Extinction Crisis. Don Pendleton

concur!” Farkas agreed as he cranked the steering wheel, pulling the group out of the line of fire of the enemy assault rifle. “Kill him!”

      Once again, Encizo, James and Kristopoulos opened up with their side arms, but Farkas, in his instinctive effort to avoid the withering bite of the enemy gunman’s full-auto assault rifle, had pulled their station wagon out of direct view of their target. Their 9 mm bullets clanged against the side of the Brotherhood van, but there was no way to tell if they had struck the gunman in the van’s cargo compartment.

      “We don’t have a shot, Farkas,” the Cuban complained.

      “If we get a shot, we’ll be taking fire, too, and this car’s already more collander than transportation,” Farkas countered.

      Encizo glanced back up the road. “Then drive back to where we jousted with the Brotherhood. One of them dropped their rifle.”

      Farkas looked doubtful for the space of a heartbeat, but threw the Peugeot into gear and spun to where Encizo had pointed. Clouds of road dust and loose sand kicked up as the wagon fought for traction, providing the Egyptian-Israeli-Phoenix Force alliance with a smoke screen.

      The Cuban commando opened the door and hung his hand down to almost road level to scoop up the Kalashnikov, but Farkas drove too quickly for Encizo to snag the AK on the first pass. The Brotherhood radical in the van took that moment to step out onto the street and open fire. The Peugeot’s back tires exploded as rifle slugs smashed into them. Farkas found himself battling against a wild spinout that hurled Encizo into the road through the open car door.

      “Rafe!” James’s voice cut through Encizo’s awareness. The stocky Cuban tucked his chin down to his chest and hit the dirt on his shoulders, rather than his neck or head, sparing him a spine-crushing impact. The powerful muscles of his well-toned swimmer’s body cushioned his landing as he rolled in a somersault that bled off the momentum of his launch. Though he was not nearly as powerful as his Phoenix Force partner Gary Manning or the leader of Able Team, Carl Lyons, he was still possessed of a phenomenal musculature that shielded his body from crippling injury, and the added agility of his smaller size enabled him to recover from the rough landing. He saw that he was close to the fallen Kalashnikov carbine. Encizo’s powerful legs kicked hard and threw him the ten feet to the equalizing weapon he’d sought. A deft scoop and Encizo swung the AK onto the Egyptian Brotherhood gunman. Kalashnikov steel-cored slugs tore into the violent radical, ripping him from crotch to throat, and the horrendous gash of autofire spilled out ropey intestines that looped down around his thighs. The gunman staggered for a moment, looking down at entrails pouring out of his torn-open torso. It took a few moments, but finally his strength gave out and he collapsed in a puddle of guts and gore.

      James, Kristopoulos and Farkas scrambled to Encizo’s side, finally armed with their rifles, recovered from the station wagon’s hidden compartment.

      “You all right, Rafe?” James asked.

      “I’ll be good, Farrow,” Encizo answered, accepting the SIG 551 carbine from his partner. He didn’t have to check to see that a magazine was in place and a round chambered. Phoenix Force operatives rarely went anywhere without a weapon ready for instant action. A sanitized rifle was as useful as a blunt-edged sword.

      “Their driver isn’t moving,” Farkas reported. “We made a clean sweep of the scumbags, but that leaves us with nothing in terms of intelligence.”

      “There’s always the crates inside the can,” Kristopoulos said. “If you’re willing to deal with a self-destruct mechanism that’s killed at least two members of this robot conspiracy.”

      James sighed. “Stay here. I’ll check the van out.”

      “Alone?” Kristopoulos asked.

      “Alone,” James emphasized. He glanced over to Encizo. “Rey took a nasty tumble, and I seriously do not want to piss off the Israeli or Egyptian governments by losing either of you two to a booby trap. That just leaves me.”

      Encizo patted his SIG carbine. “We’ll provide cover fire for you if the robots wake up, or if our eyes in the sky takes more than a passive role in this bit.”

      James smirked. “Well, I was hoping you’d say that. I’m risking my life, not throwing it away.”

      “I’ve got your back,” the Cuban said.

      Farkas gave his rifle a pat in silent agreement with the Phoenix Force veteran.

      James looked at Kristopoulos, who fumed but eventually nodded her assent that his plan held merit.

      James kept his SIG 551 carbine at low ready, and made the approach to the wrecked enemy van. The driver looked as if he was out of the fight, but he could have been playing possum in the wake of his comrades’ deaths. There was also Lyons’s warning of the lethal antipersonnel capabilities of the infiltrator robots. At least one American was dead because of the weaponry bristling within the deadly little automaton’s form. James glanced skyward and saw a dim flicker of movement in the night overhead.

      The Unmanned Aerial Vehicle stalking in the dark, starless velvet of night cover was another risk that James added to the dangers on this quiet Egyptian road. The unmanned drone in the sky was visible, but only barely. James knew from experience that the converse was vastly different, thanks to built-in infrared and light-amplification optics that transmitted even in the darkest pitch of night. James had seen UAV camera footage and he knew that to the machine’s operator, he was a glowing, bright target, easily followed and destroyed, especially if the drone was armed. The warriors of Stony Man had gone against too many UAVs with weapons ranging from machine guns and antitank missiles to payloads of nerve gas and even nuclear warheads. The drone, nearly invisible and totally silent, maintained its ghostly watch on James and his companions, not drawing closer to the grounded prey.

      A clatter resounded from the cargo compartment of the van, and James snapped his rifle to his shoulder, his eyes and muzzle covering the same space. He checked the driver’s seat first, but the Brotherhood wheelman was only just stirring, dazed and confused. He was in no position to do anything that would have precipitated the metallic sound James had heard. James crab-walked sideways to get a better angle on the open rear doors. He paused and stepped back to avoid tripping over the gory mass of twisted flesh and bone that used to be a hostile enemy rifleman. The man who had caused them so much trouble was nothing more than a messy puddle now. As James moved past the corpse, something slithered out of the back of the van.

      James searched for the source of the burst of movement, but the robot had disappeared beneath the undercarriage of the van. He checked his hands-free radio to reach the others left behind, but had to endure the screech of static that blasted out of his earphone. The former SEAL was alone against a hostile mechanism with the power to kill, thanks to the enemy’s ability to jam electronic signals.

      A gunshot rang out and James felt the impact of a 9 mm slug against his upper chest. He collapsed to the dirt, but rolled to avoid further fire from the hostile robot. He was glad that he wore his Kevlar body armor under his shirt, despite the oppressive Egyptian heat. The armored material had stopped a bullet meant for his heart, fired with deadly accuracy by the stealthy infiltration automaton. James triggered his SIG from where he had landed on his back, 5.56 mm rounds kicking up dirt where the muzzle-flash had originated.

      James was rewarded for his efforts by a bullet glancing off of his carbine. The impact rammed the receiver into his cheek, dazing him for a moment, but Encizo, Farkas and Kristopoulos opened up to give the stunned Stony Man medic a chance to recover his senses. The only problem was that a robot operating via remote control was not intimidated by incoming rifle fire. It had no need to flinch, even if it was operated by someone on the other side of its camera feed. The undercarriage lit up as the automaton turned its attention to the trio of human operatives who dared to attack it.

      James dumped the magazine on his SIG, working the action by hand. There seemed to be no interference, but considering that this was a life-or-death battle, the Phoenix pro wasn’t about to take any half measures with his survival. He fed in a new load, chambered a round effortlessly and cut loose on the gap beneath