Target Deck - 02 (47 page)

“You need to get right with god or whoever the fuck it is you talk to in times like this,” Pat explained. “Because you're gonna die.”

Ignacio looked up at him with tears forming in his eyes. His legs had been shot to hell, turned into ground meat as a mercenary caught him with a burst of PKM fire.

“Don't leave me to die alone,” the cartel lieutenant begged.

“I won't but I need you to help me.”

“You, you, you have-”

“All these M-4 rifles, the M240B machine guns, where did you guys suddenly get all these American military weapons from?”

Ignacio was breathing heavy. He was losing blood fast.

“We raided a Zeta warehouse up north. We knew you were coming and needed to stock up on more weapons. Jimenez found out from one of his sources that the Zeta cartel had a s-s-stockpile of American guns.”

“Where did the Zetas get the weapons from.”

“I-I-I was told that they are being funneled...” Ignacio's voice trailed off into a mumble as he grew weaker. Pat leaned forward, getting close and listening to the dying man's final words.

Sergeant Fedorchenko stepped forward, holding his AK-103 at the low ready and fearing the worst. His commander lay face first in the dirt behind the museum.

Deckard had gone dark on comms for twenty minutes and the men assumed him to be dead. Then he grabbed a radio from a fellow mercenary who had been taken hostage, ordered the rebels to fall back and prepare an ambush, then comes walking out holding Jimenez' decapitated head. The head lay near the Samruk Commander, the hair mottled and thick with blood.

Fedorchenko bent down and rolled Deckard over onto his back. Sand was stuck to the sweat and blood on the side of his face but as the Kazakh held his hand in front of Deckard's mouth, he could feel his hot breath.

“Medic!”

The Platoon Sergeant had checked his breathing and airway so he moved on, looking for wounds, bullet holes, or broken bones. There were several deep gashes, one in his shoulder, another on his leg. His face and head were covered in smaller cuts and scrapes.

The medic came bounding up and dumped his aid bag down next to the casualty.

“Get some Hextend into him to get his blood pressure up and start pushing more liquids. I think it's heat exhaustion.”

He had also found several bullet holes in the uniform and a large strike on his front trauma plate. Near misses with death.

“He might go into shock so keep an eye on him.”

It took the medic several tries to find a vein but finally got an IV drip in him. Fedorchenko squeezed the bag to push the fluids faster while the medic continued to work, attending the wounds with bandages. Several other assaulters came up and began prepping a litter to transport him.

Cursing in Russian, Fedorchenko got to his feet while the medic removed the Hextend bag and got a Saline drip going.

What the hell had happened to Deckard, he could only guess at.

41

Deckard leaned back with his eyes half open. He was on some light pain killers, 800 milligrams of Motrin and it couldn't kick in soon enough. They had reconsolidated and moved back to their compound to treat the injured and prepare to head down to the airfield. The entire compound needed to be packed up, sensitive material destroyed, and a quick hand over conducted with Commandante Zero and Samantha before the Mexican military rolled into Oaxaca.

By that time they needed to be wheels up and on their way back to Central Asia.

Twisting the cap off a small plastic bottle, he downed a five hour energy shot. The medic was sterilizing his wounds and getting them closed with medical grade Cyanoacrylate super glue. He was feeling better now that his body had soaked in three IV bags of fluids after suffering from heat exhaustion. His core temperature and resting heart rate had finally returned to somewhat normal levels. Once the medic finished with him he needed to be back up on his feet to oversee Samruk International's redeployment to Kazakhstan.

Pat, Frank, and Sergeant Major Korgan were supervising and working the moving parts with Sergeant Fedorchenko but he needed to be present as well.

“Drink this instead,” Samantha said handing him a bottle of water. She stared at him with large brown eyes.

“Thanks,” Deckard replied, setting the bottle down next to him. “I will.”

“What's up big guy?” Pat said coming to sit down next to him. The medic was finishing up before moving on to other patients that were laid out in the OPCEN. Meanwhile, Cody was rolling up wires and packing away computers.

“I've been better.”

“Well, you pulled another win out of your ass,” Pat smirked. “No doubt about that. I won't even ask what the hell went down in there for now. I'm just glad that you are alive.”

“Something I can't get out of my mind Pat,” Deckard said, shaking his head.

“What's that?”

“Jimenez told me that it wasn't him that ordered the massacre at that Christian mission.”

“So fucking what?” Pat asked. “Who cares what he had to say. He's dead.”

“Yeah, but the thing is, I believe him.”

“Listen, take a few more minutes to get yourself together. When you are ready, before we blow out of here in an hour, come meet me and some of the boys over in the loadout room. We need to have a pow wow about some things.”

“What's up?”

“I'll fill you in then, don't worry about it right now.”

“Alright brother, I'll make my way down there.”

Pat slapped him on the shoulder as he walked away, causing Deckard to wince.

“IT IS FOR YOU,” Cody said thrusting a cell phone in his face.

Deckard looked up at him and took the phone. Pressing it to his ear he answered.

“Hello?”

“Deckard, it's Grant. Nice work down there but now you have to cut the shit and high tail it out of Mexico, understand?”

“We're moving out as fast as we can.”

“I'm helping facilitate the process. I found out that your An-124 was sitting on an airfield in Panama waiting for you to recall the pilots and have them fly back to Oaxaca to collect you. We just made sure the airspace was cleared for you. They are already in the air.”

“Appreciate it.”

“We've upheld our end of the bargain, we have also received word that the Mexican military is inbound. They got a one hundred vehicle convoy heading south on Mexican National Highway 135D. We want you out of there ASAP.”

“Are you going to have that helicopter meet us again at the airfield.”

“Yes, you said it is a source and his family.”

“Right, we had another but he decided to bail and try his luck on his own.”

“Good luck with that. Get your ass on the tarmac and we'll have someone there to evac them.”

“I'll be there.”

Deckard terminated the call.

“That's all I can do for now, I have other patients I need to double check,” the medic said, tearing off his latex gloves.

“Do it, thanks for the help.”

Every muscle in body ached as he stood up. He had a gash in his shoulder and another in his thigh. His pants were in tatters, his body armor and shirt were cast aside, cut off by the medic as he was cleaning him up. One of the pant legs had been cut up with medical shears so he could get to the cut in his thigh. Some butterfly bandages had been applied to the nicks and gouges in his face.

“Black,” Samantha said as she walked into the OPCEN. “Or should I say Deckard.”

“Guilty.”

“I need you to do one last thing before you guys take off.”

“I'm a little busy.”

“Come with me.”

Samantha led him into the adjoining room, it was Ortega's game room with billiards tables and flat screen television sets. One entire wall was a constantly flowing waterfall back lit with neon lights.

“What is it?”

“Shut up,” Samantha said slamming the door.

Before Deckard could turn around, she had jumped into his arms, wrapping her legs around his waist. Pressing her lips to his, she put her tongue into his mouth.

“This was what you wanted to show me? I could have used this before I was shot to fucking pieces you know?”

Samantha dropped her legs to the ground and began undoing his rigger's belt. Freeing it, she grabbed the belt with one hand and yanked it free from the belt loops with a snap of nylon.

“Jesus.”

Tearing open what was left of his pants, she reached inside.

“You've been drinking that water I gave you?”

“No, why?”

“Well I guess it's not an issue for you, huh? I thought you might be too exhausted so I ground up a blue pill and sprinkled it into your water.”

“What the fuck? You tried to drug me?”

Samantha yanked down his pants and pushed him down onto one of the couches lining the walls. Crossing her hands she grabbed the bottom of her shirt and pulled it over her head and tossed it aside. She wasn't wearing anything underneath.

“Just try not to tear open any of those war wounds and you should be fine.”

The loadout room was simply an emptied garage on the compound where the two Samruk platoons kept all of their tactical gear and rifles while carrying just their issued Glock 19 pistols when not pulling guard duty. Body armor and rifles lined the walls along with RPG launchers, a Carl Gustav recoilless rifle, a couple Mk48 machine guns, a .50 caliber Barrett sniper rifle and other random weapons. In the center of the room were tables set up with ammo cans full of bullets for the mercenaries to jam into magazines between combat missions.