space. The stream of bullets sliced down the five women and spattered Chase with blood.
‘Jesus fucking Christ!’ Chase yelled, rolling out of the line of fire. He whipped up his C8 at the captain – to find the smoking barrel pointing straight back at him. ‘What the fuck are you doing?’
‘I told you the rules of engagement,’ said Stikes coldly. ‘Anyone who isn’t one of the hostages is a hostile.’ A thin, malignant smile. ‘And as I said, you know what we do to hostiles. Now lower your weapon.’
‘You fucker,’ Chase snarled. The black tube of the suppressor was still aimed at his head. Slowly, unwillingly, he let his own rifle drop.
‘Good. Move it,’ said Stikes. The Diemaco not wavering, he backed out of the shack, then turned and ran for the barn.
Chase jumped up, rage flooding through him. He should shoot the bastard in the back—
No. He shouldn’t. There was a mission to complete. He went to the door, then hesitated, his gaze drawn back to the sprawled bodies. With an angry growl, he ran after Stikes.
Castille and Bluey were still firing as they advanced along the ditch after the fleeing hostages. Stikes ran past the pair, but Chase joined them. One of the UN trucks was aflame, and the other vehicles had all taken damage. There were at least fifteen Taliban survivors, judging from the muzzle flashes from behind the collapsed house. It was mostly panic fire, the shots smacking harmlessly into the ground short of the trench. Chase matched the timing of the closest impacts to the flash of the most accurate gunman, then dropped him with a single round to the head.
‘Good shot,’ said Castille. ‘What were you and Stikes doing back there?’
‘I’ll tell you later,’ Chase replied grimly. He looked along the ditch to see that Stikes had caught up with Mac, at the tail of the shambling line of hostages. Starkman, leading, was almost at the bushes. ‘Time to go.’
‘Can’t argue with that,’ said Bluey, releasing a sweeping burst before scuttling crab-like down the ditch. Chase and Castille trailed him. A hollow whomp came from the scrub, and a moment later one of the 4×4s was bowled on to its roof in a huge fireball as another AG-C round found its target. A man, robes and beard aflame, ran screaming into the night. ‘Don’t think they’ll be driving after us now!’
‘They’ve still got bikes, though,’ Chase told him. ‘And horses.’
‘Well, they shoot horses, don’t they?’ With a cackle, Bluey fired another sweep to force the Taliban into cover, then hurried after Stikes.
Chase grimaced at the joke, then took up the rear. The AK fire was now more intermittent, but also better aimed. The remaining Taliban had overcome their initial shock.
The hostages were past the bushes, Mac directing them down the slope. A small object, spitting sparks, arced from the scrub – a smoke grenade. A thick grey cloud spewed from it. A second followed, putting an obscuring curtain between the team and the Taliban.
‘Hugo, Eddie, come on!’ Mac called as Green and Baine jumped up from their hiding place. ‘Choppers are on their way. Move it!’
The two stragglers needed no further prompting, Chase catching up with his commanding officer on the hillside. ‘Mac, those women – they’re all dead!’
‘What? How did the Terries even get near them?’
‘They didn’t. It was Stikes – that bastard shot them!’
Mac’s expression was one of shock, but before he could reply a shout from Starkman interrupted them. ‘Mac! Hammer Four-One is inbound, three minutes away. They want to know if we need support.’
A crackle of AK fire came from behind them. The Taliban were through the smokescreen. ‘I’d say that was a yes,’ Mac told Starkman with a wry grin as the soldiers shot back. He raised his voice. ‘Strobes on, strobes on! Gunship inbound!’
Chase switched on the infrared beacon attached to his equipment webbing. The strobe light’s pulses were invisible to the naked eye – but would flash brilliantly on the approaching aircraft’s targeting screens, warning its gunners of the location of friendly forces.
In theory.
‘Alexander!’ Mac shouted as Starkman made the call. ‘Get the civvies to the landing zone – take Will and Kev. The rest of us will cover you. Go!’
Stikes gave him a thumbs-up and took the lead. Chase saw that despite the danger the hostages were slowing, already worn down by maltreatment and hunger. And the landing zone was still over half a mile away.
Worse, the Taliban were gaining. They were moving cautiously down the