The small grenade he had planted blasted behind him.
Earlier, when canvassing Draper’s gunship, Tucker had lodged the last of his frag charges near the propellant tank of a Hellfire rocket’s engine.
Always good to have a backup plan.
He had no hope that such a small grenade would ignite the rocket’s warhead, but the effect was dramatic enough. Gas shot out of the propellant tank, screaming like a banshee.
Tucker, however, was already in motion when the grenade exploded. He burst to his feet, catching his guard by surprise. He yanked the rifle under his arm and got a finger on the trigger. He strafed the porch. His aim was wild, striking the side of the building, the roof above the porch. Still, it was enough to force Draper to shelter the two new arrivals behind him—mainly De Coster.
The captain returned fire but had no better aim. He concentrated instead on getting his charges through the door and into the guesthouse.
Draper didn’t linger—especially as Frank had gained a weapon and added to the barrage. His own guard lay sprawled at his feet, groaning and dazed, clearly coldcocked.
Under the combined assault, Draper ducked away and slammed the door.
Tucker let go of his captured rifle and twisted hard. He snatched his Desert Eagle from the soldier’s belt, lifted the gun under the man’s chin, and fired. The guard’s helmet kept his skull in place, not that it helped. The body slumped to the ground.
Another gunshot caught Tucker in his armored shoulder and spun him around. The firefight had drawn the attention of the forces around the helicopters. He dove to the right of the steps. Frank took shelter on the left.
Tucker reached to the bushes next to him.
Back to Plan A.
He lifted his stolen rocket launcher.
9:04 A.M.
Monk lay on his side in broken glass. Blood poured into his right eye, blinding him on that side. His head rang from being pistol whipped.
Ekon loomed over him.
A muffled blast a moment ago had drawn the lieutenant’s attention toward the door. The four soldiers—the reinforcements who Ekon had called in earlier—had also looked in that direction. One of them had propped open the door for a better view. A flurry of gunfire had echoed to them.
Monk hadn’t known the source of the commotion, only that he needed to take advantage of it. He leaped at Ekon, determined to grab his weapon. But the lieutenant was no slouch—and damned quick. He struck Monk hard with the butt of his pistol. The world had gone dark for several seconds.
Now as his vision cleared—at least in the one eye—Monk rolled to his seat. Ekon crossed closer, kicking Charlotte to the side. He raised his pistol, preparing to club Monk again.
Monk lifted an arm against the attack, eyeing the pistol. He wondered if he’d had both hands, if he could’ve secured that weapon. He really needed to talk to DARPA about innovating a new prosthesis, one that didn’t require him blowing it up all the time.
Of course, I need to live first.
Ekon growled down at him, swinging his weapon high.
Monk winced, knowing what was coming.
He was wrong.
A massive blast shook the Quonset hut, rattling the metal walls and windows. Ekon backed up a step, never letting his focus drift from Monk.
Monk smiled.
Big mistake, you misogynistic bastard.
9:05 A.M.
Charlotte lunged from the floor.
The blast had turned the metal hut into an echo chamber. She counted on the deafening reverberations to cover her effort. That, and the lieutenant’s clear lack of concern that she posed any threat. Like all women, she was accustomed to slights, oversights, and the lack of presumed value.
She took advantage of it now.
She leaped at Ekon’s blind side. In her hand, she gripped a broken flask by its neck. She swung hard and stabbed its jagged end into his neck, aiming for the carotid. Before she could rip it free, he smashed an elbow into her side. A rib snapped with a lance of agony. She flew far and crashed hard, sliding through more glass.
Monk tried to follow up on her attack, but Ekon stumbled away, falling to a seat on one of the beds. He left the broken flask in place, smart enough to know not to yank it out. He shifted his pistol toward Monk and fired. He missed, but it forced Monk to dive aside.
Ekon recentered his aim, intent not to miss a second time.
Unfortunately, the lieutenant had failed to learn his lesson about women. The bed he had fallen on was not empty. Fingers reached up from behind him. They grabbed the impaled flask and slashed its sharp edge across his throat.
The pistol clattered to the floor. Ekon used both hands to try to stop the flood of blood. He coughed and choked as his life spurted from both carotids. He finally tipped sideways off the bed, revealing his slayer.
Disanka crawled back to where her baby lay nestled on a pillow.
Charlotte recognized a fundamental truth.
Never threaten a mother’s child.
Monk had already retrieved Ekon’s fallen pistol, catching it on its first bounce. He fired at the door, forcing the other soldiers to a huddle in the anteroom. One lifted a rifle and strafed the room blindly.
“Everyone down!” Monk hollered. He waved a teenaged boy to the floor, then shouldered the cot up on its side. “Find cover!”
Charlotte rushed low to Disanka and helped her off the bed, along with her baby. Once they were down, she followed Monk’s example, tipping the cot over as a shield. But the thin mattress and scant frame offered little protection.
Rounds punched through, proving this fact.
She flattened lower with Disanka.
With the armed soldiers guarding the only exit, they were trapped. A fresh barrage of gunfire erupted. Charlotte tried her best to shelter Disanka and her boy under her.
Then sharp screams rose—coming from the doorway.
Perplexed, she rolled enough to peek out.
A soldier came tumbling into view, firing wildly at the doorway. She spotted another pair of legs, unmoving and still, sticking out from the anteroom. Return fire pelted the retreating soldier, blasting through the open door. Rounds ricocheted off the soldier’s armor and helmet.
Then a shadow leaped high and struck the soldier in the neck.
Kane . . .
The dog brought the man down and savaged his throat until his target lay still.
The firefight ended. All was quiet, except for the ringing in her ears. She held her breath. Another figure dashed into the room, sticking below the anteroom window.
“It’s all clear!” Monk shouted to their rescuer and stood up.
Charlotte did the same, woozy, but determined. She expected Tucker to show himself, but as the shooter cleared the anteroom and straightened, she recognized her mistake.
Ndaye crossed over and patted Kane’s side. “Good boy.”
Where had the eco-guard come from?
She didn’t know, but she couldn’t be more grateful. She turned and offered Disanka a hand up. Instead, Disanka rose on her own, her strength likely fueled by adrenaline. But how long would that last? Charlotte stared around at the other patients. Six were still alive. She had to accept that as a win.
Monk noted her attention. “We need to get everyone into the woods. We can’t get trapped in here again.”
She didn’t argue. Though the gun battle had ended in the ward, weapons fire still echoed from the square. If that war should shift in this direction, they needed to be gone.
The three of them did their best to get the patients moving. The worst afflicted had to be carried by Monk and Ndaye. The others managed only a little better, struggling with debilitation and weakness.
“Wait!” Charlotte called out.
She ran to the far end of the hut, to the ransacked clinical area. She grabbed what Ngoy had left behind, what that vainglorious bastard had considered useless, as it wasn’t his own work. While being held captive, she had noted it abandoned on the floor, half-buried in debris.
She fished out Frank’s laptop and headed back.
“Good thinking,” Monk said. He grabbed a pack off of a dead soldier, emptied it one-handed, and secured the laptop inside. He hooked the pack over her shoulder. “Keep it safe.”