His body sagged. Liam zip-tied him and left him leaning against the wall.
He glanced back at Bishop, who gave him a thumbs up. All hostiles down.
No sooner had they incapacitated the sentries than Perez came roaring around the corner in the stolen 5 x 5, otherwise known as a M923 military cargo truck. Her team had obtained cases of grenades, 7.62 and 5.56 ammunition, and one gorgeous .50 caliber M2.
One case of white phosphorus grenades sat in the front seat in beside her. She patted it. “We got the party favors! Time to blow this joint.”
“I’ll do it,” Liam said. “Cover me.”
“Team Two will cover us from Broad Street.” Perez jumped out and wrestled the M60 from the hands of the unconscious soldier. “Hurry up, old man. We’ve got a minute, tops.”
The 5 x 5 was low on fuel, but they could reach the link up location and switch it out for the Orange Julius they’d hidden in a used car lot. It might be enough to get their goodies home.
Bishop took up position at the entrance to the garage, taking cover across from the gate booth behind one of the massive concrete pillars holding the weight of the second story. Perez and Reynoso gathered the M60s and joined him.
While they provided cover, Liam drove into the parking garage. Inside was dark and heavily shadowed. He drove past the dark humps of parked cars whose owners would never return for them.
Gummy glass shards littered the concrete from the shattered vehicle windows—all of them scavenged. The sharp stink of gasoline fumes from punctured gas tanks stung his nostrils.
He wound through the garage to the open top floor before he reached the long rows of military vehicles. Most of the trucks were packed with supplies.
This was a temporary staging area. The General had likely set his sights on Winter Haven.
Not today. Not tomorrow, either.
Not if Liam had anything to say about it.
He got to work. He drove past each parked Humvee and lightweight tactical all-terrain vehicle and pitched white phosphorus grenades like candy at a parade.
The grenades did not explode. The air reacted to the phosphorus chemicals. It looked like a smoke grenade going off. Then came the fire.
Metal, cloth, and plastic ignited immediately. With 5000 degree heat, the fierce incendiary burned holes through armor.
The vehicles lit up like matchsticks—incredibly hot and incredibly fast. Metal twisted and melted. The crates of supplies went up with a whoosh.
White smoke poured from the fiery vehicles. Liam sped up one row and down the next, hurling grenades as he drove. Five Humvees down. Ten, fifteen.
The vehicles and their contents were rendered unusable. He hated to destroy valuable supplies, but they had no way to capture it for themselves.
“We’ve got company!” Bishop yelled through the radio.
He was out of time.
The tires squealed as Liam swerved, narrowly missing a concrete pillar, and barreled for the exit, ignoring the arrows and “wrong way!” warning signs.
He squinted, the smoky haze pouring into the cramped quarters making it hard to see.
He peeled out of the parking garage, smashing through the closed red and white articulating barrier gate arm, and slammed to a halt.
Perez grinned darkly as she jerked open the door. “That’s gonna bring the cavalry!”
She thrust the big M60 belt-fed machine gun into the back seat and climbed in. Reynoso seized the second one and threw it in as well.
They could already hear soldiers shouting and the rumble of more Humvees heading their way.
Bishop jumped into the front seat. “Go! Go! Go!”
Liam hit the gas. They drove, barreling through the empty streets, buildings rising all around them. Bishop pointed his weapon out the window, checking doorways and rooftops.
“Alpha Two, this is Alpha Team One. Cover us!” Perez called into the radio. “We’re coming your way!”
“Alpha Team One, we’ve got you. They’re coming in at you from Main Street. State Street is clear.”
“Copy that.” Perez dropped the radio in favor of the M60.
More sporadic gunfire. The growl of Humvee engines grew closer.
Liam’s heart bucked in his chest as they whipped left onto State Street, tires squealing. The stink of burnt rubber filled his nostrils.
Bishop tossed a few phosphorus grenades out the window. Behind them, white smoke unfurled, billowing in great clouds to fill the entire street, creating an instant and effective smoke screen to shield their movements.
They got the hell out of Dodge.
36
The General
Day One Hundred and Eleven
Gibbs marched into the General’s suite. “I need to speak to you, sir.”