PRIMAL Inception (The PRIMAL Series) Read online

  Zahir shook his head.

  “It’s a remote firing device. I’ve placed a small amount of explosives in the barn. Let’s call it five pounds. If you help us recover the pilot I’ll let you keep your new toys. If you don’t…” He raised an eyebrow.

  Zahir laughed. “You’re fucking nuts, Iceman.”

  Kreshnik scowled.

  Vance did his best to keep a straight face.

  Zahir stood. “OK, OK, we’ll go get your man.”

  “Glad we could come to an agreement.” Vance charged out the door and across to their red Toyota 4Runner. It was parked among the Wolves’ motley collection of pickups, flatbed trucks, and military four-wheel drives. Ice was right behind him.

  Vance opened the tailgate and pulled on his chest rig. “You’ve got balls, I’ll give you that.”

  Ice zipped up his own vest. “What do you mean?”

  “What if they recognized that as an M57?” Vance said as he climbed into the front passenger seat. The green device was an initiator from a claymore mine. Without a cable running to the charge it was useless.

  “Guess I would have used my other plan.” Ice turned over the engine.

  “And that was?”

  “Beat them into submission.”

  “You better hope my replacement isn’t some crusty old by-the-book bastard.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because ‘You’re fucking nuts, Iceman’,” Vance said in his best Albanian accent. He checked his watch. “Sledge should be at the RV by now. How long’s it gonna take us?”

  “Bit over an hour.”

  “Let’s hope he’s there because if he’s not, he’ll be spending a cold night in the woods.”

  ***

  Sledge ignored the thorns stabbing into his flesh as he searched frantically for his pistol. He’d rolled his ankle when he had fallen down a steep embankment into a bramble bush. In the process the Beretta had been thrown from its holster.

  His fingers brushed the pistol and he grabbed it. Thorns tore his flight suit as he pulled his arm out. A dog barked from the ridgeline above. He struggled to his feet and ran. There was a shout and the crack of a rifle. A round clipped the tree next to his head, splinters hit his face, and he threw himself sideways.

  Landing on his back, Sledge aimed up the hill and fired a volley of bullets into the undergrowth. He rolled sideways as he ejected the spent magazine, pulled a spare from his vest and slammed it home. His rapid breathing was the only thing he heard as he lay prone with the pistol and waited.

  A barrage of rounds snapped over his head. He turned and half slid, half crawled down the hill. The gunfire was relentless. It sounded like an army was chasing him.

  At the bottom he scrambled to his feet and burst out of the woods into a clearing. The gunfire had stopped, replaced by shouting and barking. Two hundred yards ahead he spotted more trees. Ignoring his throbbing ankle, he hobbled as fast as he could, legs and lungs screaming in agony. Behind him the barking of a dog grew louder.

  A hundred yards to go. The barking was even closer.

  Fifty yards. The dog was right behind him. He didn’t dare look back.

  Twenty yards. He heard it charging through the long grass. It was on his heels.

  Ten yards. Sledge almost didn’t see the fence at the edge of the clearing. He fell over it, tearing his flight suit on the top strand of barbed wire. A shrub broke his fall and he rolled onto his back.

  The dog yelped in surprise as it broke through the grass and hit the fence. Its head slipped through the wires but its legs and body did not. The fence stretched forward. The dog’s teeth snapped inches from his face. Then it recoiled and the canine was catapulted away. It yelped as it collapsed in the grass.

  Sledge crawled to the tree line and staggered to his feet. The soldiers were halfway across the clearing. He knew that escape was almost futile; he was injured, tired and running out of options. But then, as he considered waiting for the Serbs to find him, he heard a car approach.

  He limped toward the sound. Pushing through branches he caught a glimpse of the vehicle. He stumbled out onto a gravel road and threw his arms in the air. “American, help me!”

  The battered Lada four-wheel drive screeched to a halt and Sledge found himself face to face with two old men. Sledge pointed to the flag on his ripped and muddied flight suit. “Help me.”

  The driver gestured with his hand as the passenger reached back and opened one of the rear doors. Sledge dove in, pulled the door shut and lay across the back seat. He mumbled a quick prayer of thanks as the driver gunned the engine and the little car took off like a startled rabbit.

  ***

  The sun had almost set by the time the KLA convoy arrived at the farm. Vance jumped out and joined Zahir and Kreshnik who were talking to an Albanian family. “Have they seen the pilot?”

  Zahir shook his head. “No, but there was a Serb patrol here earlier. They were asking questions about us.”

  He nodded at the elderly woman who had been speaking to Zahir. Tears streamed down her face. Her husband had his arm wrapped around her shoulders. “What did she say?”

  “The Serbs took her daughter, and they chased someone into the forest.” He pointed at the pine-tree covered hills behind the farm. “One of the children said they saw a man running in that direction.” He held up a small radio. “They found this.”

  Vance inspected it. It was caked with mud but appeared functional. “Do they know if he was caught?”

  Zahir shook his head. “There was shooting. They don’t know anything else.”

  “Thanks.” He returned to the four-wheel drive where Ice stood scanning the hills with a night vision monocular.

  Ice lowered the device. “Any sign of our man?”

  Vance handed over the radio.

  “So he was here.”

  “Yep, local boy saw him being chased into the woods by a Serb patrol.”

  Ice stared at the radio. “There’s a good chance he’s either dead or captured.”

  “We don’t know that.”

  Barishna limped over and interrupted in his whiney voice, “I have some local sources. If he’s around here they’ll know where he’s hiding.”

  Kreshnik followed him, cradling his new sniper rifle. “OK, we came and looked. Now we go.”

  “Hang on a sec, buddy. We’re not done yet,” said Vance.

  “Zahir has given the order. We return to base.” Kreshnik glared at Barishna.

  “And Vance just said we’re not done,” growled Ice. “Unless you want to fight this little war without our help, you’ll tell Zahir we need a few minutes.”

  Kreshnik’s lip curled. “We don’t need your help.”

  He feigned surprise. “Really? You don’t need more weapons?”

  Kreshnik’s cold eyes lingered on Ice’s then he turned and stormed back to his boss.

  “He really doesn’t like you,” said Vance.

  Ice shrugged. “Barishna, how about you get onto those contacts.”

  CHAPTER 3

  The compact Lada four-wheel drive bounced along a rutted track, its headlights illuminating the trees on both sides. Sledge had given up trying to talk with the men who had rescued him. Neither spoke English. Instead he looked out the window, attempting to gauge his location. Using a penlight, he checked the escape and evasion map on his lap. He had identified the RV and traced a path northwest, his route during the chase. The problem was he had no idea how far he had travelled and in the dark it was difficult to see the terrain.

  Sledge looked up as they stopped. They had arrived at a warehouse or factory. The driver switched off the headlights and left the vehicle. The passenger turned and held up a hand before joining the driver. Clearly they wanted him to stay put.

  He looked around as his eyes adjusted to the gloom. The blocky gray building must have been a relic from the Soviet era, he thought. Hopefully now it was being used as a base by the KLA. He yawned. It was getting harder to keep his eyes open. His head nodded fo
rward once and he caught himself. His head dipped again as he lost his battle to stay awake.

  Cold air blasted into the cabin. His eyes snapped open. The barrel of a pistol hovered inches from his face.

  “Get out!” a guttural voice ordered.

  “Hey, wait a second,” he said as he was dragged from the car. They tore his vest off and cuffed him.

  “I’m an American pilot,” he protested as he was blindfolded. “Who the hell–”

  The blow caught him off guard. There was a flash of red in his vision then searing pain on the right side of his face. He staggered. The barrel of a weapon jabbed into his back. At that moment reality dawned on him. He had been captured by Serbian militants.

  ***

  Lying under a tree, Ice’s elbows sunk into soft pine needles as he scanned the old two-story factory with his night vision device. He was on the other side of a clearing, barely fifty yards in front of the concrete structure. For forty minutes, he had watched, waiting. His breath formed a cloud of vapor as he exhaled and focused the image intensifier on a sliver of light escaping between two large sliding doors. It was the only sign the building was occupied.

  It had taken Barishna only an hour to find the missing pilot. One of his contacts, a Serbian business associate, had heard rumors of an American picked up by farmers. The quartermaster had tracked down the two locals and the Wolves had ‘extracted’ the location of the Serbian militia now detaining the pilot. It had not taken much to convince Zahir and Kreshnik to attack. They had their new weapons and now wanted Serb blood.

  Ice’s earpiece squelched. “How you going up there?” Vance asked. “Kreshnik’s getting antsy.”

  He pressed the transmit button. “No sign of our pilot or the Serbs,” he whispered. “Bring them to my position and I’ll move in for a close recon.”

  “Roger.”

  He continued to watch as he waited for Vance to lead the dozen KLA fighters to his position. When he heard the rustling through the trees he tucked away the night vision monocular, cradled his MP5SD and crawled back a few yards.

  Vance knelt next to him. “We’ll cover you from here.”

  He glanced over Vance’s shoulder. The Wolves were stretched out in single file. He watched Kreshnik give some whispered orders and position his men along the tree line. Zahir was nowhere to be seen. As usual the dirty work was left to his second-in-command.

  He handed the night vision device to Vance. “Keep an eye on Kreshnik.”

  “Will do, bud.”

  Ice pulled his balaclava down over his face. Then he shouldered the MP5SD and stalked through the woods. For a big man he moved like a wraith, flitting through the trees as he boxed around the clearing. He paused at the edge of the forest and watched.

  The factory was a long rectangular two-story structure. There was a row of windows on the second floor but no lights. On the front side were two entry points; a doorway on the far right and a set of large metal sliding doors closer to him. The crack of light between the doors revealed they were partially open.

  He moved swiftly across the open ground and paused in front of the sliding doors. Hearing nothing, he slid through the gap.

  Behind the doors was a loading dock. It was being used as a parking garage and a single fluorescent light hung above three trucks. He crept between them, and stepped up onto the platform. Hearing male voices at the end of a corridor, he shouldered his MP5SD and flicked the safety off.

  Gunshots sounded from outside.

  Shouts echoed throughout the building as the intensity of gunfire outside escalated. Lights switched on. Boots thudded on the upper level. Two armed men ran into the corridor.

  Ice hit them with a controlled burst. The suppressed MP5 barely made a sound and the bodies hit the floor with a thud. “Vance, what the hell’s going on out there?” he transmitted before he shot out the corridor light.

  “Kreshnik started shooting.” The gunfire was even louder over the radio.

  “The man’s an idiot.”

  “They’re assaulting. I’d find cover if I were you.”

  Ice had no intention of staying put. He needed to find the pilot before the Serbs executed him. Besides, if he withdrew he risked being shot by friendly fire. He pushed on and checked the room the two men had exited. It was a kitchen.

  The corridor led to a workshop littered with heavy machinery. At the far end, he saw stairs leading up to the next level.

  Bullets ricocheted off the walls as he sprinted across the workshop. Skidding in behind a lathe, he spotted gunmen on the stairs and took up a firing position. Before he could engage more bullets forced him behind cover.

  “Ice, we’re coming in,” Vance’s voice came through over the radio.

  He hunkered down as rounds sparked off the machinery.

  A machinegun blasted from behind him. Ice glanced over his shoulder. It was Vance. The CIA veteran had a PKM tucked under his arm and was hosing the stairs Rambo style.

  “I thought you could do with some help,” Vance yelled between bursts. Behind him was a line of KLA fighters.

  With the Serbs forced back up the stairs, Ice waved the KLA forward. They moved past Vance, cautious and uncertain. Outside, Kreshnik’s remaining men could be heard still shooting at what Ice assumed were gunmen on the upper level.

  “Come on!” he yelled as the Wolves inched forward. He led them to the stairs. The KLA fighters reluctantly followed. When they reached the bottom of the stairs, a grenade dropped among them. One of the KLA screamed as Ice leaned down, scooped the bomb off the ground and tossed it at the far corner of the factory. He was already halfway up the stairs when the explosion shook the walls.

  He fired a burst into the man who had tossed the grenade and shoved the bullet-riddled body aside as he reached the upper floor. Pressed against the wall, he loaded a fresh 30 round magazine. Despite the cold he was now sweating under his balaclava.

  Three of the Wolves had caught up and he gestured for them to lead down the corridor. They shook their heads, eyes wide.

  Ice glanced down the corridor. Intermittent gunfire indicated a handful of militants remained. He crept into the corridor and spun into the first room. Two men were firing out the windows. He double tapped each in the back of the head, the suppressed 9mm weapon inaudible over the AK fire. They were dead before they hit the floor.

  He paused at the doorway as the KLA fighters charged down the corridor. Finally, he thought, they had grown some balls. Kreshnik’s harsh voice snapped commands in Albanian. More men surged up the stairs and AK fire raged.

  The Wolves only made it past the first doorway. The lead fighters hunkered behind a stack of crates, blasting away blindly. The Serbians had repositioned, finally realizing that the real threat came from inside the building.

  His earpiece crackled. “How you tracking up there?” asked Vance.

  “Not great, they’ve lost momentum.”

  “Need me to bring up the jack hammer?”

  “Negative Rambo, I’ve got this.”

  Ice flicked his submachine gun back to full automatic. He stepped into the corridor firing as he went. He slid into the closest room and blasted another fighter in the chest.

  There was a closed door on the far wall. He booted it open, catching a militant by surprise. The overweight gunman was focused on shooting into the corridor. Ice’s burst blew off half his face. The dead body toppled into the corridor and was riddled by a stream of AK bullets. As he completed his scan of the room his eyes fell on a man in a flight suit. He was hog-tied on a mattress with a rag stuffed in his mouth.

  “Vance, I’ve located our Fallen Angel.”

  “Roger, sit tight and let Kreshnik’s men secure the building.”

  Ice pulled the rag from the pilot’s mouth.

  “Slippery,” the pilot croaked.

  “Ninja,” Ice confirmed.

  A broad smile appeared on the man’s face. “Fuck, am I glad to see you.”

  ***

  Vance terminated the call on
his satellite phone and strode back to the 4Runner SUV where Ice was tending to the pilot’s injuries. They had left the Wolves to secure the rest of the factory.

  Ice was wearing a headlamp and inspecting the pilot who was sitting on the tailgate. He stepped back and pulled off his latex gloves. “Sledge here is fine. A few scratches and a sprained ankle.”

  Vance took a metal thermos from the center console and poured coffee into a mug. He walked to the back and handed it to the pilot. “Here, get this into you. You’ll be back playing volleyball before you know it.”

  Sledge grasped the mug with both hands. “Look, I don’t know how to thank you guys.”

  “No need for thanks,” he rumbled. “This is what we do.”

  “Yeah well, if you didn’t show up, God knows what they would have done to me.”

  A volley of shots caught their attention. The Wolves were finishing off the last of the Serbs.

  Ice packed away his medical kit. “When’s extract?”

  Vance unfolded a map on the tailgate. Under the faint glow of the trunk light he identified a location with his finger. “The LZ’s not far from here. The CSAR package will be in location at 0730,” he said, referring to the Combat Search and Rescue helicopters and supporting aircraft.

  “Anything else from HQ?”

  “Yeah. They want me on the bird for debriefing.”

  “Agency will want a success story out of this. KLA help rescue downed pilot.”

  “I’ll set them straight, don’t you worry about that. There’s no polishing this turd. Should only be gone for a day or two at the most.”

  “Roger.”

  “I see you have your pilot.” Zahir’s commanding voice interrupted their conversation.

  Vance turned to face him. “Thanks to you and your men. The US government appreciates your help.”

  Zahir shrugged. “I am just happy we could kill some Serb dogs.”

  There was a shout from the direction of the factory.

  “That’s the signal,” said Zahir. “Kreshnik has killed them all. We can move the vehicles up.” He turned and stomped back to his four-wheel drive.