Gunner: Gray Fox. Bring the beer. Hot. Tecate.
Gunner’s duress phrase was bring the beer. It was a commonly used phrase that might be introduced into everyday conversation without arousing suspicion. The word hot indicated they were either under fire or potentially would be involved in a firefight.
Finally, Tecate was the code word to be used on a Tuesday to confirm the identity of the specific operative issuing the message. Gunner, by his choice, was assigned different beers for each day of the week. Had it still been Monday, he would’ve placed Miller at the end of the first communication. Had it been Thursday, the code word would’ve been Tecate Light. Saturday was Sol, another Mexican beer, and Sunday was Sol Light, which didn’t exist, but worked for purposes of identity confirmation.
Seconds later, he got a reply.
The Den: Delivery location?
“Okay, Cam. Let me have them.”
As she read them aloud, Gunner typed them in.
Gunner: 53.8744° N, 11.2560° E
He paused for a moment and listened as the sounds of the approaching group of motorcycles grew much louder. Shit!
Gunner: ETA?
The Den: Stand by.
“Gunner, I can see headlights in the distance,” said Cam.
Gunner yelled in his head, Stand by? Are you kidding me?
He stared impatiently at his phone and then looked down the desolate road. “Come on, dammit!”
“Hey, we gotta roll, boss,” urged Bear.
“Shit. Hang on.” He sent another text.
Gunner: SOS. Weapons hot. Out.
Gunner held his phone in front of him as they raced through the fence and back toward von Zwick’s house. He hoped to get a response on the estimated time of arrival of the cavalry. His phone became useless as they re-entered the dead zone without cell coverage. He and his team would be on their own for a while.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Home of Professor von Zwick
Northern Germany near the Baltic Sea
“We’ll take the same tactic as before,” suggested Gunner as the three operatives reloaded their weapons in von Zwick’s gun closet. Each of them carried battle rifles now along with their sidearm and a shotgun for each. They quickly filled magazines and shoved them into their cargo pants pockets. “We’ll maintain light discipline and use our NVG as an advantage.”
“ROE?” asked Cam, referring to their rules of engagement. It was a logical question to ask. The eight-man hit team that descended on them earlier were professionals with access to advanced weaponry, including rifle grenades. If Gunner’s hunch was right, the approaching bikers were nothing more than anarchists.
“Warn them off at first unless they shoot back,” Gunner replied. “Again, we know nothing about this bunch. Hell, they might not even be able to find us in the woods. Most times, they’re a rock-throwing, glass-breaking bunch of angry criminals looking for an excuse to tear up shit. That said, if they shoot, the hellfire they get in return will be well deserved.”
“Roger that,” said Bear as he slammed a magazine into his automatic rifle. He was the first to move into position.
Cam turned to Gunner. “With the U.S. troop withdrawal from Germany into Poland, it could take hours to get a chopper over here. And when they do, our extraction could be messy if the Nordkreuz are still wandering about the tree line.”
“What’re you saying?” asked Gunner.
“If we’re gonna hitch our ride without a messy firefight, we’ll need to be ready. There won’t be time to search for von Zwick’s stash of docs.”
Gunner, who’d already second-guessed leaving his team, took a deep breath and thought for a moment. “You’re right. Let’s see what we’re dealing with, and then I’ll make the call.”
Cam made a fist and gently hit Gunner in the chest. “Let’s see what these guys have in ’em.”
Now that she was familiar with her surroundings and with the use of the NVG, she moved swiftly down the hallway in the dark to get into position. Gunner did the same. Soon, all three of them had raised their firing portals, silently waiting for the attack.
Ten minutes had passed and there had been no activity. Gunner walked to each of the portals overlooking the partially destroyed south end of von Zwick’s house. He eased down the east hallway and checked in with Cam to see if she’d had any motion whatsoever. She thought she’d caught a glimpse of a rabbit. That was it.
Gunner was crossing through the large open space of the second floor toward Bear when he shouted in a hushed tone, “I’ve got movement! Four, maybe five bogeys bunched together just inside the woods.”
Gunner hustled to use one of Bear’s portals to see for himself.
“Okay, Bear. You got this?” he asked.
“Piece of cake,” the big man responded.
Gunner went back to his position. The only way for their new set of assailants to enter the house was through the gaping holes left by the grenades.
Suddenly, Bear unleashed a series of shotgun blasts. He’d fire, slide the gun’s handle to load another round, and fire again in rapid succession.
“They think they’re freakin’ Vikings or somethin’! Machetes, clubs, and shit! Molotovs incoming!”
Cam joined in. “I’ve got at least six, maybe eight gathering behind the trees.”
Gunner gave the order. “Fire at will.”
Both of his fellow operatives released quick four-round bursts from their automatic weapons. Cam’s bullets ripped into the soft bark of the pine trees, and a couple found their mark in the bodies of the attackers. Bear’s continuous use of the shotgun had devastating effects on the Vikings, as he called them.
The wide scatter effect might not have resulted in kill shots, but it certainly served to repel the onslaught of Molotov-cocktail-hurling thugs. Some of the firebombs struck the slate roof and caught the moss on fire. Most fell short and burned harmlessly on the dewy grass next to the house.
The intense heat from the flaming accelerant had the biggest effect on the horses and cattle held in von Zwick’s barn underneath Cam and Bear. Their agitated response could be heard through the wooden floors that separated them from the living area.
“They’re withdrawing!” shouted Bear. “I’ve got one on the ground crawling
