Manhunter by Chris Ryan (the false prince series .TXT) 📗

Loader was looking in the same direction. ‘Where the fuck did they come from?’

‘Must have snuck in through the fence.’

‘Shit. Just what we bloody need.’

The Boys were the sacrificial lambs, Bowman realised. Sent in by the Russians to draw the defenders’ fire away from the main attack. They weren’t crucial to the plan. If they got within close proximity of the stronghold, it was a bonus. If they failed, it didn’t matter. They would still tie the opposition down.

‘The Russians know what they’re doing,’ Loader growled.

Mallet spoke into his mic.

‘Major, tell your men on the west to concentrate on the Machete Boys. Whatever you do, keep them from the stronghold. We’ll take care of the enemies to the front.’

The defenders were constantly shifting firing positions, targeting each assault group as they advanced four metres before going to ground again. Then the team switched their aim to the next group breaking cover. Loader fired at them with short spurts from the other Gimpy. Webb dropped targets with the AWC. Mallet had switched to his C8 rifle for the closer-range stuff. But the barrage of rebel gunfire was unrelenting. Dust and masonry whipped up around the men on the rooftop. With all the shit flying past them, Bowman and the others found it harder to aim. The rebels were now twenty metres inside the estate, edging forward slowly but steadily. Like the tide creeping in.

In the tail of his eye, Bowman glimpsed several rounds smacking into the northern garden wall as some of the rebels trained their fire on the mortar pit. A few others aimed at the gun pits scattered across the front of the stronghold. But the majority targeted the GPMGs on the rooftop. Bowman felt the hot carriage of air as a bullet winged past him and glanced off the generator.

‘Jesus,’ he said.

‘This is nothing like the last attack,’ Webb said.

‘Tell me about it,’ Loader shouted. ‘These guys actually know how to fucking shoot.’

Mortars splashed into the soft ground around the rebel groups. A few men were torn apart by the bombardment, but most were sheltered behind the dips in the ground. Bowman saw an orange flash below the parapet as Gregory opened up with the platoon GPMG in the front gun pit. The assault teams continued to advance despite the appalling fire pouring down on them. They knew how vital it was to maintain momentum during an assault.

Bowman put in another burst at the rebels and stole a glance at the ground to the west. To his surprise, he saw that the Machete Boys were a hundred metres inside the fence and closing fast. Mallet yelled an order at Loader. The latter uplifted the GPMG and swung round to the west-facing parapet. He went prone and gave the Boys a few spurts from the Gimpy. Then he shifted back round to the north side, fired at the main group.

‘We’re juggling here!’ he shouted. ‘We’re in trouble, John!’

Mallet got straight on the comms to Casey.

‘Pull back fifty metres. Repeat, fifty metres,’ he said. ‘Hit them with some near-surface bursts.’

There was a brief pause as Casey set the fuses on the mortars to near-surface detonation. At the front of the estate, Bowman saw the middle assault group spring up from ground cover and start towards a new baseline. The two teams on the left and right flanks began putting down suppressive fire on the GPMGs on the rooftop, covering the middle team’s advance. Bowman came to the end of another belt and hastily reloaded. His fourth belt. Six belts of 7.62 mm brass left.

In the next breath, he heard a sequence of dull pops as Casey launched the mortars at terrific speed. The bombs plunged to the earth and detonated half a metre above the surface. Which gave a much wider spread than an impact-burst bomb. Men screamed as a deluge of shell fragments tore through them, slashing through flesh and lacerating vitals. Three more mortars dropped into the stretch of dead ground between the front and rear assault teams, wreathing the ground in greyish smoke.

‘That’s it!’ Loader roared. ‘Fucking give it to ’em!’

With mortar shells exploding all around them, the two groups of rebels to the rear struggled to keep up their sustained fire on the stronghold. The middle assault team suddenly came under an intense hail of fire as Bowman, Loader and Gregory poured bursts into them from the Gimpys. A handful of figures peeled away from the group and fled towards the breach in the fence. One stout rebel in a beret, presumably the commanding officer, gestured frantically at his men, urging them on. Webb dropped him with a single well-placed shot. With no one to organise the men, panic swiftly set in. The remaining fighters turned and bolted.

‘They’re on the back foot!’ Mallet roared. ‘Target the other groups!’

Bowman and the others continued plugging away with the GPMGs. The two outer assault teams swiftly broke contact, running pell-mell for the breach. Half a dozen rebels were struck down, nailed in the back before they could escape the estate. The rest scrambled back across the clearing in a disorganised rabble. Mallet ordered Casey to lob in a few more mortars. Bombs pounded the clearing, throwing up clods of earth and fragging several rebels before they could escape.

With the main attack repulsed, the gunfire from the west flank quickly abated. ‘Enemy retreating!’ Mavinda yelled over the radio. ‘The rebels are pulling back.’

Bowman looked past his shoulder through an opening in the parapet. He glimpsed the Machete Boys beating a hasty retreat across the plain.

‘They won’t be hassling us for a while now,’ Loader said.

‘Alex, are you OK down there?’ Mallet asked.

‘I’m fine,’ she reported. ‘But I’m almost out of ammo.’

‘How many?’

She paused. ‘Four bombs. That’s it.’

Bowman said, ‘It’ll be harder next time. That mortar was our trump card. We’ve just used it. And we haven’t got another.’

He looked at his watch: 08.31.

‘Where the fuck is D Squadron?’ Loader ranted. ‘They should be here by now, for Chrissakes.’

‘I’ll check,’