Steve Abbott: Devil's Gambit

“Looks like the Koreans have finally gotten their shit together and are grouping in front of us. I don’t think they’ve seen us yet. Hunter, we have a new clock to beat.”

“How long?”

“Twenty minutes.”

“Don’t be heroes. Get to the dock. We’ll grab you from there.”

“Roger that.” Sean was quiet a second. “Bill, you get them to the dock. I’ll cover the rear.” A decision had been made. Harris could hear it in his partner’s voice.

Harris spat in the dirt at his friend’s feet. “You must think I was fucking born yesterday.”

Sean ignored the gesture. All of the grime, sweat and fear melted from his face when he grinned at Harris. “Nothing doing, mate. It’s strictly SOP.” With his left hand, he slapped the barrel of the M203-equipped rifle he held. “I’ve got the heavy weapon, I bring up the rear.”

“You’re a bastard Addison. What do you want? One of those damned plots by the wall in Heresford?”

Sean’s face darkened a little. “Get them out of here. I’ll be right behind you.”

Harris shook his head. “No, we came together, we go out together. You want to play rear man, fine, but you do it as the last man of the team. Not some lone freedom fighter. You’ve used up all of your luck mate. I don’t think there’s too much left in the pot for you to pull out.” He grabbed Sean by the epaulet on his left shoulder. “Come on. You can die a hero’s death on somebody else’s watch.”

Sean resisted, but not much.

A fusillade of bullets struck the front of the truck. Sparks and shards of hot metal sprayed across the grillwork. “Well that tears it. They’ve seen us.” Sean returned fire.

“We’re leaving, Sean.”

“Of course we are.” Sean aimed his rifle towards the end of the alley and pulled the trigger on the grenade launcher. Sixty grams of high explosive wrapped in a brittle metal shell hurtled towards the brick distance. He had the spent casing ejected and a new round slapped in place before the end of the alley disappeared in smoke and fire.

Disembodied screams echoed up the cold passage.

Sean eyed his handiwork with a clinical stare. “That should slow the bastards down.” The launcher chuffed again as Sean sent a second round after the first. After the second explosion, there were no more screams. Sean turned around. “Just to be sure.” He let the spent shell tumble out of the launcher and reloaded. “This is it for these things.”

The rest of the team were crouched by the back of the truck. Harris grabbed Yevgeny by the shoulder. The Russian did not turn around to look. Scraps and tendrils of thick noxious smoke still shrouded most of the dock.

Harris peered into the murk. “See anything?”

The Colonel shook his head. “No, it looks quiet. The Hinds gave the whole area much attention.”

“How much time?”

Yevgeny looked at his watch. “Fifteen minutes.”

“Okay, here’s the drill. I’m on point. You stay by Gayle. Addison’s going to be giving us a rear guard action. There are no friendlies on the dock. If it moves, shoot it, but remember, Addison is the last man in line.”

Hunter switched to the air channel. “Alpha one, First Base, prepped and ready for dust-off. LZ is hot, smoke will be purple. Be careful on your approach, Mac.”

“Roger that First Base. Standby for dust-off.”

Pale mottled light delineated the barrier of safety at the end of the close alley. Chun hung back, masked in the perpetual shadow of the alley. Quick eyes darted over all of the dock area he could see. Bodies torn and ripped lay everywhere. But in the carnage, there was no sign of Sung. None of the bodies moved or gave indication that someone, anyone, was alive in front of him. This was far worse than Vietnam, where the bodies had been those of Vietnamese or American. These were his people. People he had betrayed.

Chun fell back against the wall of the alley. A black well of despair rose inside him. The Russian had been right. He was nothing more than a traitor. All along, he had been fooling himself that his was a greater purpose at work than just that of self-preservation. It was all a lie. The dead soldiers lay in mute testimony before him. Chun steeled himself and stepped out into the light. The hoped-for shot never came. He let out the breath he had been holding and started to walk towards the rail line. He kept his eyes forward, not willing to look at the carnage beside him anymore. He had failed these men as much as Sung had. He was determined that at least one of them would pay for their sins today. Sung was a coward. He would try to flee the area. The Tokarev felt light in Chun’s hand. The air around him was soundless, as dead and listless as the soldiers who lay under its pall. The sounds of battle were distant here, the din of skirmish absorbed by the cinderblock bulk of the buildings beside him and the thick smoke from the sub tender.

There was a large volume of fire coming from the other side of the building. It was returned by the thump of a grenade launcher. “WHAP!” Shattered glass, brick dust and broken tiles from the other side of the building rained down from above. Chun pushed himself closer to the wall. Roofing tiles broke and shattered across the asphalt he had just occupied. Slate shrapnel barked and clattered around him. A flat blade of the stuff tore a thin sharp line across his cheek. Chun felt blood run down his face. With his head pressed against the cinder wall, he could hear faint screams and the odd burst of returned fire. Deafened by the initial explosion, the second explosion was a shock. He turned his face fully to the wall and covered his head with both arms. More debris rattled and slapped into and around him. When the deluge of roof and building material had stopped, the screams had been silenced.

A lone figure broke from a cluster of scrap metal a hundred feet away. The explosions had not only shocked Chun, they’d flushed his quarry. The man was now without his badge of office overcoat, but there was no mistaking Comrade Sung. The killer inside Chun roared in frustration. Ignoring the gash on his face and the pain in his knees, he lunged to his feet. Sung caught the movement out of the corner of his eye and turned his head. Chun watched his former deputy’s mouth drop open in an “O” of surprise. Sung slid to a stop by the far corner of the next warehouse. Chun aimed the Tokarev at Sung’s head and fired. The pistol’s sights were off. The small round snapped into the wall beside Sung.

“Damn!” Before he could squeeze off another, Sung disappeared.

Chun shook his head. A rain of grit and flecks of blood fell to his feet. “So close,” he thought. Sung would try to go to ground again. It was the way of his kind. A rat looking for a hole. Chun charged back towards his alley.

Gayle pulled the pin on the smoke grenade and tossed it onto the asphalt in front of her.

“Alpha one, Second Base, be advised, smoke is purple.”

“Roger that Second Base.” Donovan keyed the cabin intercom. “Hunter.”

“Yeah?”

“We’re down to the ten minute mark. I’m going to release Mac.”

“Good idea. No sense in us all getting nuked.”

Donovan switched to the secure guard channel. “Mac, head for home. I’m going in to get the rest of team. Good luck.”

“Roger. See you back at the mess. Don’t do anything stupid.”

“Don’t worry.”

Mac’s Hind snapped around in a hard arc. Its five rotor blades flashed briefly in the morning sun. Donovan turned back to his instruments and looked for a patch of purple smoke. He picked it up near the end of the dock.