Target Deck - 02 (41 page)

Palming a fragmentation grenade, he yanked the pin and threw the grenade just forward of the pickup. With both vehicles moving at high speed, he had to compensate. The bomb landed in the bed of the pickup and detonated, tossing bodies into the air like rag dolls. The vehicle itself didn't explode like in a movie, but it did careen off the road with the driver slumped over the wheel and that was good enough for Pat.

Reaching for a fresh belt of ammunition, he struggled to get the machine gun loaded as the driver down below drove evasively. Slamming the feed tray cover closed, he pulled the charging handle and began firing as a second cartel gun truck moved up alongside them.

Deckard's head bounced off the side of the cab causing him to see stars. Kenny, who was still flexcuffed in the vehicle, screamed as the truck began listing off the road to one side. The windshield was splattered with blood. Blinking sweat out of his eyes, Deckard saw the driver hanging limply in his seat belt. The driver's side window was shattered. Somehow the armored cab of the vehicle had been penetrated. Momentarily disoriented, Deckard didn't know if they had hit another IED or what was going on but he had to conduct a dead driver drill if they were going to survive.

Reaching over, he elbowed the driver out of the way and grabbed the wheel with one hand. With his foot he kicked down and swept the driver's legs out of the way. Using the weight of his body and the kit that he wore, he leaned against the Kazakh to press him out of the way and give him some more room to work.

Driving while looking through a blood splattered windshield with one foot on the gas and one hand on the wheel wasn't easy. Then the turret gunner began shooting.

Through the spider webbed driver's side window, Deckard turned and saw an up-armored cartel pickup truck pull up next to them. The gunner in the armored turret rotated towards them and cut loose with a fusillade of gunfire that stitched across the hood of Deckard's Iveco assault truck.

Easing off the gas pedal, Deckard let the cartel vehicle overtake them slightly. His own turret gunner fired his PKM, the bullets bouncing off the armor welded around the enemy machine gunner.

Placing his hand on the twelve o'clock position on the wheel, Deckard knew it would be the only way to remember which position kept the vehicle driving forward. With his ears ringing, his eyes stinging, and visibility limited by blood splatter on the glass and the shattered windows, he felt claustrophobic and confused. He was trapped inside a metal kill box and the shit had most definitely hit the fan.

With the enemy pickup's rear quarter panel sliding parallel with the left corner of Deckard's assault truck, Deckard suddenly rotated his hand all the way to the left, bringing his hand on the wheel from the twelve to the six o' clock position.

At high speed, the vehicles made contact. As Deckard executed a PIT maneuver, the rear wheels on the cartel gun truck lost traction and began to spin out while the vehicle itself turned sideways as Deckard sped up, t-boning the vehicle for a second. A second was long enough for the PKM gunner in the turret to lower the barrel of his machine gun and let off a devastating burst into the bed of the pickup where the cartel gunmen were hunkered down.

Flesh separated from bone as red ribbons were flung into the air. The cartel pickup then spun past the assault truck's bumper and rolled over into an irrigation ditch on the side of the road.

Deckard brought his hand on the wheel back to the twelve o' clock position, straightening out the front tires to get them going down the straightaway again.

Sergeant Major Korgan rode on the back of his truck with the men. When the two convoys collided, those sitting on either side of him were shot instantly. One was dead, the other was applying self-aid with a tourniquet. The Sergeant Major ignored the blood pumping down his own arm and sighted in with his AK-103.

The barrel wavered back and forth as the vehicle moved. The M240B gunner in the cartel gun truck went cyclic but he was also unable to draw a bead on his target, the tracer and ball ammo combination flying high over their heads.

Cracking off several shots, one struck the windshield of the cartel truck as his own vehicle began to pull ahead. He had discovered the gun truck's weak point. They had welded metal plating all around the vehicle as armor but apparently they did not have access to bullet proof glass. Running a controlled burst across the windshield, Korgan watched as the gun truck jumped the median and flew into the opposite lane of traffic.

The cartel gun truck went head on with a city bus that was heading down the opposite lane. The truck disappeared in a cloud of dust as the bus slowed to a halt. Several bodies had been flung out of the bed of the truck and lay in the street. It had happened so fast, that Korgan didn't have time to process the event, or to think about his injured arm.

Instinctively, he held onto the truck with one hand with the AK in the other, the vehicle jerking to the side as the median to their flank exploded in a shower of concrete. The next gun truck was coming up behind them, a cartel shooter in the back firing an under barrel M203 grenade launcher attached to his M-4 carbine.

The PKM gunner rotated his turret to cover their six and opened up at the same time as the enemy M240B gunner. Several rounds from the M240B cracked dangerously close but the mercenary behind the PKM got a splash of sparks off the M240B as he returned fire. The cartel machine gunner dropped down into the pickup, shot dead.

The injured mercenary sitting next to Korgan had gotten his tourniquet in place and stopped the bleeding. Shouldering his AK, the Samruk mercenary was back in the fight and launching rounds at the enemy gunmen with the grenade launcher. The PKM gunner in the turret tagged the enemy grenadier with a burst, causing the him to jerk the trigger as he fell out of the back of the pickup. With a pop, the 40mm grenade launched from the M203 and detonated in the street just behind the assault truck.

Walking his automatic fire down the front of the cartel pickup, the machine gunner then blasted through the windshield, causing the shards inside the cab to be sprayed with crimson. The pickup slowed to a crawl and the cartel vehicle behind it was unable to swerve out of the way fast enough. When they collided, the rear end of the second truck bucked up into the air, tossing more passengers out into the street.

Several bodies pinwheeled through the air with arms and legs splayed apart before gravity took hold and deposited them back to terra firma.

Jimenez watched the monitor as two of the mercenary assault trucks converged their fire on a strike force pickup truck. The driver evidently panicked because he yanked the wheel and took the truck off road. Overcompensating, the driver blasted through a chain link fence and went over a retaining wall where the truck landed on its side.

“What the fuck was that,” Ignacio exclaimed. “How is this happening? These idiots don't know how to drive!”

“These idiots have escorted hundreds of shipments up north. They have traded fire with everyone from the Zetas to the Marines. This is happening because that gringo down there is motivated to win,” Jimenez stated. He was not amused.

Scrolling through the numbers in the address book on his smart phone, Jimenez placed a call.

“This is why you create a layered defense.”

CJ Reyes worked the chain on the pulley system hand over hand, bringing up the garage door. Inside was his baby. He had been working on it for several months. First sourcing the body and then the metal and welding equipment. Jimenez gave him as much money as he needed and it was every insane mechanic's dream come true.

Elsewhere, across town he could hear gunfire echoing throughout the city.

The phone in his oil stained jeans pocket began to vibrate.

“Yes, boss,” he answered.

“Is it ready?”

“
Cebada
is ready to be deployed. I was just about to start him up.”

“
Cebada
,” Jimenez repeated. It was the name of the breed of bull with the most human kills of any of the breeds used for bullfighting. “I like that.”

37

Nikita held his HK 417 under one arm as he staggered uphill. He was breathing hard and already covered in sweat. Aghassi followed just behind him. They had been running forward reconnaissance for the convoy in their indigenous vehicle when they heard of the enemy contact over the radio. Only a few minutes ahead of the main element, they had to act fast if they were going to respond.

Pulling off to the side of the road, they bolted uphill, grabbing onto small tree trunks and exposed roots to help make their way to a superior position.

“Here they come,” Aghassi said.

Looking over his shoulder, Nikita saw the Samruk convoy, their comrades, involved in a pitched gun battle with a handful of cartel gun trucks. At first glance, it looked like the Samruk vehicles had already taken a beating. Sitting down on the incline was awkward. He ended up laying on his side. Curling up his knees, he let the rifle rest with the barrel oriented down into the street.