Zombie Killers: HEAT by John F Holmes Read Free Book Online Page B

and television.”
    “Compromise then. Red and I do an outside recon, but not too close, to get the layout, count the guards, everything else. You got to the local town and try to get hired on as a guard or something.”
    “I have even better idea,” said Ziv. “YOU get yourself captured. This way, you will be on the inside, and Red and I can break you out.”
    “This is supposed to be a Recon, not a breakout.”
    Red snorted and answered me. “You know how stretched thin forces are with the fighting in DC. Do you really think that Scarletti will chop us a half dozen choppers and a company of SF dudes? If you’re lucky, you’ll get a Chinook and a squad of infantry.”
    “Well, he promised,” I answered, rather weakly.
    “No offense, pale face, but I don’t trust white men and promises. Why is Scarletti going to help you rescue a woman who has told him numerous times she is going to kill him?”
    Ziv was more to the point. He only said “Sucker.”  
    I sighed. They were both only saying what I knew was probably true. “So how fast do we do this? They’re going to hang her, and Ryan too.”
    “No they are not,” said Ziv. “She is valuable hostage. They will not hang her anytime soon. The Pollack, well, they might hang him, he is no one, but it will take a while.”
    “So then we have time to get down there. Red, pack your stuff, and ask Joe to come over and talk to me. Ziv, do you need time for anything?”
    “I want time to teach your son how to break down and reassemble an AK. Not your piece of shit M-4. He needs to know how to use real weapons.”
    “COOL!” yelled Nate from the kitchen, where he was supposed to not be listening to us. Brat.

Chapter 245
    No plan, it is said, survives contact with the enemy. Our plan didn’t even get that far.
    It had been two weeks since Brit had been taken, and we knew she was alive through the news reports. I was pretty sure she would stay that way for at least the next month; I was familiar with how slow any military’s wheels turned. So we had time, I hoped, to prepare and not go off halfcocked.
    That time was cut short later that day by the thunder of a four ship helo flight passing overhead. Two Apaches, a Blackhawk and a civilian helicopter with the markings of Albany Medical Center on the side did an initial pass, the Apaches hovering in the air, scanning about like angry bees.
    First the Blackhawk landed, again in one of my fields. An Infantry squad hit the ground, and then fanned out to provide security for the LZ. I stood watching with Ziv and my kids, and before the medical helo settled down, Red and his son Nick showed up to stand with us. 
    The civilian pilot set it gently down on the field, with a delicate touch. The first person out of the helo was Sergeant First Class Scotty Orr. Last I had seen him, his team had taken serious casualties but managed to evade and escape back through enemy lines. I had left him in DC a week ago, working with Master Sergeant Ball to rebuild the teams. I hadn’t heard from either since then, and to see him walking off the bird was a complete surprise.
    The next person to hop off was Ryan Szimanski. He had a bandage around his head, and his scalp had been shaved away; an ugly bruise with surgical sutures showed itself as he turned away from me for a second. His leg seemed OK. I stopped walking. Last I knew, he had been a prisoner with Brit. Had he managed to escape? What the hell was he doing here?
    Then two civilian paramedics climbed down and muscled off a stretcher, being careful to carry it away from the rotor wash. Wrapped in a clean blanket, a mass of red hair and a pale face showed on the pillow. I caught my breath and started jogging over to the helo. 
    Nate passed me at a dead run, screaming “MOM!!!!” at the top of his lungs. Despite the paramedic’s trying to stop her, Brit levered herself off the stretcher, threw off the blanket, and limped over to him, catching him in her arms and hugging him