The Hunters Box Set, page 24
part #1 of The Hunters Series
An old-school hero in a new world.
Standing on a rise while glancing through seventy-year-old binoculars—with superb optics, she had to confess—Anna had seen Borovsky ride toward the train, fire at the ground, then trot alongside the engine. The entire time, he was smiling, like he was having a total blast.
From her vantage point, it had looked like a nest of insects swarming around a toy train. She had looked helplessly at the villagers around her. They were not fearful of the sharp reports of weapons or the danger faced by loved ones. They were completely silent while they watched, intently, as events unfolded.
A few had even seemed proud.
But that only made sense. It wasn’t every day that the local peace officers received a call from a colleague in Moscow—one who wanted them to join him and do what they were trained to do. And on a matter of international importance. Most of these people had never been more than twenty-five miles from their village.
To do something that affected the world was an honor.
But after ten minutes, the action was over.
That part of it, anyway.
She was about to get in a waiting hay cart—a hay cart!— for a ride back to the village when a crack had rolled ominously from somewhere behind her. In a panic, she quickly raised the binoculars and studied the scene before her.
Only one man had appeared to be hit.
Colonel Viktor Borovsky.
◊ ◊ ◊
Cobb slammed onto the floor of the train cab, temporarily dazed by the blood and horse brains that had splattered the side of his face.
Jasmine ducked as she yanked up the shotgun like she was about to blow the roof off the train, riding the fear as she’d been taught. Her survival depended upon treating her emotion like an unwelcome friend, not the enemy itself.
“Can I kill someone now?” McNutt spat sarcastically as he spun in the direction of the shot. He saw the attackers a second after Garcia did.
“ATVs, AK-47s—Black Robes!” they all heard in their ears.
A dust cloud filled the horizon. Tearing up from the southern woods with the ear-slicing roar of a hundred dragons were dozens of dark, four-wheel, all-terrain vehicles, ridden by men cloaked in black robes and carrying AK assault rifles. They tore up the grass and shredded the flowers as their bulky, industrialized, heavy-tired machines buzz-sawed furiously up the slope, while the horsemen raced for the far side of the train where their leader still was.
Cobb’s head came up as McNutt dragged Jasmine and Dobrev down.
“Full metal jackets!” the sniper hissed as he grabbed the Benelli shotgun from Jasmine, twisted toward the southern side of the cab, then cursed.
“What?” Cobb said.
“Too far, damn it!” McNutt said. “Out of range!”
Then McNutt was gone, out the back of the cab, so fast that he practically left a puff of cartoon smoke.
Jasmine stared after him then spun her head back toward Cobb, who was still on the floor, his head raised. Half his face looked like it was slapped with red warpaint. He was trying to look out the window without losing the top of his head.
“Jasmine, you stay back,” Cobb said. “I can’t afford to lose my translator.”
The remark stung a little. His concern wasn’t for her, it was for what he had often referred to as the “mission assets.” Whenever she thought she might be starting to like him or one of the others, that reality always intruded.
As Jasmine stepped back, Sarah appeared in the cab door. She was fully dressed in her Type IV Modular Tactical Vest and Ops Core Ballistic helmet—the best bullet-resistant gear money could buy. The former looked like a tailor-made down vest, and the latter looked like a particularly aggressive bike-riding helmet. Even so, they were made to withstand everything up to, and including, .30-06 armor-piercing bullets.
Sarah’s arms were full of additional gear for the rest of the team. She tossed vests and helmets to Cobb and Jasmine, along with a spare for Dobrev, then she swung a SIG 553 Commando assault rifle around from where it was strapped on her back. The seven-pound, twenty-eight-inch, five-point-six-millimeter, thirty-round weapon was also considered one of the best in the world.
“Thanks,” Cobb said as he pulled Jasmine lower and helped her suit up before putting his own equipment on.
“No problem,” Sarah said. “I gotta get back to McNutt. He’s setting up the armory for war.” She smirked at the thought. “He said we have permission to kill them. True?”
In the pause that followed, they heard the slapping metallic noise of lead hail hitting the southern side of the train.
“Yes,” Cobb said.
“Wait!” Papineau shouted in their ears.
“Sarah, go,” Cobb said, ignoring the Frenchman. He looked at Sarah, pointed toward the armory, then pulled his finger across his throat.
Sarah gave a thumbs-up and disappeared. Better protected now, Cobb went to the door for a clearer view of the Black Robes. From this vantage point, he heard a scratching just beyond the lavatory door on the other side. He twisted around to see a stunned, winded Borovsky, his face covered in his horse’s brains, feebly trying to pull himself up the cab ladder.
“Jack, are you there?” Papineau said.
“Shut him down, Garcia,” Cobb shouted, clearly referring to the Frenchman, while reaching out to the Russian.
“Just his broadcasts or—” Garcia started.
“Everything!” Cobb bellowed as Jasmine and Dobrev, who had put on his own, slightly ill-fitting protective gear, rushed to help Borovsky. It didn’t matter that he was a Russian police officer or the leader of the villagers. Cobb sensed that Borovsky would be more of an asset than a threat, particularly after saving his life.
Garcia cut Papineau off as ordered.
“Dobrev!” Cobb shouted at the engineer. When he got his attention, he urgently jabbed one forefinger at the northern tree line. The old man nodded and scuttled to the controls.
As the engine throttled up, Cobb helped Jasmine drag the limp, groaning Borovsky inside.
“Spasiba,” he said breathlessly.
Cobb offered him his own protective helmet.
The colonel declined with a grateful wave of his hand.
“Jasmine, tell Dobrev to get as close to the tree line as possible,” Cobb said. “Garcia, how many?”
“Two dozen, more coming,” came the answer. “Now three… four! More coming!”
Cobb silently swore. “Everybody, retreat prep.”
“No!” McNutt shouted.
“Dammit, I said prep, not execute!”
“Roger,” said Garcia and Sarah almost at the same time.
And then Sarah hissed, “Get with the program, McNutt.”
Chapter Fifty
As the train began to pick up speed, Cobb slid to the southern side of the cab. He hazarded a look at the field just in time to see the nearest Black Robe kill a horse and rider with his AK-47. A second after that, the Black Robe cartwheeled off the ATV, his head erupting into a wet, red plume of mist.
“In range,” McNutt reported gleefully.
“We’ll be, too, in a few seconds,” Garcia said, comparing his map to the specs of the weaponry carried by the Black Robes.
Cobb heard another dull crack and saw a flying Black Robe.
McNutt cackled with delight. “They gotta get through the killing field first. Let’s see how many volunteer.”
He was right: the lead drivers who were trying to reach the train veered away to the east, moving out of range and rendering themselves ineffective. The Black Robes would have to wait and attack the passing train from the rear.
That bought Cobb’s team some time.
Chalk one up to McNutt, Cobb thought, picturing the gunman using an Accuracy International AX338 long-range sniper’s rifle, the one with the five-shot magazine.
Cobb’s eyes moved northward. He saw fifty or more Black Robes spread across the field ahead. Some were still riding, but most were parked and hunkered down behind their vehicles, firing at will. The local horsemen, too, had gathered behind the train, firing when they could, but mostly using the locomotive as a shield and waiting for orders.
Cobb turned back to see Borovsky propped up against the lavatory door, looking haunted.
“Ask him if he’s ready for that tuica,” he told Jasmine without taking his eyes off their guest.
She did. Cobb watched as Borovsky’s face changed. He said something in a slow, unconcerned voice.
“He says, ‘If you’re buying.’”
Cobb grinned. “With pleasure. Tell him we’re going to need his men to get us out of here.”
“Abandon the train?” Garcia gasped.
“Shut up, Hector, and listen. You’ve got work to do. I don’t want them to be able to crack our computers even if they brought a Russian Garcia with them.”
“You want me to fry them?”
Cobb nodded. “Anything you can’t carry, kill. Understood?”
“Roger that,” Garcia said, his fingers already flying, his brain figuring out how many laptops to take with him and what kind.
“Sarah, you got what you need?”
“In my skull and at the end of my arms, Jack,” she replied.
Cobb looked back at Jasmine, pleased to see that Borovsky was leaning half out of the cab, already telling his men what to do.
“Anything I need to know?” Cobb asked Jasmine.
Just then, Borovsky turned and spoke.
“He says that the men are ready,” Jasmine said. She listened to the Russian for a few seconds more, then added, “He says to jump on the back of a horse and hold on tight.”
“To what?” Garcia gulped.
Borovsky was still talking.
“He says that the horses are amazingly well trained,” Jasmine assured everyone. “They have been trained to ignore loud noise, sudden motion, and added weight. They won’t flinch.”
“Not even if I puke?” Garcia said.
“Not even if you continue to cry like a two-year-old,” Sarah said. “Jeez.”
“Okay, everybody,” Cobb ordered, “grab whatever you need that won’t slow us down and double-time it up here.”
Garcia was the first to arrive, pockets bulging with flash drives and battery packs, arms full of bags of tablets, eyes darting for errant bullets. An additional shoulder bag contained two laptops and one wireless charger.
“Where are the others?” Cobb demanded.
Other than the occasional cough of McNutt’s sniper rifle, there was only silence from the back of the train.
“McNutt? Sarah?”
“He won’t leave, Jack,” they heard Sarah say.
“McNutt!” Cobb yelled.
“Covering the retreat,” McNutt said. “It’s in the prep drill, remember?”
Cobb felt like killing someone who wasn’t a Black Robe. He hated having his own instructions flung back at him. Sarah came through the door just then, and Cobb put her in charge of the evacuation.
Borovsky was already on a horse, behind the rider McNutt had netted. Five more riders milled around the northern side opening of the cab. The rest were spread out amongst the other cars, keeping the Black Robes from circling wide and coming at them from the east. Several additional horsemen were congregated at the front and rear of the train, helping McNutt keep any ATV from charging the train as it crept closer and closer to the protective embrace of the northern tree line. The mob of swirling dust made precise shooting difficult. It was basically a matter of shooting at the center of a tawny cloud and hoping you hit something.
Before Cobb looked back at his team, he took final inventory of the battleground. He had counted four horsemen and thirteen Robes down. The decrease was proportionate, but it was not the kind of loss his side could afford. They needed to regroup.
Cobb cupped his hand over his ear. “Retreat, McNutt.”
They all heard the reply. “Bit busy here, Jack.”
“That was an order, McNutt.”
Jasmine and the others were amazed that Cobb’s voice was so calm.
Sarah was certain McNutt was going to say something massively stupid, like, “We’re not in the army now, Jack,” or “You’re not the boss of me.” Then again, she didn’t understand the transformation that overcame men in battle. It was a sense of purpose, responsibility, and duty that caused every other trait to fade to insignificance.
Surprisingly, McNutt’s response was calm, collected, without even a hint of attitude. He simply said, “I can do this, Jack.”
Sarah felt a lump in her throat. It was the first time she had seen the true McNutt—a man capable of unflinching sacrifice, not a smartass playing Army.
“Sarah, get them off the train!” Cobb shouted.
The words snapped Sarah from her momentary daze. Cobb stared at her, waiting for an acknowledgement. Once she nodded, he started racing back through the cars.
Cobb was in the armory and rushing up to McNutt before the gunman even knew he was there. Cobb spoke the language he knew McNutt would hear, would understand: he picked up an M1 that was lying beside him as a weapon of last resort, brought it to his shoulder, and fired a round at an ATV. It was barely within range but, expertly leading the target, he managed to nick its left front tire. The vehicle lurched and threw its rider.
McNutt jerked around. “Nice!”
“You keep firing, soldier!” Cobb barked. “Do not take your eye from the target!”
McNutt grinned as he put his eye to his sniper rifle’s scope. A moment later he eliminated the driver of yet another ATV who was trying to swing around to the northern side of the train.
“We can take them, Jack,” he said through gritted teeth. “They keep rolling into range, we can take them all out.”
Cobb knelt and spoke quietly but directly into McNutt’s ear. “Priorities, McNutt, priorities. You should know by now that I have a bigger map up here.”
Cobb touched his own head for emphasis.
“I’m a marksman,” McNutt replied. “I only see what’s in front of me.”
“That’s why I’m the boss,” Cobb said. “Thing is, if you die here, you’re taking me with you. End of mission. Waste of both of us.”
McNutt fired again, then threw the bolt of the rifle back and forth. The hot shell of the cartridge flew back and hit Cobb’s cheek. McNutt heard the sizzle of it burning his skin, but Cobb didn’t react.
McNutt fired again, then immediately threw the rifle down, slammed the slot closed, swung a Steyr Aug assault rifle onto his back, and grabbed a duffel bag full of high caliber goodies.
“Well, what are we waiting for?” he teased. “Let’s go!”
Chapter Fifty-One
Anna Rusinko was as tense as the rest of the villagers as she monitored the action from afar, although she couldn’t be sure it was for the same reason.
They had all stood motionless—save for an occasional flinch after a volley of gunfire—as they watched the battle from the cover of the northern tree line. Anna felt both solace and concern when she saw Borovsky hop from the train cab onto the back of a horse ridden by village elder Alexandru Decebal—the latest in a long line of Decebals who led the militia of the village honor guard.
Alexandru meant “defender of mankind” in Romanian, and Decebal meant “strong as ten.” Anna was relieved to see that he more than lived up to his name, especially as the Black Robes tightened the circle around the mounted men for every meter the honor guard retreated.
Anna shifted her gaze to the train, which was still creeping up the hill toward them at a snail’s pace. She looked from the train to the riders to the villagers, her eyes settling on a pocket of young girls. Images of her daughter flashed through her mind. Will I ever see Alma again?
Don’t be defeatist, she warned herself. You have organizational experience. These people have the will. Rally them, arm them with whatever they have at hand.
Anna was sure that Borovsky would have a Russian proverb to match that sentiment, but she could think of none. For her, only one thing came to her mind. She directed her question to one of the Romanian elders, using hand gestures to make her point.
“Where are your pitchforks?”
The man, who had been conversing urgently with a small group of older men and women, was pointing left, then right. He turned and shook his head.
“No,” he said, then he started off with the others.
Frustrated and confused, Anna followed.
◊ ◊ ◊
Before leaving the train, Cobb thought Garcia and McNutt would give him the most trouble, with Dobrev a close third. Now that he had McNutt under control, he was pleased to see that Garcia was downright eager to leave the train.
Jasmine had followed Borovsky out of the cabin, and Sarah had gone next to take the hand-off of Garcia’s gear. His rider had just pulled alongside the crawling train when Cobb and McNutt entered the cabin.
“Protect your jewels,” Cobb advised.
“How?” Garcia asked, genuinely concerned.
McNutt stared at him. “If you have to ask, you don’t deserve to have nuts.”
Cobb rolled his eyes. “Hector, just go! Now!”
Garcia flung himself forward like he was jumping into a pool. He planted his hands on the rider’s broad shoulders, threw open his legs, and landed perfectly on the back of the horse as if he had been doing it all his life. At least until his computer-filled shoulder bag nearly pulled him over the back of the horse’s bobbing rump. Taking Sarah’s earlier advice, he quickly wrapped his arms around the rider’s waist in a bear hug.
McNutt watched in awe as the double-mounted riders galloped out of the way of the single riders. It took a while, but eventually his steed arrived next to the train. McNutt carried the heaviest load by far, and Borovsky had reserved the biggest, hardiest horse for him. McNutt made a perfect jump, but there was still a moment when everyone worried that the horse, the riders, and the duffel bag would all topple down the slight incline that led to the trackbed.
But the horse and his rider proved deserving of Borovsky’s faith. The big, beige Lipizzaner with the black “freckles” bent his legs as he absorbed the impact, shifted a step, then returned to full balance. McNutt immediately twisted around so he could call to Jasmine.
