'Damn it, Jenkins, he sees you!' cried Beasley. 'Move up and take him out!'
Just then Lieutenant Moch got on the Cross-Com with an intel update from his Predator: the power crew was at the fence, working on the gate, and yet another truck was inbound.
The news prompted Beasley to call the captain. 'Ghost Lead, this is Bravo Lead. I'll need to blow that transformer within the next couple of minutes.'
When Mitchell and Smith reached the south building, only one guard had remained outside, thanks to Nolan. Smith had just tagged the other guy with an impressive shot, and the main door had split under Mitchell's foot as though it'd been made of balsa, thanks to years of martial arts training.
Now, as they headed up the staircase, en route toward Major-General Wu's quarters and the remaining guard there, Mitchell drew in a long breath and spoke evenly over the radio, responding to Beasley's call: 'Hold off on the fireworks as long as you can. Looks like Chen's on the move in the north building. Change of plan. You move in and take him out.'
'Roger that. On our way.'
'Diaz?' Mitchell called. 'Help him out.'
'Roger that,' she said.
Mitchell and Smith reached the fourth-floor balcony. They crouched near the wall, taking about a dozen more steps toward the major-general's door.
Suddenly, that door swung open, and one of the guards hurried out. Behind him came Major-General Wu Hui himself, wearing only boxer shorts and brandishing a pistol. Both men thundered directly toward them.
Their expressions changed as they spotted the two men crouched near the wall, but they were already too late.
Smith got off the first shot, striking the guard just as he was lifting his rifle.
Mitchell cut loose with his MR-C, hosing down the balcony with suppressed rounds and sending the muscular Wu to the wooden floor.
As Mitchell dove forward himself, Wu began squeezing off rounds and hollering obscenities in Mandarin.
Smith issued a half-strangled cry as Mitchell kept firing until Wu's pistol fell silent.
'Paul!' Mitchell rolled onto his side, sat up, where Smith was clutching his right biceps.
'Stings bad.'
'I'll tie it off quick.'
Mitchell reached into his pack for his medical kit. Every Ghost carried one except Nolan who, as medic, toted the full medical bag.
Within two minutes Mitchell had Smith's arm tied off and a big trauma bandage slapped in place.
'Let's go take a look,' said Smith, lifting his chin at Wu's quarters.
Mitchell nodded, and while Smith double-timed ahead, Mitchell rushed over to Wu, his blood spreading across the floor like a dilating pupil, dark and oily. He lifted the man's head, making sure the folks back home got a good picture of his face. Then he rose. 'Ghost Team? Targets Bravo and Delta terminated. Two more to go!'
'Captain, we got more stuff,' called Smith from behind Wu's open door.
They had already seized several flash drives and two portfolios of documents from Xu's room.
'Take it all,' grunted Mitchell.
All that gunfire below left Diaz struggling to do two things: get a bead on that remaining sniper and get control of her breath.
Even as she sighted him, he was sighting her brothers in arms around the castle.
Although he had yet to fire, she could already hear the crack of his rifle in her mind. The bastard was set up on another rock, unflinching in the rain, as though he'd been there for a hundred years, calmed by the spirits of his forefathers and waiting for the perfect shot.
The rain tapered off, just a little, the forest growing more silent, as Carlos and Tomas began to voice their doubts.
She blinked hard then took in a long breath and held it. The reticle rested squarely over the sniper's head.
She swung her rifle around, positioning herself to face the north building, where the two guards posted outside had gone inside, presumably to defend Major-General Chen Yi, the NMR commander with the lazy left eye.
Despite the thick, earthen walls, Diaz could still see those guards as red diamonds superimposed over the building and rising as they mounted the staircase.
Both men drew nearer the wall. She could take them, but there was only one round in her chamber, and the magazine was empty.
After estimating the first guard's angle of ascent, she lined up, took the shot, firing right through the wall, striking him dead-on. The red diamond winked out. Chills spidered up her spine.
No more time to celebrate.
She worked the bolt, ejected the spent case, dropped her firing hand back two inches, ejected the cold magazine, reached forward, and seized the hot magazine, slapped it home, reloaded, and sighted in on the next target, all within three seconds.
She had him.
But an odd, tingling sensation worked across her face, and the hairs stood on the back of her neck.
Abruptly, static filled her HUD as a bolt of lightning struck not five meters to her left.
The HUD flickered back to life, now showing a green diamond where the red one had been.
Two more green diamonds appeared just below the first.
Diaz had been so startled by the lightning strike that she had pulled the trigger, the thunder coming a half second after the click of her rifle.
Sergeant Marcus Brown had led the way up the staircase, and with a hand signal, he had told Beasley and Jenkins to hold.
The guard ahead had just rushed up a few more steps toward his buddy, whose ass had been tagged by one of Diaz's insanely accurate sniper shots.
Brown had charged up behind the guy, quads burning like they did back on the gridiron. He had leveled his MK48 light machine gun, a powerful and beautiful weapon used to preach the good word of democracy. He had fired a quick burst that pummeled the guard to the steps.
Then he had sighed, waved up the others, reached the dead guard, and was just stepping over him, when the wall exploded behind, pieces crashing into his head.
Then… nothing.
As Ramirez and Nolan neared Admiral Cai's door on the fifth floor of the east building, they smelled something burning.
There it was: smoke wafting from the admiral's half-open door.
Ramirez raced across the balcony, past the partially opened doors of frightened civilians peering at him.
He reached the door, which was hanging half-open, booted it in, and moved into the room, squinting and lifting an arm against the heat.
Flames shot up from the bed and licked the blackened ceiling. It seemed the admiral had burned his classified documents and other materials and had fled, but where the hell was he now?
Nolan, it seemed, already had the answer. 'Joey! Down there!'
Ramirez rushed outside and glanced over the railing, where below one of the guards and another man, presumably the admiral, dashed across the courtyard.
