Chapter 65
Crap! The hand that Dilya had slapped with her knife’s wrist sheath was all Derek could use to leverage himself aboard the racing DAGOR. And it hurt! He’d have to find a way to pay the twerp back—like teach her dog a new trick since Zackie listened to him now. It would fluster Dilya even more.
“Straight at them, Hot Rod. Misty, do not destroy their helos—at least not unless absolutely necessary.”
He flipped up one of the rear side-seats in the DAGOR’s truck bed.
From the storage beneath, he extracted a blue-painted sidearm.
“Don’t say I never gave you anything.” He dropped it, along with a single blue magazine, in Abby’s lap.
“Don’t shoot them in the face. They won’t necessarily have goggles on to protect their eyes.
Even if they do, it’s just plain nasty.”
“Only one mag?”
“I like your style, but this won’t take long enough to do any reloading.
” He took a pair of altered Glocks himself and then passed more up to the others.
Simunitions rounds fired like the real thing, flew about a hundred feet, and stung if they caught you.
No paintball, but still nonlethal. Live rounds couldn’t fire in blue guns; they had smaller barrel sizes by a few crucial caliber.
The blues, however, could fire in a standard weapon, which could be severely embarrassing—or worse, as they gummed up the works or caused jams without doing more than annoying the enemy.
Before every mission, a Delta operator scrounged through their entire kit to purge the blues. Carrying both at once was against all the rules. Of course, D-boys and girls weren’t exactly big on rules.
“Rev it loud!”
Hot Rod yanked the shifter down a gear and punched the accelerator. The engine roared.
Derek popped his head up to check the MI6 team’s reactions.
As he’d hoped, every head was facing their way but he could see beyond them that his guys had gotten into it. Sixty seconds warning had been plenty.
Charlie Two and Four had initially climbed high. An MH-47G was a hella powerful bird with a ten-meter-per-second climb rate. In thirty seconds, they’d popped up to a thousand feet and kicked out their cargo.
It began raining D-boys. The pair of four-man MRZRs and two bikes fluttered down to either side of the DAGOR’s central path with a driver parachuting down so close behind that they were mounted in seconds.
One of the guys tried to land directly into the MRZR’s driver’s seat but missed and ended up on the passenger side with his weapon at the ready.
Though no one else seemed to notice, Derek would tease him about it later.
Maybe change his tag to Wrong Side or Passenger.
Not Shotgun—the dude would enjoy that too much.
Hot Rod slammed the DAGOR into a four-wheel spinning slide that finished with Abby’s and Derek’s toes a bare meter from the leader’s knees.
The MI6 boys couldn’t look away as he and Abby were slid off the tailgate and onto their feet together by the last of the momentum like a movie scene.
Because behind the MI6ers, the two Chinooks had plummeted back to Earth as only a Night Stalker could do.
They’d been doing such antics long enough that none of the Brits thought anything of the overhead noise and didn’t even look up.
Pity, the maneuver was an amazing thing to witness.
Fifty feet and twenty tons of helo had stood on its nose and fallen out of the sky, only to swing flat and slam into a hover at ten meters up.
There they kicked out FAST ropes. Within seconds, it was raining more D-boys. His team slid down the ropes so close together that their feet were practically touching the next man’s hands below him.
They landed silently and raced up behind the Brits .
At a nod from Derek, they all took the final step and pressed a blue sidearm up against the base of each man’s skull. Eyes that had been squinted at Abby and Derek all shot wide.
Only one decided to fight back. He spun to slap-grab the weapon against his skull, not realizing it wasn’t lethal, but taking a huge risk if it was.
One of the boys on an electric motorcycle goosed silently forward.
Seeing what he was up to, his teammate released the sidearm, dumping the magazine as he did so, and dodged out of the way.
The bike’s front wheel scooped up the attacker between his legs.
When the biker jammed on the brakes, the fool landed face down on the pavement, not even hanging onto the empty weapon.
The driver eased the bike up beside him and casually planted a boot on his neck.
Misty fired a single round. The big Browning barked hard and the round screamed between his and Abby’s shoulders before punching a hole in the pavement between the leader’s feet. Once she aimed it at the leader’s face, she didn’t need to ask if there were any other heroes.
No one wiggled so much as a finger while they were stripped of their weapons, zip-tied wrist and ankle, and left to squirm on their faces.
“I see what the Tower meant when they said we had something to learn from you folks.” Group Captain Cutcher and Colonel Beale had come up close behind them.
“Just having a little fun, ma’am.” Derek had a dozen prisoners, very angry prisoners. But he had no idea what to do with them. “Uh, got any LSD handy?”
Cutcher didn’t look amused.