Go, Marcus. Go. Go.
He was clear before the storm troopers could react. They may have been well trained, but they weren't match fit. Before the first shots rang out, Adam had turned the shallow bend and was shielded by the safety of the trees.
He drove for his life, knew that Curly Top would be screaming into that radio he carried over his shoulder, screaming for his storm troopers to find and stop the Jeep. He decided not to abandon it, not to go on foot. He'd be at the gatehouse within two minutes. Maybe he could just crash his way through.
He saw the searchlight before he heard the helicopter. The roar of the Jeep's high revving engine had drowned the turbine's sound.
He swung left to right, back again, careered across the road, in and out of the trees. In front and to each side, people were shooting at him, but they all missed. He unswung the machine gun and sprayed the bullets into the trees, sending his hunters scattering for cover. He heard the machine gun fire from the helicopter, but it was difficult for the pilot to manoeuvre in such a tight space, even more difficult for the machine gunner to take aim. The bullets from the helicopter were wild and causing more trouble to its own troops than to Adam.
As he raced and bumped down the track, the helicopter suddenly lifted and flew forward, leaving him on his own.
He's heading for the gatehouse, Marcus. He's going to wait for me.
He pushed the accelerator to the floor and went flat out down the track, more off the ground than on it. When he rounded the final bend, he saw the helicopter hovering in the middle of the road, no more than five feet off the ground and some twenty metres from the gates.
The gates were closed.
There were a few guards scattered to the side of the road, all armed, no more than six or seven as far as Adam could make out. Curly Top hadn't had enough time to get more people to the gatehouse.
Adam saw the machine gunner hanging out of the open door of the Jet Ranger, he didn't wait, just aimed his Heckler and Koch MP5K at the helicopter, one handed, and opened fire. He saw the machine gunner panic, and open fire blindly at the Jeep. He smashed the windscreen with one bullet and Adam felt a sliver of glass cut into his cheek, but he did little other damage.
Adam kept firing in short bursts and drove straight at the helicopter.
The pilot, realising that the Jeep was going to ram him, applied the cyclic and tried to lift clear. But the front of the vehicle caught the undercarriage and sent the helicopter shuddering sideways. The pilot, frantically trying to lift clear, felt his craft tilt and knew the big rotors were going to hit the gatehouse before they actually did.
The rotors slashed through the roof of the building, as if through a doll's house. The Jet Ranger arced upwards, a big prehistoric teradactyl lurching blindly in its death throes. Then it crashed to the ground, just crashed and died, no explosions, no flames reaching to the sky. It just flipped over and died in nothingness.
Adam had slammed the Jeep to a stop before the helicopter was on its back. He took the grenade from his pocket, unleashed the pin and threw it at the base of the double gates.
Nobody was shooting, they were all watching the helicopter in its death throes.
He swung round and drove away from the gate. He saw some of the storm troopers turn their attention to him and he sprayed them with his MP5K.
German bullets for German flesh, Marcus.
Then the grenade exploded, tore the doors apart some two metres, enough for a man to get through, but not the Jeep. He wrenched the wheel round and rammed the gate, the bullets now ripping into the air around him. The jeep slammed into the gates some more, but still not enough to drive through.
Adam was thrown forward, up and over the shattered windscreen and onto the bonnet. He kept rolling, still hanging onto his weapons, and fell over the front of the Jeep and onto the pavement outside. Somebody was yelling and the bullets suddenly stopped. As Adam looked back through the split in the gates, he saw Curly Top, saw the evil hatred in his eyes.
Keep going. Just 'cos they've stopped shooting doesn't mean they're not going to come after you.
He turned and started to run down the road, southwards, into Dresden.
The Audi Quattro honked from across the road. 'Here. Over here!' she shouted through the open window.
Shit, Marcus. She shouldn't be here.
There was little traffic on the road and he ran across to her, ran round to the passenger side and jumped in.
'I said no more than five minutes,' he shouted.
The words hurt her. 'But you needed me. Look at your face.'
He'd forgotten the glass that cut his cheek. 'It's okay. I said five minutes.'
'But you needed…'
'Five means five. If it was more, then I was in trouble. Shit, I didn't want you back. Let's go. Where's your tail?'
'I lost him,' she said proudly.
'Come on, get going.'
'Where?'
'Just go. Come on.'
She pulled away. As she moved away from the pavement, a black BMW slowed down and drew abreast of them. Adam remembered the BMW that had pulled out of the complex when he walked past earlier. She hadn't lost her tail, they'd had two following her.
Before Adam could react with his weapons, the passenger in the BMW, a young blond skinhead, set light to a glass bottle half filled with petrol with a piece of rag stuffed in the top, and hurled the Molotov cocktail into the Quattro through Billie's open window.
The bottle shattered in the back of the car, the petrol saturating and sticking to the upholstery. As the fumes spread, they were ignited by the flaming rag and exploded. Some of the petrol stuck to the back of Billie's hair and caught fire.
She was already screaming, desperately trying to steer the car away from the BMW, where the passenger was attempting to light another Molotov cocktail. Adam leant over and wrapped his arm round the back of her head, protected her from the flames and blocked out any further damage to her. With his other arm he wrenched the wheel to the right, forced the Audi up onto the pavement and against the wall. The car jerked to a sharp stop. The engine was still screaming.
'Take your foot off the accelerator!' Adam shouted. 'Come on, come on. Get out.'
He leant over and pushed the door open, shoved her out as the engine died. The BMW had come to a stop and the passenger was climbing out, his Molotov cocktail now lit and ready.
With the flames engulfing the roof of the Audi, Adam lay across the two front seats, aimed the machine gun and shot the bomber dead. The skinhead fell backwards into the BMW and the bomb exploded in the car, spewing its liquid of flaming death.
Adam crawled out of the Audi, grabbed Billie and ran with her before the petrol tanks exploded.
The BMW went first, its roof torn open by the flames and blast as if by a giant unseen can opener.
The Audi Quattro blew its doors and windows out twelve seconds later.
As Adam dragged Billie to her feet, he saw Curly Top in front of him. He wasn't alone. They were surrounded by storm troopers.
He went for the machine gun, but someone kicked him hard in the back of the head. He resisted the pain, tried to bring the weapon to bear.
Another sharp blow hit him between his shoulder blades.
No pain, Marcus. Kill the pain.
He willed himself forward and upwards.
Another blow on the side of the head. Then another.
The bastards were kicking him.
Like a fucking dog.
He twisted to shield himself, tried to pull himself round and use that big machine gun he had carried for so long.
But they didn't let up, kept at him. In the stomach, the shoulders, more kicks to the head.