Chapter 23 #2
“Assholes couldn’t leave me a damn key.” Shaun reached beneath the dash and pulled the ignition wiring free, working quickly through the bundle. “Nope, that would have been too fucking generous.”
The engine caught with a grumbling roar that sounded way too loud, and surprised shouts immediately carried across the compound.
Zenko brought his weapon up to the open window, searching for the first dumbass stupid enough to show himself.
Beside him, Shaun slammed the truck into gear, and Zenko’s gaze caught for half a second on the flex of his thigh as he planted his boot on the accelerator.
Seriously? Now?
The truck lurched forward hard enough to throw Zenko back against the seat before Shaun gave the old diesel more fuel and sent them barreling out from beneath the roof.
“Hold on.” Shaun hauled the wheel around, and Zenko grabbed for the dash as the rear of the truck swung wide.
Zenko didn’t need Shaun to tell him to hold on, because holy shit, that fishtail into the courtyard would have made a street racer on a drift track proud.
The old truck sure as shit wasn’t built for it.
The rear swung wide before the tires grabbed again, the body rocking hard enough to make him wonder if Shaun was about to put the damn thing on its side.
“Damn it, babe.” He slammed a hand against the dash to keep himself from going face-first into the windscreen.
A sudden boom punched through the compound, followed by rounds hammering into the side of the truck as Shaun fought the wheel around and aimed them straight for the gate.
“Hope like fuck this gate isn’t reinforced.” Shaun planted his boot harder on the accelerator as the gate rushed toward them, and Zenko braced himself against the dash.
Come on, you ugly Russian bastard. Don’t fucking fail us now.
“Brace.” Shaun locked both hands on the wheel and drove straight at the gate.
Zenko could see they were going to hit the damn thing.
He dropped his shoulder against the seat and braced a boot against the floor a heartbeat before the truck slammed into the gate.
Metal shrieked against metal as the hinges tore free and one side folded outward beneath the weight of the truck.
They punched through into the desert, and he barely had time to register they’d made it before an RPG streaked over the cab and detonated ahead of them.
He ducked instinctively as Shaun hauled the wheel around.
“Fuckballs!” Shaun hauled the wheel around, fighting to keep them clear of the flames as the truck bounced across the rough ground.
Zenko twisted in his seat and brought his rifle up, firing through the open window as the first of the pursuing vehicles came through the broken gate behind them. The canvas-covered bed might hide them from view from the wrong angle, but it wasn’t going to stop a fucking bullet.
Shaun swung the truck down into a wash, and Zenko grabbed the dash as they dropped onto the flatter wadi bed. The suspension bounced hard beneath them before Shaun straightened the wheel and opened up the old diesel, trying to put some distance between them and the vehicle coming through the gate.
Zenko keyed his comms. “TOC, Ambra One, extraction is on me. I repeat, extraction is on One.”
“Ambra One, TOC, I can’t send a helo into Iranian airspace.”
“TOC, I don’t give a shit. Send the damn bird!” Zenko snapped, his voice sharp enough that Shaun flinched beside him.
“Ambra One, asking for permission, over.”
“Do not ask for fucking permission. No time. Send the bird. Over.”
Zenko ducked as another burst of fire tore across the wash, then felt a hard impact slam into his side.
“Arrrgh, I’m hit.”
“Where are you hit?” Shaun’s head snapped toward him before he immediately corrected the wheel, keeping the truck from drifting into the side of the wadi. “Where the fuck are you hit?”
“Plate took it, I’m good!” Zenko yelled as he twisted toward the pickup racing along the top of the wadi, almost parallel with them. He brought his rifle up and fired through the open window, the cab filling with smoke as rounds tore through the canvas and punched into the truck around them.
“Ambra One, TOC, I have a helo inbound, but I need authorization to cross into Iranian airspace.” Max’s voice came through, clipped and controlled despite the chaos around them.
Zenko kept firing toward the pickup as he waited for the answer, already knowing exactly how much trouble that authorization could cause.
“Max, get the fucking bird moving,” Noble ordered. “I’ll deal with authorization.”
Zenko heard the exchange and tightened his grip on his rifle as he fired another burst toward the pickup. Noble understood exactly what the situation had become. If authorization didn’t come in time, Zenko had a feeling their commander would find another way to get them out of Iran.
“Ambra One, TOC, helo is inbound, ETA ten minutes.”
“We don’t have ten minutes, TOC. Tell them to get their lazy asses moving faster.
” Zenko fired another burst toward the pickup as it kept pace along the ridge, then ducked when return fire chewed into the side of the truck.
Ten minutes was an eternity when they were being hunted across open desert with four vehicles somewhere behind them and no idea what waited ahead.
“Ambra One, TOC, they’re moving as fast as they can.”
“Then tell them to move faster.”
Zenko glanced at Shaun, who had both hands locked around the wheel, his attention fixed on the wash ahead. The old Russian truck bounced hard over the uneven ground, but it kept moving, and right now that was all they needed from it.
He twisted in his seat and looked back through the shattered rear window.
Dust boiled behind them, and the first of the pursuing vehicles was already dropping into the wash.
Another appeared farther back, followed by a third.
The fourth was still somewhere beyond the ridge, but Zenko knew it was coming.
Ten minutes.
He checked the rifle, shifted his position, and brought the weapon back through the window as Shaun pushed the truck harder down the wash. They had ten minutes to stay alive, and Zenko intended to make every fucking second count.