“This,” Esco said, as he sent the drone out over the neighboring parking lot. And there, positioned side by side, were Olson’s vehicles. Some were transmitting IFF signals. A picture started to emerge. Rat Company had been ordered to report to the lot and meet with someone. Then, while Olson’s soldiers were busy turning the IFF transponders off, the rebs took them prisoner! Why? Because troops who were willing to desert the Union might desert the Confederacy, too. “Well done,” Mac said. “Have you been able to spot Olson? Granger wants that son of a bitch, and so do I.”
“No,” Esco replied. “I’m afraid the rebs will spot the Raven if I drop that low.”
“That makes sense,” Mac said. “All right… Here’s the plan. We’re going to go down there, find Olson, and turn those prisoners loose. Esco, you’ll operate from here. Sparks, you’re coming with me.”
“Shouldn’t we wait until nightfall?” Esco inquired.
“We can’t afford to,” Mac answered. “What if the rebs move the prisoners south? It would be impossible to reach them.”
Mac left, with Munroe in tow. Then she went looking for Ralston and delivered a short rundown. “We’ll take every Stryker we have… But leave the rest of the company’s vehicles here. I want to roll thirty from now. Oh, and we’re going to need six deuce-and-a-half trucks for the prisoners… Tell Sergeant Smith. He’ll find them if anyone can.”
Strike Force Thunder left the school thirty-seven minutes later. The plan was to circle around the worst of the fighting by following Highway 102 under I-24 to Burnt Knob Road, where the trucks would meet them.
The Confederates would notice the convoy needless to say—and throw whatever they could at it. But once Mac told Granger about the prisoners, and he passed the word to Colonel Foster, two Apache gunships were assigned to protect the column.
With the ESV to clear the way, Mac hoped to hit the POW camp before the rebs could figure out what her intentions were. Mac was standing in MISS WASHINGTON’s forward air-guard hatch. She could feel the press of air against her face and the adrenaline buzz that preceded combat. Large mounds of garbage blocked the road ahead. The ESV hit one of them blade down and sent trash flying as militiamen wearing old-time Confederate uniforms fired assault rifles at it.
Mac engaged one group with the M60 machine gun mounted in front of her and saw two soldiers fall. Once MISS WASHINGTONpassed through the gap, the next vic opened fire. The two-lane road was flanked by ranch-style homes, leafy trees, and yards equipped with swing sets. Mac found it hard to believe that she was in a war zone until she saw a burned-out Bradley slumped beside the road.
Half a mile farther on, Mac saw a woman hanging from a tree. Was she a looter? A Union sympathizer? Anything was possible as the ESV swerved to avoid a bomb crater. That sent a flock of crows flapping up into the air. Mac winced when she saw the body they’d been feeding on.
Then the scene was gone, and Mac saw trouble up ahead. It consisted of a one-ton pickup truck with an antitank missile launcher mounted on the back. But MISS WASHINGTON’s gunner spotted the threat, too, and fired. The 105mm shell scored a direct hit on the truck, and the explosion threw debris in every direction.
But that was just the beginning. Rebel troops were concealed in the strip mall that bordered the highway. They fired three RPGs at the ESV, and one of them was right on target. There was a flash, followed by a bang, and Mac feared the worst. But as the smoke blew away, the ESV was still rolling! The force of the explosion had been dispersed by the Stryker’s slat armor. The truck’s top gunner was slumped forward, however—and Mac feared he was dead. “This is Blue-Bolt-Two and -Three,” a voice said in her ear. “Stand by… We’ll tidy up.”
Rockets hit the buildings along both sides of the street as the Apaches roared over Mac’s head. The ground fire stopped as suddenly as it had begun, leaving the convoy free to proceed. Mac felt a surge of excitement as Strike Force Thunder turned onto Burnt Knob Road. The trucks were there, just as Sergeant Smith promised they would be, all armed with over-the-cab fifties. Mac opened the intercom. “Hey, Sparks… Tell the trucks to fall in behind the last Stryker and keep it closed up.”
The Apaches were circling a mile ahead, firing on ground targets and clearing a path for the Strykers. “Charlie-Six actual to Strike Force Thunder,” Mac said. “We’re about two miles from the objective. Remember the plan. I’m going to bail out in the parking lot with Alpha One-Two and his squad. The rest of you will go in hard. Neutralize the Humvees but be careful! A hundred Union soldiers are being held inside the fence, and once you break in, they’ll run every which way. Don’t shoot them. Once the place is secure, load ’em up and meet me in the parking lot. Charlie-Seven will be in command. Over.”
Mac heard a flurry of clicks by way of acknowledgments as the ESV took a hard right and entered the parking lot. By prior agreement, MISS WASHINGTONand the BETSY ROSSpaused to let people off. Then they followed the last deuce and a half as the column closed in on the athletic field.
The squad detailed to work with Mac and Munroe consisted of Sergeant Poole and eight members of the first platoon. Mac heard radio chatter and machine-gun fire as she led the detachment of troops into the maze of captured vehicles. Some were in perfect condition, while others were shot up. All of them wore Union markings.
The Raven was circling above, which allowed Esco to see the squad and provide directions. “Turn right,” he said. “And follow the corridor west. Take cover behind the Buffalo.”
Mac knew Esco was referring to the hulking MRAP or Mine-Resistant Ambush Protected vehicle located directly in front of her. The Buf was huge and would provide the team with a place to hide, while Olson and his people ran from the rescuers and into the parking lot, where their motorcycles and rat rods were parked.
Why? Because the mercenaries had broken their contract with the Union and were classified as deserters. All of them would wind up in a federal prison if captured by the North. Plus, they’d need their vehicles to escape. All Mac and her soldiers had to do was wait.
And sure enough, no more than a minute had passed by the time Esco got on the horn. “Here they come,” he warned. “About three dozen of them all headed your way.”
“Roger that,” Mac replied. “Over.”
Thirty-six fugitives would’ve been a lot to handle had they been armed. But that wasn’t the case, so Mac figured that Poole and his soldiers could handle the job. She peered around the front of the Buffalo, and there they were, with Olson in the lead. He was running full out. “Wait for it,” Mac said. “Wait for it… Now!”
The soldiers charged into the open, where Poole ordered the escapees to stop and raise their hands. Most obeyed. But a few of them had weapons that had been taken off dead guards. They opened fire, and Olson was one of them. Mac cursed herself for failing to anticipate such a possibility.
She raised her assault rifle and was going to shoot Olson, when Munroe did it for her. Buckshot from his shotgun hit Olson’s legs and dumped the mercenary onto the pavement. His weapon skittered away as Mac went forward to stare down at him. Their eyes met. Olson’s face was screwed up in pain. “Robin? Hey, hon, how ’bout some first aid? I’m bleeding to death.”
Mac nodded. “That’s too bad.”
Olson spoke through gritted teeth. “You’re a stone-cold bitch… Just like your sister.”
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