The Arab Fall (A James Acton Thriller, Book #6) (James Acton Thrillers) (27 page)

“Wait
until he has to reload!” yelled Reading, the only truly experienced soldier in
the group. Acton looked over at Laura and could see the fear in her eyes. He
tried to give her a reassuring look, but was certain he had failed miserably,
he himself terrified. His heart was pounding so hard he felt like he was
halfway through a marathon, and his adrenaline was pumping so freely, he could
feel his hands shake.

He
closed his eyes and sucked in a slow breath through his nose, counting to five
and pushing it into his stomach, then holding it for a five count, he slowly
let it out through his mouth over another five seconds. Repeating one more
time, he felt himself begin to calm when the gunfire stopped.

“Now!”
yelled Reading.

They all
jumped up at the same time, which in retrospect turned out to be the wrong
thing to do. The one who had been charging their position and was now reloading
was dropped by Laura, but immediately behind him he had a friend, who was fully
loaded, who returned the fire. There was a cry from somebody in their group, and
Acton squeezed the trigger, taking the man out, his body dropping in an
uncoordinated heap not ten feet from their position.

A quick
glance to his right and he didn’t see the rest of his comrades, but before he
could look, a scream of “Allahu Akbar” to his right had him swinging to engage
a lone attacker who had managed to break through their flank. His weapon
belched lead at Acton, missing widely as the uncontrolled weapon bounced in the
air. Acton took a bead and dropped him, then quickly scanned from left to right
for any threats, but found the rest focusing on the positions held by The
Brotherhood.

Acton
dropped and automatically reloaded his weapon as he looked to see what was
going on with his friends. Reading was applying pressure to a wound in Chaney’s
chest. Chaney, even in the moonlight and muzzle flashes, appeared ghostly pale.

“Is he
going to be okay?” asked Acton, giving Laura a shake on the shoulder to see if
she was okay. She looked up at him, tears in her eyes, but no look of physical
pain. The relief he felt knowing she wasn’t hurt spurred him to keep it that
way, and he jumped back up to scan the area.

That’s
when the silent body of one of their attackers leapt through the air at him, no
shout to Allah on his lips, merely hatred sneered across his face. Acton
instinctively swung his weapon toward the man as he ducked back down, but it
was too late. The barrel of his gun hit the man’s shoulder, the shot blocked,
the bullets blazing harmlessly into the night sky.

Laura
screamed.

Colonel Soliman heard the cry of a man come from the archeologists’
position, but he didn’t have time to deal with it. He and his brothers were now
fully engaged, and he knew within minutes their ammunition would be depleted,
and they would be overrun if they couldn’t turn the tide of this battle
quickly.

But
we’re outnumbered almost two to one!

He
jumped up and swept his Kalashnikov from left to right, his finger depressed on
the trigger as precious lead erupted from the barrel, removing three more of
their attackers from the long term picture, when two of his brothers went down
beside him. He dropped to a knee and saw his two cousins Mohammad and Mahmoud
down, and dead, their chests ripped open.

Another
shout and his nephew Rahim dropped beside him. Tears filled Soliman’s eyes as
he saw the boy he had known from birth stare up at him with dead eyes. Rage
filled his heart, and he jumped up, cover be damned, and shot at the first
thing he saw, emptying his magazine into the one man, wasting those precious
few last bullets he had.

He
dropped, grabbing Rahim’s weapon and yanking the clip.

Empty.

He began
to check his cousins for ammo when a roar from overhead caused him to spin
around, pulling his knife off his belt. On instinct he shoved it upward and
into the man’s belly, twisting it hard, scrambling his innards as he groaned,
toppling forward, a dead weight that crushed Soliman under it. He hit the
ground with a grunt, pushing the mass off him as the man’s intestines flowed
out onto Soliman’s uniform. He scrambled backward, then in a blind rush,
sprinted toward the center position where the archeologists were, just as the
scream of a woman rang out.

Terrence watched the battle unfold below, passing the night vision
goggles back and forth with Jenny, their stomachs glued to the ground Leather
had told them to hug, he and the other guard having continued closer to the
camp.

“Oh my
God!” exclaimed Jenny, pushing her neck forward, as if the extra inch might
give her a better view.

“What is
it?” asked Terrence, desperate for his turn.

Jenny
handed him the glasses. “I think that detective, Chaney, just got hit.”

Terrence
looked, the view racing across the desert, then the camp, then finally the
foxhole, if it could be called that since it wasn’t actually a hole, that
protected the professors and their friends.

He
gasped.

Somebody
was down, of that there was no doubt. It was hard to tell who, the greenish hue
he was looking at hard to distinguish facial details. He breathed a sigh of
relief when he saw Professor Palmer moving about, her slight frame compared to
the men easy to distinguish. And he was pretty sure it was Professor Acton that
was on his feet firing at the approaching enemy.

The
firing from the position stopped for a moment, then Terrence leapt to his feet
and yelled, “Look out!” to no avail, as an attacker leapt over the pile of
sand.

Terrence
sprinted toward the camp, pulling his weapon into position, strapping the night
vision goggles to his head, ignorant of the shouts from behind him as Jenny
jumped to her feet to give chase.

I
have to save the professor!

Acton’s weapon bounced off the man uselessly as he continued to fly
at him, the man’s arms outstretched, one hand containing a knife Crocodile
Dundee would have been proud of. Then suddenly the man jerked to his left, as
if pulled by a cord ninety degrees from where he was headed, followed by a clap
of thunder Acton recognized immediately from the incident in China.

But this
time it was on their side.

He
dropped, checking his weapon, and glancing at Chaney. Both Reading and Laura
were working on him, but with the rapidness the blood seemed to be saturating
the shirt Reading had ripped off himself, Acton had the sinking feeling their
friend wouldn’t make it.

A sound
of footfalls to his left caused him to spin, weapon whipping up as his finger
began to squeeze the trigger.

“It’s
me!” yelled the voice, a voice not yet familiar enough for Acton to think “It’s
me” was a sufficient enough greeting, but it at least caused a moment’s
hesitation that allowed him to recognize the colonel and temporary ally.

Acton
lowered the weapon, returning his attention to their front, popping up and
firing as another body was ripped from existence, skipping across the desert
floor as their ex-SAS guards began their defense.

Sorry
I ever doubted you, boys!

Another
body skidded across the desert, this time in the opposite direction, Acton
surmising they had set up two positions to protect both flanks. But what was
also becoming too clear was that The Brotherhood positions were nearly
completely overrun, and it was time to retreat. He looked at Reading.

“We need
to fall back, now!”

Reading
looked at Acton, then the battle.

“Give me
sixty seconds.”

He
jumped up and raced toward the nearest tent before Acton could yell at him to
get down, leaving him instead to provide cover fire long enough for Reading to
reach the safety only canvas could provide.

“Weapon?”
asked Soliman, now behind the mound of sand.

Acton
motioned with his chin to Chaney’s weapon lying on the ground. “Clips are
stacked up here,” he said.

Soliman
quickly grabbed the weapon, reloaded and opened fire.

Acton
decided footfalls behind him were Reading’s, confirmed by the heavy grunt as the
man hit the ground. Acton took a quick glance and saw he had retrieved a cot
with a sleeping bag still on top.

Good
man!

“Cover
us,” Acton said to Soliman, and Acton dropped his weapon, helping the others
load Chaney onto the cot, the sleeping bag open. They then zipped up the back
just as two forms came rushing out of the darkness.

Acton
grabbed his weapon, raising it, when Laura yelled, “No!”, reaching out and
slapping the barrel of his weapon up as he squeezed the trigger.

But it
was too late.

The
first of the approaching figures dropped to the ground, the other crying out in
a voice he recognized as one of Laura’s students, Jenny.

“Terrence!”
she cried.

Oh my
God! Please no!

Acton
jumped up and ran over to Terrence and flipped him over. He wasn’t moving, and
they were totally exposed. He grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him toward
their cover, Jenny following as she sobbed uncontrollably.

Another
shot from the sniper rifle rolled across the site, but as Acton quickly took
stock of the situation, he could see their attackers were now all huddled
behind protective barriers, pinned down, but still a threat as guns were held
up blindly and fired.

And it
appeared The Brotherhood was gone, all that remained was Colonel Soliman. Acton
began to wonder whether or not he was the last of the entire Brotherhood, or if
there were more in Egypt, when Terrence coughed. Acton let go of the boy’s
shirt, and gave him a quick look, then rapped on his chest, the hard feeling of
body armor on his knuckles unmistakable.

Acton
looked at Jenny.

“Check
if any bullets went through,” he ordered, then fired several shots at one of
their attackers bold enough to reveal more than an arm. He ducked back behind
the large rock.

“He’s
okay!” cried Jenny, the joy in her voice obvious.

“What
the hell are you two doing here?” demanded Laura in about as angry a voice as
he had ever heard from her.

“He
insisted on coming back to save you guys.”

“What?”
It was Reading this time who exploded. “Of all the daft things to do!”

“We
found another vehicle, the rest are half way to Cairo by now.”

Acton’s
mind twigged.
Another vehicle?
Two of The Brotherhood trucks had already
been overrun by the attackers, the other they had hoped to escape with now had
a flat tire from a stray bullet.

“What
kind of vehicle?”

“Jeep.”

“How
many will she hold?”

“Not a
lot.”

But
enough, even if we’re piled in there we could put some distance.

He did
the mental math. There were seven of them here, one of them wounded, plus the
four guards. Two in the front, four in the back, two on the rear, two on the
sideboards, and Chaney’s stretcher strapped on somehow.

It
may just work.

He
looked at Reading and Laura.

“You
guys ready?”

Both
nodded.

“Okay,
when I signal, all of you head straight back, behind the main tent, then Jenny,
you lead them to the Jeep. The Colonel and I will hold them off until you’re
out of sight, then join you.”

“Who’s
going to cover you?” demanded Laura.

“Your
friends,” he smiled. He leaned over, gave her a quick kiss, holding her by the
back of the head, pressing her hard against his lips, then letting go. “Now
go!” he yelled, jumping up and pouring fire on the remaining positions. He
heard grunting behind him as Reading and Laura picked up the cot containing
Chaney, and Jenny hauled a still gasping Terrence to his feet.

Acton
emptied his clip, then quickly reloaded, checking behind him as he did. He
caught sight of Laura disappearing behind the tent, and Terrence just seeming
to get his wind back, his pace picking up as he and Jenny rounded the canvas.

Acton
opened fire again, several short bursts, in between bursts shouting directions.
“Gather as much ammo as you can!” he said, firing, “then when I’m done this
clip, we go!”

Soliman
was immediately on the ground, loading his pockets with clips and stuffing Acton’s
as well, when the final shot rang out.

“Let’s
go!”

Acton
jumped up, sprinting after his friends, Soliman on his heels. As they rounded
the tent Acton heard a terrified yelp and spun around to find the reporter, Naser
Khattab, huddled in the darkness, apparently not destined to be a war
correspondent.

“Come
with me if you want to live,” said Acton, holding his hand out and beginning to
smile at the coolness of having been able to actually deliver that line
unintentionally in real life. The young man nodded, taking the proffered hand.

Acton
hauled him to his feet, all too aware that the count had just increased to
twelve people, but still one jeep. He wondered if the vehicle would even be
able to move with so many people hanging off it.

One
problem at a time.

Imam Khalil peered into the darkness, the tone of the battle having
changed. There were new weapons involved, high powered weapons, that seemed to
be picking his men off. He himself had retreated back to what he hoped was the
safety of the trucks, but as man after man dropped, he began to even question
that.

Then
when the automatic weapons that had been firing back at them stopped, he
climbed up on the running board, and saw several dark figures disappearing into
the night.

“They’re
getting away!” he screamed, rage pushing aside the fear once again. “After
them!”

His men
hesitated at first, but one brave soul had courage enough to shout “Allahu
Akbar!” and the rest joined in, reminded of the glorious orgy of lust that
awaited them in paradise should they die today.