David Leadbeater - Weapons of the Gods

One more set of structures was visible, and the most surprising. To his immediate right they had built what appeared to be a makeshift American town, something small but with the correct decor, even some of the correct brand names. It was for familiarity, Drake realized. Something to help these new recruits feel more confident.

The new team ranged alongside and behind him, performing last-minute checks. The sun was already arcing down the western skies, about halfway now, but better for Drake, since the temperature was dropping. Lying low, trying not to inhale sand, he was staggered by the incredible array of Special Forces soldiers all around him.

“A hundred of us, five hundred of them,” Luther said through the comms. “Little fuckers don’t stand a chance.”

“Make it real,” Dahl said. “Be strong.”

They would attack simultaneously from four directions, concentrating on four different areas. Luther coordinated smoothly with the other three team controllers and gave everyone a countdown.

“Twenty seconds.”

The mind-boggling Spec Ops force took a moment to reflect. Drake, Alicia and Dahl grinned at each other and then found themselves feeling humble, part of a phenomenon, ready to stand alongside a hundred like-minded warriors as part of one of the most critical, heroic armies of all time.

“Go!”

The call went out. Drake started to run, rushing down the slope in a battle charge with Dahl and Mai to his right, Alicia and dozens of others to his left. A kind of greatness touched them. There was no retiring from this selfless bravery. It was everything they were made of.

“The end of Tempest starts now,” Drake said.

They hit level ground where the parking area began, hearing gunfire from the south already. Drake was running with his gun pushed snugly into his right shoulder, cautiously scanning the way forward. The air smelled of oil and diesel; Drake saw it in exposed-top drums. The sound of fighting grew louder. Among the buses he crept, drawing ever closer to what they assumed was the school building.

Terrorists lounged among the vehicles. Kenzie shot one climbing down from the front of a bus, rifle slung over his back. Many others that were trying to see the source of the new noise then realized they were under attack.

Drake saw one duck behind the front of another bus, threw himself to the dusty sand floor and took out the enemy’s legs. Dahl ran around to finish him. Beyond that, heads bobbed up at the next bus’s windows, followed by gun barrels. The attacking force wasted no time. They riddled the windows with bullets, smashing every single one on that side, then threw in grenades.

Drake fell to one knee, fingers in his ears as the bus exploded, detonating flames into the air. Black smoke billowed.

Drake and Alicia were up almost before the shrapnel finished flying, moving closer to the flames to skirt the back of the bus.

The school was up ahead, maybe thirty meters distant. Men were piling out of the only door as if there were a pack of lions inside. Drake saw their play immediately.

“Move!”

Firing hard, they ran at the school. There was still a chance that they could stop most of the terrorists from exiting through the only door. The soldiers numbered eighteen — the remainder were still mopping up around the parking area — and ran in a single wave, an unbroken line of accurate, deadly gunfire.

The escapees fell instantly, still half a minute away from any kind of shelter. The hardiest fell to their stomachs and started firing back.

Drake picked one of them off, his bullet destroying the top of the man’s head and making his entire body slump. They fired round after round into the exit door; men slumping down there on top of one another. Windows smashed all around the building as the trapped men sought a means of escape.

“Circle it,” Luther hissed. “Custer’s Last Stand style.”

“You want us to run around this building in ever decreasing circles?” Alicia hit back, off comms.

Luther ignored her, closing in. Those to the left peeled left whilst those to the right went right. They ran around the school, circling it and covering every window. Drake saw two of his own fall, but didn’t know their names. Bullets flying toward them were rare — they had timed their attack to perfection — but Misfortune and Bad Luck were bastards that trod everywhere.

Drake dropped to one knee, firing with precision, switching his aim by millimeters every time, picking off everything he saw moving. Alicia and Dahl were at his sides and Mai beyond them. Slowly, they advanced, not still for long. In this kind of battle, movement was essential.

Drake saw four windows along this side and Special Forces soldiers ranged all the way around. Terrorists were starting to stay inside now, pointing whatever weapons they had through the damaged window panes.

“Grenades,” Luther said.

They ducked and weaved as they dashed forward, throwing their grenades before they became sitting ducks. Even then an RPG was pointed out of the window, its wielder uncaring about his own safety. Not all flew in through an open gap; some bounced back off the metal structure.

Drake threw himself to the sand and gravel floor, hands over his head.

The explosion was mighty, shattering the metal structure, making its panels collapse outward. Fire shot out in all directions, scorching the earth and anything that stood in its way. A couple of men in Luther’s team were singed, but nothing too dramatic. Luther would see them as “enthusiastic.” His yell of victory was fired by bloodlust.

“School’s fucking right out, boys. What’s next?”

Drake rolled and jumped to his feet. Judging by the chatter on the comms the other teams were experiencing more resistance. The parking lot had been cleared, but they had lost four men.

“Major battle over at the tents and the river,” Luther said. “Let’s go.”

Drake still scanned for movement, trusting nothing. Dahl slapped at his own clothing, emitting a cloud of dust. Sand dripped from the folds of his jacket in rivulets.

Alicia reloaded. “No time to pretty yourself up, Torsty. Let’s face it — that’s a long job.”

“Hey, Drake’s the one putting the beef on.”

They jogged around the remains of the school, feeling the heat of unrestrained flames on their faces.

“Nothing wrong with that, pal,” Drake drawled. “Bloody hell, that’s a real mess.”

Luther stared at the incredible melee between the tents and the river.

“Time to get stuck in, boys.”

Hayden was feeling lightheaded, and not from the swift flight. Events had spiraled into a fast-moving reel of incredible incident, starting with them arriving back in DC and being shoved into a matte-black, frighteningly quick saloon car. Washington DC was shuddering in silence, it seemed; the city moving along as normal but with an underlying sense of intense fear and violence. Only those few in the know had an idea of what was truly happening, but their uncertainties and their phone calls and their warnings soon escalated around the city.

Hayden recalled being taken from the blacked-out landing strip straight to a private hospital. There they met Lauren and took a precious few minutes to express their joy at seeing her.

Smyth had been beside himself. He ran in, despite all their recent differences, taking her weight from the bed and hugging her close. Hayden had pretended not to see the tears in his eyes and the big smile on Lauren’s face.

“Thank you,” Hayden said. “Thank you, thank you, for everything.”

“Been a long time since Transylvania,” Kinimaka said. “You knew better than we did, girl.”

Lauren grinned, crushed by Smyth, but not unhappy about it. “I got there in the end, didn’t I?”