Page 117 of Clive Cussler Ghost Soldier
“Got you.”
Juan bolted for the clearing.
Three steps into his run, Mangin dashed out of the opposing tree line on the far side of the crescent, away from the shore. He waved his arms like a semaphore.
A warning.
Juan hit the dirt when a burst of gunfire ripped into the Frenchman’s back, tumbling him into the grass.
The crescent tree line opened up.
Juan turned a hundred-eighty degrees on his belly and scrambled for cover as Linc opened up with the Barrett. The two men took up positions behind thick trees.
“Frenchie saved us,” Juan said. He raised his carbine and fired off a short burst.
“Guess he thought he owed us.”
“He didn’t. But he paid the price anyway.”
A couple of heavy-caliber rounds thudded into the trunk of Juan’s tree as he sheltered behind it catching his breath. He felt the wood shuddering against his lower spine.
“Two tangos heading east,” Linc said as he squeezed off a shot. The Barrett thundered.
Cabrillo peered around his trunk just as Dragu? cartwheeled into the dirt like a broken doll.
Linc chuckled. “Made that one.”
The roar of outboard motors suddenly broke over the water. Cabrillo caught a sudden glimpse of two racing RHIBs full of the Vendor’s bodyguards, their wakes carving white scars across the face of the blue ocean.
“Looks like they’re trying to flank us,” Juan said.
“I count twelve in the boats.”
“And we still have four ahead of us—and on the move.”
“What do you want to do?”
“Survive.”
?
Cabrillo led the way, rushing in a low crouch, with his big African American friend hot on his heels.
A master tactician, Juan had already determined the best course of action. If his next move was entirely successful, they would live.
For another fifteen minutes.
At most.
But it was the only shot they had.
They had been moving approximately south along the covered trail when the Frenchman popped out of the tree line to warn them. That put the two RHIBs and the coast on the west, and the interior of the island on the east—the direction that at least one of the mercs was now pursuing.
Cabrillo figured that if he were in charge of the two boats, he’d land one team farther north to cut off their retreat in that direction, and put the other boat on the beach ASAP so they could come in from the west. In short order, with any good radio communications, even a poorly trained unit would be able to set up an effective kill box.
Unfortunately, the mercs Cabrillo faced were anything but poorly trained. He had to assume the Vendor’s personal bodyguards were equally skilled.
Cabrillo’s plan was to avoid the kill box for as long as possible and find a better defensive position. Always observing his surroundings, he had spotted what looked like either a crater or a ravine earlier in their movement down the trail toward the armory. He was headed back there now.
