SOAR: A Black Ops Novel

Minus one second. Weaver put the HK’s crosshairs on the man’s upper lip and squeezed the trigger. His ten-power nightscope was sensitive enough that he could make out the fine mist of blood and brain matter as the tango’s head dropped out of sight.

Weaver’s crosshairs found the second man in the cab. The tango was wild-eyed, confused. He was reaching out to help his buddy when Weaver’s third shot in less than two seconds caught him in the left eye. Now the big rifle moved again, Weaver’s crosshairs searching for the driver of the number six truck. As they found the point between his eyebrows, the three claymores went off simultaneously. There was no discernible reaction from the sniper as Weaver’s index finger tightened around the HK’s trigger.

1.5 Kilometers West of Yarkant Köl.

0009 Hours Local Time.

The huge explosions sent them sprawling. Sam Phillips screamed, “Jeezus H. Christ — hit the deck.”

The heavy truck shuddered, staggered as if it had been hit by a wrecking ball. It was the whole goddamn Chinese Army — had to be. Automatic weapons opened up — a deafening, freaking barrage of mayhem. He heard the concussive explosions of grenades or mortars. Sam could see the trucks behind them exploding right through the canvas — the yellow flames were that bright. There was screaming everywhere. He rolled onto his right side, yanking X-Man with him. “Kaz — get X’s knife — now. We’ve gotta get the hell out of here before the sons of bitches kill us along with the rest of them or blow up the goddamn bomb.”

“Yo, Sam.” Kaz snaked across the rough wood. X-Man stretched his leg out. Kaz scrunched around and pulled the small composite blade out from behind the security man’s boot top. Quickly, he cut Sam’s arms free. Sam grabbed the blade. He cut the bonds that pinioned X-Man’s arms.

But then the truck lurched, and the knife fell out of his grasp and skittered across the rough wood of the bed. “Shit. X—”

X-Man dove after the blade as another explosion shook the truck and rounds smacked dangerously close by.

The truck pitched forward, knocking them ass over teakettle as it—smack-rear-ended the vehicle in front of them and stalled out.

“Jeezus—Sam—”

Sam looked in the direction of Kaz’s voice. “Holy shit.”

The nuke had broken loose from its moorings. It began to totter. Mindless of the gunfire, the three men struggled to their feet and pressed up against the MADM, trying to hold it steady against the cab end of the truck bed before it fell and crushed them all.

“C’mon, goddammit.” Sam thrust his shoulder up against the nuke. Outside, the firing was deafening — long bursts; short bursts; grenades; shouts. Sam could hear rounds p-p-pinging off the metal of the vehicles. There were other explosions. And more screams.

They finally wedged the nuke tight against the front bulkhead. Sam could sense the crate was stable. “X,” he shouted over the gunfire, “get the knife. We’ll hold this thing steady.”

1.5 Kilometers West of Yarkant Köl.

0009 Hours Local Time.

Ritzik’s voice in Rowdy’s earpiece: “Execute! Execute!” The sergeant major’s hand closed around the firing trigger and pressed down evenly, just as the four men spread out beside him opened up on the convoy.

The mines caught the fourth and fifth trucks and the middle 4x4 in a perfect and deadly broadside. Screams erupted as the steel fragments found their targets through the thin sidewalls and canvas.

Rowdy pulled the pin on the grenade in his left hand, let the spoon fly, and then lobbed the device in a long arc at the rear of the sixth truck. The grenade gone, he shouldered his AK and raked the kill zone.

Goose’s RPG caught the third truck dead center. He could see body parts fly as the rocket grenade exploded. The second RPG caught truck number four. Almost immediately, both caught fire. Using AKs and grenades, Rowdy’s shooters took down the tangos as they tried to scramble to safety.

Mike Ritzik didn’t have time to notice Rowdy’s success. He and Mickey D were too busy trying to kill the occupants of the first two vehicles, who were being highly uncooperative.

The 4x4’s driver had obviously dropped onto the floor, because Ritzik couldn’t see anybody in the vehicle but the Toyota was moving straight forward, jouncing on the rutted roadway. Obviously, the tango inside was steering blind. But he was doing a good job of it. He was almost parallel to Ritzik’s position, and gaining speed.