Уильям Дитц - Battle Hymn

“This is Archer-One,” Lieutenant Evers said. “Put some fire on the white van… Nice work! Bad man dead. Over.

“Look alive truck three. There’s a guy with an RPG launcher on the roof south of you… Grease him. Over.”

And Okada was equally active. “See the bozos by the gate? Give them some forty mike-mike to chew on. And put some on the door, too… Make a hole, people—we’re going in. Over.”

Mac felt a sense of pride as her platoon leaders not only did their jobs but did them with the sort of panache that was a boost to morale. As the incoming fire began to fall off, Mac issued the order the company was waiting for. “This is Archer-Six actual. Truck commanders will drop their ramps. Let’s go in and bring our people out. Over.”

As the ramp dropped, Mac was there to lead the squad out and around the BETSY ROSS. The surrounding streetlights were on—which made it easy to see and be seen. But Mac had an app for that. “This is Archer Six… Kill those lights.”

The lamps went out one by one as a succession of rifle shots were heard. But the east wing was still on fire, and that meant there was plenty of light. A possibility Mac should have considered but hadn’t.

She ran toward the entrance. Mangled bodies lay sprawled in front of the steel doors, but the barriers themselves remained intact. Evers was standing there with a Colt Python in her right fist. It wasn’t reg, but Mac didn’t give a shit what kind of pistol the platoon leader carried so long as she got the job done. Two of her soldiers were busy placing charges against the steel doors. “It’s time to pull back,” Evers said, and followed her own advice.

Carbone’s people began to fire down on the soldiers from above as the officers took cover behind the BOLO II. The incoming stopped as the LMG gunner on the CALIFORNIA GIRLsprayed the second floor with machine-gun fire.

There was a loud explosion as the demolition charge went off, and Mac stepped out from cover to take a look. The door on the left remained intact, but the one on the right was slightly ajar. “Nice job,” Mac said. “Where’s Captain Roupe?”

“Right here,” Sergeant Major Deeds said as he gave Roupe a shove.

As the XO tripped and managed to recover, Mac saw that he was disheveled and unarmed. She turned to Deeds. “What’s going on?”

“The bastard tried to run,” Deeds replied grimly. “Sergeant Haskins caught him.”

The obvious question was why? Was Roupe suffering from PTSD? Or was he a coward? But that would have to wait. Roupe was supposed to lead the company into the prison, and he was going to do it.

Roupe stared at her. “Please! Don’t make me go in there.”

Mac turned to Deeds. “Take this piece of shit into custody and put it on point.”

Deeds grabbed hold of Roupe’s TAC vest and jerked the officer to his feet. “Start walking, sir … We’re counting on you.”

Roupe whimpered as Deeds shoved him toward the steel doors. Mac and the rest of the first platoon followed. Half of Okada’s people fell in behind them. The rest remained outside to provide security.

The steel doors opened onto a passageway that led to the central courtyard and a scene straight out of hell. Flames continued to lick around the edges of the hole in the opposite side of building, and they were reflected in the windows that still had glass in them.

And there, at the center of the courtyard, was a scaffold. A body was dangling from it. Soldiers streamed past as they went looking for the POWs. Shots were heard as they came into contact with the surviving guards.

Mac turned to Roupe. “Where is she? Where is the bitch who runs this place?”

“I-I don’t know,” Roupe said miserably. “Carbone knew we were coming. She could be fifty miles away by now.”

Mac figured that was a real possibility. But if there was any chance of taking the Angel of Death north, she wanted to do so. Certain people, her father included, would have to stand trial after the war. And Carbone would be part of that. “Did she have an office of some sort? A place where she might hole up?”

“Under the east wing,” Roupe replied. “In the basement.”

“Take us there,” Mac said as she prodded him. “On the double.”

Roupe led the way, closely followed by Mac, Deeds, and Harmon, as the sounds of fighting came from the second floor. Smoke drifted in the air, empty shell casings littered the floor, and one of them made a tinkling sound as a boot struck it.

Mac could hear Evers and Okada giving orders over the radio, and it sounded as though they were making progress. A short jog took them to an entrance well away from the flames. Roupe stopped next to the door, pushed it open, and waited to see if he was going to die. He didn’t.

Roupe entered the hall. The lights were out. The corridor turned green as Mac switched her night vision on. A fire alarm continued to bleat as they followed some twists and turns to what had once been a sizeable storage room. It was a chilling place. A wooden riser was located in front of a metal desk. A wooden chair was bolted to it and, judging from the restraints, it had been used to interrogate prisoners.

Was Roupe familiar with the chair? Yes, judging from the way he turned his back on it. “Grab what you can,” Mac instructed as she scooped a stack of printouts off a corner of the desk. “There’s no telling what may have value. Then let’s get out of here.”

Harmon found a canvas shopping bag that the others filled to overflowing before herding Roupe into the hall. The central plaza was a madhouse. Some of the POWs stood in groups. Others lay on makeshift litters, awaiting transport. Evers hurried over. Her eyes flicked from Roupe to Mac. “We have all of them, ma’am… We checked and checked again.”

“Good. How many?”

“Two hundred and seventy-seven,” Evers replied. Mac swallowed the lump in her throat. Two hundred and seventy-seven out of an estimated two hundred and ninety-six. She’d been hoping for more. “Have you heard from the colonel? What’s the ETA on the planes?”

Evers opened her mouth to reply but was interrupted as a scarecrow-like POW uttered a scream and came rushing at them. He had a knife, taken from a guard perhaps, which he held high. “Roupe! You traitorous bastard!”

Deeds was fast. So fast that he was able to step in and disarm the man in a matter of seconds. Roupe turned and tried to run. Harmon tripped him. “Guard him,” Mac ordered. “Kneecap the bastard if you have to.”

Mac knelt next to the POW. He was lying on his back with a massive boot on his chest. “I’m Major Macintyre… You know Captain Roupe?”

“All of us know the rotten, stinking son of a bitch,” the man said bitterly. “The guys were planning a breakout. A big breakout. And Roupe ratted them out. So the Angel let him go. But not before she ordered the guards to execute fourteen prisoners. He stood by her side as they died.” The POW struggled at that point and tried to push the boot off his chest.

Though shocking, the news made sense. No wonder Roupe’s rescue plan was flawed. He wanted the strategy to fail. And how had Carbone known that the company was coming? Because Roupe told her. Mac looked up at Deeds. “You can remove your foot, Sergeant Major… And help him up.”

Mac’s eyes went to the POW. “Don’t worry, soldier… You’ll get a chance to take Roupe down. But not with a knife. Your testimony will help put him away for good.”

The man blinked. “Thank you… I’ve been praying for this day.”

Evers was waiting as Mac stood. Her voice was grim. “We’ve got trouble, Major.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

“According to the Pred operator, the local army unit left their quarters next to the airport, and they’re rolling toward Highway 2. We’re talking four French-made Jaguar EBRCs along with two Humvees and a couple of trucks.”