Primary Directive. Don Pendleton
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“You know the position of the emplacements inside?” Grimaldi asked.
“Sounded like three separate guns going when we first arrived, all of them at the front. I’d recommend you make a couple passes, though, so we can get an approximate idea of where our people are positioned.”
Grimaldi waved to indicate he got the picture, and Manning went about the task of donning a harness and safety straps to keep him inside the cabin. Grimaldi would approach very hot and his turns would be steep. It wouldn’t do for Manning to be caught unawares and get tossed out inadvertently. The rest of Phoenix Force would be relying on him, and Manning had never let his friends down before.
He sure as hell wasn’t about to start now.
Manning took position behind the M-60 as they approached the police station from the southeast and drew back the charging handle as Grimaldi began a steep turn on descent. He locked his shoulder against the butt of the weapon and kept all senses attuned to action on the ground below. It took two passes before he spotted the police vehicles parked on the road. He could see McCarter and Encizo using the lead one as cover. He marked each location of the officers and then searched in vain for James and Hawkins.
Where in the hell were they?
Manning was about to have Grimaldi make a third pass when he glimpsed James and Hawkins beelining from beneath treetop cover straight for the rear of the building. Manning considered his options and decided James and Hawkins would be priority, since not only did they have the tactical advantage but their location didn’t pose as much exposure risk.
“See them?” he called to Grimaldi.
The pilot put the chopper into a dizzying tailspin as he looked in the direction Manning gestured. He nodded, then straightened his path and darted toward James and Hawkins’s position. Manning felt his chest lock against the harness as the nose of the Sikorsky dipped forward from Grimaldi’s rapid braking maneuver. The pressure subsided when the pilot got into hovering position, gun-side smartly faced toward the rear of the police station.
Manning disengaged the safety straps so he could reach the winch. He double-checked the quick-connects and then flipped the power switch on the machine and engaged the release. The equipment descended on a steel cable at a quick but steady speed. Manning watched as from beneath the canopy of green his two friends emerged to receive the goods like ancient Greeks standing with arms outstretched in a drenching shower of much-needed rain from the gods.
Manning waited until they signaled all-clear, then began to retract the winch. The job was half-done when he heard a tink from something striking the fuselage of the aircraft. Then another. Manning looked in the direction of the police station and spotted the muzzle-flash of a pistol. A gunman stood at the back door and triggered his pistol several times.
Manning called to Grimaldi to hold her steady, then got to business on the M-60. He leaned into the weapon, took aim and squeezed the trigger. A high-velocity storm of 7.62 mm rounds chewed up large holes in the mud-brick exterior of the station near the gunner. It took only two bursts before Manning got his range, and with the third he caught the terrorist with a volley that ripped open the man’s chest and knocked him off his feet.
Manning ordered Grimaldi to get them over the area where the police cars were. “And get us as low as you can, Jack. I’m going to drop the gear to them.” It would save time.
The pilot swung another perfect arc and came into a hover almost directly above McCarter and Encizo. Manning swung the equipment boxes into position and kicked them out as he kept the barrel of the M-60 trained on the front of the station house. The machine guns there opened up almost immediately, and Manning returned the fire with equal ferocity. Windows shattered and dust rose in thick clouds as Manning poured on a maelstrom of lead at 600 rounds per minute. Hot lead pounded the building as the barrel started to redden with Manning’s sustained fire. He swept the weapon in a corkscrew pattern across the two-hundred-some-foot width of the windows, cautious to keep the majority of the firepower on the probable location of the emplacements.
The weapon finally expended its ammo and Manning ordered Grimaldi to get clear. “We need to find a place to land, Jack.”
“Already got it,” the pilot replied.
Two minutes later he was touched down in a clearing about a hundred yards from ground zero. Manning quickly disengaged the M-60 and then tossed a salute of thanks to Grimaldi before rushing from the chopper.
The big Canadian broke through the brush and found himself on a direct path to McCarter and Encizo’s position. He slowed to a steady jog and made contact with his friends unmolested.
“Greetings, guys,” he said. “Mind if I join the party?”
Encizo grinned as he slid into a flak vest he’d pulled from the gray strongbox. “Only if you have your invitation.”
Manning patted the M-60. “Right here.”
“That was Johnny-spot-on with the air cover, chum,” McCarter said with a slap to Manning’s shoulder. “I owe you one.”
“Great. Maybe I can use you as a business reference.” Manning risked a glance at the front of the station to inspect his handiwork. “What’s our situation?”
“They’ve been quiet since you laid out those no uncertain terms for them,” Encizo replied.
“We may have neutralized them in front, but Jack and I damn near got our asses shot off in the rear. They’ve moved at least one of those machine-gun emplacements to the back of the building.”
“All right,” McCarter said as he handed a headset to Manning and then clicked on the receiver of his own. “Red Leader to Red Team Baker. You copy?”
“Red Team Baker copies,” James confirmed through their headsets.
“Sitrep.”
“In position, side three.”
“You geared up?”
“Roger that, Red Leader.”
“Good. What do you make?”
A pause, then, “One, say again, one HPMG on point and three minis. No probes, no touch-offs.”
“Acknowledged,” McCarter said. “Stand by.”
Okay, so they faced one heavy-purpose machine gun supported by three personnel armed with at least pistols. They hadn’t traded fire with the enemy to verify actual position or strength, and getting inside would prove to be very difficult unless they could find a way to neutralize the terrorist defenses. Manning shook his head in disgust and blew out a ragged breath, then exchanged looks with Encizo and McCarter. “Doesn’t sound like their situation’s improved any to ours.”
“Sounds like it’s worse,” McCarter replied.
“You think a frontal assault is too risky?” Encizo asked the Phoenix Force leader.
McCarter nodded. “I don’t relish getting my team shot up because my arse got itchy, mate. We have to think this through.”
“Maybe I can provide us a distraction,” Manning suggested.
“What kind?”
Manning flashed him a wicked grin. “The kind that goes boom.”
CHAPTER SIX
The plan as they presented it to Calvin James and T. J. Hawkins sounded decent enough, and if anyone could pull it off James knew Manning could.
“How long do you think this little distraction of Gary’s will give us?” Hawkins asked James as they lay behind a decorative hedge no more than twenty yards from the station house.
“Maybe ten seconds.”
Hawkins turned to study the facade of the building. “That should be enough to cross that gap and make entry.”
James