Sniper One Page 7

  Clicker could feel Maynard's relief.

  "Here's how I think we should do this, Colonel.

  "We'll separate the explosive into five charges, and embed a detonator in each with about a three minute fuse attached."

  "Sounds long to me."

  "Three minutes will allow fumble time while getting all of the fuses lit, and still leave us running time. I don't know how large a blast we'll get out of one or maybe both of those rockets, but I don't want to discover that we can't find our way out of the tent while a fuse is getting short."

  Clicker paused to develop his next point.

  "One of us will act as security in case they have guards inside—I don't believe they would station anyone outside on a night like this. Hell, what could he see?

  ''The security will carry both pistols. They are really all we have. Either the Barrett or the M40A1 would be too slow at short range. A pair of forty-fives should be just right"

  "I'd rather have a shotgun."

  In the shadowed glow of a flashlight, Clicker's grin was grotesque. "Just hop out and get one. I'll wait here."

  "You'll have to be security, Clicker. You're the shooter here. I can place the charges and get them lighted." Maynard guffawed. "I can see you now, charging in with both .45's blazing. Just like Wyatt Earp hitting a saloon's batwing doors and dead guys falling like dropped cordwood."

  Bell shook his head. "I don't think so, Colonel. I'm hoping for an undetected entrance and an even quieter departure."

  "If they have guards they will hear or see the fuses burning."

  "You are probably right So, I have another hope, and that is that the storm will whip away any shooting noises so that the people in the buildings won't hear."

  "They won't be able to hear, Clicker. That canvas camouflage will kill most of the sound, anyway."

  Clicker nodded agreement. "Let's just hope a platoon or two of those Republican Guards aren't bedded down under the camouflage."

  Maynard shuddered. "If we can't get to the missiles, what do we do then?"

  The sniper's answer was immediate. "Then we go to plan two, which is to hump it back here and wait until they begin to mount the rocket. Once they have everything uncovered, I will slide in closer, say about eight hundred yards, and I will blast both of those things to hell with the Barrett"

  "Will .50 calibers penetrate, do you think?"

  "They would penetrate and probably knock out important parts, but we have something new and different these days, Colonel."

  Bell reached aside and selected a Barrett magazine. He ejected a long and dangerous-looking cartridge and handed it to the Colonel.

  "Looks like an ordinary round, doesn't it, but this is a Raufoss cartridge, and let me tell you, it is a blaster."

  Maynard fingered the heavy cartridge. "I never heard of this thing. What in hell does Raufoss stand for?""

  "It's a town in Norway where this round was developed. Raufoss's are made to penetrate light armor, and believe me they do it. The basic idea is that the bullet has a tungsten steel penetrator. Ahead of the penetrator is RDX explosive and around the penetrator is a material called zirconium—whatever in hell that is.

  "What happens is that the penetrator punches a small hole, and the RDX blows it bigger. The zirconium particles ignite and spray everything. If you hit a truck cab, nothing inside lives or operates.

  "The Raufoss punches right through an armored personnel carrier's plating, and, well, it isn't pretty."

  "The walls of that rocket will be thin and light. I'll concentrate on tearing up the rear end because a Scud is unguided once it fires, and if the propellant is screwed-up it might not shoot, or at least it won't shoot where expected.

  "The Barrett is semi-auto, and I'll get two into the first rocket and two into the second before the Iraqis know they are being fired on. If the damned things don't blow up, I'll concentrate on the launcher and the other carrier. If we can't kill them, we can at least immobilize them."

  Bell took a deep breath, "But don't sweat that part, Colonel. The Raufoss will turn them into expensive junk. My worry will be whether or not they can track me when I am hauling out of there."

  "They will follow you right back here, Clicker."

  "No they won't, Colonel, because I won't come back here. I'll lead them off into the desert, and I will keep them at a long distance with the Barrett. If I run out of .50 calibers, I'll switch to the M40A1, and they won't get a lot closer than they were before."

  "All during this, I cower here in the hide like a scared ground hog?" Maynard was clearly incensed.

  "It will be a one man job, Colonel, and with luck, the storm will hang around and allow me to get back in without leaving a track to follow."

  "I can still shoot, Bell. Not as well as a sniper, of course, but I have hunted big game all over the United States and some of Europe. Two will hold off whatever they send better than one alone."

  "Colonel, you said yourself that it won't do for you to be captured. If they get me—and I won't be planning on that—they will handle me as a common prisoner of war. You? They will ship you to Baghdad and who knows what questions they will insist on you answering."

  Before Maynard could answer, Clicker added. "We have time to worry about all of that if our first plan fails, so let's leave it until then. Agreed?"

  Maynard nodded, but he suspected that Clicker Bell would not be easy to convince and was not above doing something sneaky like just disappearing into the night with both rifles swinging from his good shoulder.

  Bell checked the weather by listening near the cardboard cover. "The wind is down more than a little. The storm may be ending, but I would rather it was a lull. We can use all of the cover we can get." He eased out the back entrance and quickly returned with the explosive and the essential fuse and detonators.

  The C4 explosive was readily shaped, and Bell divided their single pound into five roundish balls. He cut a length of fuse and prepared to test its burning rate.

  "You ever work with explosives, Colonel?"

  "Only hand grenades, Staff Sergeant. I was a dog face in Vietnam."

  "No shit?" Bell was immediately apologetic "Sorry about the vulgarity, Colonel. You'll remember that enlisted men cuss a lot."

  Maynard sighed, "So do officers, Clicker, and there is an old saying that one of the problems in commissioning former enlisted men is getting the noncom out of the new officer. Many claim it is never successful, and I've been told too often that I should remember that I am no longer a Buck Sergeant"

  "Were you a rifleman during the Vietnam War, Colonel?" Bell was interested.

  "I went through OCS and was commissioned during the lean years just before Vietnam heated up. I started the war as an infantry platoon leader and got a company before my second tour was over."

  Maynard thought about it. "That seems a long, long time ago."

  Bell was encouraged. Having faced enemy fire, his teammate would know what to expect, and would be more likely to act wisely than someone new to the fears and strains of close-in fighting.

  Colonel Maynard had his own questions.

  "You done any combat shooting before yesterday, Staff Sergeant?"

  Fair enough. Bell's lips twitched in recognition. His one-man team wondered if its illustrious leader had heard the owl or seen the elephant

  "I was deployed in Grenada, Colonel. I got two confirmed. One was a Cuban sniper."

  "What rank were you then?" Maynard did not believe the rank was important, but he felt as though he should ask something more.

  "I was a Private First Class."

  Bell got back to his work. "There's no telling how fast this fuse will burn. You can't be sure about fuse even if it has a sign hung on it. Age and working conditions change burning rates. So, we will test ours."

  Bell used his survival knife to clip off a short length and set it aside. "You never use the open end either. The weather may have gotten to it and changed everything." He cut another foot.

  "Alway
s work in feet. I'll light the fuse and we will both silently count seconds. When it fizzles out we stop and compare."

  Their sample burned a foot a minute. Bell said, "Hmm, we will come up a little short on the fuse we will need. Maybe we should plan on only four charges and get our full three minutes escape time." His words were not a question, and he began squeezing their explosive balls from five into four charges.

  Clicker slid a fuse end into a detonator until it hit bottom. Then he placed the detonator in his mouth and used his teeth to pinch the soft copper firmly around the fuse.

  The Colonel suppressed a shudder.

  Bell said, "Yeah, I know how you feel. Pinch it wrong and you won't hear the blast. On the other hand, squeeze it too tight and you could injure or block the fuse. Unfortunately, Giacamo did not include detonator crimpers, and a million dynamiters have used their jaws on ten million charges." He smiled ghoulishly. "You want to do the others, just for the experience, Colonel?" Maynard waved him off.

  Clicker pressed each detonator into its explosive ball until it was buried. Then he secured the fuse to the ball with duct tape and called it ready.

  Maynard handled the explosives firmly and without outward trepidation. "I'll carry them inside my shirt, Clicker. I figure I can get to them fastest from there."

  Bell handed over his lighter. "When you are ready to light, do it just the way I did. Hold the fuse end into the flame until it sputters. Then place the charge in just the right spot and move on."

  Bell insisted that they blacken their features and their hands. "It will be darker than a gorilla's armpit out there, but we won't take chances. We'll move slowly and stay silent.

  "My plan is to slice the camouflage cover with my knife way around on the downwind side. If there are people inside, they will be less likely to feel the air leak, and if it comes to them trying to find us later on, they may hunt on the downwind side, instead of to the west."

  Maynard liked it, but he had one question.

  "How will you find our way back here, and if I am alone how will I ever locate this hole in the middle of nowhere?"

  The Marine shook his head. "I'll find my way by feel, Colonel. If I'm not along ... the best I can offer is that you try hard to recognize the few shapes and distances when we go out."

  Then he broke the tension. "I don't plan on risking my bony butt unnecessarily, Colonel, so I will be with you coming back. I have my rope, and once we are clear of the site we'll hook together and just walk back home."

  Somehow, Maynard was not all that reassured.

  Bell switched to what was coming.

  "In the old days everybody attacked just before dawn when sentinels were sleepy, but I think we should hit during the early night. That way there won't be serious tracking until it gets light. By then, we should be long gone."

  Maynard stirred. "That means we've got to get cracking. What is it, about 2100 hours now?"

  "Close enough. Let's gear up."

  +++

  Bell laid his hand on the dirt-encrusted camouflage and was pleased that he had been right. The Iraqis had stuck dirt and sand to canvas. They had propped the cover so that shapes were disguised, and they had staked and buried the canvas edges so that the powerful wind could not get underneath.

  Clicker touched his knife point to the canvas and cut a small slit He pried the slit open with the tip of his blade and peered through. There was light inside, but it was diffused, apparently blocked by some of the equipment He cut a little further.

  With his head inside, Bell could see the loom of the Scud rockets and their big-tired carriers. The light source was between the rigs. If they were lucky, the Iraqi security would be huddled close to their light where they could not see into the surrounding darkness and where they would be more or less a single target

  Bell withdrew his head and nodded to Maynard. He gripped a pistol in his free hand and sliced swiftly with the other. He could feel the knife cut, but the sound was lost in the moan of the decreasing storm and the slashing of sand driven against the camouflage. Maynard pushed in his eagerness, and Clicker had to press back against him to gain maneuvering room.

  He made their entrance slit in the tent long and high before he slipped inside. Maynard quickly followed. Then, Bell cut the slit across the top so that the sides sagged, and they would be able to simply dive out the opening.

  Clicker leaned tight against the Colonel and whispered almost soundlessly into his ear. "Look close so you will know the spot where we came in." He could feel Maynard's nod.

  Before Bell could move away, Maynard tugged at his arm. When he whispered, the Colonel's lips were tight to his scout's ear. "We could put an orange sponge ball on an old antenna to mark our spot."

  Bell felt his ribs buck with amusement. Damn, Maynard was collected. Mark the entrance the way the old ladies marked their cars in the big mall shopping lots. Cool, man, cool. He punched his Colonel on the shoulder and moved ahead.

  Bell replaced his knife and drew his second pistol. His wounded shoulder was painful and stiff, and he was unable to fully extend that arm. So what, he would shoot with a bent elbow. He gripped each pistol with a round chambered and the safety off, but his fingers did not touch the triggers. There would be no unplanned gunfire.

  Clicker moved carefully, avoiding a barely seen container and pointing it out to the Colonel with an aimed pistol.

  They worked around the base of the spare rocket, and Clicker could make out the Colonel feeling the end of the missile trying to discover what they were dealing with. Bell held up to allow his demolition man more time.

  After a moment, Maynard nudged him ahead, and Clicker peered around the missile to judge the light source and who was present.

  When he looked into the light, Bell kept his right eye closed. He wished he had advised the Colonel to do the same. If night vision was lost their attempt to destroy the missiles would be over before sight returned. Fumbling their way out when half blind from looking into a light bulb would be unhandy.

  And a single electric bulb was all that glowed. The bulb was small, not more than sixty watts, Clicker judged. A technician worked at a small table while a rifle-armed guard slumped nearby. Bell studied the scene for a long moment before he saw the form of a second guard stretched out alongside the launcher where the light would not shine in his eyes. Waiting his shift and sound asleep, the Marine hoped.

  Bell leveled his pistols and wobbled his head for Maynard to cross the lighted area to reach the launcher and its missile.

  When he went, Maynard moved very slowly and did not look toward the light. Just the way he should, Clicker thought, and hoped the Colonel had kept an eye closed. Maynard disappeared into the dark, and Clicker Bell relaxed his arms and waited.

  Greg Maynard sweated. Bell had gotten them there, and finishing the job was up to him, but ... he hadn't a clue toward how to do it.

  Jam the explosives in tight, at just the right spots, and touch them off. Sounded simple, but he could see little and nothing he felt seemed essential or potentially explosive.

  The problem was that the base of the missile was too high for him to reach inside to feel what was in there. It would be a hell of a note to have the charges simply blow off and do no harm. Maynard backed away from the carrier and took a careful look around.

  Hell's bells, there was exactly what he needed. A short ladder leaned against the camouflage. Maybe the Iraqis used the ladder to look inside. He leaned the ladder against the rocket's base and climbed up.

  Dark as a tomb. Maynard felt around and encountered protrusions. There seemed to be a hole dead center in the base. Maynard wondered if there was a fusing device that fit into the fist-diameter hole and if the surrounding material was the rocket's propellant?

  On the other hand, the device could be liquid propelled, and ... Maynard cursed his ignorance.

  He had to decide and decide now. Maynard climbed down and felt along the far side of the rocket's launcher. There were elevating and adjusting mechanisms
, he thought. If he ruined those, the rockets could not fire even if he failed to blow them up.

  Maynard fished his bombs from his shirt. Logic told him that as close as they were parked, if one of the rockets blew up the other had to go as well. If his charges would not blow one, there was not much probability that another of the same size would explode the second rocket. So, he would put all of his efforts into the mounted rocket and ignore the second.

  Maynard twisted the fuses of three of the bombs together. Then he held all of the fuses in a bunch and got himself ready. A huge blast of wind shook the tent, and he heard the Iraqis grumble about it. Maynard had not paused to see how many Iraqis there were, and this was no time to worry about them. He expected that shooter Bell had his pistols on them and would chop them down the instant he had to.

  He got out Bell's lighter and found his hand shaking. Damnation!

  Maynard steadied himself and snapped on the lighter. He belatedly closed an eye and prayed that he had not ruined his night vision. He held the fuses to the lighter and made sure they were all sputtering. God, what a racket, and the lighter seemed as bright as the sun. When would the guards notice?

  Maynard stuffed a bomb into a likely looking mechanism and charged his ladder. He took the four steps without pause and pushed all three bombs inside the centered hole. It took forever.

  He dropped to the ground and ran for the entrance. He passed Clicker Bell gaining speed, and from an eye corner he saw the Iraqis turning toward them.

  Clicker spoke only to himself. "Holy hell." Then he opened fire.

  Unlike a bad western, Bell did not blaze away with both hands. He fired only one pistol, and he aimed his shots. He did not waste time on V-ring bull's-eyes, but he took the necessary instant to make sure he hit.

  Bell took the rifle-carrier first and put two shots into his body. He saw the heavy bullets hit home, and the guard's body jerked and sagged.

  The technician appeared frozen in place, but he might be the one who could disarm the bombs. Clicker shot him twice and he sank below his table, a limp arm swiping the tabletop clear.