Stony Man - Triple Strike Part 22

With Hawkins's masterful work on the Mini keeping the enemy's heads down, the other Stony Man warriors were able to get out of the wreckage and take cover.

"T.J.," McCarter called on the comm link, "if you're done s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g around in there, we still have work to do."

"I'm coming, boss."

NASLIN HAD PAUSED just long enough to watch the Black Hawk fall out of the sky and destroy itself when it hit the ground. He had been on the verge of congratulating himself for having sent the Strellas out with the sentries when he heard the eerie, howl-ing growl of the Minigun.

Panicked that the Yankees would turn their guns on him, he stomped on the gas. With his attention focused on the downed Black Hawk, he hit a boulder that sharply slewed the vehicle sideways to the steep slope of the hill. The Unimog simply rolled over onto its side and skidded to a halt. The swivel hitch tow-ing the Katusha launcher turned far enough to keep the weapon from overturning, as well.

Jumping out of the truck, Naslin saw that the launcher was still usable. "Help me with the Katusha," he shouted to his sergeant.

He was at the extreme range of the rockets. But even so, they would reach the edge of the town and the wind would carry the gas as far as he needed it to go. The Serbs would die. "Hurry," he snapped, "before the Yankees can get here."

The two men quickly unhitched the launcher, spread the trail legs and locked them into position. Each rocket had to be loaded in the breeches of the launcher and the firing contacts lined up. When the third round had been loaded, Naslin cranked the elevation screw wheel to give the rockets maximum range. A half crank of the traverse wheel aimed the rockets at the middle of the town.

Jumping out of the launcher's back-blast area, Naslin shouted, "Fire!"

The technical sergeant was reaching for the launcher's firing b.u.t.ton when his head snapped back and he crumpled to the ground.

Looking back at the crashed helicopter, he saw one of the Yankees with a long rifle in his hands, a sniper.

Screaming his rage, the Iranian backed away from the launcher as the sergeant took another hit where he lay. Pulling his pistol, he aimed at one of the nerve-gas rockets that had been laid out for the sec-ond volley and fired.

In his haste, his first shot missed. He never got a chance to take a second one.

Manning's sniper rifle spoke again, and the 7.62 mm NATO round crossed the four hundred yards to his target in a heartbeat and drilled through the center of Naslin's chest.

The Iranian staggered from the impact and tried to aim his pistol again. Manning's second round took him in the throat, and he went down.

Not being in a mood to take any chances, the sniper sent a third round into his head as the major lay on the ground.

"Target down," he called over the comm link.

"Is THAT THING INTACT.9" Hawkins anxiously asked as he and Encizo approached Naslin's body and saw the rocket round on the ground beside him. It was an unnecessary question because if the warhead had ruptured, they would all be dead. But it was one of those questions you asked just to rea.s.sure yourself that what your brain was telling you was true.

"It's okay," Encizo said with obvious relief. "The safety pin on the fuse is still in place, and he didn't hit it."

"Thank you, Jesus," Hawkins muttered softly. Suddenly he was tired. Like everyone else, he had been running on adrenaline for longer than he could remember, and all he wanted to do was to take a long nap. The long-overdue shower could wait.

"Heads up, lads," McCarter called out on the corem link. "We have company coming up on our six. This may not be over yet."

Bolan turned around and was relieved to see the good old Stars and Stripes flying from the antenna masts of the PROFOR vehicles charging up the hill from Spivak toward them. At least American forces would treat them well until Brognola could get them released from wherever they would be incarcerated.

"It's okay," he said. "It's the U.S. Cavalry."

"'Bout d.a.m.ned time they showed up," James growled.

When the vehicles stopped, Bolan saw that the of-ricer in command was an infantry major. Normally a lieutenant would command such a unit, so this was an indication that Katz had gotten through to someone and explained the seriousness of the situation. He stepped forward to meet the major.

"Are you Belasko?" the major asked as he jumped down from his Hummer.

Bolan nodded. "I'm Mike Belasko, yes."

"I'm Major James Worthington, American contingent, sir. I have a message from my command to take you and your men into protective custody and to se-cure a chopper LZ for your immediate extraction."

Bolan repressed a smile. Once more the Farm had been handed a lemon, but had made lemonade out of it. He didn't like handing over his weapons, even to U.S. troops, but it beat falling into the hands of the UN.

"We're certainly ready to leave here, Major," Bo-lan replied. "Where do you want us to put our weapons?"

"You're to keep your weapons, sir." The major seemed to be surprised at Bolan's question. "We're just here to reinforce you and to provide security until your extraction. Let me make the call now, because your chopper is already in the air."

"Does your headquarters have access to a chemical-decon unit?" Bolan asked. "I think so, sir. why?"

"You might also want to notify them that there's a truckload of Iranian nerve-gas rockets over there." He pointed to the overturned Mercedes Unimog. "They might want to get some security on them, as well."

The American major blanched. 'TII do that immediately, sir."

"And if you don't mind, let's find an LZ upwind, as well."

"That's most affirm, sir."

THE NEXT MORNING, hundreds of thousands of Serbians and Croatians stood in front of their designated polling places to cast their ballots for the future of their war-torn nation. Old men and women, families with children and young adults all waited patiently for the chance to take the power of the vote in their hands. It was a solemn moment, but one filled with joy because they saw their voting as a sign that the long war was finally over and they could live without fear.

While the Bosnians waited in line, in Italy a small group of men also waited. But they waited to board their C-141 Starlifter for the long flight back to Andrews Air Force Base. Like the Bosnians they, too, were joyful. Once more they had put their lives on the line to make the world a better place for ordinary people to live. Once more they had gone into the pit and had come out alive, leaving the bodies of their enemies behind them.

That was the way it should always be.