Extreme Arsenal

Hawkins whirled and looked at the pod. A red light began flashing rapidly on its top, and the Phoenix Force warrior knew that the electronic box wasn’t going to be healthy for anyone in the courtyard if it reached its peak. He aimed his stubby little Glock 26 and hammered out the remnants of its magazine into the black transmitter. The metallic box crumpled and shattered, sparks flying as battery capacitors discharged. Hawkins took a deep breath as he realized that being close enough to recognize the remote detonator for what it was, was also near enough to ground zero to be vaporized by the self-destructing rocket pod.

He shook off the thought of being that close to death and fumbled a 12-round magazine into the butt of the tiny Glock, his hands trembling with the aftershocks of an adrenaline rush that slipped him into overdrive. Hawkins took cover behind a tree beside the inert rocket pod and took three quick breaths to get his thundering heartbeat back under control. A burst of .50-caliber slugs tore through the dirt and punched into the tree trunk, spraying Hawkins’s hair with splinters.

Rafael Encizo rushed toward the entrance of the building where the black-armored commandos disgorged onto the roof. A quick glance told the stocky Cuban that this was the computer center at Langley. He hit the doors with his shoulder and bounced off the glass. Electronic locks had shut down the building, and he knew that he couldn’t shoot through the clear doors. CIA Headquarters was protected by armored glass that was resistant to even rifle rounds.

The Cuban turned and saw the gunship swivel. He decided to play chicken with the aircraft. It would be a one in a million chance, but the Computer Center was under assault by mysterious invaders, and the CIA would need all the help it could get from the members of one of America’s finest fighting forces. The Cuban pro fired off three quick shots at the silhouette of the pilot behind his armored cockpit dome. Even the high-potency 9 mm NATO ball ammo bounced off the heavy curved Plexiglas, but it drew the ire of the gunship’s jockey.

The heavy M-2 machine-gun pods suddenly erupted with fire and Encizo threw himself behind the heavy granite cylinder that provided both decoration for the courtyard and antiramming and car-bombing protection for the Computer Center building. Four feet in diameter, the heavy stone block stopped the first salvo of 750-grain, half-inch slugs from the deadly gunship, even though each impact created a four-inch deep crater in the face of the pedestal. Encizo rolled to one side as the helicopter swiveled and tried to get a new line of fire on him. Behind him, the armored glass doors detonated into a rain of cracked shards as armor-piercing .50-caliber bullets smashed through them. The power of the big fifties had served Encizo in opening up the Computer Center, though he was pinned down now.

It wasn’t hopeless, however. Three other members of Phoenix Force were in action in the courtyard.

Calvin James and Gary Manning exchanged a quick glance, and the black ex-SEAL and the burly Canadian leveled their .357 Magnum sidearms at the tail boom of the gunship. James’s short-barreled Colt Python wasn’t designed for long-range shooting, but across the forty yards to the NOTAR tail boom of the gunship, it was plenty accurate and powerful. Manning’s massive Desert Eagle had proved itself capable of hitting targets five times that distant. Heavy-duty penetrating slugs from both mighty Magnum weapons hammered into the tail boom. James’s 158-grain lead slugs and Manning’s 180-grain hunting rounds struck the air vanes that directed forced thrust to stabilize the helicopter in flight. The NOTAR was protected from ground fire, its vulnerable tail rotor replaced by a powerful fan housed in a cylinder of armored metal. However, the directing vanes needed to be exposed to allow the helicopter to turn in one direction or the other.

The .357 Magnum maelstrom directed at the tail boom vents smashed the louvers out of place, wrecking them on their pivoting mechanisms. The gunship jerked as the pilot fought to keep the aircraft straight.

“T.J.! Go with Rafe!” Manning bellowed.

The Southerner nodded and broke for the Computer Center as the Cuban raced into the now-excavated entrance.

James rushed across the courtyard as the helicopter and gunner fought to keep the gunship in the air. He skidded to Manning’s side behind another marble table. “Any plans to deal with the chopper?”

“It’s moving too erratically for us to target any more vulnerable points,” Manning answered. The big Canadian’s eyes narrowed as he watched the aircraft dip, then swerve. The machine guns ripped wildly, blowing out windows in another building. “Still, if it keeps shooting, it’ll kill people in the buildings, even without aiming.”

James popped the cylinder on his Colt Python and thumbed two fresh rounds into the revolver. “I wish I’d brought a rifle or a grenade launcher…”

Manning looked over to the jettisoned pod, then back to James. “How about a rocket launcher?”

James grinned. “How’re we going to set it off?”

“I’ll improvise,” Manning replied.

The two Stony Man commanders rushed toward the rocket pod.

THE SECURITY GUARDS spotted Encizo and Hawkins as they rushed into the lobby, guns drawn, but the Phoenix Force warriors had out their badges. Recognition of their authority had saved them from a mistaken-identity shooting.

“It’s a war outside!” one guard snapped. “What the hell is going down?”

“Two helicopters dropped a squad of commandos on your roof,” Hawkins replied. “Are you getting any reports from upstairs?”

The sentry keyed his radio and heard static and screams over the speaker. “This is all we’ve got.”

The other guard nodded anxiously. “We were going to evacuate the building, but with that gunship out there…”

“Keep an eye on people down here,” Encizo ordered. “We’ll take care of things. Do you have any shotguns or submachine guns?”

“I’ll take you to the security office,” the second guard said. “All we have are—”

A wraith in black burst into view, heading toward the security office. The newcomer’s head was wrapped in a shiny black helmet, making him look almost insectlike, an alien invader out of a science-fiction movie. Hawkins, Encizo and the two security guards all acted as one and unleashed a swarm of 9 mm slugs at the black-clad invader. The swarm of bullets knocked the intruder down, and Encizo rushed up to the fallen invader, keeping the muzzle of his HK leveled at the helmeted face.

The black-clad killer suddenly jerked to life and swept the muzzle of his machine pistol at the Cuban, but he kicked the frame of the weapon. His armored adversary’s grip was too strong to dislodge the gun, but Encizo had saved himself from a chestful of bullets. He fired point-blank at the assassin’s head, but jerked away as his 9 mm slugs rebounded off the shiny helmet. The invader twisted and hooked the Cuban’s ankle with one arm. Off center, Encizo struggled to maintain his balance as his opponent rolled and toppled him. The machine pistol’s muzzle swung up toward Encizo’s face, the unblinking eye of the barrel threatening to be the last thing he ever saw when a hurtling form crashed into the downed pair.

Hawkins wrapped his forearm around the intruder’s throat. “Stick him, Rafe!”

Encizo didn’t need prompting as he drew his Cold Steel Tanto fighting knife. The reinforced chisel point flashed for a moment, then plunged through the tough black fabric across the invader’s chest. It took every ounce of the Cuban’s weight and strength to penetrate the body armor, and even then, the razor-sharp blade lodged in the killer’s rib cage.

“Cristo.” Encizo cursed as he redoubled his efforts to eviscerate the bulletproof attacker. A second surge of the muscular Phoenix Force warrior’s frame against the invader’s armored chest, and the full six and a half inches of reinforced, chisel-bladed steel snapped through bone and bullet-resistant material. Pulling with all his might, Encizo dragged the deadly knife through the marauder’s stomach, slitting him open like a fish. The black-clad intruder thrashed in Hawkins’s grasp for a moment, then died.

“Holy shit,” Hawkins gasped. “What the hell is this bastard wearing?”

“Good stuff,” Encizo answered as he plucked the machine pistol from the killer’s lifeless fingers. He dumped the magazine and checked the top round, a bottle-necked, greenish-black tipped slug. “Teflon-coated tungsten penetrators, 6.5 mm.”

“Same caliber as the creeps David ran into in London,” Hawkins said as he handed Encizo spare magazines. He plucked a handgun from the dead man’s holster and checked its load. “Same ammo for this one, too…but it’s a high-capacity 1911.”

“You take that one until we can find one of these things for you,” Encizo replied, holding up the Bofors PDW.

Hawkins holstered his mini-Glock and took two spare magazines for the high-cap 1911. “Twenty rounds per stick. Not that bad a piece.”

“Come on. If they penetrated this far, then they’re probably all over the building,” Encizo responded.

The two Phoenix Force commandos left the security guards to retrieve their heavier weapons to protect the CIA employees in the lobby.

GARY MANNING EXAMINED the pod as Calvin James watched the lurching gunship. The big Canadian ducked as a scythe of .50-caliber slugs ripped the air over his head, ignoring James’s exclamation as the salvo came too close.

“Hurry up, Gary,” the black ex-SEAL admonished. “That thing’s taken out a lot of windows and sections of wall.”

Manning pulled his Impact Kerambit wrench from its sheath and chopped its reinforced fiberglass point between the seams that formed the end of the drum. He twisted hard and broke off the tip, but pried apart the metal enough for him to fit his powerful hands in. The Canadian’s massive shoulders swelled as he wrenched the metal pod open, his face beet-red from the effort.

James tried to ignore his friend’s display of nearly superhuman strength, but even with a deadly gunship spraying lethal streams of fire overhead, it was a sight to behold. The drum popped open and armored tubes were visible inside. Manning swallowed hard, breathing deeply, then planted one foot against a tube and wrapped both of his paws around another. “I need your Taser, Cal.”

The tall ex-SEAL nodded. “Think it’s got enough of a charge to set that off?”

“It should. These things don’t need that much voltage to fire.” Manning grunted as he flexed against the tube. Metal crumpled and wrenched as the brawny Canadian hauled on the rocket tube. He’d freed one end, levering it out of the pod when James tackled him to the ground. A heartbeat later a thunderstorm of bullets hammered into the ground, destroying what was left of the tree stump. Dirt and wood chunks rained on the prone Stony Man commandos.

“Thanks,” Manning replied, breathing hard.

“Anytime,” James answered. “You’re going to end up with a hernia.”

“The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few,” the Canadian replied as he returned to the rocket pod. It had been left untouched by the stream of lead that nearly chopped the Stony Man warriors to pieces. Manning braced himself again before the pilot could swing the helicopter around.

“He’s not shooting the other rocket pod,” James noted. “He must not want to hit his own people inside the Computer Center.”

Twisting steel shrieked as Manning ripped the rocket tube free.

“It’s loaded,” he said softly, exhaustion having crept into his voice. James knew Manning possessed prodigious endurance, regularly running in marathons and engaging in weight-lifting contests with Carl Lyons, Able Team’s muscular commander. For him to show weariness meant that he’d tapped reserves of strength that the Phoenix Force demolitions expert had rarely touched. “Fire off your Taser, Cal.”

James nodded and fired the X-26 point-blank into the dirt. The launching probes shot out, but he released the trigger, preventing the battery’s capacitor charge from draining. Manning grabbed the probes and hooked them up to the wire leads at the base of the rocket pod.

James slid his slender but strong frame under the tube and shouldered it. “You aim.”

Manning nodded as he wrapped the wire leads around the electrical probes at the tip. He stepped clear of the back of the rocket tube, sighting along the top of the bore as the black ex-SEAL grunted under the weight of the armored cylinder and its explosive payload. The wobbly helicopter saw what the two Phoenix Force warriors were doing and struggled to come level with them, its machine gun muzzles swiveling onto the pair.

“Gary…”

“If we miss, that’s it,” Manning admonished. The enemy gunship stabilized for one moment and pointed straight at them. The initial machine-gun bursts slammed into the earth on either side of the Stony Man commandos.

“And we’re in their blind spot,” Manning added. He pulled the trigger on the X-26 Taser. The little pocket-size unit cut loose with its charge, and the rocket motor fired to life. The 77 mm warhead leaped out of its tube and speared through the bulbous head of the gunship, lancing it like a soap bubble filled with napalm. The shock wave bowled over James and Manning, flaming wreckage fluttering down in a burning snow that ignited patches of the Phoenix Force warriors’ suits.

The hot licks of flame jolted the two stunned Stony Man fighters and forced them to roll to put out the burning tongues that flared on their clothes.

Their immediate emergency over, James and Manning surveyed the area. Others in the courtyard had been hiding behind stone walls and marble tables, and those who had been injured were being tended to by fellow employees.

“Come on,” James said, helping Manning to his feet. “You got enough left to deal with a marauding force of ninja killers?”

“I guess I’ll have to.”

The Canadian pulled his sleek Desert Eagle and followed the black commando into the Computer Center.

CHAPTER FIVE

Yuma, Arizona

Carl Lyons perched like a gargoyle cast in bronze and black, his knees deeply bowed, hard blue eyes scanning the rolling hills that had proven so treacherous the night before. He glanced back over one bulging shoulder. “Anything on the radio?”

Hermann Schwarz shook his head. “This place is a blanket of space noise.”

Lyons looked at the approaches to their cave. “Pol?”

“Sarlets is sleeping now,” Rosario Blancanales answered. “It was the least I could let him do after we hauled him through this range.”

Lyons grimaced. “I hated moving him, too, Pol. But if we stayed at the helicopter…”

“I know, Carl,” Blancanales replied. “I made sure he’d recovered from shock before he went to sleep. I don’t think he has a concussion, so he’ll be able to rest.”

Lyons looked at his watch. It had been nearly dawn when the enemy missile had torn off the stabilizing rudder on their chopper. Sarlets, despite receiving a six-inch jagged shard of shrapnel in his abdomen and burns across his right arm and leg, managed to get them onto the ground in one piece. Their priority was to get the Army pilot to safety before a hunting party showed up to finish off the helicopter.

The bottles of Ringer’s solution that Schwarz and Blancanales insisted Able Team carry on every mission, from their experience in the Green Berets, had proved invaluable in keeping Sarlets from dangerous blood loss while Blancanales sewed and taped his stomach injury shut.

“He’s lucky. If the shard had sliced his bowel or intestine, we’d have to deal with a serious infection,” Blancanales, the Able Team medic, stated.

Lyons slid his rough hand over the receiver of his Beowulf M-4, watching the approaches. “A small enough favor. There’s still a few man-size germs running around.”

“You think that there’d be an assault squad attached to the missile launcher?” Blancanales asked.

“Otherwise we wouldn’t be under radio jamming in the area,” Schwarz answered. “We’ve been out of contact with the base for four hours, though. General Rogers might have someone looking for us by now.”

“And risk another helicopter crew and search team being shot out of the sky?” Blancanales asked. “This was a trap, and we fell for it hook, line and sinker.”

“Rogers will send a search party,” Lyons said. “But he’ll make sure that they’re covered, and it takes time to set up that kind of security.”

Suddenly the Able Team commander lifted his closed fist and the trio fell silent. Schwarz and Blancanales drew their silenced pistols while Lyons moved forward and nestled in the shadows of a rock. The big ex-cop pulled his silenced Para-Ordnance 1911, pointed at his eyes, then to the right-hand gully. The Stony Man warriors set up in their hides, and Blancanales hefted a small rock.

Lyons gestured with his fist and Blancanales whipped the stone at the wall. The loud clatter resounded and two shadowy shapes blurred just behind the corner of an outcropping.

Silence reigned uneasily in the rocky canyon for several long, heart-stopping moments.

Then a dull, snorting rumble filled the air. Lyons braced himself against a verbal reaction, but he knew that the exhausted, injured and unconscious Sarlets couldn’t help it. He was snoring.

His lips drew tight into a mirthless smile a moment later, and he silently egged on the sleeping pilot to continue his unconscious racket, wishing that Sarlets could snore even more loudly.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.