ground as another grenade arched clear over the armored cars and exploded in
his jeep. Fragments of the grenade, the jeep, and the driver showered down in
all directions as the armored cars opened fire.
Blade saw windows and sections of wall disintegrate under the cars'
point-blank machine-gun fire. Then two of the motorcyclists fired rockets
through side windows. The blast blew off most of the roof from one end of the
radio station and dropped the rest on top of the Russlanders inside. A wall of
smoke boiled up from the wreckage. The dismounted motorcyclists moved toward
it with fixed bayonets.
As they vanished into the smoke the radio finally came to life.
"Argus One to Nimrod. Argus One to Nimrod." That was a call from the commander
of Company A, assaulting the garrison's barracks on the left flank.
"Nimrod to Argus One. Go ahead."
"We've got the ground opposition pretty thoroughly in hand. But there were six
helicopters parked about a mile beyond the camp. One of them was an armed
fire-support ship. It got our armored cars and mortar truck before we could
get it. We're going to try getting a machine gun in range under cover of
smoke."
"Acknowledged, Argus One. Execute. Nimrod out."
As Blade turned from the radio one of the cyclists ran out of the smoke. He
was coughing and holding out a Russland helmet in one hand. He stopped and
saluted. "Sir, I thought you ought to see this."
Blade took the helmet. It was a standard Russland issue steel helmet, but
freshly painted, varnished, waxed, and bearing the badge of the Fifth Guards
Rifle Regiment. The Fifth Guards, Blade knew, was an elite Security unit. Its
duties included providing troops for ceremonial occasions and bodyguards for
traveling VIPs. From the amount of noise that was coming out of the radio
station, it seemed the Fifth
Guards also knew how to fight.
Blade was just about to call for reinforcements to help with the radio station
when Argus One came back on the air.
"Nimrod, the other five helicopters have started their engines. They've also
deployed a mortar platoon.
Request permission to cancel moving the machine gun against the position
without heavy-weapons support."
Blade decided to give it. There was no point in pushing a company across open
ground into the teeth of mortar fire simply to pick off a few more
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ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
helicopters. "Argus One, this is Nimrod. Permission-"
Blade was interrupted by a growing whistle from high above. Then the ground
shivered as a salvo of mortar shells burst fifty yards from the radio station.
In seconds, white smoke swallowed half an acre of ground.
"Argus One to Nimrod. The mortars have opened fire. We-"
"This is Nimrod. We know. I think we're the target." Another salvo, closer to
the radio station, and more white smoke blotting out more of the landscape.
"They appear to be laying down a smoke barrage around the radio station. Give
me a mark when the helicopters take off, and also a direction."
"They're taking off now, leaving the mortars behind." A moment's silence.
Then: "Nimrod, they seem to be headed your way, minimum altitude, slow speed."
"Thank you, Areas One."
As surely as if he'd overheard the enemy's orders, Blade knew what was
happening here. Somewhere on the other side of the radio station was a Red
Flame VIP and his bodyguards from Security's crack regiment. Over near Company
A were the helicopters that had brought the man in. Now they were coming to
try to bring him out, under cover of the smoke screen laid down by the
mortars.
The Russlanders in the radio station would report all the enemy movements they
could see. But the smoke that would screen the helicopters could also screen
the armored cars. If he was willing to gamble-
Why not? One of the objectives of the raid was prisoners, and a Red Flame
general would be a nice addition to the bag. Admittedly, this wasn't the sort
of job a colonel should try to handle. He should delegate it to the man on the
spot.
In this case, though, Colonel Richard Blade was the man on the spot.
He had no radio contact with the cyclists fighting inside the building. He
could only hope they would keep their heads down, and that the Russlanders [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]