PRIMAL Vengeance (3) Page 2

  The visual feed from the Switchblade appeared on Bishop's iPRIMAL. His fingers danced over the flex-screen to plot the UAV a route to the target. The sensors on the miniature aircraft easily detected the thermal signature emitting from the merchant ship's exhaust. An automated flight program would keep the UAV in a holding pattern above it giving the PRIMAL operatives an all seeing eye in the sky. Now all they needed to do was get on board.

  The 'Tian Hai' appeared in Mirza's night vision goggles as a grainy shape. At one mile he could not make out any of ship's detail. He aimed the inflatable slightly to one side of the mass and glanced at his partner. Bishop had his night vision goggles flicked up and was inspecting his combat interface.

  "Looks like at least three hostiles topside." He whispered despite the throb of the freighter's engines as it bore down on them. "One on each of the bridge wings and one roving on deck amongst the containers. The port side looks like the best approach."

  Mirza gave a nod and corrected their course. When the ship was only a few hundred meters in front of them he throttled back.

  "She's sitting low in the water, Aden, must be fully laden," Mirza said.

  "Just thinking the same thing. Looks like Chua's intel is spot on."

  Both men gripped the sides of the boat as they hit the wall of water being pushed forward by the bow of the cargo ship. The little craft launched into the air as Mirza powered over the wash. Thumping back onto the water he whipped the little craft around in a tight circle, accelerated and edged forward until they were bouncing in the white water just behind the bow.

  Their boat came in against the metal skin of the ship and Bishop leaned out and slapped a pair of rubber-coated electromagnets against the hull. They thudded in place and he pulled the tether ropes tight, locking them to the hulking freighter that towered above them.

  Even with the 'Tian Hai' sitting low in the water the distance between the rubber boat and the deck was over twenty feet. Bishop checked the UAV feed. One of the guards was now walking directly above them. Bishop looked up and spotted a gloved hand resting on the rail.

  "Tango above," he whispered over the radio, flicking down night vision goggles and raising his MP7. Seconds ticked by and Bishop's shoulders started to ache from holding the submachine gun at a high angle.

  A glowing object dropped from the sentry and arced towards the men in the boat. Through night vision goggles it looked like a blazing meteorite trailing a shower of sparks. Bishop ducked as the cigarette bounced off the side of the boat and was extinguished by the waves.

  "Filthy fucking habit," he whispered and checked his iPRIMAL again. The guard was moving away.

  "Aden, did you see the glow?" Mirza asked.

  "Yeah, NVGs. Chua's intel is definitely spot on." The PRIMAL intelligence officer had briefed them that the Chinese Army had arranged the guards for this vessel. "Guys like this aren't going to be protecting containers of pirated DVDs and Armani knock-offs. Let's roll."

  Bishop let his weapon hang from its sling and secured it to his side with a strap. He opened one of the dry bags and pulled out a coiled rope complete with a black rubber-coated grappling hook and an auto-ascender. He lobbed the hook high, it sailed over the rail and landed on the deck of the ship with a thud. With a sharp tug it caught onto the handrail.

  Bishop hefted another dry bag onto his back and hooked into the auto-ascender. He thumbed the activator and the tubular device bit into the rope hauling him up the side of the ship. In a couple of seconds he reached the handrail and pulled himself over. With a deft hand he unsnapped the device and let it slide back down the rope.

  "All clear." He raised the MP7 to his shoulder and slipped into the shadows between the containers.

  "Coming up." Mirza picked up his own dry bag before being hauled up the rope. He pulled himself over the rail, unhooked the grappling iron and let it drop into the boat below. Moments later he was crouched next to Bishop on board the 'Tian Hai'.

  They hid in the darkness cast by the containers stacked on the immense deck. Bishop checked the UAV feed again. It was all clear. They crept forward, weapons held at the ready. Dressed in black, they blended into the shadows cast by the ship's dim lighting.

  Mirza led them towards the rear of the ship, their sophisticated night vision goggles fusing ambient light with thermal signatures, turning the darkness into a hazy green world.

  "Target door ahead."

  They stopped at the entrance that led from the ship's external walkway to the internal cargo holds. Mirza spun the wheel and the steel door swung open. Inside was pitch black and he could feel the hot, thick air. Only the superstructure and crew quarters were air-conditioned.

  Mirza stepped into the darkness, activated the infrared light on his helmet, and paused.

  "Reed switch," he stated, inspecting the entrance. Invisible to the naked eye, his infrared light filled the stairwell with a green glow when viewed through their NVGs. The illumination clearly showed a magnetic switch attached to the door.

  Bishop swore, pushed in after Mirza and closed the hatch behind him. Switching on his own light, he inspected the device, adjusting the focus on his night vision. Someone had attached a magnetic alarm to the door.

  Bishop ran his hand slowly along the cable that connected the switch to a radio transmitter. He was sweating in his wetsuit, beads streaming down his face. The eighty pound dry-bag on his back weighed him down. He checked the UAV feed; the guards on deck seemed to still be in their normal routine. Go or no go? he asked himself.

  "Aden." Mirza spoke with urgency. "We need to make a decision now!"

  "OK, let's do this as quick as possible. Consider the mission compromised: shoot to kill."

  "Roger. We need to take the stairs down three more levels to the cargo hold."

  "Lead the way."

  They moved cautiously, keenly aware that someone could be responding to the triggered alarm. At the bottom of the stairs they reached another door. Mirza opened it and Bishop moved through holding his MP7 low, using its infrared flashlight for extra illumination.

  Within the cargo hold the air was even thicker and the throb of the ship's diesel engines incessant. They closed the door and pushed deep into the hold, squeezing past stacked crates.

  Bishop froze and held up his hand. "Holy shit!"

  "What is it?" Mirza asked, creeping forward.

  "Look!"

  Through his NVGs Mirza could make out the hulking shape of an armored vehicle. Turning his head he could see a whole row of tanks.

  Bishop climbed up onto the front of a tank. "There's got to be over a battalion's worth of armor in here." He let out a low whistle. "The ChiComs have gone all out on this one. Chua's source was right on the money."

  Mirza jumped up beside him. They had a clear view of the cavernous hold. "Main battle tanks, APCs, BM-21s," he observed. In front of them was an army of military vehicles. More of the squat main battle tanks packed in with boxy armored personnel carriers. Beyond that was a row of trucks sporting multiple rocket launchers. Vehicles filled the entire hold as far as they could see. "Aden, the rebels wouldn't stand a chance against this."

  "Yep, Khartoum would eat them for breakfast. We need to deep six this lot ASAP."

  The pair split, moving quickly to each side of the cargo hold. They identified the vital points that Chua had briefed them in the pre-mission package. From heavy dry-bags they drew out lengths of cutting charge. The pre-packaged explosives had been specifically designed to slice through the ship's thick steel hull. It took them fifteen minutes to lay the charges.

  "Charges set?" asked Bishop once they met back at the first tank.

  "Yes, just as we practiced."

  "Excellent." Bishop keyed his iPRIMAL and activated the two radio detonators, synching their initiation sequence. Numbers appeared on the screen, a countdown from ten minutes.

  They ran back towards the door that separated the cargo hold from the stairwell, lighter on their feet, no longer burdened with explosives. As the exi
t came into view, the hold's lighting activated, dim globes appearing bright white through their NVGs. They froze, eyes drawn to the steel door. The locking wheel in the middle of the hatch started turning!

  The two PRIMAL operatives dashed for cover, flipping up their NVGs as they slid under the closest tank. Seconds later the door opened and harsh Chinese accents echoed over the throb of the ship's engines.

  Mirza counted the guards as they entered, assault rifles held at the ready. "Four tangos," he whispered. The men split into two pairs, starting to systematically search the shadows with flashlights attached to their rifles.

  "Only four," Bishop replied into his mike. "If they find the charges, we're screwed." He paused to think. "We'll take them down in pairs. Closest two first. Silent kills, yeah."

  Mirza had crawled out from under the tank and was focused on the armored personnel carrier alongside, his brow furrowed in thought. "We may not have to kill them. I have an idea."

  "Now's not the time, mate. Eight minutes left." Bishop flicked the safety catch off on his MP7.

  Mirza pointed at the stubby smoke grenade launchers mounted on the APC and explained, "I'll set them off, we get out. They're not going to find the charges in the smoke. No one has to die, right?"

  Bishop gave a wry smile. He couldn't argue with the logic. "Well, hurry up then, MacGyver."

  Mirza's knife was already stripping the wires and he pulled out a spare radio battery. "NVGs ready?"

  Bishop flipped down his goggles. Mirza touched the battery to the bare wires. The smoke canister assembly spat four grenades into the air. With a clang they slammed into the roof and ricocheted onto the deck. Grey smoke billowed from the grenades filling the hold.

  Shouts in Chinese were soon replaced by coughing. The smoke pod had been designed to create a thick smokescreen to hide tanks in the open. In the confines of the cargo hold it rapidly filled the space. The PRIMAL operatives took a deep breath and made their way towards the exit door. The thermal sensors on their goggles saw through the smoke, detecting the body heat of the guards. Treading softly, they avoided the heavily armed contractors and headed straight through the exit.

  They secured the metal hatch behind them and hurried up the stairwell. "Five minutes," said Bishop, between breaths. As they hit the deck level an alarm commenced wailing and red lights flashed. Mirza approached the exterior door cautiously, hoping the other guards were slow to react. It was already open. He covered the hatch with his MP7 as Bishop checked the feed from the Switchblade drone.

  "Bird's on the wrong side of the ship," Bishop whispered. "I'll bring it round but we can't wait for the feed. Four minutes left!"

  Mirza hesitated. "It would be wiser to wait."

  "No time, mate, gotta go." Bishop moved past Mirza and bobbed his head out of the open hatch. He snapped it back as a burst of automatic fire blasted inches from his face, ricocheting off the open metal door. "Fuck me!" he exclaimed.

  A metallic clang resonated up the stairwell from below. The cargo hold door had been opened.

  "Looks like company from below." Mirza pulled a stun grenade from his vest and flicked it down the stairs. The electronic hearing protection in their headsets cancelled out the explosion as it detonated.

  "Switchblade's coming round." Bishop checked his combat interface again. "I've got three tangos on the walkway. All with long-arms."

  "I don't think you'll get a second chance if you stick anything out that door."

  The footsteps coming up the stairs were getting closer. Bishop was starting to wish he hadn't let Mirza convince him to let the guards live. He ripped off a fragmentation grenade, pulled the pin, and lobbed it down the stairs. Fuck them, he thought as the grenade detonated, the stairwell lighting went dark and the noises stopped.

  "Here's the plan," he said. "I'll use the Switchblade to hit the ChiComs. You make a bee-line for the boat."

  "And you?" asked Mirza.

  "I'll be right behind you. Now standby."

  Mirza braced himself next to the doorway, pulling a carabiner from one of his pouches.

  At 1000 feet above the 'Tian Hai' the Switchblade drone pitched forward, the nose camera feeding a picture to Bishop's iPRIMAL.

  "Ten seconds, Mirza."

  The little craft gathered speed as it dove.

  "Five seconds."

  The picture showed the three Chinese guards covering the walkway.

  "Four, three, two, one, impact!"

  The Switchblade detonated a meter above the guards, half a kilogram of High Explosive shredding the men with tungsten pellets.

  Mirza sidestepped through the doorway and fired a long burst into the bodies that littered the gangway. He needn't have bothered; the kamikaze UAV had done its job. He sprinted past the bodies, Bishop's footsteps close behind him. When he reached where their boat was moored, he snapped the carabiner onto the rail and leapt over the side of the ship. The lightweight line fed through a descender attached to his chest from a pouch on his thigh. He pulled the line tight as he raced downwards, slowing to a complete halt when his boots hit the rubber boat.

  Bishop was checking over his shoulder when Mirza jumped the rail. The walkway was littered with debris from the airstrike. The alarm was still wailing, the ship bathed in red emergency lighting. He glanced at his wrist; only two minutes until the charges detonated. He grasped the rail with one hand and made ready to snap onto Mirza's line.

  That was as far as he got. A shadow leapt from one of the containers above, slamming him into the safety barrier.

  Bishop's body armor bore the brunt of the impact and he bounced off the rail, raising his MP7 at the attacker. A savage kick tore it from his hands, breaking the sling's clip and sending it over the side of the ship.

  His assailant was Chinese, small and lightly built, dressed in a black uniform, with only a holster on his hip. The man seemed deathly calm despite the fact he was facing a well-equipped operative.

  Bishop snatched his pistol from its holster as the steely-eyed fighter unleashed a savage volley of kicks, forcing him back along the walkway. Even in the tight confines the Chinese fighter was able to unleash a maelstrom of blows against the larger PRIMAL operative. Bishop's pistol was knocked from his hand, NVGs were smashed off his helmet and the comms cables were ripped out. Desperate, he covered up, using his arms to protect his face.

  His combat interface vibrated on his wrist, a reminder that the timer had hit the sixty seconds mark. Bishop dropped his shoulder and charged forward. He was counting on his mass and the weight of his equipment to overwhelm his lighter opponent. He was wrong.

  Yang sidestepped at the last moment, landing a blow against Bishop's jaw as he careened past. Stunned, Bishop tripped and slammed into the deck, his helmet saving him from being knocked unconscious. Instinctively he rolled onto his back, ready to fend of any further attacks.

  Yang laughed. "You Westerners are all the same. You fight like a bull: all brute force, no finesse." The man hissed the final letters of the word like a snake.

  Bishop rose to his feet, taking a fighting stance. He wiped the blood and mucous from his face with a glove. His other hand drew a combat knife from his armor.

  An evil smile appeared on Yang's face. "Oh, so you want to try again?"

  Bishop shuffled forward, the knife held blade down in his leading hand. Yang lashed out with a kick. The blow landed on Bishop's fist, knocking the knife to the ground. The lean Asian darted forward, stepping inside Bishop's guard, throwing a strike at his throat.

  Bishop managed to deflect it and Yang grunted in pain as his fist struck an ammunition pouch. The PRIMAL operative seized the smaller opponent and pulled him closer, head-butting him with his helmet. The broken NVG mount dug into Yang's face, the solid plastic shell shattering his nose.

  Yang sprang backwards, shocked by the blow. Bishop grabbed his knife off the ground and pressed home his advantage, slashing upwards. Again the Chinese operative sidestepped and drove a powerful kick into Bishop's thigh.

 
His leg spasmed in agony but he hobbled forward, slashing wildly. Yang moved in under the blade and unleashed a volley of punches. Bishop covered up, absorbing the blows, hoping for an opportunity to retaliate.

  Sensing the PRIMAL operative was nearly finished Yang positioned his leg to deliver a finishing kick. As he swung his boot forward Bishop lifted the combat knife and drove it into the man's thigh.

  Yang grunted in pain but continued to press forward with another hail of punches to the face, knocking his opponent against the bulkhead. The blows stopped and it took Bishop a few seconds to regain his feet. When he did so he was staring down the barrel of a pistol.

  Yang did not look happy. He was standing a few meters away with the knife sticking out of his inner thigh. Blood streamed from his nose where it had been smashed in by the head butt. The pistol in his hand was aimed directly at Bishop's face and did not waver.

  "Tell me why you are on my ship!"

  Bishop nodded at the knife sticking out of the man's leg. "Should get that looked at, champ."

  "Answer me now or you will die."

  "That nose doesn't look so good either."

  Yang smiled. He looked comical with his bloodied, smashed nose. "As you wish."

  The Chinese operative squeezed the trigger. At the same instant there was a muffled explosion and the deck lurched beneath them. Yang staggered and the bullet went wide, ricocheting off the bulkhead. Bishop lost his footing and fell back against the safety railing. Yang fired again as Bishop rolled over the railing and disappeared overboard.

  Mirza was climbing back up his rope when Bishop flashed past him. He slashed the line and hit the surface a split second behind his partner.

  Weighed down by armor, equipment and ammunition, Bishop sank like a stone. He yanked the tabs attached to his floatation pouches. One of them inflated, slowing his descent, but the other pouch failed, the punctured bladder spewing forth a torrent of bubbles.