Abruptly, the Ma Deuce fell silent.
“What the hell happened, Delta Two?” Liam said into the radio. “How’d they get so close to the school?”
“The M2 jammed!” Reynoso cried through static. “Checked the ammo belt and got it working for a hot minute. Then the extractor pin broke!”
Liam cursed. That could happen if the ammo belt wasn’t seated properly, or if the gunner hadn’t run the charging handle twice.
Terror lanced through him. The M2 had malfunctioned. It wasn’t coming back online.
Now they only had one chance to take this thing out.
No intelligence. No support personnel. No drones or satellites. No air support. And no one to rescue them if this went pear-shaped.
Hell, it already had.
“Take cover, Delta Two,” he said. “Team Three, on our count, drive that bird toward us.”
“Copy that,” Perez said.
The hostiles would come back. They’d return to hit the school and take out the Ma Deuce, especially now that it was down.
Liam panted, his legs burning, spine like molten lava. The scent of pine needles and cordite filled his nostrils. His boots sank into damp earth.
He reached the predetermined spot where Bishop waited. The location held the high ground with some cover and concealment provided by a cluster of huge walnut trees. It also provided decent fields of fire.
On short notice with limited resources, it’d have to do.
“You brought the fireworks,” Bishop said.
“Let’s hope it works.”
“It’ll work.” Bishop spoke with a confidence Liam didn’t feel. His faith made him an optimist. Liam was far too realistic.
Unzipping the pack, Liam withdrew a two-foot-long, drab olive-colored tube. He pulled the retaining pin, then removed the rear and front caps. As he extended the collapsed tube to its full three-foot length, the front and rear sights popped up.
Along with the M60s and the Browning M2, Perez had managed to steal a single M72 Light Anti-Tank Weapon, or LAW, from the General.
A LAW was simple to use—aim and shoot, no guidance systems required. The shoulder-fired missile weapon launched a rocket equipped with an explosive warhead.
It was a single-use weapon. They had one shot.
Several yards away, parallel to his position, Bishop dropped to one knee, shouldered the rifle, and peered through the scope. He’d lay down cover fire while Liam worked the LAW.
Bishop was utterly still but for his mouth, moving silently as he prayed.
Liam pulled the safety forward, arming the LAW. “Going hot.”
The weapon itself had no recoil, but the back blast could severely injure or kill a man. You didn’t want to be caught behind it.
“Area clear,” Bishop said, verifying that he was clear of the dangerous exhaust area.
“Team Three, this is Alpha One,” Liam said into the radio. “Drive that bird this way.”
From their fortified positions within town hall, Perez’s team opened up with their two M60s. Belt-fed machine gunfire splintered the air.
Every muscle taut, Liam waited.
Fear wrenched through him. Not for himself, but for Hannah and Quinn and everyone else. Hot anger underscored his panic. He would kill the General for this.
He pushed it all down, put it in a box. He had to maintain absolute focus to end this threat.
Moments later, the thump thump thump of the rotors grew louder.
“It’s swinging back around,” Bishop said. “Headed right toward us.”
Liam settled the LAW against his shoulder, adjusted his footing, and stepped out from the trees to better sight the helo.
To have a snowball’s chance in hell, he needed it close.
The maximum range was one thousand meters, but in reality, anything further than a couple hundred meters for a moving target halved his odds of a direct hit.
A Black Hawk featured a missile detection system and chaff as a radar countermeasure, but if it flew low enough, a rocket could hit them before they could conduct evasive maneuvers.
He took a knee to stabilize himself and waited for the helo to approach.
Closer, just a little closer.
Luckily, it continued to fly low.
It hadn’t yet focused on either of the school buildings with any determination, but it would now. Liam had to take it out first.
He stilled. Breathed in, breathed out.
The Black Hawk zoomed in low. Three hundred yards away.
Two hundred.
Close enough to make out the pilot, co-pilot and crew chief, along with two soldiers in full battle kits in the cargo compartment, weapons aimed toward the school. Like he’d guessed, they were headed for the building to shred the shooters on the roof—and the M2.