Free The Hamlet Warning by Leonard Sanders Page B

careful.”
    The sounds of battle were definitely much closer. Loomis could see Rodríguez and his men retreating toward him through the trees.
    “We can’t hold out here much longer,” Loomis told Bedoya. “The gunships might make the difference.” “We should have you in sight within two or three minutes,” Bedoya said. “There’s only two of us. We lost one gunship right after takeoff — clogged fuel lines, probably sabotage. But the pickup bird and this gunship seem all right.”
    “What about the ammo?”
    “Right here,” Bedoya said. “I see something — smoke — up ahead. I think we’re coming up on you.”
    Loomis saw them before he heard them. They approached rapidly, low over the distant trees.
    “We’re in the shallow ravine at one o’clock relative,” Loomis told Bedoya. “Take your gunship and hose down the area seventy meters or so beyond that big dead tree. Might make your trip worthwhile.”
    “O.K., Captain,” Bedoya said.
    The copters chattered over, so low they raised dust. The pickup bird banked back to assess the landing zone, hovering. Bedoya’s big Huey opened up, pouring .50-caliber machine gun bullets into the trees, the gunners walking the fire streams with tracers.
    Rodríguez and his men took advantage of the barrage and fell back once more, hunting better cover. Rodríguez came toward Loomis, running low, limping. His right leg was bathed in red from thigh to ankle. He sprawled beside Loomis. The stench of cordite hung heavy in the air.
    “They flanked us,” he said. “Hit us good with Claymores. I’ve only got about thirty men left.”
    Loomis watched the gunship as it swung in close to the target area. He knew the Huey’s heavy firepower would be devastating at such short range. He called to the bird hovering over the landing zone, telling the pilot to come in for the pickup. “Get ready!” he yelled to the De la Torre family.
    He turned to Rodríguez and shouted over the clatter of the rotor blades and the roar of the machine guns. “I’ve got to go in with the family,” he said.
    Rodríguez looked at him and said nothing. Loomis wanted to explain. The De la Torres were his responsibility. If the bird were crippled on takeoff, went down in the forest, or if the palacio grounds were under fire on landing, he had to be there.
    “I’ll be back as soon as I can, with as much help as I can round up,” he promised.
    They both knew that Loomis was talking in terms of more than an hour’s trip.
    “Good luck,” Loomis said.
    Afterward, Loomis sought to remember the subtle inflections in Rodríguez’s tone: if there were hidden barbs in his reply, Loomis didn’t detect them. But he always wondered.
    “ Y buena suerte a ti , también , compañero ,” he said.
    As the helicopter touched down, Loomis picked up the boy Fredrico, urged the rest of the De la Torres to their feet, and led them as they ran for the bird. Raul carried Nina, and De la Torre had his arms around Juana, who was screaming, holding back, frozen with fear.
    They were halfway to the Huey when their eardrums were assaulted by a terrific explosion. Loomis dropped to one knee, still holding the boy, and turned to see a huge ball of orange flame where the gunship had been. It plunged to earth with an awesome roar.
    “Bedoya!” Loomis yelled, rising to his feet to run toward the wreckage.
    But there was no way anyone could have lived through that explosion. He watched helplessly as the burning remains of the gunship settled into the trees.
    The recoilless rifle. Some persistent idiot had lugged it all the way from the highway for one fantastic, lucky shot.
    Or had it been lucky? Could he do it again? At slightly longer range, but with a more stable target?
    “Into the chopper, quick!” Loomis yelled.
    As he ran for the bird, he tried to remember the time required to reload and fire a recoilless rifle. Not long, he recalled.
    He literally tossed the boy to a crewman, then turned to help De la