Understanding what they were after, Orlov said nothing as he leaped to his feet, jumped over the log he had been using for cover, and began to make his way toward the silo.
As in the previous engagement, Patrick Hogg held back from the firing line, concentrating instead on monitoring the actions of his men and the tactical situation before him. Unlike the initial action, which had been as swift as it was one-sided, the current affair was a brutal slugfest, one in which his men were suffering almost as much damage as they were giving out. It didn't take long for the Irish captain to conclude that the forces they were facing were not of the same sorry caliber as those from whom they had taken the silo. Based on the manner in which these men maneuvered and the accuracy of their fire, Hogg guessed that they were elite soldiers, paras perhaps. Maybe even commandos.
Ducking as a well-aimed burst of fire began to chew up the stump he was lying next to, Hogg allowed himself to slip down the slope and away from the spot that had been compromised. Rolling along the ground, he moved about until he found a protected place em Hani to hide, close to one of his corporals. Like Hogg, the man was down behind cover, safe from a spray of automatic gunfire that flew harmlessly overhead. The corporal was in the process of fishing a fresh magazine out of an ammo pouch when he took note of his commander's presence. "Can't say I admire your choice of ground, sir."
When he was fairly sure it was safe to do so, Hogg peered over the log he had come to rest behind. "Rest assured, Corporal Allen," the SAS captain said as he continued to scan the terrain to his front, "that if I had my druthers, it would be us up there and them down here instead of the other way around."
The corporal was about to make an additional comment when he noticed a flurry of activity out of the corner of his eye. Turning, he was just in time to see a Russian, holding a knife coated in blond in one hand and an assault rifle in the other, jump up from a position not more than ten meters away. Even as he fumbled about in <m effort to insert a fresh magazine, the SAS corporal yelled out a warning to his commander. "SR! To your right!"
The man's shrill tone was enough to cue Hogg to the danger he had yet to see. In a single swift motion, the SAS officer swung about, bringing his weapon to bear as he did so.
In the U. S. Air Force, fighter pilots call the response an "OODA loop," which is pronounced ou-da. These four letters stand for "orient-observe-decide-act." In aerial combat, the time to repeat that pithy little saying is measured in seconds, because once the pilot acts, his action triggers a whole new set of circumstances that requires him to repeat the process while his foe is doing the exact same thing. This holds true during close combat on the ground. Hogg had to quickly divert his attention in an entirely new direction, take in the situation before him, decide what to do, then do it before the Russian that Corporal Allen had caught sight of did likewise.
Fortunately for Hogg, the foe that came into view was paying scant attention to what was going on to his left or right. Like a shark surging blindly forward for the kill, the Russian with the bloody knife broke into a dead run as soon as he passed the shattered treeline and made for the center of the clearing. The SAS captain didn't need to think about what to do. His decision was as instinctive as it was obvious.
Fate, however, saved that Russian. Just as Hogg was bringing his weapon to bear on him, another figure emerged from behind cover in his wake. This one, unlike his companion, was more acutely aware of his surroundings. So much so that he locked eyes with Hogg, who had just turned his head away from the first man.
A new set of circumstances. Another cycle of the OODA loop. Since the second foe was staring right at him, and Hogg's peripheral vision caught the flash of a gun being brought to bear on him, the lead Russian was quickly forgotten.
The contest between Hogg and his new mark was uneven and over quickly. With his weapon already shouldered, the Irish captain only needed to slue the muzzle of his MP 5 a few inches to the left, aim center of mass, and cut loose. The range between the two adversaries was so short that every round sent his way ripped into Vladimir Kulinsky's chest. Wavering, the Russian combat engineer took one step back before he toppled over dead.
Having been surprised by the appearance of the second Russian, Hogg could not discount the possibility that more would follow. Though he would have liked to have turned his attention back to the one who got away, he maintained his position, waiting to see if more Russians sallied forth from the spot where the other two had. Only after he was sure that the pair had been an isolated threat and his concern about the one who had made off became too overwhelming to ignore, did Hogg turn to deal with him.
This hesitation cost him a clear shot. By the time he caught sight of the charging Russian commando, the man was already disappearing into the smoke that drifted lazily around the silo. Not knowing for sure if there were any friendlies still working on the demolitions package on the far side of the smoke, Patrick Hogg could not simply spray fire at it in the hope of hitting his foe. Seeing no alternative, he took off after the Russian.
All three men, Fretello, Allons, and Ingelmann, saw the Russian emerge from the far edge of the treeline. No one spoke as they watched him take off at a dead run toward the silo, where Dombrowski was finishing his work. Only Ingelmann responded without thinking. Dropping the blasting machine he had been clutching, the corporal of legionnaires rose to his feet and began to make his way back to the silo. As he picked up speed, he yanked the sling that lay across his chest, bringing his 5.56mm FA MAS assault rifle down to his side, where he grabbed it with his right hand. He gave no thought to the risks to which he was exposing himself. Stanislaus Dombrowski was more of a brother to him than those he was raised with. Running for all he was worth, the Austrian legionnaire started to yell out a warning.
The man didn't have a chance to utter more than his companion's name before a large-caliber slug ripped into his side. In horror, Adjutant Allons watched as Ingelmann was literally lifted off the ground and thrown sideways by the force of the impact. With the might of an explosion, the single fatal round erupted on the far side of the Austrian's skinny frame, unleashing a thick red mist. It hung in the air long after the lifeless body had fallen back to the ground.
Before he realized what was happening, Andrew Fretello felt the blasting machine being thrust into his hands. Recoiling, he rolled onto his side and looked up at the Spanish legionnaire who was in the process of scrambling to his feet. "You know what to do, Major," the adjutant yelled as he took off, just as Ingelmann had taken off in a vain effort to stop the Russian who was after his sergeant. Unlike Hogg, who could not fire because of the angle, Allons cut loose with a wild volley aimed at where he thought the Russian had disappeared into the smoke. All the while, Allons yelled at Dombrowski in French, gallantly trying to warn his NCO of the unseen danger about to befall him.
From the treeline, Fretello desperately tried to take everything in. Besides the adjutant, the American major caught sight of someone breaking away from the SAS position in pursuit of the Russian who was now hidden in the smoke. Seeing that the British commando had a far better chance of success, Fretello started to call to Allons in an effort to bring him back.
Even if he had heard the American, it would have been foolish for Allons to turn around in the open and attempt to return. His only recourse was to go on. If nothing else, he figured, he would be able to cover Dombrowski.
Demetre Orlov was too late to do anything to save Kulinsky. As he continued bounding forward, clearing fallen trees and an occasional corpse, he watched as his favorite combat engineer was ripped apart by a concentrated stream of automatic fire.