War Tides. Don PendletonЧитать онлайн книгу.
he knew the stakes were high here. A lot depended on them catching up to those IUA terror-mongers. If the terrorists escaped, it could mean serious consequences for the entire country.
Lyons finished bandaging Schwarz’s arm and then moved to a spot between the front seats while Schwarz turned his attention to the console. The terrorists had put considerable distance between them but Blancanales managed to gain on them. Considering the head start they had, Lyons was impressed that Blancanales had enough foresight to figure their best direction, and he said as much.
“No sweatski,” Blancanales said. “The highway was the most logical choice for escape.”
“Still…” Lyons said, but he didn’t press it. The warrior looked over his shoulder at Schwarz. “You got any electronic doodads that might be able to disable that thing?”
Schwarz shook his head. “Nothing comes to mind.”
Lyons reached down and scooped up his M-16 A-3. He detached the M-203 from it as this model could perform in an attached or stand-alone capacity. The warrior reached into the bag and withdrew a 40 mm round. As he slammed it home and closed the breech with a pronounced movement he declared, “This should do the trick.”
Schwarz expressed horror. “That van’s our only remaining lead. You’re going to blow it up?”
Lyons grinned and his eye took on a fearsome glint. “Watch and learn, my friend. Pol, get up beside that thing.”
“Best possible speed. Aye-aye, skipper.”
Blancanales put pedal to metal and shortly they were gaining on the terrorists’ van. The thing the terrorists had forgotten was that most rental vans had governors on them—not that it would have been any competition against the 8-cylinder Hemi engine beneath the hood of Able Team’s van, which was further enhanced by a Cummins turbocharger. When they rolled up parallel, Lyons opened the side door of the van, took careful aim and squeezed the trigger of the M-203. The shotgun-style pop of the weapon drowned out the sound of breaking glass.
The driver’s compartment immediately began to fill with smoke, and the van quickly took on an erratic course. Lyons ordered Blancanales to steer to their right rear quarter even with the front bumper of the enemy van so that they could keep the van from swerving into oncoming traffic. The thick white smoke now permeated the van interior, and the driver had no choice but to pull to the side of the road. He went a little too far and ended up rolling down a shallow, grassy embankment. Fortunately, the van came to halt where it wouldn’t pose any danger to bystanders.
As they came to a stop behind the van, Schwarz slapped Lyons on the shoulder. “Well played, Ironman!”
Lyons nodded acknowledgment before he bailed from the van with Blancanales and approached the enemy vehicle with weapons held at the ready. The rear doors opened and Lyons reached up and hauled out a pair of choking, gagging terrorists without giving them the chance to dismount. They hit the ground hard and Lyons held one down with his foot while he pointed the muzzle of his M-16 at the other.
Blancanales shouted for the driver to surrender, but the guy came out with SMG in hand and left Blancanales no choice. The terrorist triggered several rounds skyward as Blancanales tapped him with two rounds to the chest. The terrorist came off his feet and landed flat on his back in a muddy depression.
Blancanales returned to the prisoners and applied plastic riot cuffs on their wrists while Lyons covered him. He then took over watch duty while Lyons searched the van thoroughly.
The Able Team warrior finally emerged from the van several minutes later and Blancanales noted the puzzled look. “What is it?”
“Nothing.”
“Uh, sorry, I don’t get it. What do you mean nothing?”
“Just like I said. There are no plans, no papers, nothing… zip, nada. The thing’s totally empty.”
“You didn’t actually think they were going to leave us the kitchen sink, did you?”
“That’s just it,” Lyons said. “If they didn’t have the plans with them, then that means either they already got rid of them or—”
“They blew them up,” Blancanales finished. “You’re right, that doesn’t make any sense.”
Lyons turned his eyes on their prisoner. Like the other IUA combatants they had encountered, Lyons noticed the burning fanaticism in the man’s eyes.
“I don’t suppose we’d have much chance of coercing this guy—” Lyons kicked the bottom of the terrorist’s heel “—into telling us anything.”
Blancanales studied him. “You’re probably right. And we don’t really have time anyway. If they—”
The roar of an engine and echo of autofire cut his words short. The pair looked in the direction of the van and saw Schwarz battling it out with another van full of IUA goons, this one similar to the others. The terrorists didn’t seem very interested in negotiations. About a half dozen IUA gunners, automatic rifles clutched in their fists, erupted from the side of the van as it skidded to a halt on the loose gravel along the side of the road.
“So that’s how they did it,” Blancanales said.
Lyons nodded quickly as he took off in Schwarz’s direction and called over his shoulder, “That’s our missing link!”
The Able Team leader only got about a half dozen strides before he noticed one of the IUA terrorists lift a rocket launcher onto his shoulder and aim it in the direction of Able Team’s new war wagon. Lyons glanced at Schwarz, who also saw the move, and felt a relief as Schwarz made haste to get clear. Lyons went prone and aligned his M-16 on the launcher-toting terrorist, but he was a moment too late. Milliseconds before his volley of 5.56 mm rounds struck flesh, the rocket left the launcher with a deafening roar. The terrorist’s body fell to the pavement at the same moment Able Team’s high-tech van burst into a fireball with enough force to lift it off the ground.
Flames roiled from the van and vapors shimmered in the air, distorting images surrounding it as heat consumed the combustible fuels. Lyons ignored the destruction, stealing a glance to make sure Schwarz made it away before he turned his rifle on the next terrorist. About the same time he heard Blancanales begin to open fire with the Beretta, and Schwarz joined moments later with another M-16.
The three Able Team warriors hammered the five remaining terrorist gunners with a fusillade of high-velocity rounds. The terrorists danced under the onslaught like marionettes controlled by puppeteers. One terrorist caught a number of slugs to the throat, and blood spurted from the gaping neck wounds as his body slammed against the wall. Two more fell under the unerring fire from Schwarz and tumbled down the slight incline.
The van lurched to life, tires squealing, but the trip came to an abrupt end when Lyons shot out both the front and rear tires on the passenger side, causing the driver to lose control. Seeing any attempt to operate the van as futile, the surviving terrorist bailed from the driver’s seat and used the van to cover his escape. Lyons scrambled to his feet and sprinted off in pursuit.
It took Blancanales some time to figure out Lyons’s intent. “Where the hell are you going, Ironman?”
But the blond warrior was already out of earshot.
CHAPTER FIVE
Namibia, Africa
The chopper crash hadn’t seemed to produce any ill effects on the crew that emerged from her smoking fuselage. Oily clouds vented into a sky colored a dark hue by the desert sunset and initially obscured their numbers. David McCarter counted roughly a dozen men. They toted machine pistols and assault rifles, which meant they were probably trained to use them, but McCarter knew it would take more than that to intimidate the battle-hardened veterans of Phoenix Force.
Behind a nearby rock, Manning had set up his M-60 E-4, and he opened up on their enemies as soon as they broke from the chopper. The steady chug of the heavy-caliber weapon played like music to the