some of his lieutenants have also been caught on closed-circuit cameras during those incidents and some of them are known. I recall that his right-hand man, for instance, is an ex-Chilean torturer named Typhoon or Typhon or something like that.’
Champion paused, thinking.
‘By all appearances, the Army of Thieves is an army of rogue soldiers led by a small cadre of very capable veterans. Its members are volatile but they are no rabble. On the contrary, it is a very effective and disciplined fighting force. It has successfully attacked Russian military vessels and United States Marine Corps bases.’
‘But what do they want ?’ Schofield asked. ‘Groups like this always want something: recognition of a new state, the freeing of prisoners, the removal of American troops from their land. In that video clip, their leader told the Russian President that his Army was an alliance of the angry and enraged, the disenfranchised and the poor, the “dog starved at his master’s gate”. That last phrase, by the way, is a quote from William Blake, from a poem called Auguries of Innocence .’
‘Nice poetry reference, boss,’ Mother whispered. ‘Classy.’
‘Is he some kind of demented Robin Hood?’ Schofield said. ‘Bringing down rich nations on behalf of poor ones?’
‘I do not know,’ Champion said. ‘ We do not know.’
Schofield bit his lip in thought. ‘The first breakout in Chile released approximately one hundred prisoners. The second in the Sudan released another hundred or so. Add to that an inner sanctum of commanders and we’re looking at two hundred, perhaps two hundred and twenty men.’
‘And only ten of us,’ Mario said sadly. ‘Good fucking luck . . .’
‘Hey, I count for ten,’ Mother said.
‘And I, twenty,’ Baba said.
‘Ironbark’s team said they encountered a hundred men waiting for them at that submarine dock,’ Mario said despairingly. ‘Look at what happened to them, and they were SEALs!’
Schofield checked his watch.
It was 9:35 a.m.
‘We still have an hour and twenty-five minutes.’
Mario stood up. ‘Are you listening ? Even if we had fifty fully trained men, we couldn’t storm that island in a week! Look at us: stuck in a stinking hole with nowhere to go. If they decide to send anyone in after us, we’re screwed. This has officially become a suicide mission.’
Schofield gave Mario a long hard look but said nothing, because in all honesty, the young Marine was right.
While Schofield and the others were assessing their situation in the dock, the V-22 Osprey that had attacked them flew south to Dragon Island.
The gunship soared over the three little islets to the north of Dragon before rising swiftly to clear the cliffs of the island’s northern coast, cliffs that formed a U-shaped bay around the closest islet. The winter pack ice had melted substantially here and the bay was unfrozen, dotted here and there with ice floes the size of cars.
The Osprey swept up and over an old cable car terminal that connected the closest islet to Dragon Island. Upon clearing the terminal, an astonishing view met the plane’s pilot, the man known as Hammerhead.
Off to his left were the two colossal vents, belching the shimmering TEB mixture into the sky. At some time during the morning, some wag had spray-painted a huge A-in-a-circle on the flank of one of them—the mark of the Army of Thieves—as a kind of ‘fuck you’ to the various reconnaissance satellites that, no doubt, would now be watching the island.
Directly in front of the Osprey was the main tower, the huge three-storey disc-shaped structure mounted atop a single two-hundred-foot-high concrete pillar. The whole structure was nestled in a circular concrete pit and access to it could be obtained only via one of two crane-operated bridges on either side of the pit. From each crane’s long extended arm hung a bridge that could be lowered to span the gap between the rim and the disc.
On top of the disc
Champion paused, thinking.
‘By all appearances, the Army of Thieves is an army of rogue soldiers led by a small cadre of very capable veterans. Its members are volatile but they are no rabble. On the contrary, it is a very effective and disciplined fighting force. It has successfully attacked Russian military vessels and United States Marine Corps bases.’
‘But what do they want ?’ Schofield asked. ‘Groups like this always want something: recognition of a new state, the freeing of prisoners, the removal of American troops from their land. In that video clip, their leader told the Russian President that his Army was an alliance of the angry and enraged, the disenfranchised and the poor, the “dog starved at his master’s gate”. That last phrase, by the way, is a quote from William Blake, from a poem called Auguries of Innocence .’
‘Nice poetry reference, boss,’ Mother whispered. ‘Classy.’
‘Is he some kind of demented Robin Hood?’ Schofield said. ‘Bringing down rich nations on behalf of poor ones?’
‘I do not know,’ Champion said. ‘ We do not know.’
Schofield bit his lip in thought. ‘The first breakout in Chile released approximately one hundred prisoners. The second in the Sudan released another hundred or so. Add to that an inner sanctum of commanders and we’re looking at two hundred, perhaps two hundred and twenty men.’
‘And only ten of us,’ Mario said sadly. ‘Good fucking luck . . .’
‘Hey, I count for ten,’ Mother said.
‘And I, twenty,’ Baba said.
‘Ironbark’s team said they encountered a hundred men waiting for them at that submarine dock,’ Mario said despairingly. ‘Look at what happened to them, and they were SEALs!’
Schofield checked his watch.
It was 9:35 a.m.
‘We still have an hour and twenty-five minutes.’
Mario stood up. ‘Are you listening ? Even if we had fifty fully trained men, we couldn’t storm that island in a week! Look at us: stuck in a stinking hole with nowhere to go. If they decide to send anyone in after us, we’re screwed. This has officially become a suicide mission.’
Schofield gave Mario a long hard look but said nothing, because in all honesty, the young Marine was right.
While Schofield and the others were assessing their situation in the dock, the V-22 Osprey that had attacked them flew south to Dragon Island.
The gunship soared over the three little islets to the north of Dragon before rising swiftly to clear the cliffs of the island’s northern coast, cliffs that formed a U-shaped bay around the closest islet. The winter pack ice had melted substantially here and the bay was unfrozen, dotted here and there with ice floes the size of cars.
The Osprey swept up and over an old cable car terminal that connected the closest islet to Dragon Island. Upon clearing the terminal, an astonishing view met the plane’s pilot, the man known as Hammerhead.
Off to his left were the two colossal vents, belching the shimmering TEB mixture into the sky. At some time during the morning, some wag had spray-painted a huge A-in-a-circle on the flank of one of them—the mark of the Army of Thieves—as a kind of ‘fuck you’ to the various reconnaissance satellites that, no doubt, would now be watching the island.
Directly in front of the Osprey was the main tower, the huge three-storey disc-shaped structure mounted atop a single two-hundred-foot-high concrete pillar. The whole structure was nestled in a circular concrete pit and access to it could be obtained only via one of two crane-operated bridges on either side of the pit. From each crane’s long extended arm hung a bridge that could be lowered to span the gap between the rim and the disc.
On top of the disc
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