Operation Orion - Kevin Dockery [78]
Sanchez, equally invisible, came right behind his partner, followed by Jackson, Dobson, Master Chief Ruiz, Rocky Rodale, and Harry Teal, with Chief Harris bringing up the rear. Approaching the crest of the low ridge, the lead scout crouched low and sprinted over the high ground, rolling into the snow on the far side. In another moment he popped to his feet and waved the rest of the SEALS forward with an all-clear sign.
Following at a run, Jackson immediately noticed the hulk of a second snow tank some hundred meters past the crest of the ridge. It confirmed that LaRue and Falco had been making a fighting withdrawal, and the officer felt a surge of pride at the proof of their impressive fighting capabilities. He vowed again to do everything in his power to bring them back alive.
Here, too, they found a number of Eluoi bodies scattered in the snow, most felled by a single gunshot wound, proof that Falco, as well as LaRue, had been active when the pair fell back from the ridge. Their initial firing position was visible, a pair of flat spots where they had lain in the snow. The route up the canyon was littered with Eluoi corpses, but there was no sign of a living hostile or of their Teammates.
“Damn, sir,” Ruiz said with a low whistle. “Talk about a diversion. Looks like they pulled a whole company after them.”
“Right, Master Chief. Let’s follow up—on the double!”
Sanchez moved smoothly into the point, jogging as much as possible, taking advantage of the packed trails through the snow that had been created by the Eluoi pursuit of the two SEALS. They came around the tank to see that it had been punctured in the front, obviously by a round from Baby, and had been wracked by secondary explosions. One Eluoi, his body charred, had made it halfway out of the side hatch, but there was no sign of the rest of the crew.
In a few minutes they reached a cluster of rocks, a shelter that seemed to offer good cover and indeed had been chipped and chiseled by an intense fusillade of gunfire. They came around the obstacle to see more depressions in the snow but, thankfully, no sign of blood or, worse, a body. Without missing a step, they continued on.
The canyon curved gradually to the right from there, and the SEALS followed along in single file, still moving at a loping jog. When Sanchez began to breathe heavily, Dobson passed him to take the point, traversing the deep snow in easy strides, his long legs carrying him smoothly forward. They stayed near the right-hand wall of the canyon, where the snow was not very deep, and continued to make good time.
Jackson wished they could move at a full sprint. The fear that they would be too late gnawed at him, causing him to clench his G15 with white-knuckled intensity. He second-guessed his decision to bring the Team down to this icebound hellhole, feeling the loss not only of Mirowski but of the sailor Zimmer, who also had been brought into this situation on the SEALS commander’s initiative. He was not much of a praying man, but he put his most fervent thoughts into the hope that Falco and LaRue could be brought out of there alive.
For several long minutes he was alone with those thoughts and insecurities and the harsh rasp of his breathing within the earphone of his comlink. None of the SEALS spoke, for there was nothing to be said. With the good going and light snow cover on hard rock, Dobson didn’t tire of breaking the trail, and the LT let the file move on as quickly as it could without bothering with another change in the point man.
Then, suddenly, Dobson halted and raised his hand. The rest of the Teammates stopped as well, with Jackson quickly advancing to the side of the lanky Alabaman. Dobson gestured to his ears, and Jackson listened, clearly picking up the sounds through the external auditory device every one of their suits was equipped with: the pop-pop-pop of sharp reports echoing through the canyon, many of the noises coming in rapid succession. The truth was obvious.
Somewhere not too far ahead, people were shooting at each other.