Monster Hunter Nemesis (25 page)

“No.”

“Damn it, Franks. You can’t just murder and bludgeon and shoot your way out of this one.”

“Watch me.”

“I’ve always trusted you.” Myers came over, gave Franks a tired smile and placed one hand on his shoulder. “Now it’s time for you to trust me.”

Then a sniper’s bullet struck Myers in the back.

* * *

The retort of a high-powered rifle echoed over the waves.

“Cease fire, cease fire!” Klaus Lindemann said into the radio. Most of Grimm Berlin’s men weren’t in position yet. He was sitting on the side of the Zodiac in his wetsuit and SCUBA gear, ready to go over the edge. “Who was that?”

“It wasn’t one of ours.” Miesen was crouched a few feet away, only the whites of his eyes showing because his face had been blacked out with greasepaint. “Our snipers aren’t in position yet.”

“One of the three men I had on thermal has been hit.” Reger was watching the feed from the tiny aerial drone they’d sent ahead. The UAV was a marvelous little device. The engine made hardly any noise; disassembled, it fit in a suitcase; and it could be launched almost as easily as flying a kite.

One of the thermal blobs was far bigger than the other two, so if Franks was here, that was probably him. “Was it the tall one?”

“Negative. The tall one is carrying the wounded man to cover. He’s moving. He is remarkably quick for his size. Now he is picking up something. It is a large case or a box of some kind.”

“Do not lose them.”

They’d run the rented boats down the coast and had only cut the engines when they’d gotten close. The plan had been to swim in, nice and quiet. Franks would not be expecting an attack from the sea, and it had been faster than fighting the Beltway traffic to get out of the city.

More shots rang out, spaced just far enough apart to work a bolt. “If that wasn’t us shooting, then who was it?” Lindemann asked. “I bet that blasted Hell-spawned whore must have tipped off someone else.”

“Muzzle flash.” Miesen pointed at one of the tall, rectangular cranes in the main yard. “There. The shooters are on—”

The top portion of the crane came apart in a terrible flash. Debris was thrown in every direction. The sound of the explosion reached them a moment later.

“The big one has a rocket launcher,” Reger reported.

“Good heavens.”
So much for going in quietly
.

“Should we abort?” Miesen asked.

He hadn’t come all the way from Germany and squeezed into this ill-fitting rented wetsuit for kicks. “Start the engines. Get us to the docks now!”

* * *

There had been no hesitation. Franks had caught Myers as he fell, picked him up as if he weighed nothing, and then carried him to cover. In the second it took him to cross the distance, he’d pictured the way the blood had flown in the moonlight to guess the trajectory, calculated the speed and direction by the sound, and decided approximately where the shot had come from. The bullet had been meant for him. Myers had unknowingly stepped in front of it. Franks reached a crumbling brick wall as the sniper’s next shot zipped past his ear.

Myers gasped when Franks put him down. There was a lot of blood. Franks ripped open his shirt. No vest, not that it would have done any good against a rifle round anyway. Myers screamed when Franks probed the exit wound. The main artery had not been severed.
Good.
It had gone clean through Myers’ shoulder. No bones had been hit, so minimal fragmentation and no secondary wound channels, but the size of the exit wound indicated that the bullet had begun tumbling. There was a lot of tissue damage and internal bleeding. This was not something he could repair in the field.

Strayhorn dove behind the wall a moment later. He was quick for a human, but his reactions were nothing like Franks’. “Dad!”

“He needs a hospital or he will die,” Franks said.

A chunk of brick exploded into dust over their heads. “They’ve got us pinned.”

The rookie was correct. Franks might be able to move fast enough to get out of here, but it would be a risk. He could take a hit and survive, but if Myers got hit again, he was done. “Keep pressure on this,” Franks ordered as he stood up. He felt a twinge and realized that the bullet had struck him after it passed through Myers, and it was lodged sideways in his hardened sternum. Franks stuck his fingertips in the hole and pulled the deformed piece of lead and copper out. It was .30 caliber, and if Myers hadn’t slowed it down, it might have been enough to punch through to destroy one of his hearts. Franks dropped the hot bullet into the grass.
They will pay for that.

The shooter was on top of a crane, approximately three hundred meters to the northeast. Since he’d scanned that area for threats earlier, they must have arrived while he’d been hiding and waiting for Myers. It was too far to engage with his pistol, but since he’d arrived early enough to scout the location, he’d hidden one of his big cases under a nearby piece of tin that had blown off a roof. He vaulted over the low wall and sprinted for it, knowing that the sniper would pick up the movement and track him through the scope. At this range, with him moving laterally, they would need to lead him to give the bullet time to get there to intersect the target. However, Franks was so unexpectedly fast that even an experienced rifleman would more than likely miscalculate Franks’ speed, and by the time they corrected, it would be too late.

ZzzzTHWACK.

That one had been very close. The bullet had put a hole in his sleeve. Franks dove and rolled behind the debris. He was clear. He hurled the tin aside and opened the case. He had a carbine, but something else was in the way. The AT-4 wasn’t so much on top, as it was just so damned big that he had to pack everything else around it. The 84mm weapon was designed to destroy armored vehicles, so it was overkill for an old industrial crane, but this asshole had just shot one of his only friends so Franks was in the mood for overkill. Franks tore the launcher free, sending other pieces of useful equipment bouncing into the weeds.

Putting the AT-4 over his shoulder, Franks stepped out into the open, and lined the iron sights up on the cargo crane. He didn’t know where exactly the shooter was hidden in that mass of rusting steel and cables, but he only needed to get close, so he picked the spot that looked like the best sniper hide. A mighty bloom of fire filled the space between the old buildings and broke the remaining windows. It took over a second for the high explosive warhead to reach the target, and during that time he was glad to get a visual confirmation of a man with a rifle trying to get away.

The explosion was rather satisfying. It was difficult to tell amidst the expanding cloud of destruction, but from the number of flying body parts, it had been a sniper and a spotter team. That’s what they deserved for putting a bullet into one of the only humans he knew who was actually worth a damn.

He dropped the spent tube. If there were two gunmen, there were more, and they’d be here quickly. “Agent Strayhorn, report.”

“It’s bad.” He was trying to keep direct pressure on his father’s wound. There was blood up to his elbows. “He’s really weak.”

Myers had to survive. Franks pulled a first aid kit from the case and tossed it at him. “Plug that.”

Strayhorn unzipped the pouch and ripped open a pack of clotting powder with his teeth. It was a potent experimental product that had never been made available to the public, but the MCB didn’t have to wait for things like FDA approvals. Strayhorn poured the powder into the wound and it immediately began to foam. Considering that the man who had raised him was bleeding to death in the weeds, the rookie was keeping it together rather well.

“Get out of here,” Myers ordered through clenched teeth. “Save yourselves.”

“Shut up,” Franks and Strayhorn said simultaneously.

STFU would be coming for them. Franks would be the primary target, so he would make sure that they worked so damned hard that they wouldn’t be able to pay any attention to their secondary targets. He rummaged through the case.

While he tended the wound, Strayhorn shouted, “What are you doing?”

“Providing a distraction.” Franks had stowed some old decommissioned MCB armor. He wouldn’t have time to fully suit up, but he threw the load-bearing vest over his coat and buckled it. He’d need the pouches full of ammo and explosives. “Get him out of here.”

Strayhorn hoisted his father up. Myers was barely conscious. He did not look good. Time was of the essence.

Beneath the armor was a Milkor Mark 14 repeating 40mm grenade launcher. Franks had
lost
it on a mission years before. The MCB penny pinchers hated how that kept happening to him . . . Franks picked it up. The gigantic, explosive revolver felt right in his hand. Shadows were chased up the walls by approaching headlights. Vehicles were tearing into the old shipyard.
Good.
Franks was suddenly in the mood for a fight.

“Once they’re occupied, get to your car.” Franks didn’t wait to see if Strayhorn had listened. He had to strike fast. His pursuers would be expecting him to try to escape again. They probably wouldn’t be expecting an aggressive, immediate response. Franks ran as fast as he could, leaping over rotting debris and ducking through crumbling doorways to cut through old buildings. Spider webs stuck to his face. He reached the nearest parking area just as several SUVs crashed through the chain link fence in a cloud of dust. More vehicles were following them. Armored men were standing on the running boards, and they jumped off as soon as the SUVs slowed. They hit the ground running, weapons shouldered, spreading out and looking for targets.

Franks stopped behind a steel pylon of an old water tower. He picked one of the vehicles and aimed. They were far enough away that he’d have to lob the low velocity shells in, but Franks had plenty of practice.

Bloop.

The 40mm grenade hit the hood and detonated in a flash. The men who’d been riding on the sides were ripped by frag. Franks shifted to another truck and fired again, then the next, and the next, before the first grenade had even hit. Franks cranked through six shots as fast as possible. The open area was filled with a sudden chain of explosions and flying shrapnel. Some of the SUVs were up-armored, and 40mm wasn’t enough to pierce them, but it sucked to be the poor bastards out in the open. One shell exploded against the grill of a speeding Suburban. It would have been fine if the driver hadn’t panicked and cranked the wheel too hard. It went up on two wheels, caught a pothole, and flipped over, sliding along on its roof.

Franks surveyed the damage. There were several men wounded and crying out, and many more bodies lying unmoving in the moonlight. One of the trucks had been unarmored and had caught fire. It drove into the side of a warehouse and stopped with a crash. The doors opened and men bailed out, followed closely by orange flames. On the back of that vehicle was a logo consisting of a gold PT but then the gas tank caught and the whole thing was engulfed in fire.

He’d been spotted. On one of the vehicles the sun roof had been changed into a turret. A man in a helmet came up through the hole and took hold of the mounted mini-gun, cranking it toward the water tower. Franks could withstand a few bullet wounds, but that wouldn’t last at six thousand rounds per minute, so Franks ran to the side as the mini-gun opened up. One leg of the water tower was cut in half almost instantly. The empty tank toppled. The crash was loud, but more importantly, it threw up a cloud of old dust, and that provided concealment. There was a deserted factory building just ahead. The glass from the windows was long since busted out and boarded up, so Franks aimed his body at the flimsy wood and launched himself through, splitting boards like they weren’t even there. He hit the floor, rolling hard through thick dust.

The gunner had tracked him through the haze. Light and sparks filled the darkness as tracers cut through the walls. His minigun fired so quickly that a hundred holes appeared seemingly in an instant all around him. There was a dark gap in the ground ahead of his face. The floorboards there were broken. Franks crawled toward it as the mini-gun sliced and diced the factory into pieces all around him.

There was no time to do it safely, so he just rolled into the hole. It was so pitch black that even his eyes couldn’t see the bottom. Hopefully he wasn’t about to impale his body on a bunch of rebar spikes. He’d done that before. It had been unpleasant.

He landed on his side with a grunt. It was only a twelve-foot drop, and the floor was only concrete. It took more than that to break his bones. From the noise, the mini-gunner was still ripping the place to pieces, and others had joined in as well. Dirt and splinters fell through the hole. The smell told him that something above had caught on fire. Strayhorn had better be using this opportunity to get Myers out of here. . . . Franks tapped one of the small LEDs on his vest, which provided enough light for him to see. The place was filled with rusting machines that had served an unknown purpose. There were stairs in the back. As he walked he opened the grenade launcher, dumped the empties, and began reloading the cylinder from the spare shells on his vest.

The gunfire tapered off. The Hunters would be cautiously approaching his last position. His boots clanged on the metal stairs. It was odd, thinking that Myers could die. He was angry, of course, but anger was normal. This was something else as well, and he did not like it. This unusual feeling rested in the pit of his stomach, making him uncomfortable. The door at the top of the stairs was chained shut, but Franks ripped the rusty old handles off and shoved it open.

The factory complex was burning well now, but it had started raining, so the fire probably wouldn’t spread. It was a downpour. Good. Between that and the smoke, the humans’ visibility would be impaired. Franks could see the beams of powerful flashlights stabbing through the thousands of new holes that had been placed in the walls.

Crouching, Franks moved through the broken glass and rusting pipes until he reached a window. Most of the Hunters had gotten out of the open and moved away from the burning SUV. One fire team was coming up on his last known position. Franks spotted the SUV with the mini-gun. Since it was so heavily modified, it would surely be armored to withstand 40mm, but the gunner in the turret wouldn’t be. Franks came around the corner, sighted on the man’s helmet, and fired.