Fury in the Gulf (Brannigan's Blackhearts Book 1) by Peter Nealen

Author:Peter Nealen [Nealen, Peter]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2017-11-14T23:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 11

The boats were still sitting where they’d been left, undisturbed. It appeared that, patrols along the coast road notwithstanding, the southern end of the island was deserted.

It was quick work to get them back out into the water. They left one for Aziz; according to the plan, once he had stirred things up, he would exfil out of Khadarkh City, get down to the boat landing site, grab the last boat, and bring it around to join the rest beneath the breach in the Citadel wall, securing the boats for the rest of the team to exfil.

If he didn’t make it out, they’d have to adapt and improvise. For the moment, they’d stick with the plan, Villareal climbing into Brannigan’s and Childress’ dinghy.

Once they were in deep enough water, the coxswains started the motors, the mercenaries holding the boats steady against the swell of the surf climbed aboard, and they were moving, puttering around the east side of the rocky promontory they had used as a landmark and a terrain shield, then heading north, keeping the lights of the airport to their port side.

It was something of a blessing, Brannigan thought, as he kept the boat’s bow steady to the northeast, that they had run into trouble at the checkpoint. They no longer had to worry about the guards there hearing the boats and possibly taking them under fire. They could also stay closer in to shore, reducing the distance they had to cover to get to their insert position.

He was keeping one ear cocked, trying to hear over the slap of the waves, the hiss of water against the rubber gunwales, and the grumble of the engine. If Aziz’ diversion took longer to kick off than planned, then they would have to find a spot on the coast to go to ground and wait; he wasn’t going to loiter directly under a wall that had Iranian gunmen patrolling it.

Come on, Aziz, give us a good, old fashioned, Middle Eastern street fight.

***

The AK-12 barked, spitting a pair of rounds so close together that they almost made a single sound. His aim was still off. The Iranian standing up in the hatch beside the 20mm didn’t go down in a splash of gore. He didn’t appear to have been hit at all.

He had noticed, though. Maybe the rounds had hit low, smacking off the armored vehicles’ glacis plate. Or maybe they’d gone high, ripping past his head with loud, supersonic snaps.

Do 5.45 rounds stay supersonic that far out? Aziz didn’t know, and it annoyed him that he’d even mentally asked the question. He started to squeeze the trigger again, even though he had no idea where the rounds were going at that point.

But the Iranian had apparently decided that he was taking small arms fire from the crowd, and began to react accordingly.

He dropped down into the AMX’s hull, and no sooner had he disappeared than the 20mm began to depress.

For an instant, seeing only that the cannon’s barrel was

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