Target Deck - 02 by Jack Murphy Read Free Book Online Page A

sleeve had been rolled up. The gasoline flooded across the submarine pen, burning with an intensity that drove the mercenaries back. The fire was intense enough that it was threatening to overtake their position. The gasoline used to power the submarine had spilled into the water leaving the surface layer of the water on fire.
    “Fire in the hole!” Fedorchenko yelled, depressing the transmit button on his radio. It was an operational code word that alerted the entire platoon to evacuate off the objective as fast as possible, only to be used during extreme emergencies.
    As one, the platoon stood up from their positions and peeled off, filing back up the embankment. Through the flames, Deckard could see the black outlines of human beings. Their forms shimmered in the heat mirage coming up off of the fire. It was difficult to discern their movements through the haze but they were there.
    The heat was growing in intensity, the crates that the mercenaries had taken cover behind were now on fire. If they didn't hurry, the enclosed submarine base would become their tomb. Freeing knives from their sheaths, the mercenaries began cutting more holes in the canvas to escape from rather than wait their turn filing through one opening. Like rats trapped in a cage, their actions took on a certain kind of urgency.
    Deckard stumbled up the embankment. Reaching up, he grabbed the canvas and slashed it with his Ka-Bar fighting knife. The smoke burned his eyes, causing them to water. As if Mexico could get any hotter, they had found a way to trap themselves in hell itself.
    Clenching both sides of the slit he had cut, Deckard lunged forward and back out into day light and fresh air. Gasping, he looked around at the other mercenaries. They were coughing from smoke inhalation and had the black soot of carbon under their noses and around their red eyes. Fedorchenko gave him a thumbs up. All of the men had made it out of the inferno.
    Doubled over, Deckard spat a black tar ball on the ground before standing up straight. The fire had burned through a large portion of the camouflage tarp covering the bay. The submarine would be able to escape the flames and there was no way to flank around, the embankments around the sides of the bay were too steep and rocky to maneuver around.
    Unless there was an alternate way to intercept the submarine before it escaped.
    Before he knew it, Deckard had jumped onto the canvas and was running across it. The fire was melting through the fabric and holes were sprouting up all around him. The commando tripped, falling on his face as the fire popped another tether from the fabric, causing it to go slack. Struggling to his feet, Deckard ran. More holes continued to appear in the camouflage covering, the entire mess threatening to collapse at any moment and plunge him into the inferno below.
    Going for his knife, Deckard lunged forward and slashed the blade across the canvas. Grabbing the edge with both hands, he somersaulted forward and through the opening he had cut. Hanging on, he could feel his gloved hands beginning to slip. It was only by some miracle that he had judged his position on the covering correctly.
    He was dangling directly over the metal connex containers that the sub crew and security personnel lived in. Releasing his grip, Deckard fell the ten feet to the metal roof, his boots coming down hard, knees bent to help break his fall. The sub pen was now a haze of black smoke, the heat threatening to overwhelm him. Under his combat gear, even the veteran soldier felt as if he might pass out, a sure death sentence. If the fire didn't get him, the smoke inhalation would.
    Moving to the lip of the connex, he hooked the inner part of his boot on the edge of the container and held on with one hand, lowering himself off the side in a spider hang. Kicking off with his foot, he dropped the rest of the way to the wooden dock. Putting his Kalashnikov back into operation after having it slung across his back, Deckard