David Robbins - Liberty Run

Bakunin and the two patrol guards were 20 yards from the front gate, in a direct line with a large oak at the edge of the field, when the captain’s head exploded in a spray of blood and brains, spattering the wall, and he was lifted from his feet and smashed against the stone as the sound of a shot shattered the dawn air.

The two guards with Bakunin spun toward the tree line, and both were rocked backward as powerful slugs ripped through their torsos and flung them to the ground, spurting crimson from their ruptured chests.

Initially stunned by the carnage, the quartet of gate guards sprang into action. Three of them spread out, eyes riveted on the woods, seeking the sniper. The fourth ran toward a black button imbedded in the wall to the left of the gate. He was reaching for the button when a slug caught him in the back of the head, just above the neck, and his mouth and nose erupted outward in a shower of flesh and teeth. He tumbled onto his stomach and lay still.

The three remaining soldiers hesitated. One of them turned and dashed for the gate, intending to open it and seek shelter inside. But three shots struck him in the middle of his back, between his shoulder blades, and he was hurled forward to crash into the unyielding iron gate. He slumped to the earth.

One of the guards spotted a faint gun flash near the large oak, and charged, firing his AK-47 at the tree, his rounds chipping bark from the trunk. He managed four strides before he was hit in the right eye. His body jerked to the right and flopped to the grass.

The last guard, having seen his comrades die and realizing there was nowhere he could flee, dropped his AK-47 and raised his hands above his head, mustering a feeble grin. His grin vanished, collapsing inward and filling his mouth with blood and chunks of teeth, as a shot penetrated his mouth and exited out the back of his neck. A look of amazement flitted across his features, and he tottered and fell.

Sundance raced from cover, sprinting the 20 yards to the wall and then running to the gate. He stepped over the body of one of the guards, peering inside.

Lights were coming on in a low structure approximately 50 yards distant, to the left of the front gate.

Sundance leaned against the wall and hastily replaced the partially spent magazine in the FN. He wanted a full clip when the soldiers arrived on the scene. He tossed the partially spent magazine aside and pulled a fresh clip from his right rear pants pocket. As he inserted the magazine, loud shouting arose from within the complex. He glanced around the corner of the wall, between the iron gate bars.

A cluster of 10 to 12 troopers had gathered at the entrance to the low structure. They were yelling and gesturing toward the front gate.

Sundance grinned. He suspected the low structure was a barracks for the soldiers. They would need to cross a wide lawn before reaching the gate, and would be sitting ducks for 40 yards or so. A row of trees lined the road beyond the gate, but the road and the trees would be to the right.

A long drive connected the barracks to the road, and someone had thoughtfully neglected to line the drive with trees.

More shouting. Seven of the Russian soldiers started running in the direction of the gate.

Sundance rested the FN barrel on one of the horizontal bars in the iron gate. He patiently waited until the soldiers were only 30 yards off, then squeezed the trigger and held it down.

The seven troopers jerked and thrashed as they were hit. Only one of them was able to get off a shot. Surprised in the open, they died en masse, their bodies bunched together.

Louder yelling from the barracks.

Sundance took a deep breath to calm himself. His blood was racing, his adrenaline pumping. In a strange sort of way, he was enjoying himself, despite the over-whelming odds. He’d fought in the battle for the Home against the Doktor’s forces, but this was different, different even than fighting the scavengers. This time it was him against an army, and he relished the challenge. He would buy Blade the time the Warrior chief needed, or he would perish in the attempt.

Soldiers continued to pile from the barracks. An officer took command, and with a wave of his right arm led ten of them toward the gate.

Sundance sighted the FN.

It was do-or-die time!

The Russian soldier, a private, was carrying a tray of dirty dishes and an empty carton of milk. He inadvertently started as a giant wrenched the door in front of him open, but then he saw the uniform and grinned.

“Comrade! You scared the hell out of me!”

Blade froze. The soldier had an AK-47 slung over his left shoulder.

The young guard glanced over his shoulder at the gloomy hallway, then stared at Blade, his expression evidencing a certain nervousness. “You won’t report me, will you?”

“Report you?” Blade repeated.

The soldier hefted the tray. “I know we are not permitted to eat on duty, but I become so bored at night when there is little to do, and my friend in the kitchen…” He abruptly stopped, his eyes narrowing, focused on the Commando.

Blade bent his right leg at the knee.

“Where did you get that weapon?” the guard asked. “That is not standard issue.” He raked Blade from head to toe. “And your uniform does not seem quite right,” he stupidly blurted out.

Blade flicked his right leg out, striking the guard on the left kneecap.

There was a distinct snapping noise, and the guard gasped and dropped his food tray. Blade’s left hand gripped the guard by the shirt before he could fall. The tray clattered to the tiled floor. Blade moved into the hallway, closing the door behind him. He shoved the Commando barrel into the guard’s frightened face.

“Please!” the guard cried. “Don’t kill me!”

“That depends on you!” Blade informed him.

The guard’s thin lips were quivering. “I think my knee is broken!”

“You knee will be the least of your problems if you don’t cooperate,” Blade stated menacingly.

“What do you want?” the guard wailed.

“The Vikings.”

The guard’s brown eyes widened. “The Vikings?”

“Are you hard of hearing?” Blade snapped. “Where are they?” He decided to try a bluff. “And don’t play games with me! I know they’re here!”

“They were here,” the guard exclaimed.

“What do you mean?”

The guard motioned toward a series of doors in the hallway to their rear. “They were held here while the Committee for State Security questioned them.”

“And what happened to them?” Blade queried.

The guard’s mouth turned downward. “They… did not survive the questioning.”

“They died?” Blade probed.

The guard nodded.

Blade jammed the Commando barrel into the guard’s cheek. “I don’t believe you!”

“It’s true!” the guard insisted in terror. “The last one died four days ago! The Security people were not lenient in their interrogations!”

Blade frowned. He’d anticipated this eventuality, but dreaded it all the same. Too much time had elapsed since the Vikings were captured, and the Soviets were not notorious for allowing their captives to live once the required information had been obtained.

The information!

“Where’s their office?” Blade demanded.

“What?” the guard responded, perplexed.

“The office of the Committee for State Security,” Blade said.

The guard blanched. “You are joking, yes?”

Blade’s countenance hardened. “Do I look like I’m joking?”

“But it would be im—” the guard started to object.

Blade smacked the Commando barrel against the guard’s head. “They must have an office in this building! Somewhere where they could conduct their interrogations in private! Where is it?”