Matthew Dunn: Slingshot

He looked at the Russian. The man was facing Will and firing, but not at him. The SVR officer began running and by the time he passed Will’s prone body he was at full sprint while still shooting. Will rolled onto his side, ignored the intense heat from the fire in the canal, saw an unarmed man disappear down the road and saw the Russian chasing him. He looked back and frowned as he saw that the two sailors had not been hurt by the explosion because the man who had blown up the boat had moved them out of harm’s way.

Getting to his feet, he began running after the Russian, but after a few paces he heard a hail of machine gun fire. He threw himself sideways onto the ground and rolled away until he was behind the cover of a warehouse. More bullets hit the wall by his side, causing chunks of brick to fly off it.

Will clutched his mic against his throat. “Delta 1: I’m going after the big SVR guy. He’s pursuing an unarmed man who is almost certainly the defector.”

“Delta 1.” The Q man was screaming over the sound of gunfire. “Men have just taken out my two Poles. There’re six of them, and they’re firing at us as well. But they’re not the Russian SVR men.”

“What?”

Delta 1 did not answer, and before Will could speak again, another voice shouted in his earpiece. “Delta 9. My two locals have just engaged four SVR men on the island. I’m going to get on their flank and assist the Poles with. . What the hell?”

Will shouted, “Delta 9? What’s happening?”

The noise of automatic gunfire was continuous.

“Delta 9: my locals and the SVR men are dead. Killed by the other team. I can see you, Zulu. I’m thirty yards behind you.”

Will got to his feet just as the Q operative got alongside him. Both men began running east, in the direction of the big SVR officer and the defector, their guns pointing at the darkness and fog ahead of them. Muzzle flashes were visible coming from the other side of the canal on their left.

“No, no!”

Will grabbed his throat mic. “Delta 1?”

Nothing.

“Delta 1?”

“Delta 1: They’re. . they’re dead.”

“Who?”

“The Russians, the Poles, my men. Fucking everyone!”

Incredulity struck Will. “Get onto the island! Head west. We’re pursuing the defector.”

Will and Delta 9 suddenly stopped. In the distance ahead of them they could see the long road that led over the western bridge. Lights straddled it, and easily visible were three men running at full speed toward the crossing. The defector, the SVR officer, and the last remaining Polish operative.

Will raised his gun and moved its muzzle so that it was pointing slightly in front of the Russian’s body. Tensing, he pulled back the trigger. But the moment his gun fired, the SVR officer stopped. Will’s bullet passed in front of him. Will looked beyond the officer to the far side of the bridge. A van was heading fast toward the defector. The Polish operative and the SVR officer began firing at the oncoming van.

Will and Delta 9 sprinted and fired at the front windows of the vehicle. As they did so, they saw the SVR officer raise his gun and fire one bullet. The defector stumbled, then carried on moving toward the van, one of his legs limping. Nine men poured out of the van. They were dressed in fire-resistant black combat overalls, upper body and head armor, and night-vision goggles, and were carrying submachine guns.

Some of them fired at the SVR officer and the Polish operative behind him; others fired toward Will and Delta 9. Whatever handgun the SVR officer was carrying, it was obviously much more powerful than those being carried by Will and his team. The officer fired two rounds at two of the hostiles and dropped them both. Will dodged left and right, fired three times at three of the hostiles, and saw his bullets simply glance off their body armor.

“Delta 1: I’m pinned down! Center of the island.”

Will looked toward the end of the bridge. Three of the hostiles ran along the crossing, passed the defector, and fired their automatic weapons at the Russian and Polish operatives. Both men remained stock still, firing their handguns at the hostiles. Two other men ran to the defector, grabbed him, pulled him toward the van, and bundled him into the vehicle. Then five of the hostiles started slowly walking along the bridge, firing their weapons continuously. Will stopped. He felt useless. The hostiles knew that they controlled the ground. The Polish operative fell down as one bullet struck him in the face. The Russian’s powerful handgun boomed, flipping one of the hostiles off his feet and backward. The Russian then turned, looked at the prone Polish officer, looked back at the encroaching force, fired a couple more shots toward them, and ran to the stricken Pole.

Will watched the hostiles move back to the van and enter the vehicle. The van quickly reversed. Within seven seconds it was off the bridge, out of sight, and heading west away from Gdansk.

The defector had been kidnapped.

Though they all had different objectives, Will and his team had failed, the SVR team had failed, and the Polish AW and ABW men had failed.

Will watched the SVR officer. He had a clear line of sight and could easily shoot the man. But Will lowered his gun as he saw the Russian lift the Polish operative, carry him off the bridge back onto the island, gently lower him to the ground, lean down, pat his hand on the Pole’s shoulder, and stand before him for a few seconds before running away into the fog.

Will glanced at Delta 9. “Help the Pole!”

He turned east, ran across open ground toward the central road, sprinted harder when he was on it, tucked his handgun into his waistband, dashed between buildings, ran across more open ground, and barely slowed as he saw three men.

One of them was a dead hostile, lying still and awkwardly on the ground. His neck or back had been broken. Another man was next to him on the ground. He was Delta 1. Standing over him was the last hostile. He was very big, and his physique was made all the more imposing by the body and head armor. The man was grappling with the Q team leader, but clearly was on the verge of overpowering him.

Will slowed to a brisk walking pace. He felt overwhelming anger and frustration that everything tonight had gone wrong. Reaching the large hostile, he saw the man turn to face him. Will kicked his armored chest with such tremendous force the hostile was lifted off his feet. He looked at Delta 1. “Are you injured?”

Delta 1 shook his head and started to push himself off the ground. Will walked over to the prone hostile, stamped his foot on the man’s unprotected throat and pressed hard. He looked at Delta 1 again. “This has been a bloody mess.” He pressed harder with his foot and kept it firmly in place as the hostile grabbed his ankle with two hands and tried to wrench his leg away. Shaking his head, he muttered, “The defector’s as good as dead.” He looked down at the hostile. “Who sent you?”

The man tried to speak but was choking.

Will lifted his foot a fraction.

“We’re ”-the hostile coughed-“private contractors.”

“Who sent you?”

“Don’t. . know. My boss did, but”-his eyes glanced sideways toward his dead colleague-“he can’t talk anymore.”

Delta 1 moved to the dead body, expertly searched the man’s clothing, looked at Will, and shook his head.

“You’re British?”

“Me and a couple of others. The rest of the team came from all over.”

Will nodded and stamped his foot down. The hostile arched his back, and his limbs thrashed for thirty seconds before he became motionless. Will looked away from Delta 1 toward the bridge. “Come with me.”

Will jogged back toward the western bridge, Delta 1 by his side. They reached the beginning of the bridge and saw the Polish operative sitting against a wall, his face covered in his blood. Delta 9 was by him, attending to his wounds with a battlefield medical kit.