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ERIC NYLUND
163
plywood. Once the acid had eaten through the porous fibers,
however, the three grenades would have more than enough
bang to turn that meter-square section into a million airborne
splinters—shot straight up into the sleeping quarters of Tango
Company. Not lethal ... but guaranteed to be one heck of a
distraction.
John crawled out, crept back to the warehouse, and ren-
dezvoused with the rest of Red Team.
John glanced at his watch: 0458.
He pointed to Kelly and then to himself, then made a curling
motion around one side of the warehouse. He pointed to Sam
and Fhajad and motioned them around the opposite side. They
moved to the far corners of the building.
John and Kelly crouched and waited. They had a perfect view
of the center of the camp, the calisthenics area, the parade grounds,
and—right in the center—the flagpole.
Right on time a Corporal and two guard escorts marched out
and unfolded their green-striped flag. He attached one corner to a
lanyard dangling from the pole.
John glanced at the distant forest. The woods past the fence of
Tango Company's camp had been clear-cut. He knew it was
more than a hundred meters—closer to two hundred. There was
no guarantee that Fred or Linda could hit anything at that range.
He drew his dart pistol and clicked off its safety.
At 0500 flashes of light strobed beneath the barracks as
the grenades detonated. There was the crackle of wood and the
screams of the men and women ofTango Company.
The Corporal attaching the flag dropped one end and whirled
around. Floodlights on the perimeter fence snapped on and
pointed inward toward the barracks.
In the confusion, no one noticed as one of the guards near the
flagpole dropped his rifle, grabbed his neck ... and toppled to
the gravel face-first.
His partner spotted him and knelt.
John sprinted across the compound, firing. His first shot went
wild, and the kneeling guard spun around to face him. Fhajad
and Sam shot him in the back.
John took aim at the Corporal—who fumbled with his pistol