He scanned back to the group tied between the trees just as one of the riflemen shouted something at the man tied next to Krystyna and jabbed the barrel of his carbine into the man’s forehead. Adam couldn’t hear everything from this distance, but it was obvious the rifleman was angry, probably demanding information. The man being questioned spit at the Russian. An instant later, the top of his head exploded.
Adam’s fingers clamped down hard on the binoculars as the sound of the gunshot reached his ears, followed by muted screams from the others tied to the rope. He dropped the binoculars, picked up the rifle and raised it to his shoulder. He peered through the scope, twisting the adjusting knob to bring it into focus. The rifleman had moved a step to his left and leveled the gun at Krystyna. Adam sighted in on the side of his head and squeezed the trigger.
The man’s body went rigid as the bullet blew away the right side of his head. Adam moved his arms to the left and smoothly chambered another round, searching for a second target. He found it and fired. He swung farther to the left, found a third target and fired. He swung the gun to the right and found a fourth target. This one turned toward him, raising his rifle. Adam squeezed the trigger and shot him in the chest.
He looked up from the scope and quickly surveyed the grassy clearing between the cabins, while removing a fresh five-round magazine from the saddlebags. Three Russians were on the ground, lying still, apparently dead, and one was still thrashing about, blood oozing from his chest.
But Adam spotted two others sprinting across the clearing, coming directly toward him. He snapped the fresh magazine into place, sighted in and located the one on his left. He squeezed off a round and moved the gun slightly to the right. He spotted the other rifleman diving to the turf and fired a shot into his back. He looked up and scanned the area again. Now six riflemen were down, but the others had disappeared. The people tied to the rope were all on their knees, their backs rigid as though frozen in shock.
Adam stuffed the binoculars into the saddlebag and crept slowly back down the hill. He moved to his right, staying below the crest of the hill. Above the crackle of the blazing fire, he heard muted shouts in Russian coming from his left, the direction of the trail. He stopped and turned his head to hear more clearly through his good ear, knowing that would be the route the Russians would take as soon as they recovered from their surprise.
He continued moving, circling to his right for another five minutes, then climbed carefully back up the hill. He looked around and assessed his position. He had a clear view of all three cabins and the people in the clearing tied between the trees. Fortunately they were upwind, out of danger from the fire, and from this position he’d be able to pick off anyone who approached them. To his left, between his position and the trail, the terrain was thick with pine trees, obscuring his view. And with the impaired hearing in his left ear, he doubted he’d be aware of footsteps or snapping twigs over the roar of the blazing fire. He turned to his right and spotted a rocky outcrop that jutted from the slope a few meters away. He grabbed the saddlebags, dashed over and crouched behind the rock wall.
With his back covered, Adam removed two fresh magazines from the saddlebags and set them on the ground in front of him. Then he scanned the area again with the binoculars. The four remaining people tied to the rope had settled down a bit, though the blond woman next to Krystyna was sobbing. He scanned slowly, trying to detect any movement, but the riflemen had hunkered down, no doubt searching the hillside through their own binoculars, trying to locate him.
Adam leaned back against the rocks and thought about his predicament. Piotr and Zygmunt were behind him with the wagon, but they wouldn’t arrive for at least another hour, perhaps two. The Russians would certainly have learned that Krystyna’s husband had left earlier with the wagon, and when they found Adam’s horse they would assume Piotr was following behind. But Adam was cut off from the trail, with no way to warn Piotr. Their only chance was if Piotr and Zygmunt spotted the smoke and snuck into the forest before the riflemen ambushed them. It was a slim chance. And Adam knew that Krystyna and her neighbors were the bait. Tarnov was down there—waiting for him.
A half hour passed. Nothing happened, no movement in the clearing except the people tied to the rope, who sagged from fatigue. Adam stretched, rocked his head back and forth, then raised the rifle to his shoulder and peered through the scope. The Kar 98k rifle felt good in his hands. It was about the same weight as the Springfield he’d used in Warsaw, and the muzzle velocity was similar. But the Kar’s bolt action was smoother, and its specially mounted Zeiss scope far superior. It had twice the resolution of the Springfield’s scope and didn’t fog up.
Adam adjusted the focus. Two riflemen came into sharp view, moving cautiously along the side of a cabin. He weighed the options. If he took the shots, he’d expose his new position. On the other hand, it was an opportunity to lower the odds.
He fired twice, striking the second rifleman in the neck before the first one hit the ground. Then he grabbed the saddlebags and darted off, sprinting from tree to tree as a volley of return fire ripped through the forest.
After a couple of minutes he slowed and dropped to his knees, overcome with another wave of dizziness. His stomach heaved and he sat down, leaning back against a tree, praying he wouldn’t pass out.
Adam waited, wiping sweat from his brow, breathing deeply. Gradually his vision began to clear, and his stomach settled down. Holding onto the tree, he slowly got to his feet. He waited another minute, then continued circling to the right. He stopped and knelt behind another outcrop of rocks. He still had a view of the people in the clearing, so he crouched low and waited.
Time passed. The fire was dying out, the cabin reduced to a charred heap of rubble. He shifted and switched knees. His right foot tingled and his back hurt, but he stayed low, certain he’d be seen if he tried to stand.
Then, a gunshot!
A shout in Russian.
Another gunshot, from the direction of the trail.
“Over there!” someone shouted in Polish. It sounded like Piotr. Then a heavy blast from a shotgun, two more rifle shots and a loud, deep voice bellowing in agony.
Adam peered into the trees, cupping his hand behind his good right ear, and listened. Then he turned back to the clearing, brought the rifle up to his shoulder and searched for movement.
Nothing.
Several minutes passed before two men staggered into the clearing: Piotr, his shirt soaked with blood, and Zygmunt, his arm around Piotr.
Adam scanned the periphery of the clearing, searching for riflemen, but they were concealed from his lines of vision. Piotr and Zygmunt reached the people tied to the rope and slumped to the ground. Piotr crawled over to Krystyna and embraced her.
Then a loud voice echoed through a bullhorn in fractured English. “Attention, Mr. Nowak! We know you here. I order you come out and show yourself.”
Adam recognized Tarnov’s voice but didn’t respond.
Tarnov bellowed again. “Come out now, or we shoot another these people.”
Adam raised the rifle and peered anxiously through the scope, scanning the corners of the remaining two cabins where he thought the sound came from. Sweat dripped from his forehead. He gritted his teeth. Just a glimpse, that’s all I need. Just a—
Adam blinked at the crack of the gunshot and looked up. The man tied at the end of the rope was splayed out, face down in the grass, the top of his head gone.
Piotr struggled to his feet, shouting obscenities. A gunshot blew bark off the tree beside him. The big man stood his ground for a moment, then dropped to his knees.