Jay cursed and pointed his optics in Bridger’s general direction. He watched as a large clump of grass suddenly rose up and a man turned and trotted back out of his field of view. “Covering,” Jay whispered.
Bobby slid down an embankment and trotted along the side of the farthest bunker. He rolled with the incline and settled into some tall grass next to a large oak. He fluffed out his ghili suit and dropped the legs on his bipod once more. “In position.”
Gregg looked to Deric, his face pale. “D, I got at least twenty men pouring in from our rear. There’s no way Bobby can hold them all.”
Deric nodded and came to his feet. “Can you monitor the screens?”
“Yeah, man. Go, go, go!” Gregg shifted the screens back to his station and minimized each window. “Steve, you may want to grab the big guns and give them a hand.”
“On it.” Steve came to his feet and ran to the rear of the bunker. He hefted the M249 SAW by the handle and grabbed an ammo box. “I’m going topside.”
“Be careful man. One grenade…”
“I know.” Steve slung the rifle over his shoulder and gripped the ammo can in his left hand while he worked his way up into the interior crow’s nest. Once nestled inside, he flipped the exterior hatch and worked the M249 up and out of the concrete pillbox.
Steve quickly set the legs on the tripod and shouldered the M249 machine gun for a test fit. “Perfect. Baby Bear, I got your ten o’clock.”
“Copy that,” Bobby whispered. “First contact.”
Steve silently cursed and began feeding the disappearing ammo belt into the receiver of the M249. He chambered the first round then settled into the makeshift pillbox.
He scanned the area and could see movement within the trees behind the bunker. “Contact.”
Camp Deric, South of Dallas, TX
AGENT CHESTERFIELD FOUGHT the urge to swear as briars and berry vines snagged at his pants, some biting so deeply into the material that he could feel blood running down his leg. He swatted at the cursed thorns and did his best not to trip. He didn’t want to look like the novice he really was in the presence of professionals.
He stopped to get his bearings and noted that the tactical team was still slowly advancing. He glanced from side to side, hoping to find something of note then he stared at his PDA and the geographical map of the area.
He had no idea where they were.
He turned and noted that all of the assault team members were slowly leaving him behind so he trotted to try to keep up. They obviously knew where they were going, so Darren made the decision to follow rather than lead.
He continuously looked behind them, praying that nobody could possibly sneak up on them from the rear. Surely these guys had an SOP for making sure they weren’t shot in the ass during such strikes?
He turned back and had to jog again to catch up. “This shit is getting really old, really fast,” he muttered.
The man ahead of him turned and glared at him. “Cut the chatter.” He made a chopping motion with his hand, pointing through the woods and up the hill ahead of them.
Darren hated to admit he had no idea what the movement meant. Instead of asking, he merely nodded and fell into step behind the man.
Camp Deric, South of Dallas, TX
ALI BIN-HAMZA held a hand in the air, bringing his group of soldiers to a stop. “Something is not right.”
He turned a slow circle, his eyes piercing the shadows of the woods. “We should have encountered something by now. A trip wire, a snare, a spiked hole…something that indicated that we are dealing with the same person.” He shook his head and turned back in the direction they were heading. “Slowly.”
He motioned the men ahead and stayed back, waiting to spot something…anything that was out of the ordinary.
The man leading the party forward suddenly collapsed, the back of his head spraying the others with blood, bits of bone and brain.
The babyfaced man screeched and fell to the ground as the others quickly scrambled to the sides and behind what large trees they could find.
Ali bin-Hamza cursed and dropped to the ground. His scoped rifle scanning the area ahead of them.
“They know we are here, Ali!” the babyfaced man screeched.
Ali clenched his jaw so tight that he feared he might crack a molar. “Of course they know. Your screaming told them we were here.”
He glanced around and saw his men looking to him for orders. “Go. Between the trees. Use them for cover. Do not give them a clean line of sight.”
He watched as his soldiers broke away and darted from tree to tree, inching their way forward. The babyfaced man lay on the ground clutching his computer and papers. Ali shook his head and debated shooting the coward himself.
He slid around his cover and leapt to the nearest large tree. A chunk of bark erupted near his head and he ducked instinctively. He couldn’t hear the shot well enough to know what direction it came from.
“Spot the shooter!” Ali fought to keep his voice level. “There is only the one.”
“How can you be certain?”
“The time between shots.” Ali nodded to the man. “He is probably using a bolt action rifle. That gives us a small window between shots to advance. But we must discover his location.”
The man nodded and darted to another tree. Pieces of bark splintered from the side of the tree and Ali squinted, praying for a muzzle flash. He shook his head and motioned the men onward.
Another man stepped out and was quickly dropped by a shot to the gut. He rolled on the ground, his hands grasping at where his bellybutton should have been, his screams piercing the
