Chapter 24 #2
Pena bent down with him. “Doesn’t look like her blood,” he whispered, pointing at the black hair mixed in with flesh caught on the heel of the shoe. Jerry clenched his jaw and nodded. Pena put a hand on his shoulder. “You good? Need you with us, now, Top.”
Was he good? He closed his eyes. He had no choice. As he opened them, he nodded.
Pena slapped his shoulder, then turned and made a motion with his finger. He directed Jerry and Sanders to the top of the truck. Norton quietly opened the door and slid behind the wheel. Ibrahim slid into the passenger’s seat. Waller, Brock, Swanson, and Pena got into the back seat.
The truck silently moved down the promenade. Jerry kept watch for any bandits. He held Norton’s suppressed pistol at the ready, not wanting to fire with the rifle just yet. The longer OPFOR didn’t know about them, the better.
Norton drove it well through the wide-open space of the promenade deck, slowly and silently navigating around tables and chairs, velvet ropes, and fake palm trees.
Finally, he came to a full stop before the final turn.
Speaking quietly through the connected call, Pena ordered Jerry and Sanders off the top of the truck.
Jerry slid down and took point. He pulled Cynthia’s compact from his pocket and used it to look around the corner.
Fisher said over the comms, “Spot. Visual. One bandit starboard. Five meters. Dressed as crew. Rifle. Comms. Over.”
The bandit didn’t move. He stood still, leaning against the wall. He had his eyes trained away from them, clearly bored and in his own head. “On your mark,” Pena said through comms.
Jerry closed his eyes and took a deep, steady breath.
He had one chance to make it a clean shot.
Holding the suppressed pistol with both hands, he rested his finger on the side of the trigger, then crouched on one knee.
Using the wall as a shield, he peeked around the corner and aimed, then pulled the trigger four times.
A look of surprise covered his opponent’s face as he slid down the wall. Jerry’s bullets had caught him twice in the chest and twice in the skull in shot groups smaller than half dollars.
He stepped away from the truck, pumping his fist. Norton drove the truck around the corner, then floored it, Jerry and Sanders running along behind.
At the end of the corridor, he stopped the truck, and Ibrahim and Brock threw open their rear doors, firing with deadly precision in three-round bursts as they emerged.
The enemy guards did not get a chance to return fire.
Emma relayed the code to open the armory’s iron gate just inside the door.
They did a very quick inventory. Sanders and Ibrahim slipped flares into their pockets.
Jerry grabbed a stun gun and tossed the other one to Norton.
Deeper into the room, they found a locked cabinet.
While Waller picked the lock, Pena opened the map the captain had drawn.
“We need to get to deck one, but because of their numbers, we have to flank them to even have a chance.”
Swanson looked over his shoulder. “Big area. Lots of room to maneuver.”
“And hide,” Sanders said. “Do we have a good count yet?”
Anderson replied over comms. “We’ve identified thirty-three on the loading dock and twelve in the first deck cargo bay.”
“To our eight,” Norton said. “Hardly a fair fight.”
“It doesn’t always have to be a challenge. We can take the easy win,” Pena said in a dry tone.
“Done,” Waller announced. He opened the cabinet. Inside, they found Benelli M4 shotguns and unopened boxes of double-aught 12-gauge buckshot.
“Well, that’s rather underwhelming,” Jerry observed.
“Were you hoping for a Barret?” Waller asked ironically.
“It will have to do,” Pena said. “We need the ammo. Plus, shotguns are fierce, so there’s a psychological effect.” He sighed and looked at Norton. “I want to call you Daddy.”
“You’re my Daddy now.” He ran his hand through his red beard. “I’m Coppertop again.”
Pena smirked but did not laugh.
Jerry joined the others in filling his pockets with shotgun shells.
He strapped a Benelli to his back, the canvas strap digging into his shoulder through the thin shirt.
He slipped the pistol into his belt against his lower back and gripped the rifle in front of him.
He didn’t think he ever appreciated the straps, holsters, fasteners, pockets, and compartments of his uniform and gear more than this very moment.
“Coppertop,” Pena said, sounding a bit pained, “Jerry Maguire, Pot Pie, Hobbes, you four make your way to the main dining room—quietly—and rappel down to deck three. Then take the kitchen stairs to deck one. I’ll take the others through the back stairs.
When we get into the flanked position, we’ll signal and go in full force.
Put them on the X. No need for quiet, then, just surprise. Make a lot of noise when we hit.”
Jerry nodded. “Roger that.”
“Hoo-ah,” Sanders uttered sarcastically, imitating the Marine Corps motivational saying.
“Guys,” Pena said. “Make it hurt.”