SOAR: A Black Ops Novel

The fore end of Ritzik’s AK took the round, rendering the short barrel useless. The fore-end grip disintegrated, sending wood fragments into his hand and a long, sharp sliver right through his cheek. Oh, Christ, it hurt.

Ritzik’s training took over: right hand yanked the big splinter out — deal with the blood later. He shed the useless automatic rifle. Transitioned to the Sig Sauer. Five steps — four shots — and the kid went down. Two more quick shots in the kid’s head. That’s another who won’t come back to bite us on the ass.

The hostages were ten feet away now. Noise behind him. In his ear Rowdy’s voice. “Drop-drop-drop.” Ritzik pancaked onto the causeway. A four-shot burst over his head. Rowdy’s voice: “Clear.”

Ritzik rolled onto his side and saw the corpse sprawled a yard behind him. He waved the spooks on. “C’mon-c’mon-c’mon.” He grabbed the first spook by the shirt. Thrust him roughly toward Mickey D. “Haul ass. Follow him. Move it.”

1.5 Kilometers West of Yarkant Köl.

0018 Hours Local Time.

It could have been worse. But it could have been better. They had the hostages. They had the weapon. And there’d been no friendly casualties — only a few of what Rowdy liked to call dings and dents. Nothing more serious than the splinter wound in Ritzik’s cheek. But at least two dozen of the enemy — maybe more — had gotten away. According to Sam Phillips and the others, the IMU leader, whom they called Mustache Man, was among them. Not good. More immediate, a few hostiles had escaped four, perhaps five hundred yards into the marsh and were taking occasional potshots. Without night vision, they weren’t having any luck — so far. Ritzik wasn’t overly worried: once their muzzle flash gave their positions away, it was relatively easy for Ty and his night-vision optics to tag ‘em.

The most essential thing right now, Ritzik understood, was to get away — and fast. Move to a daylight hide, dig in, camouflage themselves, wait for nightfall, then make their dash to safety. He’d tried contacting the TOC to get an intel dump from Dodger and pass a sit-rep to SECDEF Rockman. But the bloody radio was still on the fritz. All he got on the secure frequency was white sound. Without the TOC he was blind. He had no idea what the Chinese were up to. Or how close they were.

0020. Ritzik calmed the spooks down. Doc Masland gave ‘em a quick once-over and prescribed food and water, which Ritzik provided. They seemed to be a good-enough group — for spooks. In fact, Ritzik was impressed when Phillips, the team leader, volunteered his people to go with Rowdy, Shep, Doc, and Tuzz to pluck as much intel from the corpses as they could find. Ritzik accepted the offer gratefully. It would save valuable time.

While the bodies were being searched, Curtis, Ty, and Mickey D scavenged for unexploded ordnance and supplies. Within a quarter of an hour, the three had uncovered two dozen RPG rounds and four launchers, a box of Chinese grenades, and half a dozen undamaged AKs and fifty loaded thirty-round magazines. There were also six five-liter cans of drinking water still undamaged, which Ritzik had Curtis stow in the truck.

Ritzik gave each of the spooks a weapon and three magazines. He loaded the rest of the ordnance in the vehicles. Goose and Bill Sandman stripped the corpses of hats and other useful uniform parts. When the Chinese finally spotted them — it was likely they would — Ritzik wanted everyone looking like tangos, not yanquis.

The vehicles were the biggest headache. They had only one operational 4x4, with a half-full tank and six six-gallon jerry cans of gas, and one truck — fuel gauge reading full and a full fifty-five-gallon drum of diesel fuel secured in the bed. Ritzik needed speed and range to effect his exfiltration. He wasn’t going to get either one.

And then there was Wei-Liu. The firing hadn’t entirely stopped when she’d tugged at Ritzik’s web gear and insisted on examining the MADM. He’d tried to explain that they were vulnerable out in the open.

“Let me secure the area first,” he said. A burst of automatic weapons fire came from the rear of the column. Instinctively, Wei-Liu ducked. ‘Tracy—”

“But we could be dealing with something that’s time-critical,” she insisted.

“Your life is time-critical.”

“You have things well under control, Major.”

“Do I?”

“I think so.”

Two shots rang out. “I’m not as sure as you are.” He edged her closer to the chassis of the number two truck, where she was less of an obvious target. “We’ll get the MADM stabilized, and we’ll drive — well away from here — until it’s light. We’ll camouflage our position. Then you can take all day with the damn thing.”

Wei-Liu switched on the flashlight she was carrying. “We may not have all day, Major. That’s what I want to ascertain.” She pushed around him and headed for the number three truck.