One Minute to Midnight (Black Ops: Automatik) (17 page)

Ben fired a quick burst as they retreated. The man fell dead, and his companion dove to cover behind a stack of crates opposite the one they’d sabotaged.

He shouted out the front door, “In here! They’re in here!”

The man wasn’t going to try and stop them himself, giving more time for retreat. She paused and aimed her assault rifle down the aisle and let a single bullet loose. It struck one of the empty shell casings on the ground and created a spark that ignited the gunpowder around the pallet.

White flames burst and hissed in thick lines. The wood pallet immediately caught fire. Smoke poured up and the boxes of ammunition started singeing. The other security guards who arrived at the door staggered back when they saw the burning mass.

The delay covered more of her and Ben’s escape. Moving with the Barrett slowed her down, but she still managed to climb Ben to get up the wall to the window. She helped haul him up, then they both hit the ground on the other side.

Explosive pops shot through the inside of the warehouse. The fire had grown hot enough to set off the ammunition. Metallic bangs ricocheted in the large space, followed by frantic yelling from the security men. A fire alarm went off.

With their back to the exterior wall, they had a decision. To their right was the town. Left, across more sprawling train tracks, a wide swamp stretched into obscurity beneath thick trees.

Ben tipped his head that way. “Let’s get wet.”

It was the only choice. “Town’s too dangerous.”

They started running. Ben’s powerful body handled all the weight of his weapons. “I’d rather take my chances with the cottonmouths than those fucking mercs.”

Several security men from the loading area came around the side of the warehouse. Rifle shots crackled, and bullets whizzed past them. Adrenaline flashed in her legs as she charged toward safety. She and Ben ran in jagged lines, never presenting a steady target. The train tracks were set on high mounds of gravel, and the ditches provided good cover. When they reached the bottom of one, she grabbed Ben’s sleeve and pointed him down the ditch, where they’d be able to move undetected. He hurried with her, then they both turned up the far side, exposing themselves for a split second before they slid down a mossy embankment toward the swamp.

Errant rifle fire chased them and punched through high leaves. The spongy ground stank of rotted foliage with each step. She and Ben stayed to the edge of the green water and found a relatively firm trail that pierced farther into the swamp. Trees gathered around them and the air grew colder with the damp. The flat light transformed, as if they were viewing the world from inside a green glass bottle.

The gunshots halted behind them, replaced by running footsteps. At least eight men pursued them into the swamp. Her and Ben’s feet started to splash in shallow water. Their high path had disappeared into a broad plateau. They veered right into thicker foliage. Ben motioned them behind a dense thicket, where they halted and prepared for an ambush.

They were too close for the Barrett. She leaned it against the tangle of branches and readied her assault rifle. Silent hand gestures between them indicated which sectors they’d cover, who’d shoot first, then which way they were going to retreat after firing.

The swamp fell quiet. Bubbles gurgled in the shallows, and leaves conspired with brittle voices in a light breeze. She heard her breath, and Ben’s. The rough of his thumb made a faint rasp against the grip of his assault rifle.

Clumsy splashing announced the coming security men. They slowed as they got into denser foliage. Flashes of tan canvas and denim coats appeared through the leaves. Two men led in a crouch, their weapons ready. But unaware they were being watched. The man in Mary’s sector scanned ahead, and the barrel of his weapon swept toward her.

She fired a single shot that sent the man backward into the shallow water. Ben’s round streaked just after hers, finding the other security man and knocking him to the ground next to a jagged tree stump.

The other security guards couldn’t be seen, but their guns opened up in a frantic answer to her and Ben’s deadly precision. Foliage chopped apart around them. They ran to the arranged exit route, where the trees absorbed the bullets.

Soft dirt and shallow water made it feel like she was running in slow motion. Not to mention the weapons that weighed her down. But she’d trained for years under all kinds of conditions and had fought real wars through sand and mud and snow. Ben didn’t show any signs of giving up, either. He glanced behind them as they escaped and held up five fingers, then one more. The security men weren’t quitting.

Her and Ben’s progress through the swamp made too much noise for her to pick out the sound of their pursuers. If the men were smart, they’d spread out in a line that could march forward to contain, then kill. But they weren’t smart. Real intelligence would’ve had them running as far out of range from her as possible.

Water splashed shin deep, then to Mary’s knees. They wove through the straight trees spiking up from the swamp. About twenty yards ahead, a cluster of shattered stumps would make perfect cover. She pointed Ben toward it.

Gunfire cracked. A bullet pierced the moss ten feet at her right. Rib-high water churned as she powered forward to the cover. More bullets skipped past or sent bark flying from nearby trees.

Ben turned and sent suppressing fire back at their pursuers while she continued to charge for the stumps. She made it to a thick trunk and set up with her assault rifle braced against the soft wood. The security guards showed themselves in a haphazard group, eighty yards away. They shot and ran, giving the rounds little chance of hitting targets. But Ben was still exposed. She had to tip luck to their side.

She fired a burst at the men. One of them spun to the side, hit in the hip. The others dove for cover. Ben half ran, half swam to the stumps with Mary and set up his own rifle.

The low winter sun sank to the west and dimmed the swamp around them. Shadows stretched long and slithered on inky water. A fat spider crawled along a crack in the trunk next to her. In a few minutes, there would be no light to see the spider.

Ben whispered, “Think they’re patient?”

“They’re not paid to wait,” she answered.

“Fuck.” Ben cocked his head, listening. “Clock’s ticking for all of us.”

Semi trucks rumbled in the distance to the west. A lot of them. The ones that had been staged at the state park were streaming into the rail yard. Even with the improvised sabotage she and Ben had left behind, there would still be enough cargo to move. They were doing it now, before the Automatik strike team could show up. And while she and Ben were pinned down in the swamp.

Chapter Seventeen

They couldn’t afford a long standoff in the swamp while the guns bled out into the country on trucks and trains. Ben’s mind spun through tactical scenarios that might end this encounter so they could get back into town where the real problem was. The sun was setting, but he didn’t want to wait until nightfall to try a flanking maneuver on the security men. The swamp slowed movement down too much. He needed something fast.

“Can you spare a round from the Barrett?” He kept his voice down, knowing sound traveled better over water.

Mary kept her eyes on the stand of trees where the men had taken cover. “You got it. What’s the plan?”

“You see that skinny tree leaning to the left?” The late light turned the wood ghostly pale.

“Yeah.”

“The tree it’s touching, I want you to put a hot one through its trunk, two feet from the water line.” He stared down the sights of his assault rifle. “I’ll sweep.”

“One buzz saw coming up.” Water rippled around her as she switched from her rifle to the Barrett. “Ready?”

“On you.” His finger rested on the trigger.

The sniper rifle boomed, and the empty shell casing ejected and sizzled in the water near Ben. Birds scattered in thick clouds. The tree trunk shattered exactly where he’d wanted. It was completely severed and tipped to one side. The other tree leaning on it also fell.

The security men fled from cover. Ben released quick bursts, and men fell. Mary’s rifle cracked again, and the bullet streaked through two security men at once. They flew back into the water and their weapons spun in the air.

Mary’s shot echoed through the swamp like an angry god. The psychological impact was as great as the bullet’s. The remaining three men turned and ran, helping the man who’d been hit in the hip on the way. They all splashed clumsily, leaving a clear path and obviously not caring about stealth.

Ben and Mary let them go. Pursuit would just prolong their time in the swamp and wouldn’t get them closer to stopping the gunrunners. After testing the silence in the swamp, he pointed a suggested route to the southwest.

She nodded and added, “I need a high vantage to stop those trucks.”

The tallest building in town. “The hotel.”

They made slow progress through the swamp to the south. The water reached higher and higher on them. Mary held her sniper rifle over her head to keep the parts clean. He knew his assault rifle and submachine gun would be fouled by the sludge and moss, but should still fire well enough to get him through the night. The stolen guns would be destroyed after they took care of Daily and Pulaski and their operation.

The ground grew more solid under their feet as they headed west toward the edge of the swamp. But they maintained a careful pace, pausing every few yards to assess their surroundings. The sun sank in the distance. Gloomy foliage massed around them.

His jeans were soaked and frigid, shoes flooded and heavy. Cold night came on strong. In the dim light, Mary’s face revealed no weakness, only focus. The physical discomfort and the reeking swamp were easily ignored when he took in how badass she was. They paused at a stand of trees, ten yards from dry ground.

He kept his voice no louder than the high leaves rustling in the cutting breeze. “You make this look good.”

A small smile cracked through. “I’ll bet you say that to all the operators you go into battle with.”

“Just the beautiful ones with .50 rifles and titanium nerves.” He bumped his shoulder against hers, and she pressed against him a moment.

They broke their cover and progressed to the edge of the swamp. Firm dirt and the night’s cover made for faster travel. Streetlights glowed in town, and the sound of trucks continued in the distance. The two of them crossed several sets of train tracks.

He asked, “You have any C4 in your purse?”

“I wish.” She kicked one of the steel rails.

Sabotaging the tracks would’ve given him huge peace of mind. But if they wanted to stop the flow of loaded trains from the yard, they’d have to do it manually.

They reached the first road at the edge of town. Several low buildings housed auto mechanics, tire shops and other light industrial works. They were all quiet and closed, even though normal business hours would’ve had them open.

Ben muttered, “Morris Flats belongs to Kit Daily.”

Mary added, “Not for long.” She hefted her Barrett and hustled across the street to the corner of a building. He joined her there, and they scanned ahead. The hotel was approximately one kilometer away. The roaming police cars were smart enough now to keep their sirens and lights off. Private security men could still be out on foot.

The immediate path forward was clear, and they moved to the front edge of the building. One block away, a police car crept through an intersection. As soon as it cleared, Ben and Mary sped over the street and took cover behind a cyclone fence laced with wooden slats. The police car continued to move away, clearing space for them to proceed toward the hotel.

On the next block, Ben spotted two armed security men patrolling on foot. Their weapons were held against their chests, barrels down. Not ready at all. Mary saw them as well and shook her head. They both knew engaging them would only draw attention, even if they were able to end the fight quickly.

Instead, they widened their route but stopped and retreated to a safe spot behind a Dumpster when a police car entered the area. It traveled up the block, using its searchlight to illuminate alleys and doorways, but didn’t reach far enough to see them. The security guys waved to the car, which turned its headlights off then on in response. The sound of the car’s engine masked the sound of Ben and Mary skirting behind the guards and the police.

The car pressed farther to the side of town and shined its light into the swamp. Ten minutes too late. Let them think Ben and Mary were still up to their chests in mossy water. Every extra second to operate freely brought them closer to shutting the town down.

Ben and Mary approached the facilities side of the hotel. The loading dock and garbage area were quiet. They used their old route up the metal ladder to the barren patio. Ben was without his gear, so Mary made quick work of the service stairs lock and then they were inside the building.

“Roof.” She pointed up and started to ascend the stairs.

He tapped her shoulder to get her attention. “I need to kit up.”

She looked over his soaked jeans and heavy, sopping jacket. “Yeah, you’re a mess.”

They charged with as much stealth as possible up to the third floor. He cracked the door open and peered into the hallway. Empty. He pulled out his damp room key and slipped out, Mary close behind him.

With a quick swipe of the key, they were into his room and locking the door behind them. Mary carefully laid her sniper rifle on the ground and pulled out her phone. “I’ll try to update the team.”

He pulled off his jacket and polo and replaced them with a long-sleeved shirt and his tactical vest. No time to change his shoes and pants. The found weapons were incorporated into his load out, and he was ready to go. “They coming to the party?”

She stowed her phone, lifted her Barrett and looked him up and down. “Sexy,” she growled.

The chill of the damp clothes burned away as his pulse kicked. “You and me, Mary. We’re going to make some noise.”

One moment before they were back in the battle. He walked to her and kissed her. She returned it. He was rocked by how fearless she was. They parted and walked to the door, fully armed.

She whispered, “With the cell repeater out, we can only rely on proximity, and no one’s close enough to our position for contact.”

The complication twisted in his gut. Communication was key during an assault like this. “We’ll do what we can to keep our eyes on them from above.” He opened the door and checked the hallway.

The hotel security guard stalked between Ben’s door and the entrance to the service stairs. Ben used hand signals to indicate how many men and the position to Mary. As far as he could see, the man was unarmed.

Mary mouthed,
H2H.

Ben slung his rifle and drew his knife. Mary squeezed his shoulder, letting him know she was ready, and he burst into the hallway. The guard shuddered with shock when he saw Ben coming. His fists came up in a fighting stance, but he backpedaled from Ben’s continuing pursuit.

Mary trailed at Ben’s hip, her big gun on her back and her assault rifle aimed at the guard. She whispered a clipped, “On the ground, on the ground.”

The guard seemed conflicted between fear and duty. His fists remained, but his legs wobbled. Ben came on strong and jabbed to the man’s face with his empty hand. The guard flinched and raised his hands to protect his jaw. Ben followed up with a solid punch to the man’s solar plexus. His sputtering breath smelled like coffee and stale cigarettes. A pained grimace spread across his face. The guard collected his arms to his chest. Ben brought the butt of his knife down on the man’s head, just strong enough to knock him cold.

Mary covered the hallway while Ben dragged the unconscious guard by his collar into the service stairs. Then they switched positions, with him holding his assault rifle at the ready while she pulled the boots and socks off the guard and removed the laces. She tied the guard’s wrists and ankles to the metal stair railing with the laces, then stuffed one of the socks in his mouth. He snored.

“Brutal.” Ben took the pepper spray from the man’s belt and the phone from his pocket.

Mary didn’t bother looking at the guard again. “He picked the wrong side.” She took the stairs two at a time toward the top of the hotel.

The door to the roof was locked, and this time Ben had his tools. After a few seconds of scraping, the door opened and a cold wind gusted down.

Mary faced it, calculating. “I’ll have to compensate for that drift.”

They walked out onto the roof and closed the door behind them. Large HVAC vents and fan units stood on the asphalt surface. He and Mary stepped over the wide pipes and ducts that snaked over the roof on their way to the front corner of the building. A four-foot wall rimmed the perimeter of the roof. Mary immediately deployed the bipod on her sniper rifle and set it at the top of the wall to sight through the scope.

She smiled. “We have the high ground.”

Ben took out his phone and attached the earbud. “Still no contact with the strike team.” If they were even in the theater of operations.

From the corner of the building they had a view of the swamp to the far right, the rail yard next to it in the distance, then the town spreading out beneath them.

Mary scanned over the territory with her scope. “They’re too good. I won’t be able to see them.”

He used a monocular from his vest to scout below. “But we have targets.”

Two trucks hauled their cargo away from the rail yard. More were being loaded from the warehouses. The sabotage had done damage, but men worked around the smoldering corner of the building to move crates and pallets. Diesel exhaust puffed from several train engines. It wouldn’t be long before they spread the guns across the country.

The trucks had straight shots through town because of the roadblocks. Not that there was anyone out except the police. Patrol cars continued their sweeps, shining searchlights into every corner. The two cars he and Mary had disabled had been towed up onto the sidewalks to clear the way.

Mary kept her eye to her scope, cheek to her rifle, and tracked movement down below. “How about a roadblock right by the highway? That’ll bottle things up.”

He swung his monocular view over to one of the trucks. It was a block away from an on-ramp. “Second truck is heading for a different highway. Can you get them both?”

“With you as my spotter.”

He shifted his perspective to take in the heat exhausting from a roof vent on a building below. “Crosswind, left to right.”

She made an adjustment to her scope. “Speed?”

“No more than ten knots.” The tractor trailer started to climb onto the curving on-ramp.

Mary’s voice remained calm. “I want that truck.”

“Send it.”

The rifle boomed. Ben kept his eye on the monocular and saw the truck lurch a moment later. Fluids hissed from below the cab. A man jumped out and ran as flames spread over the street and up the truck. There was no way for another vehicle to get up that ramp.

“Good kill,” Ben informed her.

Mary was already on to the second truck. It skirted lower through town and closer to the hotel. One police car escorted in front of it and another behind.

He panned his view along the truck’s path and told Mary, “If you tag it after this intersection, with the cab in the middle of the block, the trailer will block the cross street.”

“I like your mind, Beans,” she growled. “Same wind?”

He checked the heat streams. “Unchanged.”

“Traffic’s a bitch.” She fired another bullet.

The fuel tank on the cab exploded in a ball of flame, and the truck screamed to a stop. The driver leaped out the passenger door. Fire raged higher and consumed the cab. The cop car behind the truck nearly slammed into the trailer. It backed up and tried to get around but couldn’t and had to make an awkward U-turn in the street to make its way to a clear path.

The front patrol car sped up for a moment, then screeched to a halt. Smoke jetted from its engine block. White fire flashed from the shadows of an alley and the car sagged as its tires exploded.

Ben breathed new life. “There’s our team.”

The relief in Mary’s voice reflected his own. “Fuck yeah.”

Below, the two officers stepped out of their car with their hands raised. They walked carefully into the path of the headlights and got to their knees. Two figures detached from the shadows, dressed in tactical gear, faces covered. They removed the cops’ weapons and handcuffed them before dragging them to the sidewalk and leaning them against a building.

“Sant and Raker?” she asked.

He watched the two men dissolve back into the murky night. “Looks like Raker’s cowboy bowlegs.”

She exhaled a quick laugh. “Harper and Art are out there somewhere.”