Because his rifle was currently zeroed for a 300-yard shot, he knew an elevation adjustment for a 600-yard shot was twelve additional clicks, but since they were shooting downhill, a negative adjustment of three clicks was needed.
“Here we go,” Nathan said. Moving in classic leapfrog progression from tree to tree, six men in woodland SWAT gear were approaching the compound from the south, their movements crisp and rehearsed. “Six o’clock low,” he whispered.
Harv adjusted his scope. “Got them. I count six, with two more in flanking positions. I’ve got eight more moving in from the west.”
Nathan tracked the second team. Six agents were advancing with two more flanking for support. Both teams were advancing at right angles, staying out of each other’s line of fire. Tactically sound. As the two teams approached the compound, he admired their precision and stealth. Moving through the sunlight filtering through the trees, not a glint of reflection bounced off anything they wore. Their helmets were matte green and even their boots had a dull finish. These guys were damned good.
“Something’s wrong,” Nathan whispered.
“Talk to me.”
“It’s too quiet down there. We haven’t seen a damned thing. Nothing. No movement at all.”
“Okay. ”
“Start searching the trees. I’ll take the west end.”
Harv adjusted his scope and began a slow pivot around the east end of the compound. Halfway through his sweep he stopped. “Shit.”
“What’ve you got.”
“Spotter’s nest at one-five-zero east, elevation, three-zero feet.”
Nathan swung his rifle 150 yards east of the center of the compound and began looking in the trees thirty feet high. He saw it instantly. A sentry posted in a tree platform, the type deer hunters used. He was speaking into a radio and looking through a pair of field glasses in the direction of the advancing FBI SWAT team to the south. “They’ve been made.”
Harv stayed in his eyepiece and cranked the scope to maximum zoom. “Nate, he just put the radio down. He’s got something else. He’s pulling an antenna on a remote.”
Nathan swung his rifle back to the south and began sweeping the ground out in front of the SWAT teams. Through an opening in the trees, he saw a mound of pine needles at the base of a large sugar pine. The pile of needles was on the side of the tree facing away from the compound. Nathan searched for other piles. There. Two more piles, also facing away from the compound.
“Son of a bitch. I think they’ve got IEDs or M-eighteens on the perimeter. Those piles of pine straw.”
“Claymores,” Harv whispered.
“They’re walking into a shredder.”
“How close are they?” Harv asked.
“Thirty yards.”
“Shit, they’re in range. We have to warn them. Put one in the dirt out in front of the lead man. Elevation minus two. Clear to shoot.”
Chapter 4
Sammy Bridgestone’s voice sounded metallic through the small radio speaker. “
Ernie stood up and looked at his older brother.
“What’s happening out there?” Leonard asked.
“SWAT team moving in from the south. At least a half dozen, probably more!”
“Calm down, Sammy. Are they at the perimeter minefield?”
“Not yet. Almost.”
“Blow the southern perimeter when they reach twenty yards. Wait a few seconds, then blow the rest. Hustle back here. Don’t wait. Understood?”
The radio clicked once in reply.
Ernie grabbed an M-4 and ran to the rear door. “He shouldn’t be out there alone. I’ll go get him.”
“Wait!” Leonard yelled, but his brother was already outside.
Nathan took two clicks off the elevation knob, aimed for a spot twenty feet in front of the lead SWAT man, and squeezed the trigger.
His rifle jumped.
Nearly 2,000 feet distant, the ground erupted in front of the lead SWAT member. Both teams instantly dropped to the ground. Four seconds later, at least eight claymore antipersonnel mines detonated simultaneously.
From high above, the effect was horrifying to watch. As if coming alive, the forest shuddered as though a giant shiver had raked across its body. The concussive thump of the blasts reached their position a full second later. An area the size of a football field had been turned into a maelstrom of flying dirt, rocks, and splintered tree branches. An angry cloud of dust began drifting down the valley toward the west. Nathan swung his rifle in the same direction of the wind and saw the other SWAT team on the ground. If there were more claymores, they hadn’t been detonated yet. The answer came five seconds later. Another giant concussion shook the forest to the west, followed by a third to the east and a fourth to the north. The compound now looked like a huge doughnut, untouched in the middle, total mayhem on the outside.
As Nathan tapped his memory for what he knew about the devices, a curved block of C4 explosive blew hundreds of steel balls outward in a 60-degree pattern. Like its Scottish broadsword namesake, the claymore could literally cut a swath through the ranks. If those guys hadn’t been on the ground…
“I want that shit bird in the tree,” Nathan said. “He just tried to frag a dozen federal agents.”
“We can’t see him until the dust clears.”
“Break out your RF detector, let’s see if the good guys are talking.”
Harv reached to his right and grabbed the detector out of his pack and turned it on. “I’d say so, we’ve got a spike in the fifteen-megahertz range, signal’s close by. It wasn’t there before.”
“Can we listen?” But Nathan already knew the answer.
“No way, encrypted for sure.”
“There might be a second ring of claymores down there.”
“Probably is. At least the feds are aware of them now. We saved a bunch of lives with that warning shot.”
Nathan grunted. He wanted that spotter in the tree.
The sound from sporadic bursts of automatic gunfire reached their position, sounding like firecrackers. “Here we go,” Nathan said. “Windage.”
Harv had already given him four clicks right. From the speed of the dust cloud moving toward the west, Harv gave him one more click right.
“Corrections to the tree stand,” Nathan said.
“Give me the two clicks back on elevation plus one more and give me a final click right. A few more seconds, I can almost see him.… Got him. Nate, he’s got a rifle. He’s lining up on the SWAT teams.”
Nathan swung his weapon back to the tree and saw the man bench resting his rifle on the rail of the tree platform, taking careful aim. He was dressed in cheap catalog camo with shiny black boots. His ball cap masked his facial features, but Nathan had the impression he was young, maybe mid-twenties. He moved the crosshairs onto the man’s chest, took a deep breath, and blew half of it out.
Ernie had made it halfway to Sammy’s tree stand when the first salvo of claymores detonated to his right. For a split second, the air seemed to shimmer as if suspended in time. Then the concussive shock wave vibrated his
