Read The Devil's Footprint Online
Authors: Victor O'Reilly
The Devil's Footprint (78 page)
His one
thought now was to get away.
He did not
care where he was going or what he would do when he got there.
He just wanted to flee.
Shells burst
around his tank and one wall glowed red when a fragment hit.
Carranza was
bruised and bleeding from being bounced around the metal box.
Beside him his
gunner had abandoned any attempt to load and fire the main gun.
His face was gray with desperation and the
foreknowledge of certain death.
The
driver slewed the tank from side to side in the hope that the jinking would
cause the incoming fire to miss.
It was
making Carranza sick.
The tank drove
right through the perimeter defenses and into the minefield beyond.
The mines were
laid according to Soviet doctrine, in a massive belt three hundred meters
deep.
The first two mines had been
carelessly laid and did not explode.
Carranza's tank hit the third mine after thirty-two meters.
The force of the mine was so
great,
it blew the entire tank into the air.
The tank was
still in the air when it was his nearly simultaneously by a Hellfire missile
and the 152mm shell from a
The combined blast blew all the mines in a
two-hundred-meter radius and could be seen with clarity from the
command-and-control aircraft 20,000 feet up.
Carranza and
his entire crew were vaporized.
*
*
*
*
*
Fitzduane
fired two rounds from his M16 into the torso of a terrorist in the weapons pit
and rammed the barrel into the face of the second man.
The terrorist went down and Fitzduane thrust
his fighting knife into his throat and wiped it on the dead man's fatigues.
He reloaded
and checked his pouches.
Ammunition was
getting low.
Getting
through the hangar had been easy.
In
contrast, the cavernous bunker below seemed to be defended by some kind of
palace guard.
They had blown the
down the ramp, and since then it had been basic infantry slogging as the Scouts
and Delta cleaned out a series of interlocking defensive positions.
"Why the
fuck didn't I bring a Barrett?" asked Lonsdale.
The heavy
rifle fire would have punched through the armor plate of the weapons pits.
The M60 rounds
made shallow dents.
The M16 rounds just
bounced off.
They were out of 40mm
grenades.
They had fired the last of the
AT4s.
They were nearly out of
everything.
"Why the
fuck didn't I stay in
said Cochrane.
"We'd
have missed you," said Lonsdale caustically.
"Even if
they don't hit us," said Cochrane, "they're going to pollute us to
death.
The air quality in this place
sucks."
"It could
get a shitload worse," said Lonsdale.
Fitzduane was
silent.
If Rheiman's hand-drawn map was
to be trusted, beyond that metal door was a hatchway that lead down two flights
of metal stairs to the command bunker.
Straight ahead was a nerve-agent store.
Behind them, at the other end of the cavern, was the second nerve-gas
store.
If nothing had been moved, the
unit had already secured the Xyclax Gamma 18.
One component alone was useless.
Of course,
Oshima did not have to have moved all the components together.
She could have had just one cylinder
transported.
According to what he had
been told, one matched pair of Xyclax Gamma 18 cylinders properly distributed
would be enough to take out the entire airfield, let alone the cavern.
"Brock,"
he called.
"Yo!"
said Brock.
"We need
a couple of grenades up here," said Fitzduane.
"Get someone to check the lockers in the
didn't blow."
"Hot
damn!" said Brock.
"Neat thinking.
Those guys are squirrels."
Two minutes
later, the weighted end of a parachute cord fell beside Fitzduane.
Brock was across to the left and behind a
support pillar.
He couldn’t get any
closer and keep breathing.
The terrorist
machine gun and three AK-47s spat flame as the saw the cord and tried to cut it
with fire.
Ricochets zinged along the
cavern.
The concrete floor of the cavern
spewed fragments as rounds bit into it around the line of the cord.
Fitzduane saw
the edge of the cord fray.
If he pulled
too fast it could break.
If he pulled
too slowly the contents of the pouch at the end could go up.
Thinking of
what was inside, it was an easy decision.
He pulled hard.
The cord broke, but enough momentum had
already been transferred to the pouch.
It slid into home base.
Fitzduane
opened the pouch and looked at Brock.
There were three grenades inside.
"What the fuck!" he mouthed.
Brock
shrugged.
"Go for it!" he shouted.
Fitzduane
handed grenades to Lonsdale and Cochrane.
They looked at him.
"All
together," said Fitzduane.
"FOUR, THREE,
TWO
..."
The three
grenades arced through the air.
Two
landed inside the gun emplacement.
Four
terrorists erupted from their position, guns blazing.
Concentrated fire from Scout Platoon cut them
to pieces.
Smoke from the three
signaling grenades filled the air.
Choking,
Fitzduane dashed forward.
The steel door
had represented a possible escape for its guardians.
It was unlocked.
He pulled the heavy lever and the door swung
open.
He hugged the
left side of the door frame.
Green,
purple, and yellow smoke was making the place untenable.
If anyone was on the other side, they would
fire into the smoke.
Probably.
Or maybe if
they were smart and professional, they would wait and try to pick out some kind
of a human shape.
But it would not
really be savvy to wait.
Any attacker
clever enough to get this far would throw in stun grenades.
If anyone was
inside, they should be firing by now.
"On your
right," said Lonsdale from the right side of the door frame.
"Ready,"
said Cochrane's voice from behind Lonsdale.
"GO!"
snapped Fitzduane.
Rows of
cylinders behind a double steel grid faced them.
A door on the right wall led down to the
command bunker.
It was closed and of the
same size and mass as the kind of construction used in bank vaults.
The room
itself was empty.
They examined
the door.
It was not just locked.
It was secured as if part of the
structure.
There was not a hint of how it
might be opened.
The entire locking
mechanism must be located on the other side.
"You say
the magic word and this substantial chunk of real estate swings open,"
said Lonsdale.
"You go down two
flights of metal stairs.
You are faced
with another blast door and you knock politely.
It, too, swings open and there is Oshima, a smile on her face and her
arms open in welcome."
He
paused.
"Or then
again, maybe not.
Either way, I
don't think a foot in the right place is going to achieve much.
This fucking thing is
built
."
Close
examination showed that the problem did not end with the door.
The whole wall seemed to be of similar
strength, and the joins were so finely machined there was no place to pack
explosive.
"We can
huff and puff," said Cochrane, or we can go and get a cup of coffee while
the combat engineers make with the plastic.
This is safe blowing.
This isn't
a job for clean-living amateurs."
Fitzduane
rubbed his chin.
Oshima had learned much
of her trade from the Hangman.
The
Hangman always had an escape route, and a few surprises for unwelcome visitors.
He switched
his gaze to the cylinders of nerve agent.
How many should there be?
"We hold
here," he said.
*
*
*
*
*
Twenty feet
below Fitzduane, Oshima's hand was poised above the firing button.
The two keys were already in position and had
been turned.
The firing release code had
been entered.
The supergun was fully
charged with hydrogen and helium and was ready to fire.
She
hesitated.
If only she had more
time.
One missile would accomplish so
little compared to what could be done.
Now when she fired, the attacking paratroops would certainly assault the
supergun valley and there would be no time to reload.
This would be
one single gesture of hate, not the orchestrated campaign she would have liked.
Could
Carranza's force make the difference?
Possibly, but unlikely.
Never wait until the last minute
, the
Hangman had said.
Society is
corrupt.
People are venal.
You will always be presented with other
opportunities.
They will hand you the
very weapons you need to destroy them.
In their avariciousness and ignorance they arm their very enemies.
Strike without
pity and disappear.
Prepare your escape
route in advance, and when they think they have you,
hurt them
.
The confusion
will aid your escape.
When they are
close and think they have you they get careless.
They always do.
You bait the trap and they will enter it and
be destroyed.
But don't be greedy.
Don't stay and watch.
Never
wait until the last minute
.
Jin Endo would
be coming with her and five others.
Enough to fight a rear-guard action if needed.
Enough to distract and
confuse, yet a small enough group to evade detection.
Six others in
the command bunker would not be leaving.
They had served their purpose.
If
left unharmed they might have attempted to interfere with the nerve-gas
mechanism.
Their throats had been cut as
they sat in front of their consoles, and the air was thick with the smell of
their blood.
The two cylinders
sat linked to the dispersion unit.
A
timer was attached, ready to be activated.
When their attackers broke in, the entire command bunker would be
flooded with nerve agent, and with luck it would spread throughout the complex
and to the attacking troops beyond.
But she would
have to be well away by then.
So really
there was no good reason to wait.
Oshima
mentally counted down, preparing herself for the shaft of flame as the huge
weapon hurled its projectile toward
In her mind she could see the path of the
missile as it shot out of the supergun barrel, climbed up into the
stratosphere, and then curved gracefully down toward its target below.
How long would it take?
A few minutes, no more.
As the missile
neared its destination, a pressure-controlled mechanism would activate the two
cylinders of gas.
They would blend and
become a liquid horror.
The dispersion
unit would cut in and the air over the capital of the most powerful nation in
the world would fill with a vast cloud of nerve gas.
Invisibly the
deadly miasma would float toward the ground.
It would be
hours before the Americans would realize they had been hit, and by then it
would be too late.
Everywhere people
would start dying.
They would die at
work, they would die at home.
Senators
and congressmen would collapse as they spoke.
Lobbyists would spit blood as they advanced their causes.
Policemen would die as they patrolled the
streets.
Prisoners would puke their guts
out as they lay behind bars.
Across the
would be powerless to respond.