Chapter 51

51

Whatever concerns Rahul had about locating the enemy combatants dissipated as soon as the surveillance drones were deployed and the sensor packages dropped.

The wiry Indian national studied the display in his hand. While he obviously preferred a visual display, he was nevertheless able to track the movement of one of the mercenaries deployed into the mine. With each halting step, the merc plodded deeper into the bowels of the earth in search of his flag, completely unaware that his steps were triggering tiny sensors in the dirt.

Rahul's admiration for the Gospel targeting program soared. He would never think to put either sensors or a weapon in this location. He grinned as his thumb hovered over a release button.

"Come on, now, dear fellow. Just a few more steps…"

★

The German inched his way forward in the dark, sweeping his weapon light over the ceiling and walls as he advanced, searching for trip wires, cameras, and robots. His shallow breaths were meant to calm his racing heart and focus his fevered brain. He had fought on three continents against some of the worst savages on the planet—but at least they were human savages. He never imagined in a million years he would be in a battle with mechanical monsters. He felt as if he were in a horror movie. The stench of the Syrian's burning flesh and hair still haunted him.

According to his wrist map, he was less than fifty meters away from his assigned flag. As soon as he activated it, he would race back to the rally point, careful to avoid exposing himself to aerial surveillance.

The German took another step, planting his combat boot in the dust. An audible click echoed above his head.

He froze.

He glanced up at the ceiling just in time to see the spiderlike device clinging to the rock open its pod and release its load of napalm gel. Seconds later, the German's face was aflame, his blinded screams choked out by the unquenchable fire robbing him of oxygen—and his life.

★

The Polish twins crouched on the edge of a clearing, their target in sight.

Five hundred meters away, their assigned flag stood like a lone sentry, its stark white color in sharp contrast to the jungle's cacophony of blazing greens. There was no way to reach the flag without exposing themselves to the sky overhead.

"We could wait until nightfall," Pawel said, scanning the blue vault. He was the older of the two.

"I don't see any drones up there," his brother, Jakub, said.

"Doesn't mean there isn't one, depending on the altitude."

"Unless he's flying a Reaper, I doubt he's got anything with that kind of range. Besides, nightfall won't help us if he's using night vision, thermal, or infrared."

"So what do you want to do?"

"I want to get that flag. Wait here." Jakub rose to his feet, but Pawel pulled him back down.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm getting that flag. You're waiting here."

"I'm the older brother—"

"By two minutes."

"I promised Mama I'd watch out for you."

"Then we'll go together." The two men gripped their Polish bullpup Grot carbines.

"Let's go."

The two fighters stood, exchanged a fatalistic smile, and bolted out of the jungle toward the flag.

Running full tilt, the two Poles got within two hundred meters of the flag with Jakub in the lead. A loud crack snapped a hundred meters farther overhead. A puff of black smoke marked the location of the explosion. Unharmed by the strange burst, the two war veterans ignored the blast and raced forward with Jakub lengthening his lead. Seventy meters later—

Boom! Jakub's left foot was torn away from his ankle by a mine, cartwheeling him into the dirt in a shower of arterial blood.

The younger Pole screamed as Pawel crashed down beside him. He ripped open his medical kit and grabbed a tourniquet.

"Shut up, idiot," Pawel said in a harsh whisper. "You'll only draw fire." He cinched the tourniquet hard to stop the bleeding.

Jakub fought the scream through clenched teeth. He breathed heavily to calm himself.

"Leave me—"

"Don't be stupid," Pawel said as he wrapped the bloody stump in QuikClot combat gauze, his eyes scanning the area. "Mama would kill me."

Somehow Jakub managed a snorting laugh.

"Yeah, she would."

Pawel hit Jakub with an auto-injector loaded with ketamine to kill the pain. He'd be high as a kite in moments, but the pain would be dulled.

Pawel stood. Despite the fact they were identical twins, Jakub had always been faster, while Pawel was stronger. Pawel helped Jakub up to his one unsteady leg, then lifted him onto his shoulders with a grunt.

"The flag…"

"Forget the flag," Pawel said. "We've got to get you stabilized." The towheaded Pole turned and headed back for the tree line from where they came in a steady, plodding march.

A hundred meters into their retreat, another explosion cracked overhead and directly in their path.

Pawel instinctively dropped to his knees, his brother out cold from the drugs. He scanned the area, saw nothing. His heart raced. He knew they were being watched. Out here they were exposed. His best shot was getting the two of them back to the tree line.

Pawel stood up with his brother still draped around his shoulders, grunting with the effort like an Olympic dead-lifter. He shifted Jakub's weight around to get more comfortable, then began jogging toward the trees. Something told him to change directions slightly, and he sped off at a forty-five-degree angle from his original course. It would take him longer to get under cover, but no telling what was waiting for them straight ahead—

BOOM!

The explosion tore away Pawel's booted foot with a snapping, bear-trap crunch. His wounded leg collapsed and the two brothers tumbled into the dirt—

BOOM! Jakub's forehead hit another mine, blowing open his skull like a confetti cannon, splattering Pawel in blood and brain matter.

"Jakub!" Pawel screamed as he clawed at his brother's lifeless body. It was no use. He was gone.

Pawel reached with trembling hands for his medical kit to treat his own wound, but his eyes were fast clouding. His fumbling fingers couldn't grip the tourniquet pack. His blood pressure plunged and his heart fluttered. He suddenly felt cold, and very tired.

He took a deep breath and shut his eyes to rest for a moment until he could try again for the tourniquet. All he needed was a minute to gather his strength. His moment of rest quickly slipped into unconsciousness. The two Poles lay in a widening pool of their commingling blood.

Minutes later, he joined his brother in whatever afterlife awaited them both.

★

Kabak, the Turk, stood in the dank, dark basement of one of the city's crumbling buildings. He passed his wrist device over the triangular flag, capturing it. He checked the display as another red flag turned to green.

That made three. McGuire and the Nigerian had captured their assigned flags, but seven still remained.

Perhaps it was the chill air that sent a shiver down his spine, but he doubted it. The reality was they were running out of time. Their only hope of survival was capturing all ten flags. But judging by the diminishing radio chatter, he assumed the other mercs were getting killed off faster than they were capturing flags.

His radio suddenly crackled in his ear.

"Kabak—you read me?"

The Turk recognized Plata's voice despite the static.

"I read you."

"I'm standing at my flag, but my capture device is dead. I need your help."

"Where are you?"

"Flag number seven," Plata replied. "I'm in the gray building directly across the street from you. Third floor."

Kabak checked his digital map. Flag number seven was three hundred meters due east, not across the street.

What is going on?

"That's not possible."

"I know where my flag is," Plata said. "I will meet you across the street, then take you there. It's about three hundred meters from your position. I know the safest route. No windows."

"How do I find you?"

"Third floor, top of the stairs, hard left, first door. A closet. No windows. Hurry!"

Kabak frowned. Crossing the street meant being exposed to the air, something he had assiduously avoided.

"What about surveillance drones?" the Turk asked.

"All clear for now—but hurry!"

Plata's flag would make four, Kabak thought. Then they could team up and plot out the rest. There was still a chance he would escape this madhouse alive.

"Roger that. On my way."

★

Kabak climbed the fracturing stairs to the first floor and made his way to street level. He stood inside the door, away from any prying eyes that might be above.

There was, indeed, a gray building directly across from him, its doorway askew as the foundation cracked and sagged over the years. The potholed street was strewn with rubble. It would be a short thirty-meter dash across the road to the other doorway, and safety.

"Still clear?" Kabak asked, worried about surveillance drones.

"Still clear. But hurry!"

"On my way—now."

Kabak took a deep breath, clutched his rifle, and raced into the street, his body aimed directly at the cockeyed doorway. Five charging steps into his run he was nearly cut in half by three large-caliber armor-piercing rounds that tore through his rib cage.

The Turk was dead before he hit the ground.

★

Rahul was gratified with the sound of applause from the Vendor's clients clapping in his headset. They had been observing nearly every aspect of Rahul's actions so far and had seen the other kills. But the death of the Turk seemed to have pleased them most.

The Indian assumed it was the level of subterfuge involved in the exercise. Plata's incessant babbling had made it quite easy to capture his voice, and the Mak?ī 's onboard AI easily synthesized it, and masked it with radio interference. All Rahul had to do was talk to Kabak through the Mak?ī 's synthesized radio transmitter to sound like Plata and fool the Turk into thinking he was speaking with his commander.

Rahul's own satisfaction with killing Kabak was tactical. The seasoned Turk fighter had brilliantly avoided all optical surveillance until he reached the building where his flag was located, and even then Rahul's surveillance drone had barely caught a glimpse of him.

Rahul assumed the Turk discovered the underground tunnels that ran from that basement to several other buildings in the city. The Turk might never again appear on his surveillance screens. Judging by his military records, Kabak was perhaps the best fighter of the bunch. Rahul had no doubt the wily Turk could ferret out the rest of the flags all by himself if given the opportunity. He had to find a way to draw Kabak out before he disappeared into the tunnels.

Spoofing Plata's voice had proved the perfect solution.

Once out in the street, the Mak?ī 's semi-auto sniper rifle took over. Tracking the speeding Turk had proved effortless, as had the nearly instantaneous calculation of speed and distance the computer fed into the wirelessly controlled "guided" sniper rounds. Three shots were excessive, but Rahul couldn't risk not killing him. The Turk had proven too difficult to find.

Now it was time to finish the others.