Goose signaled again, letting Conner know that he was moving ahead. He tapped Private Darren Fieldstone behind him, and they went in tandem, swapping positions as they kept moving forward.
The front of the building was blank and squared off. The archeological crew that had constructed the warehouse hadn’t designed it with anything but function in mind. There were no frills, no extras. A single door with a few office windows occupied the north end where Goose was, and a garage bay was on the south end. Tools and vehicles had been stored there.
Dim lights showed in the heavily curtained windows on the first and second floors. Generators in the basement supplied the power. Buried deep in the earth as they were, little noise reached the outside world. The light was carefully blocked so it would not draw attention from aerial attack. In addition to that, if Remington hadn’t somehow tumbled onto the fact that the site was there and operational, Goose doubted they would have found it unless they had recovered the lost ground.
A small satellite dish also assured that the Syrian outpost had a communications array. That was going to be a problem. Remington hadn’t mentioned that the site had a sat-relay. That capability changed the dynamics of the op drastically. As soon as the Syrians knew they were under attack they could radio for help if the dish was not taken out.
The main body of the Syrian army lay within ten minutes by helo. Goose had no doubt that once the distress call went out the Syrians would scramble to their attack helos.
The time frame on this mission was drastically cut. Even taking the satellite off-line could trigger an alarm and achieve the same result.
Goose and Fieldstone reached the main door. Trying it, Goose found it locked. The fact wasn’t surprising, but in the middle of occupied territory it was possible that it wouldn’t have been locked. He pointed toward the door.
Fieldstone slung the machine pistol over his shoulder, knelt, and took out a picklock kit. Not all Rangers were trained in those skills, but with urban assault becoming more and more a part of the war effort, new skills were being taught.
Glancing at the other end of the building, Goose got Conner’s attention, then pointed to the dish. Conner signaled back; he’d already seen the dish. Goose signaled again, letting Conner and his team know he and Fieldstone were going to search for the communications center.
Fieldstone tapped on Goose’s elbow and stood with his weapon once more in his hand.
Goose nodded and pulled open the Velcro strap on his left wrist, revealing the pictures of the four targets they’d been sent to take out. All four men wore Syrian uniforms of their rank and faced forward. With the ident-kits open and ready, Goose reached for the knob, turned it easily, then pushed the door and went inside.
According to the blueprints Remington had gotten from somewhere and included in the mission briefing, the interior of the warehouse had been remodeled. When it had been built, it had provided sleeping quarters for forty people, a huge kitchen and dining room, a common room with a fireplace, and lab space that occupied an area even larger than the common room. The second floor housed labs and more sleeping quarters, and Goose was guessing that was where they would find the com center.
During the interim, according to information Remington said he’d gleaned from the nomadic traders who wandered among the southern cities of Turkey and even down into Syria, different people had owned the warehouse. Or laid claim to it with gun and knife.
The building had been used for all kinds of business, including the manufacture of drugs, which it had supposedly done during its last incarnation before the Syrians had invaded and discovered the ruins and the possibilities the caves offered. According to the intel Remington had gotten, the Syrian officials the Rangers had been assigned to take out had made arrangements with the drug suppliers to remain in operation while they were there. The intel suggested that the Syrians had cut themselves in for a percentage.
The door opened onto the common room. A low light in the center of the room shone over a pool table where three men stood chatting. Opulent ofas and chairs surrounded them.
Seeing movement, two of the three men reached for assault rifles while the third pulled at a holstered pistol.
Goose threw himself forward, going low and pushing the MP5 ahead, touching off three-round bursts. The initial burst caught the first man from right hip to left shoulder, throwing him back. The second tri-burst caught the next man in the face. Goose thought one of the rounds might have missed, but the other two more than did the job.
He missed the third man entirely, and the 9mm rounds chopped into the wall over the man’s head. Sliding across the wooden floor on his stomach, Goose turned and pulled the MP5 down, firing under the pool table as the man dove the opposite way for cover. One of the rounds ripped splinters from the pool-table leg, but the other two caught the man in the legs and knocked him down.
Fieldstone plunged into the room, following Goose’s play like he’d trained to do it all his life. He fired directly into the surviving man’s head before the guy could give voice to a warning or a cry of pain.
“Clear,” Fieldstone said, moving toward the door on the left.
Pushing himself to his feet, ignoring the biting pain in his knee, Goose lifted his weapon, changed to a fresh magazine, rotating the partially spent one to the rear of his bandolier. He used the doorframe for cover, aware that Conner and his people had entered the front door. Nothing moved in the dining room.
“Clear,” Goose called. “Conner, set the door.”
Conner quickly shoved an M18A1 Claymore mine’s three prongs into the wall next to the door
