David Robbins - Liberty Run

The forest was alive with bellowed orders and cries.

Sundance heard an AK-47 blaze away to his rear, and his left leg took a hit in the fleshy area of his thigh. His leg nearly buckled, and he staggered and went on, dodging behind a tree and hastening over a low rise.

Another AK-47, somewhere to his right, began shooting.

Sundance swerved to the left, then the right, always heading in the direction of the road. He lost all sense of distance. The road was up ahead, but he had no idea how far it might be, the yardage he’d covered, and he was genuinely surprised when he abruptly plunged from the underbrush and there was the road to the gate, not six feet away.

And soldiers.

Seemingly materializing out of thin air.

Sundance reached the road and bore to the left, going away from the Ministry, hoping his efforts weren’t in vain, hoping Blade was accomplishing their mission.

“Freeze!” shouted a stern voice to his right.

Sundance twisted and fired, and a thin trooper doubled over and toppled to the ground. And there was another one, charging from the left, and Sundance pivoted and shot the bastard in the right eye. A pair of soldiers came at him from the rear, firing their AK-47’s. Sundance felt a searing spasm lance his right side, but he refused to drop, to submit without expending his last ounce of strength. His body was a blur as he whirled, both Grizzlies thundering, and the two soldiers were slammed to the earth, but another one appeared to take their place, and Sundance shot him in the chest, continuing to rotate, moving, always moving, squeezing both triggers as three soldiers stormed from cover, and two of the Russians twitched and fell but the third wouldn’t stop for anything, and Sundance fired as the trooper fired, and fired again as the trooper dropped to his knees, then pitched to the asphalt. Momentarily, Sundance was alone, and he stumbled as dizziness engulfed him. He righted himself with a tremendous effort. How many times had he been hit? He’d lost count. And he’d lost a lot of something else too— blood. His uniform felt clammy and moist, especially the shirt. He lurched a few steps and stopped, reeling. If the Russians found him now, he was a goner.

They found him.

A lone trooper crashed from the underbrush on the left side of the road, swiveling an AK-47 at the crimson-soaked figure in the middle of the asphalt.

And a jeep roared up from out of nowhere, a machine gun blasting, its tires squealing as it barked.

Sundance tried to raise the Grizzlies, but his arms were enveloped by an overwhelming lethargy. His wounds took belated affect, and with a sigh he sank to the road.

Blade threw himself backwards, sweeping his Commando Arms Carbine up and pressing the trigger. The Commando boomed in the narrow stairwell.

The Russian soldier half a flight above was just squeezing the trigger of his AK-47 when the Commando’s slugs tore through his face and flung him to the stairs. The AK-47 fell from his lifeless fingers, rattling as it slid down several steps.

Blade hesitated, getting his bearings. He had entered Penza Hall on the ground level, then descended three levels to the lowest floor. The guard had led him up three floors from the bottom level, which meant he should be on ground level again.

There was only one way to find out.

There were two doors furnishing access to the stairwell. The one he’d just used, and another, the one which should lead to the loading dock.

Blade opened the second door and found the hallway he needed.

And a trooper jogging toward him with an AK-47 at the ready.

Blade shot the startled soldier, sending a burst into the trooper’s chest and flipping him to the floor. He sprinted toward the door to the loading dock. The laundry truck was probably gone. He would need to improvise another method of departing the Ministry. As he opened the door to the dock, the sound of the siren rose in volume. Another noise blended with the sirens; the repeated blasting of gunfire.

Sundance?

Blade scanned the loading dock and the parking lot. There wasn’t a vehicle in sight.

Damn!

Blade ran down the ramp to the lot and started across, bearing toward the west wall. If the clamor was any accurate indication, then a war was being waged near the west wall. He hurried, the Commando in his right hand.

A squad of soldiers unexpectedly came into view to the left.

Blade slowed, expecting to be challenged. But the squad leader gave him a cursory inspection and continued on, hastening in the direction of the front gate. Off to the north, more soldiers were jogging toward the gate.

If it was Sundance out there, he wouldn’t be able to hold them off for long!

Blade bounded across the lot in mighty strides, reaching a lawn encircling a lofty structure. He bypassed the edifice to the south, heading away from the gate. If every soldier in the Ministry was converging on the front gate, then he might be able to sneak over the wall near the southwest corner. He darted around a huge maple tree.

A Russian soldier, a big man with wide shoulders, was ten yards off, jogging to the northwest.

Blade slowed, hoping he wouldn’t be spotted.

The soldier glanced to the right and halted, his torehead creasing in perplexity. An AK-47 was slung over his right shoulder. “You!” he barked.

Blade touched his chest with his left hand. “Me?”

“Yes, you! Come here!” the soldier ordered.

Blade walked over to the soldier. “Yes?”

“Yes, sergeant!” the Russian corrected him. The sergeant’s brown eyes critically examined the giant’s uniform. “Where are you going?” he queried.

“To the wall,” Blade responded. “Sergeant!”

The sergeant pointed to the north. “But the action is that way!

Everyone is to assemble at the gate. Why are you going in the opposite direction?”

“Orders,” Blade replied.

“Orders. From whom?” the sergeant inquired. He began to unsling his AK-47.

Blade knew the sergeant didn’t believe him, knew the noncom wasn’t unlimbering the AK-47 for the exercise. He couldn’t afford to be detained, not if Sundance was in jeopardy. He did the only thing he could do, under the circumstances. He kicked the sergeant in the nuts.

The Russian doubled over, gasping, his hands covering his genitals, his mouth forming a wide oval.

Blade rammed the Commando barrel into the noncom’s mouth and fired.

The sergeant’s brains gushed from the rear of his cranium, and he was hurled to the grass, convulsing, his eyes glazing.

Blade resumed his dash to the left wall. A quick scan confirmed no one else was in the area.

The siren wailed and wailed.

The battle near the gate raged on.

Blade came within sight of the wall. To his left, perhaps 40 yards distant, a flight of steps led up to the top of the wall. One soldier was visible, and he was moving along the top of the wall toward the front gate.

Blade slanted in the direction of those steps. He could feel the stolen KGB

files rubbing against his skin, and the Bowie scabbards brushing his thighs.

Yells and shouts were coming from the northwest.

What if the cause of the commotion wasn’t Sundance? Blade asked himself. But if not Sundance, then who? The Packrats? No. They apparently confined their activities to Valley Forge and vicinity. Were there rebels active in the occupied zone? Freedom fighters opposing the Soviets? If so, the Freedom Federation would need to contact them and arrange aid. He reached the bottom of the steps, discarding all speculation as he sped to the top of the wall.

Soldiers could be seen off to the north, atop the wall near the gate. But none were nearby.

A four-foot-high barrier of barbed wire separated Blade from the field below. He gingerly touched one of the coiled strands, and his third finger was pricked by a sharp barb. The inner rampart was two feet below the wire. There was a six-inch lip, or rim, on both sides of the wire. By stepping up onto the rim, and balancing himself precariously, he was able to lean over the wire and survey the field and the woods.