continued to roar in the distance. Although he felt guilty about abandoning Payne at the intersection, he knew he had made the right decision. He had rescued Kaiser and had protected the cargo by driving the ATV out of harm’s way. In the heat of battle, he had kept his composure and had done what he needed to do. It was a skill he had learned with Payne. During their time in the MANIACs, they had been taught to improvise behind enemy lines since their missions rarely went as planned. Sometimes that meant using salami to slide down a rope, other times it meant taking over the duties of a fallen colleague. Ultimately, as long as they completed their missions, the Pentagon rarely questioned their methods or asked who did what. They only cared about success.
Of course, now that Kaiser and the cargo were temporarily safe, Jones’s focus shifted back to everyone he had left behind. Success was important, but so was his best friend’s survival. ‘Black Knight to White King. Can you hear me? Over.’
There was fifteen seconds of silence before Jones heard a reply.
‘I’m kind of busy,’ Payne said from his hiding spot in the bushes. ‘What’s your status?’
‘Hanging out. Chillin’. Working on my tan.’
‘How’s our patient?’
‘Safe. How’s Collins?’
‘Dead.’
Jones had figured as much. ‘Do you need an extra gun?’
‘Funny you should mention that. I’m working on that right now.’
‘Meaning?’
‘I’ll tell you later. For now, you’re in charge of our patient. Get him to the chopper asap. I’ll take care of everything else.’
‘Hold up,’ Jones said, tensely. He spotted a man in camouflage running up the path towards the ATV. Once he realized it was Huber, he slowly relaxed. ‘A pawn is heading my way. Do you want me to send him back?’
‘That’s a negative. I’m stuck with one already. I can’t supervise two.’
‘Are you sure? Because-’
‘Go!’ Payne ordered. ‘Make sure you aren’t followed. Take precautions.’
Jones nodded in understanding.
It was the type of environment where he could work his magic.
Payne stared at the G36 assault rifle from his hiding spot in the trees. In some ways, he felt like a hungry fox eyeing a hen house. He knew the risk was great, but so was the reward.
Even though the weapon was less than ten feet from his grasp, it would be tough to recover since it was strapped to Collins, who was lying dead near the intersection where they had been ambushed. It was an area surrounded by enemy troops. Making matters worse, Collins had fallen on top of the rifle when he had slumped out of the ATV. To recover it, Payne would have to grab more than the weapon. He would have to grab the corpse as well.
Over the years, Payne had been in enough battles to shrug off things like death. For better or worse, he had learned how to dehumanize his environment in order to survive. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have stayed sane in such hellish conditions. To him, he wasn’t killing people; he was merely shooting at targets. Nor was he risking his life on a daily basis, he was simply completing a mission. And when it came to grabbing the G36, he sure as hell wasn’t stealing a dead man’s gun. He was merely reacquiring an asset for the betterment of his squad.
‘Are you ready?’ Payne whispered to Richter.
He nodded from behind a large boulder.
‘Are you sure? Because my ass is on the line.’
Richter nodded again, this time more confidently.
Payne smiled and raised three fingers in the air. ‘Three, two, one, go!’
Working in unison, Richter fired several shots into the trees on the other side of the intersection while Payne burst from his hiding place and ran towards Collins. He knew the suppression fire would buy him some time, but he didn’t know how much. He prayed it would be long enough to grab his fallen comrade and make it back to safety.
Sprinting as fast as he could, Payne reached Collins in less than two seconds. Experience had taught him how tricky it was to lift a dead weight from the ground, so Payne made sure he had a good grip on the body before he dragged it back into the trees. From his knees, Payne plunged his arms under the dead man’s armpits then hooked his hands in front of his chest. When Payne stood, the corpse was facing away from him and most of its weight was draped on the crooks of Payne’s elbows between his forearms and biceps, its skull resting on Payne’s chest just below his chin. Wasting no time, Payne started to backpedal from the path. As he did, the dead man’s heels dragged across the ground like two anchors skimming across a lake bed.
Krueger, who had killed Collins to begin with, watched this action unfold from his position near the entrance to the gorge. Although he had assumed the driver was dead, he didn’t want to take any chances – especially since he had the opportunity to shoot two men with one bullet. If successful, it was the type of shot he could brag about for the rest of his life, an exploit that would impress the toughest of critics, even a grizzled criminal like Mueller. In Krueger’s mind, that’s what this mission was about, impressing his boss and moving up in the organization.
With a steady hand, Krueger raised his gun and fired a single round just before the two men disappeared from sight. The bullet exited the chamber with a mighty blast and whistled through the air towards its intended target. Branches scratched the back of Payne’s neck at approximately the same time as the bullet’s impact. It struck Collins in the sternum, just below the spot where Payne’s hands were locked together around the dead man’s chest. The impact was so close he felt the meaty thump in his fingers as he fell back into the trees. A few inches lower and the bullet would have ripped through Collins’s gut and entered Payne’s abdomen, bringing with it the type of bacteria that could have caused sepsis, and possibly death. But thanks to Collins’s ribcage, the bullet rattled harmlessly inside the corpse as Payne tumbled safely to the ground.
Payne took a deep breath, then unhooked the black strap on the G36, which was slung over the dead man’s shoulder. Weighing a little less than eight pounds, the Heckler amp; Koch assault rifle utilized NATO-standard 5.56mm cartridges and thirty-round magazines. To his delight, Payne found three extra thirty-round clips in Collins’s pocket. He quickly stashed them in his cargo pants and prepared to make his move. Before he did, he eyed the fire selector just above the rifle’s trigger. Made for the German military, it was labelled with three letters: S, E and F.
‘S’ stood for
‘E’ stood for
‘F’ stood for
Payne grinned and cranked the selector to ‘F’. With his experience and 120 rounds to work with, he knew the ‘F’ represented something more vulgar than automatic fire.
With this weapon in his hands, the enemy was fucked.
40
Payne knew enough about the Partnach Gorge to view it as a promising escape route. The trail was downhill, narrow and approximately half a mile long. Protected by limestone cliffs and a raging river, he couldn’t be outflanked or outmanoeuvred. And if the goons tried to set up a barricade, Payne and Richter had enough firepower to blast their way through it.
In Payne’s mind, the only drawback was the large number of hikers they were bound to encounter in the gorge. Families on vacation, tourists who didn’t speak English, maybe even children on a field trip. Payne had a great deal of experience with urban warfare and trusted his shot selection. He knew the odds of him hitting an innocent bystander were pretty damn slim; he was that accurate when it came to shooting. Unfortunately, he wouldn’t be the only one firing. If the ambush at the intersection was any indication, the enemy didn’t give a damn about collateral damage. Either that, or they had something against the French.
Payne studied the intersection, then turned his attention towards Richter. He was crouched behind the same large boulder as before, his rifle in his hands, the same confused look on his face. Thus far, he had proven himself to be an asset. He was strong, courageous and just dumb enough not to question orders. Over the years, Payne had worked with a lot of men like Richter – the self-described ‘grunts’ (General, Replaceable, UNTrained) who filled the
