Shadow War. Don Pendleton
blood gushed in sudden torrents.
The man went limp and the pistol fell from slack fingers. Hawkins rose, pulled his auto-injector free and shot it into the unconscious manâs neck.
He turned and saw the rest of Phoenix Force looking at him.
âWhat?â he asked, catching his breath.
âNothing,â Manning said with a shrug. âIf youâre through playing with your food, do you think we could continue?â
âSure, no problem.â
âNext time Iâm not going to give you a fancy toy if youâre not going to use it right,â James said.
âFuck âem,â Hawkins replied. âThey work for scum. Theyâre lucky the powers that be didnât want corpses on friendly soil.â
âLetâs roll,â Manning said.
CHAPTER FIVE
From his overwatch position Gadgets Schwarz saw Rosario Blancanales fall. He saw the incongruous figure of a schoolgirl stumble back, a bloody knife in her fist. He shifted the shortened muzzle of his Steyr AUG A3 toward the female as she stabbed Blancanales a second time.
The aiming reticle of his 1.5X power telescope filled with the young womanâs figure as she swept her knife up. She staggered in his sight as he attempted to put a 5.56 mm Teflon-coated round through the left side of her rib cage.
But the close-quarters battle exploded into a frenzy of activity as one of the Zetas gunslingers recovered his composure on Carl Lyonsâs flank and stepped into Schwarzâs line of fire. The man raised a Browning Hi-Power pistol and triggered a round into the Able Team leaderâs back that was soaked up by his Kevlar body armor.
Lyons staggered under the impact as Schwarz put the man down. The Able Team leader triggered his assault shotgun, and suddenly the warehouse echoed with the sound of the full automatic 12-gauge weapon.
Bodies spun and were flung like rag dolls from the impact of .440 stainless-steel fléchettes that ripped through flesh and shredded internal organs. Blood and brain and bits of bone struck the corrugated walls of the old warehouse, and the metal structure rang as rounds punched through it.
Then there was silence.
From his position at the window Schwarz shifted his Steyr AUG, scanning the area. Nothing moved. He snapped the barrel to a different vector and found all still.
Carl Lyons stood at the point of the unitâs triangle formation, his smoking shotgun pointed downward, his ears ringing from the booming of his own weapon.
For a second he couldnât understand Schwarzâs frantic shouting, then his hearing returned well enough for him to make out what his teammate was hollering. Lyons spun, searching the floor for Blancanales.
He saw the unconscious Latino sprawled out, one hand still clutching his weapon, the other resting on an ugly mess of a wound leaking blood across his lap. Schwarz burst through the door and began checking Zetas bodies as Lyons made his way through the carnage toward his downed friend.
Blancanalesâs breathing was shallow and forced, his color obviously bad, even in the uncertain light. Blancanales himself often served as Able Teamâs field medic, so it was from his kit that Carl Lyons stripped the first-aid equipment.
He set down his shotgun and brought a soft, OD green plastic package to his teeth and ripped it open. He moved Blancanalesâs hand to the side and spilled the contents of the packet on his open wound. Instantly the coagulation powder went to work, clotting the blood around the puncture wounds.
Since Blancanalesâs breathing was uncompromised, if laborious, and there was no other obvious wound, Lyons dedicated his attention to that injury first. Behind him Schwarz kept his weapon in one hand and used his other to call in the teamâs helicopter.
âHelp us,â moaned one of the hanging prisoners.
âShut up,â Lyons snapped.
He finished securing a second pressure dressing over Blancanalesâs wound. The Latinoâs eyes fluttered open, glazed with pain, and Lyons could see the man struggle toward coherency through the force of sheer willpower.
âWe good?â Blancanales asked.
âYeah,â Lyons answered softly. âJackâs coming. Weâll have you medevaced in no time. I hear the chopper now.â
âThe girl?â
âSheâs out, buddy. Youâre lucky youâre still spry for such an old fart.â
âScrew you,â Blancanales said. His teeth were gritted through the pain. âHelp me stand.â
âNegative,â Lyons said. âYouâre bleeding internally. You try to walk, and youâll rip your guts open.â
The big ex-cop put a heavy hand on Blancanalesâs chest, keeping the stubborn man down. As he did so, he noticed the manâs abdomen pushing out and becoming rigid right before his eyes. The internal bleeding was bad, Lyons realized, rapidly filling the spaces between his internal organs inside his torso. The clock was ticking on the wounded man.
Blancanales winced as he sank back down and Lyons pulled a loaded morphine syringe from Blancanalesâs medic kit. As he prepped the needle, he called over his shoulder at the third member of the team. Outside he could hear the sound of Jack Grimaldiâs chopper.
âHow we doing?â Lyons asked.
âGood,â Schwarz answered. Having made sure all the hostile personnel were down, he walked over to the hanging men. One of them was a dripping corpse. Brains clung to the dead manâs shirt and blood spilled freely down his body from the gaping hole in his head, creating a growing puddle at his feet.
âWho knows Hart?â Schwarz asked the remaining two prisoners, using the CIA case officerâs pseudonym. âCome on, who knows Hart? I hope to Christ it wasnât this guy.â The Able Team commando gestured toward the corpse.
Gonzales turned his head. âBellicose Dawn,â he muttered. He felt exhausted, dried out like a piece of fruit turned to leather in the sun. âHart wanted to know about Bellicose Dawn.â
âLetâs get you out of here,â Schwarz said.
While Lyons gave Blancanales a shot to help him manage the overwhelming pain, Schwarz began undoing the manacles locked around Gonzalesâs wrists. The informant sagged onto his feet, fighting back tears of relief. He stripped off his sweat-and blood-soaked shirt and tucked it into his pants to cover himself. He felt a sudden urge to spit on the bodies of Lagos and the unconscious Marta, but restrained himself. A distracted part of his mind cataloged the vivid, ugly scar on Lagosâs throat.
âDonât get bashful now,â Schwarz warned. âI got a hurt brother, and youâre coming out to help me get one of the stretcher benches attached to my chopper.â
âMy familyââ Gonzales began.
âCovered,â Schwarz cut him off. âYour boy Hart already arranged that. Now letâs move.â
âWhat about me!â the last prisoner demanded, his voice frantic.
âDonât worry. Youâll only be hanging a few more minutes. Weâll call the locals and tell them they have a cleanup on aisle ten. Youâll be fine.â
âYou canât leave me hanging here!â the man cried.
âPeople judge you by the company you keep, asshole,â Schwarz snapped. âNow shut up or Iâll leave