Triplecross. Don Pendleton

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      “What was that?” Encizo demanded. “It was the right rear panel. Was that a rock?”

      “My money’s on gunshot,” James stated.

      “I think it was a rock,” Encizo argued.

      More impacts struck the hull, and this time there was no mistaking the hollow metallic chatter of Kalashnikov-pattern assault rifles behind the fusillade. Encizo grinned as James shot him a glance and held out his hand, rubbing his fingers against his thumb.

      “Where’s my money?” James asked.

      “We didn’t get to that,” Encizo said.

      “Technicalities, technicalities,” James said. He urged the MRAP faster. “Which way you want to go, David?”

      “Circle this stone hut on our right,” McCarter directed. “Rafe, get on the phone and have the Farm patch us through to the Pakistanis and the Indians. Give them our coordinates and ask them if they’ve got forces here.”

      “We’re really going to play this game?” Encizo asked.

      “Just think of them as very fast rocks until we hear otherwise,” said McCarter.

      “Whoa!” James shouted. “Contact front!”

      The armored personnel carrier that rolled across their path bore the crossed-swords insignia of the Indian army. A machine gun turret at the top of the APC was wheeling in their direction.

      “Back, back, swing left!” McCarter shouted.

      “Aye-firmative,” Calvin said. He hit the gas and the MRAP hustled back in a flurry of gravel and dirt plumes.

      “One, this is Two,” Manning said through the transceiver link. “We are taking heavy small-arms fire. Elements of the Pakistani military are coming up on our flank. I saw a tank with a green insignia. Swords under a crescent moon.”

      “That’s Pakistan, all right,” said McCarter. He looked back to Encizo. “Got that, Rafe? It’s a party and everybody’s invited.”

      “India says they don’t have any units at these coordinates,” Encizo reported. “No word from the Pakistanis yet.”

      The MRAP shook as an explosion nearby kicked up dirt and debris.

      “That’s a grenade launcher,” Encizo noted.

      “Keep her moving, mate,” said McCarter. “Stay mobile. Keep the speed on until we get confirmation.”

      “David, we are moving in your direction,” Manning reported. “Coming up on your four o’clock. They’re herding us your way and we need to respond with force.”

      “That is a no-go. Repeat, a no-go,” McCarter declared. “Two, use of force is not yet authorized.”

      “Understood,” said Manning. “But if we don’t get word soon we may be overwhelmed. Sooner or later they’re going to hit us with something our armor can’t take—”

      Whatever else Manning said was lost in the noise and vibration of McCarter’s MRAP. They were taking machine-gun fire now, and nothing of too small a caliber. McCarter didn’t think it was .50-caliber BMG or anything as potent as that, but neither was it something light. The MRAP’s armor was up to the task so far, but he did not want to push it.

      They had a lot of mission ahead of them before this was over.

      “Bring us around,” McCarter ordered. “We need to link up with Two and then find a quiet corner.”

      “Not that way!” Encizo shouted. James was starting to turn into what was a crowd of soldiers in cold-weather gear. They were using the corners of two of the older stone structures for cover.

      “Back it up, back it up,” McCarter urged.

      James did so. But now the passage behind them was blocked by the Indian APC. Again the MRAP shook under its turret gun.

      “Rafe? Any word?”

      “Coming in now,” said Encizo.

      “Well?” James demanded.

      “Pakistan states...” Encizo said, listening, two fingers to his earbud.

      “You are killing me, mate,” McCarter said.

      “No units at these coordinates,” pronounced Encizo. “I repeat, the Pakistanis disclaim any involvement in conflict at these coordinates.”

      “Rafe,” said McCarter, “get up there.”

      “On it!”

      As James maneuvered the MRAP to get it out of the APC’s line of fire, McCarter saw the second MRAP rocket between two buildings. More slowly, what the former SAS operator swore was a Type 88 Main Battle Tank pursued Manning’s MRAP.

      “Gary, on your six!” McCarter said.

      The only answer was the thunder of the automatic grenade launcher atop Manning’s vehicle. Several of the stone buildings on either side of the second MRAP were damaged as the explosions from the hail of automatically released 40 mm grenades filled the unpaved street with dirt, rocks and shrapnel.

      Another metallic clatter, closer this time, banged the roof of McCarter’s vehicle like a drum. That was Encizo on the machine gun in their own turret. Shooting the gap between two buildings that were little more than corrugated tin shacks, James managed to cut the angle close enough to get Encizo in a position to fire on the APC. As McCarter and James watched through their viewports, Encizo’s machine gun fire blew apart the man in the APC’s roof turret.

      “Run parallel to them,” McCarter said. “Get us past and then over. We need to cut left and help Gary with that tank.”

      “I have a pit,” Manning said over the transceiver link. “Very large. Looks like a garbage dump.”

      “That’s just what the doctor ordered,” said McCarter. “Can you hold position near the edge long enough to lure the tank in? Get them heading at you under steam?”

      “Holding,” Manning confirmed. He paused. “Incoming fire is heavy. The tank is closing on us. Bringing main turret to bear.”

      “Go, Calvin,” said McCarter. “Go.”

      “The APC is coming up behind us,” Encizo said through the link. “I’m trying to brush them off but their nose armor is too heavy.” The MRAP shook as Encizo milked a steady stream of rounds from the machine gun up top.

      “No, that’s good,” said McCarter. “Rafe, let them come. Keep up a good show, but don’t stop them following. Gary, get ready. When we hit your tank we’re going to need you to push forward, circle around and give the APC a shove. And get ready with that automatic grenade launcher again.”

      “Ready,” Manning said.

      “Here we come,” said McCarter.

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