Veil of the Goddess Read Online Free Page A
Author: Rob Preece
of his tank. What the hell?
"Sonders, see if you can raise the helicopter on wireless. Tell them I'll blow their cannon right off the chopper if they don't point it the other way."
"Yes, sir."
An Abrams can move when it needs to, and it only took the massive engine's turbines a few seconds to bring him alongside the bodies of the two Americans.
"Searchlight,” he ordered. It would make them a target for every insurgent within ten miles, but he needed to see and he couldn't believe what his eyes seemed to be showing him.
"Off,” he ordered a second later. He didn't know what it meant, but he didn't need a million candlepower to see the carnage.
Newland lay across a couple of huge logs with her throat slit. Smoke still trickled from her M16. And Smith held a bloody knife in one hand and his guts in another.
The civilian had killed her, but she'd gotten last licks in before dying. What the hell was this about?
"Unbutton. I'm going outside."
"Captain, the chopper started its rotors and they're still targeting us. Not sure I like the looks of it."
It didn't make sense, but then, nothing about this mission had made sense.
"Put them in the sights of the 120 millimeter and let them see how they feel about turnaround. And for God's sake, button up again once I'm out."
"Right, Sir.” The idea of shooting back cheered Jensen right up.
Herrera knew it was hopeless, but he jumped out of the tank and knelt down by the CIA agent, pressing his fingers to the man's neck.
Nothing.
"Call for another Medevac,” he shouted. “We've got at least one dead."
He was moving toward Sergeant Newland's body when all hell broke loose.
The huge black helicopter lifted about five feet off the ground and fired at his tank.
The explosion blasted over the tank, shook the remains of the old mosque like an earthquake, and knocked Herrera to the ground.
But an Abrams is a hairy beast and Jensen had been watching for exactly that move. The tank's 120 fired back almost instantaneously and the helicopter went down in a ball of fire that made the earlier searchlight glare look like nothing.
The second explosion shook the mosque like a dog shaking fleas and knocked Herrera the rest of the way to the ground. If he'd been on the other side of the tank, unprotected by its huge bulk, he would be a dead man. As it was, he was shaken, disoriented, and pissed.
Herrera pushed himself to his knees, then realized he'd been pushing on something soft.
"What happened?"
It took a moment for reality to penetrate. Dead women don't talk, right? Which meant Newland wasn't dead. What had appeared from a distance to be a huge slash across her neck was simply a scratch.
Or was it. The pool of blood around her didn't come from any scratch. To all appearances, she'd bled out. But she was alive, and talking. The situation was clearly impossible.
Before he could answer Sergeant Newland, the tank's hatch popped open. “Captain, we've got trouble. Our IFF shows multiple aircraft incoming. They're signaling Friendly, but the signature doesn't look right for Air Force.” Sonders was practically babbling now. “I think we may have some more where this black helicopter came from.
Herrera thought fast. Whatever he decided, there would be no going back. He didn't need to be a genius to know that taking on the CIA or whatever other secret government agency was behind Smith and his black helicopters was a fool's game.
"Understood, Sonders. Good shooting, Jensen. Cancel that Medevac order and clear out. I want the entire company to head back to base at full speed. And for God's sake take Newland's squad with you. Don't stop for anything but a valid chain-of-command order."
"What about you, sir?"
What about him? When you grow up in south Dallas, the Army was one of the few options that take you away from street gangs, drugs, or a lifetime of menial work. If he stayed with Newland, he would be pissing away everything he'd spent the past ten years working for—and would
"Sonders, see if you can raise the helicopter on wireless. Tell them I'll blow their cannon right off the chopper if they don't point it the other way."
"Yes, sir."
An Abrams can move when it needs to, and it only took the massive engine's turbines a few seconds to bring him alongside the bodies of the two Americans.
"Searchlight,” he ordered. It would make them a target for every insurgent within ten miles, but he needed to see and he couldn't believe what his eyes seemed to be showing him.
"Off,” he ordered a second later. He didn't know what it meant, but he didn't need a million candlepower to see the carnage.
Newland lay across a couple of huge logs with her throat slit. Smoke still trickled from her M16. And Smith held a bloody knife in one hand and his guts in another.
The civilian had killed her, but she'd gotten last licks in before dying. What the hell was this about?
"Unbutton. I'm going outside."
"Captain, the chopper started its rotors and they're still targeting us. Not sure I like the looks of it."
It didn't make sense, but then, nothing about this mission had made sense.
"Put them in the sights of the 120 millimeter and let them see how they feel about turnaround. And for God's sake, button up again once I'm out."
"Right, Sir.” The idea of shooting back cheered Jensen right up.
Herrera knew it was hopeless, but he jumped out of the tank and knelt down by the CIA agent, pressing his fingers to the man's neck.
Nothing.
"Call for another Medevac,” he shouted. “We've got at least one dead."
He was moving toward Sergeant Newland's body when all hell broke loose.
The huge black helicopter lifted about five feet off the ground and fired at his tank.
The explosion blasted over the tank, shook the remains of the old mosque like an earthquake, and knocked Herrera to the ground.
But an Abrams is a hairy beast and Jensen had been watching for exactly that move. The tank's 120 fired back almost instantaneously and the helicopter went down in a ball of fire that made the earlier searchlight glare look like nothing.
The second explosion shook the mosque like a dog shaking fleas and knocked Herrera the rest of the way to the ground. If he'd been on the other side of the tank, unprotected by its huge bulk, he would be a dead man. As it was, he was shaken, disoriented, and pissed.
Herrera pushed himself to his knees, then realized he'd been pushing on something soft.
"What happened?"
It took a moment for reality to penetrate. Dead women don't talk, right? Which meant Newland wasn't dead. What had appeared from a distance to be a huge slash across her neck was simply a scratch.
Or was it. The pool of blood around her didn't come from any scratch. To all appearances, she'd bled out. But she was alive, and talking. The situation was clearly impossible.
Before he could answer Sergeant Newland, the tank's hatch popped open. “Captain, we've got trouble. Our IFF shows multiple aircraft incoming. They're signaling Friendly, but the signature doesn't look right for Air Force.” Sonders was practically babbling now. “I think we may have some more where this black helicopter came from.
Herrera thought fast. Whatever he decided, there would be no going back. He didn't need to be a genius to know that taking on the CIA or whatever other secret government agency was behind Smith and his black helicopters was a fool's game.
"Understood, Sonders. Good shooting, Jensen. Cancel that Medevac order and clear out. I want the entire company to head back to base at full speed. And for God's sake take Newland's squad with you. Don't stop for anything but a valid chain-of-command order."
"What about you, sir?"
What about him? When you grow up in south Dallas, the Army was one of the few options that take you away from street gangs, drugs, or a lifetime of menial work. If he stayed with Newland, he would be pissing away everything he'd spent the past ten years working for—and would
Readers choose
Maggie Brendan
R. N. Morris
Helen Lucas
Rachel Hauck
Michael Meyerhofer
Bobby Adair
Ernest Hemingway
James Oliver Curwood
Amos Oz
Adele Clee