Dale Brown - Act of War

“Nao!” Zakharov shouted in Portuguese. “Comece outro! Get the other one! I want target one!” The helicopter wheeled hard right again and started searching for Jefferson. Switching to Russian, Zakharov shouted, “Keptan! Pashlee! Tyepyer!” Pavel Khalimov rolled painfully onto his back to catch his breath, then rolled again and struggled to his feet, rubbing the spot in the center of his chest where the sniper round had impacted his bulletproof vest. He half-collapsed on the hood of the van that Zakharov was hiding behind. “Are you all right, Captain?” Zakharov asked.

Khalimov wiped half-dried blood from around his left eye, but nodded. “It feels like my sternum is broken, Colonel,” he gasped, “but I can travel and fight.”

“Serves you right for getting yourself captured, Captain,” Zakharov said, only half-joking. “Next time you do that, I’ll aim higher.” A switchblade appeared in Zakharov’s hand out of nowhere; he cut Khalimov’s wrists free and gave him the pistol. “Kyem? Who is he?”

“He is military,” Khalimov replied. “Older, but very well trained.”

“Jefferson. United States Army Ranger. Bardak,” Zakharov swore. “Looks like our airport team failed.” He raised his walkie-talkie to his lips, keyed the mike button, and asked in Portuguese, “Where are the ground units?”

“Pulling onto the ranch now, Colonel,” the helicopter pilot responded.

“I want every one of those bastardos captured and executed!” Zakharov shouted. “No one is to be left alive, do you understand?”

“Compreenda tudo, senhor. We have one of them in our sights now.”

They looked over and saw the helicopter stabilize just a few dozen meters away, the Nightsun searchlight focused on the east side of the farmhouse. The door gunner opened fire with several three-round bursts. The helicopter descended until it was less than ten meters aboveground, and the door gunner opened fire again. From that range, Zakharov thought, he could not miss. “Well?” he radioed. “How many did you hit?”

“Uh…senhor, nos temos um problema aqui,” the pilot radioed back. Both Zakharov and Khalimov turned toward the target being highlighted by the searchlight…

…just as a strange figure leaped up onto the roof of the farmhouse! It was larger than a man, standing over three meters tall, but it moved with amazing agility and speed. The helicopter swooped down, almost right over him, the door gunner firing on it in full automatic mode now. “Shto yobanyy eta?” Zakharov shouted.

“That’s it! That’s the robot I reported to you, sir,” Khalimov said excitedly.

“The one that was supposed to be broken?” Zakharov shouted. “The one that you were supposed to have captured at the airport?”

But the assassin didn’t have a chance to answer because seconds later, just as the gunner stopped to reload, the robot leaped off the farmhouse roof and flew right into the helicopter’s open door. Moments later the door gunner flew headfirst out of the door, and thick smoke started streaming from inside the helicopter. The robot figure leaped clear of the aircraft as it started to spin uncontrollably; Zakharov helped Khalimov run away when the craft crash-landed just a few meters from where they had been.

“My…God,” Zakharov breathed. “I’ve never seen anything like it!”

“They must have repaired it on the way here from Santos,” Khalimov said. “I crushed it under a bulldozer and dropped it into the ocean!”

“No, I was told that it was inoperative just before we came out here!” Zakharov roared. “That’s the last time I listen to intelligence information from someone who’s sitting on their ass thousands of miles away.” At that moment, heavy-caliber machine gun fire erupted, followed by a racing diesel engine and then a loud explosion. “Let’s get out of here before something else goes wrong, Captain.”

A squad of six Jeeps raced up the gravel driveway to the farmhouse, with three PME soldiers and a gunner on board manning a fifty-caliber machine gun mounted on a pedestal in the back. The Jeeps were fitted with searchlights, operated by the soldier in the passenger seat. Three of the Jeeps veered off the road to the east and started their pursuit as the soldiers spotted Ruiz, the Amarals, and Kristen’s crew members running down into a grassy gully. The gunners took aim on Ruiz and…

…at that moment a huge figure landed on the hood of the lead Jeep, reached out with a hand, and snapped the machine gun off its pedestal with one twist. Using the forty-kilo machine gun as a club, the figure smashed the Jeep’s steering wheel and driver’s side instrument panel with a single tremendous blow, then jumped off and ran after the second Jeep. Jason ran beside the second Jeep and swung the machine gun again, destroying the windshield. The driver and passenger ducked just in time to avoid the weapon, but the driver lost control and flipped the Jeep over.

The third Jeep wheeled left to try to run the robot over while the gunner tried to draw a bead on him. Just as Jason was going to make a leap that would take him on top of the gunner, a warning indication flashed in his electronic visor: less than thirty minutes of power remaining. Moments earlier it said he had over an hour of power remaining. Something was happening: he was losing power at a tremendous rate, probably due to a short-circuit somewhere caused by being immersed in seawater. At this rate, he could be out of the fight in just a few minutes—he might not even have one more jump. And there were still three more PME Jeeps out there.

Heavy-caliber bullets began peppering his composite armor shell as the Jeep barreled toward him. Jason crouched down into a ball, making himself as small a target as possible, but the Jeep kept right on coming. As it hit, Jason extended his arms, letting the vehicle slide up and over him, then shot to his feet. The Jeep did two complete rolls, spilling PME soldiers in all directions, before landing upside-down several meters away.

Thankfully, the other soldiers in the PME Jeeps saw what had happened to their comrades and stayed away, firing their machine guns from long range. Jason picked up a tire that had come off the last Jeep and threw it at one of the Jeeps about fifty meters away, caving in a windshield and showering the driver and passenger with glass. After that, the PME soldiers lost the desire to fight and sped away out of sight. Jason made sure they were safely away, then went over to the group of escapees in the gully. “Are you all right?” he asked.

“Sim, agradecimentos a você,” Jorge Ruiz said.

“Stay here until I find out if there are any more soldiers nearby,” Jason said, and ran off in the direction of the farmhouse. He found Jefferson, Kristen, and Pereira helping Ariadna up. “Ari, are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m okay,” she replied, giving him a crooked grin. “I see you got El CID working. Thanks for the ‘help.’ You can help pay for my new set of teeth.”

Jason scanned the area quickly with his on-board millimeter-wave radar. “I see two persons rendezvousing with those PME Jeeps that bugged out of here. I’m going after them.” But he took just a few running steps in that direction before stopping.

“Don’t let them get away, Major!” Jefferson cried.

“One vehicle is racing away at high speed, and the others are heading back here,” Jason said. “I’ll be lucky if I have enough power to get you guys back to the airport.” They saw the robot’s massive shoulders slump dejectedly. “I can’t leave you guys alone out here. Let’s get back to the airport. I’ll radio the jet to be ready for takeoff.”

The van had been hit by gunfire but was still operating. They removed the body of Lieutenant Quintao and laid him next to the bodies of the farmhands and the two dead Russians, then drove over to where the others were hidden. “Let’s go, everyone,” Jefferson said. He looked around. “Where the hell is Ruiz?”