Dick Stivers - Amazon Slaughter

Between him and the guardhouse, a wounded Cambodian spoke into a walkie-talkie. Lyons dashed to him. Tearing the radio out of the mere's hands, he killed him with a blast to the chest, continued past. Atchisson in one hand, a radio screaming Khmer in the other, Lyons sprinted for the shelter of the concrete and slid in, safe.

Hot concrete scorched his hands and legs. Rising to a crouch, he felt the heat coming through his boots as chemical fire raged inside the guardhouse. Ribbons of smoke came from around the roof hatch.

Lyons saw another hatch. He touched it, found it cool. He pointed his Atchisson down and jerked the hatch open.

The motors for the steel gate! Lyons went down a utility ladder. He searched for a breaker box, found it. Chinese ideograms and incomprehensible printing labeled the switches. He threw all the switches. An electric motor whined.

His hand radio buzzed even as he reached for it. "You got it — it's opening. Where are you now?"

"Inside. Your turn."

"Moving!"

Returning to the top of the wall, Lyons lay prone, sighting on rifle ports and guard stations, firing blast after blast. Cambodians and Thais and Chinese died or took cover.

American warriors — Brazilian Indians and Yankee commandos — rushed through the open gate, to besiege the Asians inside the fortress of Wei Ho.

Reflecting the hues of the dawn, a column of smoke towered above the jungle. A mile south of Wei Ho's fortress, gasoline exploding in the equipment yard sent balls of flame churning into the smoke. Sheet metal drifted in the smoke and flames like ashes.

Blancanales took his M-16/M-203 over-and-under from Gadgets and loaded a high-explosive 40mm grenade. With the firefight roaring around them, Gadgets shouted into his hand radio, "Wild man! We're in. Where..."

A shadow dropped from the wall. Lyons landed in a crouch beside them. Gadgets stared for an instant. Lyons took the slaver-band walkie-talkie out of his thigh pocket.

"You are one surprising dude!" Gadgets shouted over the noise. He took the radio and lifted it to his ear and switched it on. Voices jabbered back and forth. Gadgets held the radio close to Blancanales. "You understand that?"

"Some of it's Chinese. Don't understand any of it."

"What can you do with the radio?" Lyons asked. "Anything interesting?"

Gadgets grinned. He keyed the transmit. "Chinese Commie doper punks! You die! We come to kill that old pimp!"

Lyons laughed, shook his head. "Get serious..."

"Serious isn't fun." Gadgets found a spent shotgun casing on the asphalt. He flattened the cardboard tube and jammed it under the transmit key: "Long as the battery lasts, they got to talk over all this noise... Say your prayers, Commies! We come to kill you!" Gadgets set the radio in the open, the microphone turned away from them.

"Straight in," Blancanales told Lyons. He pointed at a sheet steel door. An AK fired from the shattered glass of the not-so-bulletproof port.

"If we can..." Lyons dropped out his Atchisson's magazine and slipped in a half-spent mag of heavy slugs.

Blancanales scanned the interior of the compound. From cover, Indian warriors aimed fire into the rifle ports and windows. Few AKs answered. He shouldered his assault rifle/grenade launcher. "One in the window."

High explosive threw glass and debris out the guard station's port. No fire came now. Lyons sighted on the sheet steel door, punched a ragged hole through it with a high-velocity one-ounce slug. He sighted again, squeezed the trigger so slowly...

The hole became a rip. Lyons sighted higher, spread the rip another two inches. Blancanales sighted his grenade launcher. He fired. The blast slammed a vast dent into the steel, tearing the steel open. A head-sized hole yawned in the security door.

"I'm rushing it," Blancanales told them, passing Gadgets his weapon. He checked the two fragmentation grenades in his thigh pockets and pointed out his path across the asphalt. "I'll cut to the side, you two put some fire out, I'll put frags in there. You two follow. Got it?"

Lyons and Gadgets nodded. Lyons fired the last slug in the magazine straight through the hole, then jammed in a full box mag. Gadgets slipped out another magazine for his CAR-15 and held it ready.

Zigzagging, Blancanales sprinted for the steel door as his partners fired burst after burst at the rifle positions. He ran without slowing and slammed his shoulder into the concrete. Pulling the pin out of a grenade, he let the lever fly free, waited for the count of four, heaved it through the ripped steel door. Dust and smoke blasted out as he turned away, covering his head. Then Blancanales stepped across to the guard station. He dropped in the second grenade. Debris flew from the interior.

Gadgets covered Lyons. Soon he followed, also. Against the concrete wall of the fortress-house, none of the AK fire could touch them. The Indian gunners still fired at guard ports around the house. Gadgets returned Blancanales's weapon and the few remaining 40mm grenades. He took out the two hand grenades he carried and pulled the pin of one.

Waving his arms to the Indians, Gadgets sidestepped. The gunners held their fire as Gadgets slipped up to a shattered port and let the lever fly. After four seconds, he slammed it in. The blast silenced the rifleman inside. Gadgets dashed to the other rifle port, silenced it also.

Indians rushed across the asphalt. They crowded around the entry. Two warriors climbed through the shattered port and called out to the others. Several men followed. Thomas shouted to Able Team, "Inside door open, come!"

Fire from an AK hammered the steel. An Indian was slammed back. Lyons put his Atchisson through the hole in the steel. He sighted on an Asian at the end of the corridor. Steel shot tore a nine-inch wide hole in the Asian's chest.

Gadgets and Blancanales climbed up, got swept along in a charge, Indians firing shotguns continuously, men crouching down to reload, letting the others surge forward.

A grenade bounced from the guard station. Gadgets kicked it back, screamed to the others, dropped flat. Indians tripped over him, sprawling. Other men crouched as the grenade skittered to the end of the entry corridor. It spun like a top for an instant and came to rest against the security door.

The corpse of a Cambodian took most of the shrapnel and blast. A few steel razors slashed men's backs, peppering prone men with wounds. Bloody, they still rushed forward again. An Indian fired wild into the guard position, then pumped the Remington's action and fired again. A torn body flopped out. Blancanales rushed forward to strip three grenades from the guard's pockets. Gadgets found the door's power switch and hit it.

"Throw those grenades! Now, now, now!"

Blancanales jerked the pins out, lobbed a grenade, pulled another pin, threw that grenade hard. The blasts slammed the interior, one-two, one near the door, the second across the garden. Blancanales pulled the third pin. He snapped his head out for an instant.

He almost lost it. A burst of AK fire came from behind him. He whipped his head back in, bounced the grenade in that direction. He found one of his 40mm buckshot rounds and loaded his grenade launcher. Then he changed the magazine on the M-16.

"Don't!" Gadgets had found another grenade on a second dead mere, and he passed it to his partner.

Lyons charged up behind the attacking force, saw Blancanales let the grenade's lever flip free, count, then toss the frag. An instant after the blast, he dived through the door and rolled across flowers.

A tiny Chinese girl with an Uzi ran at him, her silk robe fluttering. Blancanales lifted his weapon. Simultaneous blasts from three Remingtons sheared away the upper half of her body.

Slugs from an AK hit the Indians, a warrior dropped, Blancanales spun, saw the shoulder and head of a man holding an auto-rifle. Firing the M-203, Blancanales saw the rifle and arms and head disappear in a spray of gore.