Justin felt a stabbing pain in his left arm. A bullet grazed his forearm, tearing through his skin. He rolled on the ground as more bullets danced around him, hitting dangerously close.
A shout and a curse came from behind. He turned his head to see Yuliya on her back on the ground. She was holding her right leg.
Justin crawled to her and looked at her wound. The bullet had hit the outer part of her right thigh. Blood was already seeping through her ripped-up pants.
“How bad is it?” she asked between gasps.
“You’re lucky. The slug went in and out. But you’re not going anywhere.”
Bronislav dropped next to them and began to inspect the wound.
“You know what to do,” Justin said to him.
Bronislav nodded.
“Wait,” Yuliya said. “What about you?”
The loud, rhythmical rattle of a light machine gun exploded to their left. Muzzle flashes appeared next to the small car stopped in a direct line of sight to the broken-down entrance.
“I’m in good company,” Justin said, gesturing toward the car. “That’s like music to my ears.”
Yuliya let out a weak cough.
“You’ll be fine,” Justin said. “I’ll come back and get you to a hospital.”
Yuliya nodded and gave him a small smile.
“Take good care of her,” Justin told Bronislav, then turned around.
He reloaded his AK with difficulty, as his left hand wound was starting to affect his fingers. Then he aimed at the last place he had seen Derzhavin and fired three shots. Justin began to low crawl forward, then changed direction to his right. A few bullets kicked up snow around him. That was a few feet away to the left, so Justin kept crawling forward and to the right, keeping his body flat against the ground and dragging the AK next to him, making sure the muzzle was off the ground.
More gunfire outbursts came from the entrance. Justin stopped and raised his head about an inch over the snow. Three shooters were taking aim at Carrie’s position. Justin heard a single gunshot from behind him and one of the muzzle flashes died down. He assumed Bronislav had taken the kill shot.
More bullets hit the snow all around him. Justin stayed put for a few moments until the enemy fire subsided. He spotted a solitary spruce tree about twenty feet up ahead, and he decided to go for it.
He got up quickly and sprinted toward his new position. His rush did not draw any fire and he fell next to the tree a few seconds later. The tree was young and barely five feet tall, but it still provided Justin with some much-needed cover in an otherwise barren field.
Justin aimed his AK at the Mercedes-Benz and waited. A shooter’s body came up and Justin let out a couple of rounds. The shooter fell down and did not come up again. Another man began to run toward the Mercedes-Benz from the detention center and Justin stopped him with three slugs to his chest.
Carrie’s small car began to move toward the gate. It was going slowly and a long barrage was coming from a machine gun firing through the space that had once held a windshield.
Derzhavin emerged a couple of steps away from the Mercedes-Benz. He was shooting at the small car with his AK from a kneeling position. Justin aimed his AK and squeezed the trigger. His bullets hit the rear of the sedan but missed the target. Derzhavin was still blasting away at Carrie’s car, protected by the car which partially covered him.
Justin heard the dry click of the empty rifle. That was his last AK magazine. He tossed the rifle aside and pulled the pistol from his waist. The Russian-made MP-443 packed seventeen rounds and he had an extra magazine in one of his pockets.
He slid to his left and got into a high crawl, moving fast on his elbows and knees. He gained about eight or so feet and raised his pistol.
Derzhavin had noticed his movements and turned his AK at Justin. Two bullets ricocheted inches away from his head and a third singed his hair. Justin fired once. The slug slammed into Derzhavin’s left arm, causing him to drop his rifle. Justin’s second bullet found Derzhavin’s right shoulder. The man collapsed backwards, his head hitting the back of the sedan, and did not make any more moves.
Carrie was still laying down a striking amount of suppressive firepower. Justin jumped to his feet and reached the gate without firing a single shot. He checked on a few bodies strewn about the area. Three guards and Derzhavin’s driver were dead. Another guard was barely alive and in need of some serious medical attention.
Justin walked alongside the sedan with his pistol clutched in his right hand as he scanned the rest of the scene. He found Derzhavin lying against one of the back wheels of the Mercedes-Benz. Blood had trickled from his mouth down his chin and the side of his neck, staining the collar of his crisp white shirt.
Justin crouched down for a closer look at Derzhavin’s wounds. The man writhed in pain and tried to wriggle away.
“I’m not going to kill you, so stop moving,” Justin said.
Derzhavin took in a shallow breath and let out a wheeze mixed with drops of blood. He lay still but his eyes went to the AK a couple of feet away.
“Don’t try it,” Justin said and kicked the rifle away.
He leaned over Derzhavin and studied the wound. Shoulders were tricky places to get shot at because of the hub of the network of arteries and nerves feeding and controlling the powerful arm muscles. Judging by the amount of blood staining Derzhavin’s coat, Justin concluded that the pistol’s slug had not severed the subclavian artery that fed the main arm artery. But most likely it had hit the nerves and the bones forming the top of the rib cage. Derzhavin was going to survive, and a skillful surgeon could repair the damaged blood vessels and reconstruct the shattered bones. But until then, Derzhavin would be in pain, which would only grow if he did not cooperate with Justin.
“You’ll make it, and doctors can save your arm,” Justin said. He shifted his weight to his other knee and looked at Derzhavin’s wary face.
“But there’s a price to pay,” Derzhavin said, then let out a pain-filled groan. He tried to lift his left arm to his chest and unbutton his coat.
“Yes, but you can afford it. After all, your life is at stake.” Justin helped him, and Derzhavin seemed to be able to breathe easier.
The small car — a white Lada — came to a jarring stop next to Justin. Carrie gave him a worried look as Justin stood up.
“I’m doing well, how about you?” Justin asked.
“Low on ammo but enjoying my freedom,” Carrie replied with a big smile.
“Glad to see you.”
“Same here.”
Gunshots erupted from the windows of the detention center. Justin ducked behind the sedan and next to Derzhavin. He reached for the AK and fired back a couple of blind shots.
“Their stray bullets will kill you,” Justin said to Derzhavin during a break in the gunfire exchange.
Derzhavin gave him a small nod.
“Ready to talk?” Justin asked. “It will save your life and their lives. If you give me Bashir’s intel, we won’t have to continue this attack.”
Carrie’s machine gun thundered as she let go a short burst, as if to emphasize Justin’s words.
Derzhavin’s face froze in a stoic grin. “I’d rather die than betray my country.”
“What betrayal?” Justin almost shouted. “You’re saving innocent lives and putting terrorists behind bars. Terrorists who killed here, in your country, and who could come back and slaughter even more Russians.”
Derzhavin shook his head. “But I’m giving in, surrendering to the great United States of America and their puppets like—”
“You know that’s bullshit even as you say it. I know you don’t care about the US but you’re using them as ammo in your private war with Russia’s billionaires, a war you’ll lose.”
Derzhavin opened his mouth just as a couple of rounds banged against the Mercedes-Benz. Another one shattered one of the mirrors, sending sharp slivers over their heads.