Justin chose as the direction of their retreat the path of least resistance. But the Nissan was a larger target and the gunmen had clued in to Justin’s plan. They doubled their firepower and Justin felt the entire town had woken up to pour out their rage against the night raid.
Svetlana was doing a great job covering the front and the right side. She was alternating between short bursts and single shots.
Justin held his AK over his left arm and kept his finger on the trigger. He pulled it whenever he saw muzzle flashes up in balconies, windows, or rooftops.
The Nissan was taking round after round and Justin had no idea how long it would bear such a rate of fire. Bullets skipped over the hood of the Nissan, hitting dangerously close to their heads. A few pierced the dashboard and one or two ricocheted inside. A bullet grazed his right forearm but Justin ignored the pain and the blood oozing out of the wound. He kept driving and shooting as they crossed to another section of the neighborhood.
Just as they rounded a corner, two RPGs screamed over their heads. One pounded a small car parked in front of a one-story house and exploded into a million fiery fragments. The other zipped through the street and blew up as it came into contact with a wooden electricity pole.
Justin saw the power line come down in a sea of sparks. The electrical wires snapped and crackled through the air, as if a giant hand was waving an electrically charged whip. Justin turned the wheel hard to the right. The wires missed the Nissan, leaving behind a shiny trail of sparks.
Justin could not tell if the RPGs were aimed at the Nissan or if they were getting closer to the location of Team Two. He turned the wheel to the left and they drove by a couple of houses without taking any fire. He let out a sigh of relief.
His earpiece crackled with static.
Justin said, “This is Team One, say again.”
“Team One, this is Team Two. Was that you wearing white by the Christmas tree?” Timofey’s rough voice came into Justin’s ear.
“It’s us. Where are your men?” Justin said.
“Holed up about five, six houses to your left. When you—”
“This is Team Three, got a four-car convoy leaving the area,” Daniel interrupted him. His wavering voice sounded enthusiastic and worried. “I think Kaziyev is with them.”
“Kaziyev?” Justin said and glanced at Svetlana. “Say again.”
“Yes, I said Kaziyev.”
“Roger that. Eyes on the target?” Justin asked.
Daniel hesitated for a second. Hushed voices came over the radio waves. It seemed he was confirming with someone on his team.
“Positive. Two men confirm our target.”
“Light them up,” Justin said.
“This is Team Two,” Timofey said. “Team One, advance to the target.”
“You’re positive?” Justin said.
“Affirmative. Open up on target,” Timofey said.
“Roger that. All men, clear to engage the target,” Justin gave the order.
“Copy that,” Daniel said.
A maelstrom of gunfire burst out about ten or twelve houses to their right. Flying RPGs and a series of explosions lit up the night sky. Machine gun reports began dueling with staccato AK volleys.
“The party will be over soon,” Svetlana said with clear disappointment in her voice.
“There will still be some cake,” Justin replied.
They drove past another few quiet houses. Then the powerful explosion of a rocket or missile blew up almost the entire corner of a two-story house in front of them. Justin hit the brakes and the Nissan came to an abrupt halt in front of the tall heap of debris.
Another RPG struck the same house and another hail of bricks came down a few feet away, blocking the remaining part of the narrow alley.
Justin flung open the door. “We continue on foot,” he said to Svetlana.
He slid a new magazine into his AK, readied the weapon, and followed the gunfire sounds to the battlefield.
“All teams, friendlies arriving from the south,” he said on his mike. “Two friendlies from the south.”
Both teams acknowledged receipt of the information.
Justin made his way over the heap of debris and inside the devastated house. No bodies were strewn about in that room or in the next one. He thought the heavy weapons must have gone astray and hit the wrong house. He changed his mind once he stepped inside the kitchen, on the other side of the building.
The bloodied bodies of two young men were lying by the back door. They had wounds in their chests and heads, and AKs and an RPG launcher were by their feet. The back door, the windows, and the walls were bullet-ridden.
Justin looked behind and nodded at Svetlana. She nodded back. Justin climbed down five stairs and stepped into the backyard, sinking into the two-foot-deep blanket of snow. He trudged to the gate amidst gunfire coming from the street.
He stopped when he reached the metal-plate gate and stole a glance through the gap between the gate and the wall. A black SUV was stopped in the middle of the narrow alley about seventy yards away from him. Four or maybe five men had set up positions around it. One of them was hammering away with a heavy machine gun, while another one was preparing to fire an RPG.
These two men were going to be Justin’s first targets. He opened the gate without making much noise, then assumed a standing firing position with his feet planted firmly on the uneven ground. He leveled his AK sights with his eye and pulled the trigger once. The bullet struck the gunman in his back and he fell to the ground, next to his machine gun.
One of the other gunmen noticed the fallen gunner and looked behind. Justin nailed him with a bullet to his back and another one to his head.
Shooting the second gunman had cost Justin a fraction of a second, but it was a fraction of a second too much. The man with the RPG had also noticed Justin shooting at his friends. He had already pointed his RPG at Justin.
Justin fell to the ground just as the projectile screamed above his head and struck the wall behind him. The explosion was only a few feet away and the blast wave washed over him, covering him in small debris and dust. He rolled on the ground and fired at the man with the RPG before he could reload his weapon. Two bullets to the gunman’s chest and he dropped dead along with his RPG.
Svetlana had joined him in the street and was firing short, calculated bursts at the other two gunmen. Once she was done with them, she turned her attention to a couple of muzzle flashes coming from a rooftop to their left. A few rounds, and two men came toppling down to the ground.
“Advancing to the SUV,” Justin said as he reloaded his AK.
He rose to a high crawl and moved forward for a few yards, wincing every time his wounded left leg and arm touched the slushy ground. He saw and felt no bullets landing near him, so he got up to one knee and then rushed along the side of the house.
He checked the gunmen to make sure they were all dead. He reached the SUV — an old model Honda — and checked it. No one was hiding inside. A yellow truck was stopped in front of the Honda and more dead bodies were spread around it.
Justin began to walk toward the truck. He took measured, cautious steps, swinging his AK to cover all directions for any surprise attacker.
He was about three feet away from the truck when he heard the rumble of a diesel engine. A silver truck rolled through the street and turned into a side alley. Two RPGs smashed right behind it but missed it by a couple of yards.
“Kaziyev’s in that truck,” Daniel shouted over the radio.
Justin’s eardrums hurt but he said nothing.
“He’s getting away,” Daniel said.
“No, he’s not.” Justin climbed into the new-model Mitsubishi truck. “Pursuing him in the yellow Mitsu.”