Justin entered the back alley and advanced at a quick pace. He tried to remember the outline of the town, but they had focused most of their time on the northern part and in the area around Kaziyev’s safe house. The change of plans had forced them to infiltrate the town through another direction, treading unfamiliar grounds. Justin hoped the greater distance from the terrorist mastermind meant this neighborhood was not crawling with terrorists and Kaziyev’s security guards, but with everyday people unfortunate enough to share the same town with one of the world’s most wanted men.
He had come to a small intersection when the roar of a diesel engine filled the cold night. Justin thought it was a powerful generator until he saw faint backing-up lights of a white Nissan SUV backing out of the alley to his right.
“Movement at three o’clock. Fall back, fall back,” Justin said on his mike.
He took six or seven steps back but there were not many places to hide. He tried the first gate to his left, but it was locked from inside. He rattled it for a moment, trying to make as little noise as possible, but the gate did not budge.
“Across the street and behind you, Justin. Over the fence,” Svetlana’s voice whispered in his ear.
Justin turned his head and spotted the place near the fence where the snow had been trampled. The wooden fence was about six feet high with a few boards missing in some places. Justin hurried and climbed over, and threw his body to the other side just as he saw glaring headlights cut through the night right behind him.
He rolled on the snow, burying his body next to Svetlana. She had her AK at the ready and was looking through a gap in the fence.
“Where’s Ludomir?” he asked.
“Don’t know,” she replied.
“Ludomir, come in, where are you?” Justin said over the mike.
No answer.
“Ludomir, come in,” Justin said again, this time a bit louder and with a nervous tinge in his voice.
The Nissan’s brakes screeched as the driver came to the intersection, then they heard the engine roar as the driver stepped on the gas. The SUV lunged forward and zipped past them, its tires lifting chunks of ice and clumps of mud and snow. The fence blocked most of the debris from raining upon their heads other than a couple of mud splatters that landed on Justin’s Kevlar helmet.
Justin said, “Wow, that was a close—”
Another screech of the tires interrupted his words. The Nissan stalled. Doors opened hastily, but they did not hear their closing thud. Instead, heavy boots began to pound the packed snow of the alley, the sound drawing nearer.
Justin said, “Ludomir, come in.”
A loud, angry shout came from a dozen or so steps away to their left.
“I’ve been made,” Ludomir’s voice came over the radio.
A split second later, the crackle of an AK shattered the silent night. It was a quick burst, five or six rounds, followed by a scream of agony on the other side of the fence, and another round, which put an end to it.
Ludomir said, “Nissan’s clear, we’re—”
A long barrage cut off his words, but a sigh of pain still came to Justin’s earpiece. More gunfire erupted a few houses to the right. Lights began to turn on, first in the house across the street, then all around them.
“Team One’s taking fire,” Justin said. “Advance to target as planned.”
He crawled to the fence and looked at the Nissan. Ludomir was lying on his back halfway between the rear wheels and the wall of the next house. Muzzle flashes came from the second-story window of the house further down the alley. The shooter fired a hurried burst toward Justin’s fallen teammate.
“Ah!” Ludomir groaned in a very weak voice.
Justin barely heard him but that groan told him Ludomir was alive, but not for long. Not if the shooter kept up his barrage and Ludomir lay in the alley.
Justin stretched forward, aimed his AK at the window, and fired a three-round burst. His bullets hit their target and the shooter, along with his weapon, plunged through the window and came crashing down onto the ground. Justin squeezed another two-round burst at the motionless body of the shooter for good measure.
“Cover fire, Svetlana,” Justin said and rushed along the fence through the backyard covered in snow.
A light switched on behind them. Svetlana turned her AK in that direction. Whoever had flicked the light on thought better of it and no one came outside. Svetlana stepped cautiously backward, covering all angles with her assault rifle.
Justin burst through the fence’s gate and onto the street. He swung his AK left and right, up and down, as he pressed forward toward Ludomir. A burst of gunfire came from the back and bullets kicked up ice slivers by his feet.
He turned around and fired blindly into the night, a long barrage with bullets spread around in a wide pattern. He fell to one knee by the wall of the next house. Two seconds later a man popped up behind the corner diagonally across from him. Justin fired twice and planted two bullets in the man’s head.
Svetlana was in the alley covering his back. Justin reached Ludomir and checked his vitals. The Russian had a deep wound on his right upper thigh. Another bullet had grazed his left arm.
“You’ll be all right,” Justin said to him. “Svetlana, I’m patching up Ludomir,” he added and dropped his knapsack next to him.
“Team Two under fire,” a man’s voice came on the air.
“Team Three reporting no resistance,” Bronislav said in a calm, firm voice. “Moving on target.”
A couple of slugs slammed against the Nissan’s door. Justin crouched for cover next to the SUV, then picked up Ludomir’s Kord heavy machine gun. He set it up hastily on its bipod, then aligned it with the two-story house straight ahead, from where he suspected the shooter had set up his position.
A Toyota truck fishtailed from a side street as the driver lost control over the ice. It almost crashed into a wall, but the driver was able to straighten its wheel and rush forward, coming toward Justin.
Big mistake, Justin thought.
He fired his machine gun, pouring a torrent of 12.7mm rounds toward his target. The hood of the Toyota exploded. The cover flew over the window and a couple of slugs pierced the windshield. The driver was either torn to pieces or lost control of the truck. It crashed into the cinder-block wall of a house and rolled over onto the driver’s side.
Before Justin could heave a breath of relief, Svetlana’s voice came clear in his earpiece, “RPG!”
Justin heard the RPG’s bone-chilling screech, followed by a loud explosion. The warhead smashed into the second story of the house, tearing a big hole. Broken blocks and mortar chunks hailed over Justin’s head and shoulders.
“What the hell happened?” he shouted.
He could not even hear his own voice and everything around him had sunk into a strange silence. He figured the explosion must have numbed his eardrums.
“Svetlana, I’ve lost my hearing,” he said as he crawled for safety behind the Nissan, dragging the machine gun with him.
A few bullets sprayed sparks very close to his head. Justin noticed muzzle flashes about a hundred yards in the distance. He straightened the ammunition belt of his machine gun, aimed the weapon and let off a quick burst. The muzzle flashes died down.
Justin moved the barrel about an inch higher and aimed at a couple of windows to his left, where he had spotted more muzzle flashes. He pulled the trigger and his large, powerful rounds smashed through the windows and the wall.
A grenade exploded about six feet in front of him. Ice slivers struck against the left side of his face. Justin fell back and slid underneath the Nissan. Blood began to trickle down his neck. He removed his right-hand glove and checked his wound. It was not deep, so he decided not to worry about it at the moment.