Matthew Dunn - Slingshot

Then he sprinted, leapt over a brook, and made for higher ground as he heard distant gunfire. Breathing fast, he placed his binoculars against his eyes and said, “Oh, no!”

One mile away, men were running out of the farmstead. From beyond the SVR perimeter, more men were moving toward the farmstead. His assets were stuck in between both forces. He stood still, knowing he couldn’t get there in time, watching one of his men fall down, others emerging from behind the farmstead, three of them collapsing and staying still, flashes of light as some of them opened fire, more flashes of light from the hostiles as they returned fire. One by one, he saw his men being killed, standing no chance of escape, trapped in a pincer movement that had the sole purpose of massacring his men. He saw the last of them fall.

More light, but this was brighter. Vehicles emerged from outhouses in the farmstead. The men in the complex ran to them and entered. Those who had attacked the perimeter from outside the farmstead retreated; within seconds they were heading toward more vehicles that had been hidden out in the heath. Mikhail ignored them, focused on the multiple vehicles leaving the farmstead, and muttered, “Bastard!”

His reinforcements weren’t due here for another two hours. If he called them now, it would take them at least twenty minutes to get here, probably longer. He watched the convoy. It was heading away from the farmstead on the road he’d driven in on. In approximately five minutes, it would be driving within one hundred yards of his hidden vehicle.

Mikhail decided the only thing he could do was wait for them to pass, get in his SUV, pursue the convoy, order his remaining assets to search the farmstead and dispose of their colleagues’ bodies, and tell his four-man team of shooters that they needed to be ready to intercept the convoy. He reached for his cell phone and ran to his vehicle.

One of them is on the phone. Engines are running. Vehicles are rolling.”

Adam turned on the ignition. “We’ll take point.” He kept his headlights off, watched the two Russian SUVs emerge back onto the highway, drove off the hard shoulder, moved behind a civilian vehicle, then turned his lights on. “Shit! They’re driving at pace.”

“Stay on them. I don’t care if they see us.” Will gripped his handgun, glanced over his shoulder, and saw Roger and Mark’s vehicle race out of the gas station. “Something’s wrong,” he said into the phone.

“Yeah, I’m getting that feeling.” Mark accelerated. “Don’t think it was us that spooked them. There were nineteen other cars in the gas station.”

Roger added, “It was the cell phone call that did it.”

Will looked around. “Do you think they’ve got a countersurveillance team out? Maybe they spotted us; the call came from them.”

“Nah. I’ve been looking since Berlin. There’s no team.”

“Then most likely the call came from Mikhail,” Will said. Adam was now driving at nearly one hundred miles per hour. “But this isn’t premeditated. There’s been a change of plan.”

Mark’s SUV moved in behind Adam’s. “They must know we’re pursuing them. Let’s just hope they think we’re kids, looking for a race.”

Will placed his pistol into his jacket and held his assault rifle with both hands. “Nice thought, but I doubt they’re thinking that right now.”

The Russians’ vehicles were forty yards ahead of them, increasing speed, moving in between other cars.

“Exit’s coming up. One hundred yards. They ain’t slowing. Fuck!” Adam yanked the steering wheel down as the Russian team took the exit at speed. Taking the corner, he shouted, “They’re trying to lose us.”

Roger’s vehicle was only feet behind, its tires screeching as it entered the bend. “They’d have been better off going into Hanover to do that.”

“Exactly.” Will wrapped the assault rifle’s strap around his forearm. “They’re heading to an assault. Standby. Most likely they think we’re cops. They’ll try to kill us if they think we’re going to get in their way.”

They were now on a minor road, straddled by countryside.

“Multiple oncoming headlights.” Adam downshifted and braked hard as the Russian vehicles did the same. “Eight vehicles, all together. All look like SUVs.”

Will stared at the approaching convoy, his mind racing. “That’s their target, and that’s our target!”

The convoy was now ninety yards away. One of the Russian vehicles sped alongside it, reached the end, turned and stopped so that it was blocking the road. The other did the same at the head of the convoy, which was now trapped between the two vehicles.

As Adam brought the car to a halt twenty yards away from the nearest Russian vehicle, the Russians leapt out of their cars and began opening fire with machine guns at the convoy. Immediately, men inside the vehicles returned fire.

Will jumped out of the car, took aim, and fired a grenade. One of the convoy vehicles exploded. As he reloaded the grenade launcher, he shouted in Russian, “Here to help! Here to help!”

The two Russians nearest to him were using their SUV as a shield, taking turns to break cover and fire rounds toward the convoy’s fuel tanks. Those at the other end of the convoy were doing the same. Hundreds of rounds were striking their cars; the men in the convoy were firing through windows.

Will fired again, and a second vehicle exploded. Roger ran past him, his body low, heading straight toward the nearest Russians while shouting, “Friend. Friend.” Adam, Mark, and Laith were either side of the road, firing controlled bursts into windshields.

Will saw movement. “Roger! Down! Grenade!”

As the CIA officer threw himself to the ground, the Russians’ car lifted off the ground before crashing back down. Shards of metal tore through the two Russians, killing them instantly.

Roger crawled toward the Russians’ destroyed vehicle and dived for cover as more rounds struck it. He shouted in English, “Hit them from their flanks,” and repeated the instruction in Russian. He stood, exposing his upper body to the hostiles, and fired a sustained burst of rounds into the vehicles.

One of the Russian men at the end of the convoy broke cover and was shot in the head and chest.

Laith and Adam sprinted down one side of the convoy, Mark down the other. The last remaining member of the Russian team ran out from behind the car while firing his submachine gun. Bullets from the convoy smashed a large hole into his chest.

Will sprinted, jumped onto the hood of the first ruined vehicle, then leapt onto the roof of the second vehicle and began firing through the roofs, while the rest of Will’s team attacked the line of cars from the sides. Will leapt to the next SUV, continued firing down into the vehicles’ roofs, and moved onward, repeating the drill until he was standing on the last car in the convoy. After firing controlled bursts into the driver and passenger areas and the trunk, Will shouted, “Cease firing.”

He jumped down and began searching each SUV with his colleagues.

Everyone in the convoy was dead.

Police sirens.

Will felt sick with frustration and failure as he called out, “We need to leave right now!”

Mikhail used his binoculars to watch Will and his team run to their vehicles and leave the scene. He waited a few seconds, then gunned his car and drove fast to the destroyed convoy. Exiting the vehicle, he ran along the convoy, glancing inside each SUV, ignoring the distant sound of police sirens. After he checked the last vehicle, he kicked it hard and shouted, “Bastard!”

Schreiber was not in any of the vehicles.

He’d tricked Mikhail by sending out a dummy convoy.