Task Force Mars - Kevin Dockery [74]
Thirty seconds later the gunner’s mate came charging out of the side passage. “We got about two minutes,” he reported breathlessly, joining the others in the large stainless-steel cubicle of the elevator cage.
Falco worked a control, and the elevator shot upward very quickly. A series of symbols, unreadable to the humans but obviously numbers, scrolled past as they ascended steadily. When he guessed that they were a couple of floors from the top, Jackson stopped the elevator. As soon as the doors opened, the SEALS tumbled out, weapons ready, but they were in an empty corridor.
“Any second now,” Rodale said, checking his watch.
When it came—only two seconds later—the first explosion was relatively small; the secondary blast that immediately followed it was so powerful that it shook the stone floor underfoot. Several long cracks appeared in the walls, and pieces of slate broke free from the ceiling to shower down on the floor in a hail of small stones and stinging dust.
“Guess I must have set off one of their magazines,” Rodale said just a little sheepishly.
“Nice work, Rock,” Jackson said, clapping him on the shoulder with his good hand. “That should give them a little something to think about.”
“Hey, LT. Here’s an old-fashioned stairway,” Ruiz reported. “Goes up and down.”
“Well, then, men. We’re still going up,” Jackson said, pleased. “Let’s see if we can’t give these bastards a real shock.”
“Hey, G-Man,” Teal shouted. “You want this big-ass gun back now?”
Thirteen: Out of the Frying Pan
“The hangar is right through that door, LT,” Ruiz reported. “I cracked it open enough to get a look. Counted three hostiles working in there; technicians or mechanics, they look like. They have another jetcar set up just inside the door; looks like it’s ready to go.”
The master chief had just rejoined the Team at the top of the stairwell. They had advanced this far without raising an alarm, and the lieutenant had sent Ruiz ahead to recon.
“What about the one we rode in?” asked Jackson.
“One of the technicians—I counted him in the three—was out on the landing circle on a tractor, pulling it toward the hangar. I couldn’t see any sign of Ensign Sanders or the others—or Zaro, either.”
“Then we’re going to have to get us a prisoner and ask him some questions,” Jackson decided. “Let’s take ’em in a rush.”
Ruiz led them to the door he had just peeked through. “You’ll find two on the right, just a couple dozen steps away,” he whispered. “The one on the tractor is the problem: He’s too far away to take by surprise.”
Jackson nodded to Falco. “You’ll have to take him out right away, then.”
“Sure thing, LT,” the sniper replied, cradling his rifle.
In a few seconds the Team was in position. At a nod from Jackson, Ruiz pushed open the door. LaRue and Rodale rushed through and charged the two startled technicians, who were consulting an electronic meter beside the idle aircraft.
A powerful engine rumbled from the direction of the landing zone, and they could see a squat, heavy tractor moving toward them. The disabled jetcar, with its mangled front landing gear, loomed behind it as it was towed toward the hangar, the skid scraping over the tarmac. Falco immediately knelt down and leaned, bracing himself against the doorjamb, and took aim, squeezing off a single round. The powerful projectile made only a little noise coming out of the big sniper rifle, and the men actually heard the impact as it knocked the tractor driver off his seat.
The compact tractor kept chugging onward, towing the disabled jetcar toward the hangar. Harry Teal sprinted out the door and hopped up onto the seat, bringing the tractor to a halt a few seconds before it ran into the frame of the hangar door. By that time, LaRue and Rodale had secured the hands of their prisoners and dragged the sullen men up to the rest of the Team. Once again slinging his sniper rifle, Falco stood with his G15 in his hands.
“Take a look around; make sure that’s all of them,” Jackson ordered Chief Harris. Together with Falco, the chief sprinted across the