Massachusetts. I gave her a call, and my friends brought over a few working prototypes.”
Dirk considered that and how quickly it had come about. “Jesus, you really can make the magic happen.”
“I’m a helper,” Bolan agreed. “I’m here to help.”
Dirk snorted in bemusement, and then Bolan and Bravo troop waited long minutes. The commando spoke quietly. “The Man wants blood for blood, doesn’t he?”
“From what I understand, favors are being called in. More than favors—the U.S. is giving markers to people we’d normally never get in bed with,” Bolan said.
“Except that no one gets to ice eighteen Rangers and walk away,” Dirk stated.
“No, the Rangers get payback. No one is walking away. The President wrote a blank check to get a line on these caves, and he wants to see people in bags for his money.”
Schwarz’s voice came across the link. “Striker, this is Strike Eagle. The Eaglets have landed. We have solid returns from One and Two. Eaglet Three must have landed wrong. We are mapping. You should be able to pull it up.”
“Copy that, Strike Eagle.” Bolan pulled out a small handheld device and watched as the screen filled with radar patterns. Bolan examined the screen. “We’ve got one main entrance that leads in and up about fifteen yards and opens up into a large chamber. By shape it’s a natural cave, about thirty yards by forty. Two tunnels branch off, one straight back and another off to the left, each about ten yards. They’re straight and level, cut by machines, and each leads to another chamber. The chambers are symmetrical, and again, man-made. One appears to be filled with a number of large, symmetrical objects. The two chambers both have a tunnel coming out of them and meet in a fifth chamber. Basically, the complex is a rough hexagon, each chamber connected by a tunnel.”
Dirk stared at what appeared on the screen to be little more than blobs and streaks. “If you say so.”
Bolan pulled out a stylus, traced the diagram and killed the flashes of the radar pulses behind it, leaving five circles each connected by a line. “That’s your map. I’m sending it to the PDA of each man in the troop.” Bolan pressed Send and a few seconds later each man in Bravo troop signaled he had the map.
“God…damn,” Dirk opined.
“I told you the President was writing a blank check on this one.”
“Then by all means, let’s give the man his money’s worth.” Dirk spoke into his tactical radio. “All units. Start moving in.”
Bolan and Bravo troop began moving through the rocks. Delta Force always had access to the best toys, and Bolan had been given the keys to the candy store. Each man in the reinforced squad was equipped with a SCAR rifle chambered for the Russian 7.62 mm round. It was ballistically comparable to the old Winchester .30-30, but Bolan had no complaints about that. Some people thought the U.S. .223 was too light and didn’t have enough stopping power. Others thought the other major U.S. military small-arms round, the .308, was too heavy and had too much recoil. The 7.62 mm was the porridge the Russian Bear had chosen, and her soldiers had collectively wept when they’d abandoned it to try to emulate the Americans.
These rifles were firing heavy subsonic bullets and had suppressor tubes fitted over their muzzles.
Bravo troop was as silent as wolves running through fog.
Corporal Sawyer’s voice came across the link. “I got two sentries by the entrance to the cave beneath camouflaged shelters.”
“You got a line of fire?”
“Affirmative.”
“Take ’em,” Dirk ordered.
Bolan was close enough to Sawyer to hear the action of his automatic rifle click twice and two spent pieces of brass tinkle to the ground. At the cave mouth, nothing seemed to happen save that an arm flopped out from what appeared to be solid rock.
“Sentries down,” Sawyer said.
“Move in,” Dirk ordered. “By the numbers.”
“Mind if I take point?”
“Oh, by all means, please.” Dirk waved Bolan forward expansively. “I’m sure Sawyer would love the company.”
Dirk spoke into his radio. “Sawyer, wait on Striker.”
“Copy that.”
Bolan moved forward to Sawyer’s position. “Corporal.”
“Nice to see you up front, Coop. In my experience, civilians tend to lead from the back.”
Bolan scanned the entrance. From Sawyer’s angle, the Executioner could see that the rocks overhanging the cave mouth were really awnings, blankets stiffened with clay and dirt and stretched across stick frames so that they looked like rock formations. It was an old trick and a good one.
“You ready to step into the funhouse, Sunshine?”
“After you.”
They moved to the mouth of the cave. Beneath the camouflaged awning, two men in local dress lay facedown with a single bullet hole through their heads. “We’re in, Bravo. Come ahead.”
Bolan and Sawyer moved down the tunnel. Bolan ran a hand along the wall. It was rough and appeared to have been recently widened. It was wide enough to drive a jeep through. Bolan knelt and found tire tracks in dirt among the many footprints. “Bravo Leader, this is Striker. Be advised there has been vehicle traffic in the complex. At least jeep size.”
“Copy that, Striker,” Dirk replied. “We’re coming in.”
Dirk left a team outside watching their six, and the rest entered. Bolan and Sawyer crept down the tunnel. Both men held up their fists for “Halt” and crouched at the entrance to a large chamber. There were about fifty men in the cave, and several fires burned. Many were asleep. Others crouched in small circles drinking tea and talking or running rags over their rifles.
Sawyer shoved up his goggles. “Well, I count fifty, and the map says there are four more caves.”
“Most of them are sleeping.”
“Well, how you wanna wake ’em up?”
Bolan reached into his gear bag, pulled out four grenades and handed a pair of them to Sawyer.
Sawyer stared at them. “Frags?”
“Stingballs. Each one holds several dozen hard rubber buckshot pellets.”
Sawyer scowled. “Okay, that will probably wake them up, but then—”
Bolan pulled out a couple of Claymores.
Sawyer frowned. “Claymores? I thought you said you wanted prisoners.”
“Stingmores. These contain hundreds of rubber buckshot pellets.”
Sawyer grinned. “I think I saw this in a movie.”
The
