Oceans Of Fire. Don PendletonЧитать онлайн книгу.

      CHAPTER ONE

      Tajikstan

      “There’s the bugger now.” David McCarter scanned through his laser range-finder binoculars. His target led the front of a column of horsemen that wound its way through the mountain pass on ponies bred on the steppes of Asia. The shaggy little horses almost looked like overgrown dogs and the stirrups of their riders threatened to brush the ground.

      “I make it an even forty.” Gary Manning lay prone in the rocks beside McCarter and peered at their objective through the 3×10 variable-power optical sight of his .300 Magnum Dakota Longbow tactical rifle. “Man, is he ugly.”

      Gotron “The Goat” Khan was a little man with a head like a bowling ball and a body shaped like a pear. The sloping shelf of his brow, his wide, flattened nose and the sparse beard tufting his chin made him look like his nickname. The fact that he had a complexion that looked as if he had taken a fragmentation grenade to the face didn’t help.

      “He put the ‘ugh’ in ugly,” Calvin James agreed over the com link.

      The ex-Navy SEAL was right, but despite first impressions, Gotron Khan was the most feared man in the Zeravshan Mountains. He was a modern-day warlord with his own fief, a kingdom built on the profits of smuggling guns, opium and slaves, and he ruled with an iron fist. He carried a WWII Soviet-issue Cossack saber in his sash, which was the symbol of his rule. The law of Khan was simple. Minor offences required the removal of a hand; felonies called for a beheading. Khan liked to dispense justice personally whenever possible. His men were heavily armed with black market Russian military equipment of every description, from submachine guns to squad automatic weapons.

      It was the suspected black market Russian military equipment wrapped in carpets on the pack mules that held the interest of Phoenix Force’s leader. McCarter thumbed his throat mike. “I want the Goat, and what he’s packing on those mules. Options?”

      “Well, I make it a full platoon of light cavalry.” Manning kept his crosshairs on Khan. “We can beat ’em easy, but securing them is another matter. When we start shooting, they can scatter and fast.”

      T.J. Hawkins chimed in from farther down the side of the gorge. He was the youngest member of the team but spoke with the hard-won experience of a Delta Force commando. “The next village is ten klicks east. We’re ninety-nine percent certain that’s where they’re going. We can wait until nightfall, insert soft and make it a snatch rather than assault.”

      “Rafe?” McCarter queried.

      “I don’t know,” Rafael Encizo replied. “We’re in Khan’s stomping grounds. We let him get into the village and who knows how many more men he’ll have, and we’ll have to worry about collateral damage if things go hot.”

      “Cal?”

      “Rafe’s right,” Calvin James stated. “I say we take them here and now.”

      McCarter agreed with the assessment. “We take them here, in the narrow, and cork both sides of the bottle. T.J. you plug the back door. I’ll take the front.”

      Manning frowned without taking his eye off his scope. “We’ll need about a minute to get into position. How do you want to play it?”

      “I guess I’ll just go chat up the bastard.” McCarter set down his binoculars. “All units. I’m heading down. Equip for Plan B. Be in position in two minutes.”

      Phoenix Force responded “Affirmative” from their various positions.

      McCarter made his way swiftly down through the rocks. As he hit the mountain path, he could hear the clatter of the horses’ hooves on the stones and smell the animals as they approached. The horsemen were in their own territory and at a low state of alert, laughing and smoking cigarettes. The Phoenix Force leader waited behind his chosen boulder until Manning spoke in his earpiece. “Ready on your go, Phoenix One.”

      The Briton stepped out onto the path. Horses reared and men shouted in alarm. McCarter smiled at the warlord in a friendly fashion. “Top of the morning, Khan.”

      Two dozen automatic weapons whirled in McCarter’s direction. Gotron Khan sawed savagely on the reins. The horse rolled its eyes and stamped, but not in fear. McCarter had startled the stallion and now it wanted to attack him.

      “Top of the morning?” The Goat slapped his thigh delightedly. “English! Goddamn it!”

      McCarter smiled. “You got me.”

      “Hey!” Gotron took in McCarter’s desert camouflage fatigues, body armor and the scarf wrapped around his head. The warlord gazed appreciatively at the Barrett M-468 weapon system draped casually across McCarter’s shoulder. The 6.8-caliber rifle looked like an M-16 on steroids. A SUSAT optical sight had been mounted on the receiver and a 40 mm M-203 grenade launcher hung beneath the barrel. Eight inches of United States Marine Corps OKC 3S bayonet hung conspicuously from the muzzle. The Goat stabbed a gleefully accusing finger at McCarter. “British SAS! Who Dares Wins!”

      “Well…” McCarter shrugged. “Not exactly.”

      “Not exactly?” Khan leaned back in his saddle and scratched his goatee with the muzzle of a Russian A-91 compact assault rifle. “You lost?” He pointed south. “Afghanistan and NATO forces are eight hundred kilometers that way.”

      His horsemen, who spoke English, smiled unpleasantly.

      “No.” McCarter shook his head. “Not lost.”

      Khan cocked an eyebrow. “You are on a mission.”

      “As a matter of fact I am.”

      “Ah! Goddamn!” Khan leaned forward with almost childlike-curiosity. “A secret mission?”

      “No, no secret.” McCarter lifted his chin toward the baggage. “I’d just like to know what those mules are carrying.”

      Gotron Khan smiled to reveal a mouth that could only be described as dental armageddon. “Cucumbers!”

      The horsemen laughed coarsely.

      “Yeah, bloody great big ones.” McCarter laughed. “Or so I hear.”

      The laughter of Khan’s men became rougher and their eyes went hard. Manning spoke in McCarter’s earpiece. “All units in position.”

      “The biggest!” Khan grinned.

      “And where’re you off to with your great big cucumbers, then?” McCarter shrugged innocently. “If I might ask.”

      “Mecca!” Khan roared. “We are on Haj!”

      Khan’s men laughed uproariously.

      The leader of Phoenix Force smiled. Gotron Khan and his forty horsemen smiled back. It was all very congenial.

      “I’d fancy a look,” McCarter suggested.

      The Goat sighed. “I fancy you give me your rifle now.”

      “I think I’ll hold on to it.” McCarter replied smiling. “But, tell you what, mate. Why don’t you and the lads drop yours.”

      Gotron Khan stopped smiling. The muzzles of two dozen weapons pointed at McCarter in open hostility. The Briton spoke quietly into his mike. “Show of force, lads.”

      Horsemen