PRIMAL Reckoning (Book 1 in the Redemption Trilogy, the PRIMAL Series Book 5) (30 page)

The response from Team 2 was controlled
and aggressive. As Pershing dropped to the ground, the M240 started firing
bursts from the high ground.

“You
really pissed these fuckers off.” Shrek wore a broad grin.

Pershing shook
his head. “Someone did.” He fired a series of rapid shots at the armored
Conquest Knight.

 
“Hey, boss. You might have better luck
with this.” One of Shrek’s men handed him a Milkor grenade launcher. Pershing
grabbed the oversized six-shooter and unfolded the stock. He had trained on the
weapon but never fired it in anger. He flicked off the safety, shouldered it,
and centered the red dot on the black armored truck. The launcher kicked and he
watched the grenade sail through the air and score a direct hit.

“Bang on,
nice!” shouted one of the men.

Gunfire
from the Black Jackets tapered off as the M240 sent them scurrying for cover.
The cartel vehicles started reversing, attempting to distance themselves from
the onslaught. As the Conquest Knight backed up Pershing hit it with the other
five grenades. He laughed as the truck reversed haphazardly with one of its
front wheels ablaze.

***

From the bottom of the mine’s pit the
sounds from the battle at the gate were muted. Bishop ignored the gunfire and
focused on the yellow
L-2350
front end loader
towering above him. He’d never seen
anything like it. A gargantuan 258-ton tractor as large as a two-story house,
the loader was designed to work with the equally massive dump trucks. The four
wheels were three times his height, and at the front a gaping black bucket
looked like it could swallow a bus.

“Leave the truck, let’s get on to this
thing,” he told Emilio and Roberto. They climbed the ladder on the side,
managing to get Roberto into the back of the cabin. Emilio stood guard on the
rear deck, wielding the MK48 machine gun, a
RPG
rocket launcher
slung across his back.

In the driver’s seat, Bishop frowned as
he tried to make sense of the mass of buttons and switches. The central touch
screen was blank, as were the video screens around the top of the cockpit.

He searched the cabin for a user guide or
a start-up checklist. A booklet was wedged in the side of the front console and
he flicked it open. There was a diagram showing what all the buttons did. He
identified the start-up sequence, flicked some switches, turned a dial, and hit
the ignition button. Behind him the huge diesel engine rumbled to life. The touchscreen
in the cabin lit up as the beast came alive. Around the sides of the cabin,
flat screens displayed camera feeds from around the tractor.

His earpiece crackled. “Bish, it worked.
I got them fighting but it’s going to go on for a while,” Mirza transmitted.
The shots in the background were louder through the radio.

“Roger,
can you get to the entrance to the pit? I’ve stolen one of the loaders. We’ll
pick you up on the way through.”

“The
contractors are pounding the cartel guys. They’ve got heavy weapons.”

“Yep, and
now I’ve got the world’s biggest
Tonka tractor
.”

As the
engine warmed, he left the cockpit and walked out to the sloped back of the loader.
A guardrail ran around the edge of the engine housing which was about the same
size as the entire Dodge truck. Emilio had the machine gun resting on the rail
and was staring in the direction of the gunfire.

“All good?”
Bishop yelled over the rumbling exhaust.

The
rancher gave a thumbs-up. Bishop responded with a reassuring smile and ducked
back inside the cockpit. He checked on Roberto, huddled behind the driver’s
seat. “You OK, mate?”

The
rancher’s one good eye opened and he nodded.

“Right,
it’s time to get us out of here.” He cracked his knuckles and settled into the
driver’s seat. “OK, big girl, let’s see what you can do.”

He pulled
back on the joystick that controlled the bucket and it lurched into the air
with a whine. He positioned it so it was just off the ground. According to the
booklet the joystick on the other side controlled the steering. As he pushed
the accelerator the loader snorted and trundled forward. He moved the steering
joystick and the loader changed direction.

“Bish,
I’m on the move. Will be at the top of the pit in the next few minutes,” Mirza
transmitted.

“Ack.
It’s going to take a while to drive this thing up from the bottom.” Bishop
aimed the massive digger at the ramp that wound its way from the floor of the
pit to the road five levels above. It looked narrow. He got the front wheels
onto the ramp. “Holy crap.” It barely fit, with only a few feet free either
side. He gave the loader a little more power and started climbing. He made
slight adjustments with the joystick as he watched the camera feeds around the
tractor.

“Oh
shit.” He overcorrected as they came close to the edge. The bucket clipped the
wall of the pit tearing into rock. A gentle push on the joystick brought it
back to the center and they ascended the winding ramp.

After
what seemed like an eternity, he crested the pit and eased on the brakes. He
searched the rocky slopes. A camouflaged shape materialized from among the
boulders at the side of the road. It was Mirza. With his rifle slung across his
back, he ran to the ladder and scaled the side of the loader. When he reached
the cockpit Bishop gave him a nod. “Right, let’s smash some shit!”

CHAPTER
35

Pershing crouched behind his truck as he
watched a drone feed on a ruggedized tablet. One of Shrek’s men sat across from
him piloting the battery-powered quadcopter. It was flying over the Chaquetas Negras
contingent. What was left of the cartel had sought cover behind a small hill.

“How many
left?” asked Shrek.

“At least
twenty. What I wouldn’t give for some air support,” replied Pershing.

“Well, we
got the next best thing. Crack out the fireworks, boys.”

A black
case was dragged from the back of a SUV and the lid unsnapped. An operator
pulled a
60mm M6C mortar
from the box. He connected the base plate
and sighted it as another man unloaded a crate of bombs.

“You guys
pack for everything,” said Pershing.

Shrek
checked the drone feed. “Range 260 meters. Charge one, HE load.”

He
watched as the contractor tore all but one of the charge rings from a mortar
bomb and slid it down the tube.

“Fire!”

The
operator thumbed the trigger and the round left the tube with a thump. Pershing
watched the screen intently. The cartel gunmen had gathered around the armored
truck and the SUVs. Cardenas was giving his orders. There was a flash and a
dozen of them disappeared in a cloud of dust. The sound of the explosion rolled
over the hill.

“Smack on,
boys. Time to shake and bake these fuckers.”

The
mortar team loaded another round, this time the
bomb had a yellow ring
around it. They fired, then reloaded and fired again.

Clouds of
white smoke and burning phosphorous erupted among Cardenas and his men. The
smoke and dust engulfed them all.

“Ceasefire!”
Shrek yelled after ten bombs had dropped on the stricken Chaquetas.

On the
drone feed Pershing could see some of the vehicles were ablaze. Only one
managed to escape down the road. The Conquest Knight wasn’t moving. He glanced across
the hill and watched as a white cloud plumed into the sky. Screams echoed in
the distance.

Shrek
pulled two long green tubes out of his vehicle. “You want the honors, George?”

Pershing
nodded, taking one of the
AT4 anti-armor rockets
. They crested the hill until Cardenas’s big Conquest Knight
came into view. Both hefted the rocket launchers to their shoulders, and fired.

One of
the rockets missed, detonating in the distance. The other impacted the luxury
armored vehicle square on. There was a flash and black smoke joined the still
burning white phosphorous.

Pershing
smiled. “I reckon you boys just earned yourself a bonus.” The sound of a diesel
engine caught his attention and he turned in time to see a mammoth front end loader
smashing its way through the accommodation buildings. “What the hell?”

***

Bishop slapped the touch screen in
frustration. He had the accelerator planted to the floor and according to the
digital display he was moving at a snail’s pace of ten miles an hour. At least
the accommodation buildings weren’t slowing him down. One after another they
folded like cardboard under the massive bucket.

The loader gradually gathered momentum,
powering up the service road to the front gate. From his vantage point he had
witnessed the last of Team 2’s battle with the Chaquetas Negras cartel. The three
black SUVs at the front gate were in a defensive formation with what appeared
to be a mortar team. A couple of hundred yards down the road he saw the group
of SUVs were ablaze. Burning corpses littered the ground around them.

Bishop angled toward the vehicles at the
front gate, raising the bus-sized bucket to deflect any gunfire.

***

Pershing reloaded the grenade launcher
and fired a volley of grenades at the loader. Four of the rounds detonated
harmlessly in the immense bucket. The fifth hit a tire, with zero effect. “More
rockets!” he yelled.

“All out.” Shrek surveyed the scene of
destruction and looked back at his five men. He gave them a signal and they
started loading gear into the trucks. “George, we need to haul ass.”

He knew Shrek was right. Even with
rockets, this fight was a lost cause. Without the local guard force, his small
team couldn’t secure the mine. He spat in the dust. “Let’s go.”

As he turned and hurried to his vehicle,
the loader’s bucket lowered and he spotted the driver at the controls of the
monster. They locked eyes and the man he knew as Objective Yankee extended his
middle finger. “Son-of-a-bitch, I buried you!” he exclaimed.

He watched in disbelief as the tractor
crushed another building. A high-velocity round cracked through the air,
snapping him into action. Wrenching open the door of his SUV, he jumped in the
driver’s seat. Shrek and his team had already loaded, and tore off down the
mountain road. He glanced in the rear vision mirror and clenched his teeth as
the huge loader continued to rumble toward him. Spinning the wheels, he
accelerated after the others.

***

 
Out the corner of his eye, Bishop saw Mirza run to the side
of the cabin. The PRIMAL sniper balanced his HK on the handrail and gestured
for Bishop to drop the bucket further. As it lowered Mirza fired another series
of rapid shots at the three fleeing SUVs. Bullets glanced off the rearmost
vehicle’s armored glass as it sped down the mountain road. “Mirza, RPG.”

“Way
ahead of you, Bish.”

He
glanced to the opposite side. Emilio had the rocket launcher shouldered and
fired at the last SUV.

The
rocket left the tube with a boom and hit the Chevy’s back window. The HEAT
warhead failed to detonate and glanced off the laminated bulletproof glass.

Focused
on the contractors, Bishop missed seeing the Black Jacket who ran across and
jumped onto the loader’s side ladder.

The
cockpit shook as Emilio reloaded and launched another RPG at the fleeing vehicles.
The rocket flew a few hundred feet, hit the road and exploded. The convoy
rounded a corner and disappeared.

“Let’s
make sure they’ve got nothing to come back for,” Bishop said as he toggled the
joystick and swung the tractor toward the refinery and smelting works. Black smoke
hung over the structures from the fuel dump that was still burning.

Out the
corner of his eye he spotted a hand reach up from the side ladder and grab
Emilio’s leg. The rancher lost his balance and fell, striking his head on the
rail. He lay still as a black-jacketed Mexican climbed onto the platform.

Bishop
recognized him. It was the cartel lieutenant called Burro. He wore aviator
sunglasses and had a wicked scab on his cheek. Bishop snatched his pistol from
his holster and fired it. In the confines of the cabin the noise was deafening.
The bullet struck the safety Perspex on an angle, ricocheted, and smashed into a
control panel.

Burro
smirked as he drew his own pistol. Bishop leapt from the chair and shoulder
charged the door. It sprung open, hitting the would-be assassin. The gunman fired
as he stumbled backward. The bullet punched through the door. A splinter of plastic
lodged in Bishop’s hand and he dropped his Beretta. With his other hand he
grabbed Burro by his vest. A sharp pull smashed the young Mexican’s face into
the doorframe. He cried out and stumbled backward, aviator sunglasses knocked
off his face. Bishop stepped over the dazed Emilio and kicked the pistol from
his attacker’s hand.

The
cartel lieutenant’s face switched to a mask of hatred as he recognized Bishop.
“The Yankee, you’re supposed to be dead.”

Bishop
smiled. “And you’re about to be. Funny that.”

Burro
pulled a knife from his vest. “Fuck you,
gringo
.”

The
loader shuddered and Bishop almost lost his balance as a wheel dropped off the
side of the track. They were heading for a huge ore crushing structure.

Burro
leapt at Bishop, slashing with his knife.

He slipped
the blow and struck Burro in the face, sending him reeling back.

The
tractor started turning back to the road and Bishop glanced at the cockpit.
Mirza had climbed in through the door on the other side and was at the
controls.

Burro
attacked again, this time stabbing wildly. Bishop sidestepped and backpedaled
as his assailant pressed home the attack, stabbing and slashing.

He
countered with a series of blows. Burro blocked the attacks, smiling as he
danced from foot to foot.

A shot
rang out and the smile dropped from the cartel lieutenant’s face as he clutched
his side. The knife dropped to the deck.

Bishop
pulled the wounded man close by the lapels of his jacket and heaved him onto
the railing that ran around the back of the earthmover.

Burro’s
eyes went wide as he toppled backward. He screamed as he bounced against the
huge tire, then disappeared from sight. Two seconds later a bloody smear
appeared on the tire as the wheel turned.

He looked
back. Emilio was clutching the cartel lieutenant’s pistol. “That’s for my son.”
The old rancher staggered, on the verge of collapse.

Bishop
reached out and steadied him.

“Bish,
when you get a second, it would be great if you could show me how to turn this
thing off,” yelled Mirza from the cabin.

“Turn it
off? No way, I’m just getting started.”

***

A
half hour later, Bishop brought the gargantuan front end loader to a halt,
reached across, and hit the kill switch. He lowered the bucket and dumped the
remains of the mine’s gold storage vault onto the track. Then he climbed out of
the cab and down the ladder to the ground.

“’Bout
time you finished, you’ve been having way too much fun with that thing,” Mitch
said. He was leaning against the only transportable building that had not been
flattened. Bishop shot him a broad smile. “You finished your environmental assessment
yet?”

“My main
concern is the cyanide tailings. I’ve locked the holding dam off, but if it’s
not removed in the next six months or so, it’s going to leak into the water
supply.”

Bishop
pointed to the pile of rubble in the bucket. It glinted as the midday sun hit
it. “There’s a shit-ton of gold in there. Roberto should be able to afford a
clean up crew.”

“Bloody
hell.” Mitch walked over to inspect the load. Even unrefined, the gold bullion
bricks were an impressive sight.

“Keep
your grubby paws off it,” Bishop said as he walked over to the office. He stuck
his head in through the open door. “How are our patients?”

Mirza was
inside treating Emilio and Roberto’s injuries. He had them sitting on office
chairs. Emilio had a bandage over his right eye with a cold pack pressed to it.
Roberto had a bag of fluid running from a hat stand into his arm. “They’re
going to be fine. By the way, I found something of yours.” He nodded at the
desk. Next to Pershing’s laptop was a battered New York Yankees baseball cap.

“No shit.”
He stepped into the room and retrieved the hat.

“Thought
that might make your day.”

Bishop
grinned and put it on. “Almost makes up for missing George Henry Pershing.”

Roberto
shook his head. “No, you showed him. He won’t be back.”

“You know
what, mate, we couldn’t have done this without you. Your team did well.” His
voice lowered. “I’m sorry we lost so many.” Gerardo’s body was outside in the
bed of Emilio’s truck. He would be buried on his farm alongside his ancestors.

“Better
to die on your feet than live on your knees, Aden.”

He took a
card from his wallet and handed it to Roberto. It had a phone number and a
non-descript email address on it. “I want you to let me know if the Black
Jackets, or Pershing, or anyone else tries to put you on your knees again.”

The battered
and bruised rancher nodded and took the card.

There was
a honk outside and Bishop stepped out to see a pickup pull up with Miguel at
the wheel. “I think your backup has arrived.”

There
were five men in the bed of the truck. Farmers armed with shotguns and rifles. Down
the road was a line of more trucks. Miguel had done well. After helping Mitch
launch the aircraft he had gone to the town to rally support.

He
watched as Emilio took the surviving brother aside and told him of Gerardo’s
death. His heart lurched as the man dropped to his knees and wept. Emilio
wrapped an arm around his shoulders and held him.

A honk of
a car horn sounded and he turned to see two silver BMW X5s driving up the road.
The luxury SUVs passed the procession of farmers in their pickups and pulled up
alongside the office. Heavily armed men spilled out and formed a loose
perimeter.