Warshot (The Hunter Killer Series Book 6) by Don Keith (top ten ebook reader TXT) 📗

Hall’s similar shot. Ward did not hesitate. He broke the gun’s action, slammed another grenade in the chamber, and fired again. At eighty meters a second, he had just over three seconds to get the next grenade in the air before the first one landed.

Ward was grabbing his machine gun when his and Hall’s first rounds hit. In the brilliant explosive flash, he could see that one round had hit the wheelhouse on the lead assault boat and the second one exploded on the pier.

The heavy machine guns on the two boats’ bows opened up immediately, spraying the sand around him with deadly fire. Ward slid out the backside of his firing pit on his belly. Small arms fire buzzed and snapped all around him.

“Come on, Jase,” he called out. “Time to get scarce.”

Ward heard a painful grunt, then, “Son of a bitch! Skipper, I’m hit.”

He turned. Jason Hall was slumped down on the ground. Ward, in a crouch, raced across the narrow roadway and quickly scooped up the big SEAL, throwing him across his shoulders. Ward balanced the load but he was sure that his knees would buckle under the weight. But then he managed to stumble forward, headed for a better hole in the ground with the plant’s tech center building the interim destination, and Horton’s position just beyond.

He could hear his fellow SEAL’s labored breathing in his ear.

“Stay with me, Jase,” he implored. “Stay with me, big guy.” Sweat filled his eyes, obscuring his vision. He could feel his heart pounding. Surely the Chinese could hear his gasping breath. He felt like his legs were incapable of taking another step. Still, he plowed on.

The tech center did not seem to be getting any closer. It was nothing more than a hazy blur, off in the distance, tantalizing him.

Then Ward was sure that he could hear the footsteps and shouts of the Chinese chasing after him. He veered off the edge of the road and into the dunes. The going was much tougher and slower, the sand bogging him down. But being off the roadway at least made him and his load a harder target for the Sea Dragons.

“Stay with me, Jase. Almost there,” Ward grunted, as he staggered and slid down the backside of a dune. He rearranged Hall on his shoulders, took a deep breath, and pushed his way up the next dune.

Somehow, he finally reached the chain link fence that circled the tech center. Now, from here, it was only a hundred yards to Sean Horton. Bullets spattered around him, whistling past or ricocheting off the fence. Ward dove to the ground and whipped his MK4 around.

If he was going down, he would go down fighting. And be damned if he let them do any more damage to his buddy.

Ward forced himself to be deliberate. Do not fire randomly, he told himself. Make it count.

He caught one black ghost in his sights and squeezed off a couple of rounds. The shadow flailed awkwardly backward. Then Ward moved his aim to another. He, too, fell.

But it was only a matter of time now. He had been lucky on the first two. Numbers were on the side of the Chinese.

He caught sight of another Sea Dragon crossing a bit of open ground, moving to flank him on the right. He launched two rounds toward the specter. No way to know if he got him or not.

Ward tugged Jason Hall back into a low, bush-covered hollow next to the fence. Then he lay in front of him, facing the road, protecting the fallen SEAL.

“So, Dad, I guess this is where it’s going to happen,” he said out loud. “Up against a chain link fence under a bush in some forgotten corner of Vietnam. Plenty of other guys have likely been...”

Ward stopped, snorted, and slammed another magazine into his MK4.

But just then, he heard the unmistakable sawing rip of an MK48 machine gun, surprisingly close and off to his right. Then there was the whump of an MK79 grenade launcher, also somewhere to his right. Yet another MK48 joined the chorus just before the grenade exploded on the backside of the dune directly in front of where he and Hall lay against the fence.

“Jase, hang on,” Ward grunted. “Looks like the cavalry just showed up.”

Ward continued to watch the road and the trees along each side. Nothing. The return fire from the Chinese was becoming more sporadic, seemingly more distant. Another grenade exploded, but this time it was further down the road.

The Sea Dragons were falling back.

Then Ward heard the distinctive whup-whup-whup of an approaching “Huey” helicopter. The green bird feathered out and touched down in a small clearing only a hundred yards or so down the dirt road. It carried the insignia of the Vietnam People’s Navy. A dozen Vietnamese Marines leapt from the helicopter and charged off in the direction of the retreating Sea Dragons. At the same time, a Russian-made Mil Mi-24 Hind gunship roared overhead from the west. It sprayed the area where Ward knew the pier and assault boats were located, cutting loose with its chin-mounted 23 mm machine cannon. The chopper also peppered the retreating Sea Dragons with its 12.7 mm door gun.

Within minutes the battle was over. The assault boats had been reduced to burning hulks. The Vietnamese Marines were rounding up the few surviving Sea Dragons scattered around the sand dunes.

Meanwhile, Jim Ward was busy tending to Jason Hall’s wounds, ignoring the lingering action around him. From the corner of his eye, he could see his guys regrouping, still on alert. But then, a Vietnamese officer separated from the rest of his Marines, spoke briefly with the SEALs, then walked over to where Ward kneeled over his team member.

“I am Lieutenant Duc Tran Trou,” the officer said. He spoke English with very little accent. “Is one of you Lieutenant Ward?”

Jim Ward stood and said, “I’m Ward. I have a badly wounded man here. He needs medical aid fast.”

Trou extended