David Robbins - Liberty Run

The rest took cover, scattering in all directions.

So far, so good! Sundance leaned against the wall on the right side of the gate and peered into the complex. He wondered if the Soviets would bring up a tank or other big guns. Perhaps, since it was a scientific establishment, the barracks garrison was the only military force on the premises. Even so, those inside could undoubtedly call outside for assistance. Reinforcements might arrive any second.

So what was keeping Blade?

A slug suddenly plowed into the wall next to Sundance’s face, and a sliver of stone sliced his left cheek as it exploded from the wall. Sundance spun to the left, and there was a Russian trooper on top of the wall at the other end of the gate. He threw himself backwards as the soldier fired again, then aimed and squeezed the trigger on the FN-50-63. His burst caught the soldier in the abdomen, ripping his guts open, and the Russian screeched as he toppled from the wall to the field below.

They would be closing in now.

Sundance thoughtfully chewed on his lower lip. His position was rapidly becoming untenable.

A faint crackle sounded to the right.

Sundance crouched and whirled, leveling the FN, finding a pair of patrol guards coming at him along the base of the wall. One of them must have accidentally stepped on a twig. He let them have it, hitting the first Russian in the face as the trooper cut loose with an AK-47. The rounds fell short, spraying the dirt at Sundance’s feet. He killed the second guard with several shots to the head.

Where the hell was Blade?

Sundance leaned his back on the wall and hastily ejected the spent magazine from the FN. He slipped in a fresh clip, then glanced into the ministry.

Company was coming.

Four of the soldiers had reached the trees bordering the road, the road winding to the right of the gate, and they were advancing toward the iron gate, going from tree to tree, using the trunks for cover.

Nice move.

Sundance carefully sighted on the foremost soldier, and when the trooper tried to race from one tree to the next, exposing himself for the space of eight feet, Sundance sent a slug into his brain.

The Russian catapulted to the turf between the trees.

The other three halted, all hidden from view.

Sundance hoped his ploy was working. The gunfire must be attracting every guard, every last trooper in the complex. Blade would have a free reign.

What was that?

Sundance twisted to the left, and there was another soldier on top of the wall, trying to fix a bead on him. So he dropped to his knees, and the shot went over his head, missing by mere inches. Sundance was more accurate. His return slug slammed into the soldier’s chest and flipped him from the wall, screaming all the way to the ground.

That was close!

Sundance stood and scanned the driveway.

A second trooper was darting from tree to tree.

Idiot!

Sundance aimed and patiently waited for a glimpse of the soldier’s head. His bullet tore into the trooper’s left cheek and blew out the rear of his cranium, splattering a nearby tree with crimson and fleshy gook.

Sooner or later, one of them would get the range!

Sooner or later.

Sundance inhaled deeply, steadying his nerves. Be vigilant, he told himself. Don’t slack off for an instant!

He stiffened as the growl of a motor arose from within the complex.

What were they up to now? Bringing up a tank? He scanned the length of road to the right.

It wasn’t a tank.

But it was almost as bad.

A jeep containing three troopers and outfitted with a swivel-mounted 50-caliber machine gun was bearing down on the front gate, approaching at a fast clip, the driver weaving the jeep from one side of the road to another, evidently in an effort to present as difficult a target as possible.

The two soldiers sheltered behind the trees opened up with their AK-47’s.

Sundance was compelled to duck from sight. He realized what the pair of soldiers were attempting to do. They were keeping him pinned down until the jeep reached the gate. If the jeep could get close enough, there was no way his FN would stand up to the jeep’s machine gun.

This was becoming hairy.

Sundance dropped to the ground, onto his stomach, and rolled from cover, his automatic rifle trained on the trees.

The two troopers, concentrating their fire on the wall near the gate, were taken unawares.

Sundance squeezed the trigger, and the first trooper jerked backwards and collapsed. His second round tore through the throat of the other soldier, and the trooper clutched at his ruined neck and fell to his knees, gurgling, blood spurting between his fingers.

The jeep was 50 yards off and closing.

Sundance sighted between two of the iron bars, fixing on a point 30 yards away, a 15-foot tract between two trees.

The soldier manning the machine gun on the jeep cut loose, firing bursts between trees, the barrel of the machine gun elevated to achieve a greater range, but his first shots fell short.

A few rounds struck the edge of the wall, but the majority hit the road near the gate, smacking into the asphalt with a distinct thud-thud-thud.

Sundance waited.

The machine gunner did not spot the man lying prone at the base of the gate. He only knew a sniper was near the front gate, and he was aiming his rounds accordingly, at about waist to chest level, focusing on the edge of the stone wall near the gate. At 40 yards his hursts consistently struck the wall, sending broken bits of stone flying.

Sundance waited.

The jeep roared to within 30 yards of the gate.

Sundance squeezed the trigger and kept it squeezed.

The driver was the initial casualty. A string of ragged dots blossomed on his forehead, and he slumped over the steering wheel. The soldier sitting next to the driver lunged for the wheel, but his head snapped back as he was raked with slugs and flung against the seat. The jeep began slewing across the road, and the machine gunner gripped the machine gun for support as the jeep tilted, then upended, rolling for 20 yards before grinding to a stop in the center of the road. The machine gunner was killed on the first roll, the top of his cranium smashing into the asphalt and splitting like a pulpy rotten tomato.

Sundance rolled to the right, seeking cover behind the wall again. He stood and checked the magazine in the FN. One round left. He tossed it aside and reached for another clip in his pocket.

There were none!

Sundance frowned. That was all he’d brought along. The rest were in the SEAL. Fat good they did him there! But he still had the Grizzlies. He dropped the FN and began unbuttoning his shirt. On the fourth button he paused, gazing at one of the dead gate guards nearby.

The AK-47’s!

Sundance darted to the trooper and retrieved the AK-47. The magazine was almost full. He’d never fired one before, but they—

There was a scratching noise above him.

Directly above.

Sundance dived onto his stomach and rolled, and there was a Russian trooper perched on the wall above where he’d been standing.

The soldier blasted four rounds into the ground near the Warrior’s head, his AK-47 held extended over the barbed wire.

Sundance returned the fire, lying on his back, the stock of the AK-47 cradled in his right elbow.

A pattern of slugs stitched the soldier on the wall from his crotch to his sternum. He shrieked as he was hurled backwards and disappeared over the rim.

Sundance heard the trooper’s body strike the earth on the other side of the wall. He rose and leaned against the stone wall again.

That had been close! Too close!

A resonant voice started shouting orders inside the complex. There was a subdued commotion.

Sundance peered through the gate bars.