“Get your frags out and ready; this is gonna be a long fight!” Merritt said.
Jacob turned to his side, removed his grenades, laying them by his pack, and then placed several spare magazines near them for quick access. Jacob detected the sound of clanging metal and watched as three men deployed a small mortar tube in the bottom of the bowl. As the roars from the forest intensified, one dropped a round. Jacob looked ahead as it exploded somewhere deep in the distant trees. “That’s spot on; keep it coming,” a soldier yelled from Jacob’s left.
All at once, the air erupted with whizzing hornets. The earth around him exploded with the impact of rounds. The Deltas screamed their frenzied war cries and charged from the forest. Some firing from the hip as they ran, others charging forward directly at the fences empty-handed. The machine guns went into action laying down heavy fire, raking the fence, cutting down the advancing mobs. Jacob got behind his rifle, ignoring the wave and looking for shooters the way he’d been trained.
He spotted them—a small group on a rise in the earth, positioned at a forty-five degree angle to his perimeter. Invisible to most of the soldiers on the line, they were firing at them from an oblique line, nearly obscured. Jacob shifted his position sharply, lining up on them, then held his breath and squeezed the trigger, watching the shooter’s head snap back. Another slid into the spot and lifted the dead Delta’s rifle. Jacob fired again with the same result. James followed his barrel, saw his targets, and joined the fight, their combined efforts silencing the enemy snipers.
Ahead, the fence was bending and starting to give and the soldiers focused their fire to the front. A machine gun went quiet as a gunner struggled to change a warped barrel. The fence fell forward in a screeching clash, releasing a flood of charging Deltas that poured out from the breech. Jacob reached for his grenade and tossed it onto the gap then returned to his rifle, firing madly as the enemy advanced. When his weapon ran dry, he rolled to his side to reload. He watched as James’ expression changed and looked up to see a small mob run through their perimeter. Jacob drew his M9 pistol and shot one in the back then fired straight up, hitting another as it hurdled over his position.
Rolling to his stomach, Jacob raised his weapon. He cringed, horrified to see the fence swamped and their perimeter being overrun. The mortar men adjusted and rained rounds into the small clearing to their front. The machine gun was back online, pouring fire into the charging masses. Merritt screamed for the men on the back side of the perimeter to turn around and reinforce the front. Jacob felt the rounds coming from behind as the men at the rear turned and fired their rifles, supporting the brothers. Jacob watched the assaulting Deltas in slow motion, their bodies jerking, being torn apart from flying shrapnel and rounds coming at them from every direction as they ran down a gauntlet of steel.
The last man stayed on his feet, running through the fire unscathed, its black eyes locked on Jacob. It ran twisting and lunging as it bound over the dead to its front. Jacob was frozen, looking at the man, seeing every detail in its clothing and pockmarked face. It closed the distance and looked down at him, beginning to leap at his position. The creature’s body jerked and contorted as it was suddenly cut down by the machinegun’s fire. Jacob watched the creature fall, still focused on its face as the black faded from its eyes.
When he looked back up, the assault had ended. Merritt was on his feet trying to rally the men. Rogers was back with the NBC team. They were able to get the pumps online, moving the MX4 from the storage tanks through hoses to the external drop tanks under short wings on the Chinook. Rogers moved toward the perimeter line with a tall NBC sergeant by his side.
“How long until the MX4 is onboard?” Merritt asked.
Rogers shook his head, pointing to the front. “Doesn’t matter, bird will never get off under these conditions; enemy fire will rip it apart.”
James dug through his pack and removed one of the remaining four bottles of the dioxin, the yellowish liquid shining through the clear plastic soda bottle. “I think it’s time to call an audible.”
“Stow your piss bottle, soldier,” one of the NBC sergeants shouted from behind Rogers.
James showed a wide grin as he reached into his bag for electrical tape. Strapping the bottle to a frag grenade, he said, “Oh, this is the Devil’s piss right here. What all you nerds call MX4.”
Merritt pointed down at what James was doing. “Will that work?”
The NBC sergeant moved close and knelt down next to James. “In theory it should work, though it won’t be very effective. But he’s right; it’s time to break it out, sir. We have chemical fogger gear on board. Might as well test and deploy it here.
“Get them set up,” Merritt agreed.
Chapter Fifty-Two
A short break in the violence allowed the soldiers to regroup and distribute ammo. Men scrambled across the line, helping one another improve their fighting positions. The dead lay spread over the field to their front, covering the ground from the platoon’s hasty defensive line all the way back to the fence and beyond. James prepared the last of the improvised grenades he now affectionately called “piss bottles”. Captain Merritt liked the idea and ordered more of the improvised grenades be made up and placed all along the line while the foggers were removed from the Chinook, assembled, and pushed to the rear of the perimeter.
The NBC sergeant, wearing a protective mask and gloves, primed the propane foggers, positioning them so that the mist
