aboard.”
“Any chance of survivors?”
“None. There was another missile shooter. He was in that street just before we turned into the lane. It was a direct hit on the cab, and when the truck was brought to a stop, the rest of them set on it like a pack of wolves.”
They were both silent for long minutes as the convoy raced away from Copacabana towards Bello. Then there was a series of enormous explosions back in the town.
“What the hell was that?” Carl asked on the net. “What are they doing back there?”
“It’s what we’re doing, PO. The downlinked images showed them forming up inside that factory compound we left. I guess they were checking to see that we’d all gone, and they were forming up a small force to come after us. I called in a Reaper strike, and what you just heard was the sound of a barrage of Hellfire missiles.”
Nolan watched the flames leaping up from the place they had just left. The whole town seemed to be on fire; an illusion caused by the leaping flames of exploded and burning fuel tanks that backlit the town.
“That’ll slow ‘em down a piece,” Carl grinned happily, as he relaxed on the smooth, tarmac road.
They drove straight to Jorge’s yard and parked inside. He slammed the gates shut. On the way, they’d noticed the town of Bello was silent, dark and shuttered. The inhabitants had heard the shooting and explosions. They could hardly have missed them. But it was someone else’s business, not theirs. These were survivors of a deadly conflict; the drug wars that held way over the lives of millions in the South American sub-continent. These people knew when to keep their heads down. Not a soul had stirred as they had made their way along deserted streets.
“What’s the deal with the Admiral?” Nolan asked Talley when they’d dismounted.
“Call the men around, Chief. I want you all to hear this.”
They gathered in a horseshoe in the center of the courtyard, the Navy Seals and the survivors of the Colombian Special Forces. Castro’s men had lost a total of eighteen dead, with a few minor wounds to the rest. As for the Seals, they were almost unscathed, just a few scratches and flesh wounds. Talley stood with Castro at the head of the horseshoe so that each man could see and hear what they had to say.
“It’s not over,” Talley began. “We embarked on this rescue operation to free Captain Castro’s family. That would enable him to ally his forces with us, and using his local knowledge, free Admiral Jacks and complete out mission. We’re a long way from doing that. We’ve hit the Salazars hard, and they’re hurting but not hard enough. But the problem is this. The two Salazar soldiers we interrogated both told the same story. Admiral Jacks is to be executed tonight. They’re using a video camera to broadcast the execution and send it out on prime time television.”
“We need to get in there and get him out,” Nolan said quickly. “That just can’t be allowed to happen.”
“Yeah, agreed,” Talley replied. “But after this ruckus, they’ll be waiting for us to do just that. And the second they think we’re getting near, the Admiral’s dead. They’ll slaughter him out of hand. It may be there’s nothing we can do to save him.”