He ducked as bullets hit the fuselage, aluminium splinters spraying around the cabin. Berkeley shrieked, the men outside diving flat. The mercenary leader didn’t need to look to know who was shooting at him. ‘Chase,’ he growled, before yelling: ‘Kill him!’
Eddie hurriedly took cover against the front of the truck as the mercs from the EC175 shot back. Bullets tore through sheet metal with harsh clanks, the 4x4’s windows shattering. But he knew the front wheel and engine block would protect him; the 5.7mm bullets of the P90s were designed to penetrate flesh and body armour, not thick steel and cast iron.
The gunmen closer to him were a bigger concern. The survivors had regrouped. Fear of the sniper was keeping them down, but a glance warned Eddie they were now moving through the camp to hunt down the remaining expedition members. He spotted Nina and Tova in the firelight, sheltering by another vehicle. ‘Nina! They’re coming towards you!’ he shouted. He was about to shoot at the approaching mercenaries when one of them zeroed in on the sound of his voice and opened fire, forcing him to jerk back.
Another whipcrack, and a scream. The sniper was still finding targets. The other mercs scrambled into cover.
One hunkered down behind the pickup holding the submersible. He pressed against its flank and edged forward to get line of sight on his targets.
He spotted Nina and Tova, who were moving in a crouch towards the lake in response to Eddie’s shout. His P90 came up, glowing cross hairs lining up on the redhead as his finger curled around the trigger—
The pickup jolted against him as he fired. The shot missed Nina’s head by inches, smacking into the truck behind her. She yelped and threw herself back.
The mercenary cursed. It felt as though someone was moving around the pickup bed, causing the vehicle to rock on its suspension. He raised his gun to kill the interloper—
A gleaming steel claw clamped around the P90’s barrel and squeezed.
The mercenary flinched in surprise, instinctively pulling the trigger — and his gun exploded as the bullet hit the crushed metal, the blowback of trapped gases ripping the weapon apart. He fell on to his back, screeching as red-hot shrapnel sizzled in his arm and chest.
In the shelter, Matt worked the remote controls to open the submersible’s claw and drop what was left of the ruptured P90. He had switched on the ROV’s cameras to get a view of what was happening outside, and spotted the gunman taking aim at Nina just in time to extend one of the manipulator arms, rocking the pickup. ‘Too bloody close,’ he gasped.
Nina stayed low, not willing to risk moving into the open again. Beside her, Tova had closed her eyes, whispering fearfully in Swedish. ‘Hey, it’s okay, it’s okay,’ said Nina, trying to reassure her companion — and herself. She crawled to the back of the truck, looking over the diving gear propped against its tailgate for any movement beyond the nearby fire.
One of the mercenaries stared straight back at her.
She gasped and hurriedly retreated — as a bullet hit the ground in front of her, sending up a spray of snow. Tova screamed, curling into a tight ball against the side of the truck. Nina heard the crump of footsteps in the snow. The mercenary was coming for them.
The fear returned. She had nowhere to go, no weapons…
No. She did have a weapon. Knowledge, of what was in the tank leaning against the truck.
She lunged forward again and knocked the cylinder over, twisting the valve at its head fully open. A shrieking jet of compressed gas blasted out — and the crackling campfire suddenly became an inferno.
The high oxygen content of the nitrox fanned the flames enormously, as if she had thrown a can of gasoline on the fire — and the force of the gas jet itself blew them outwards from the blazing pile of wood like a flamethrower. Before the mercenary could bring up his gun, the fireball had swallowed him.
Nina cringed back from the wave of heat. For a moment, all she could hear was the piercing hiss of the nitrox cylinder and the roar of flames, drowning out even the noise of the helicopters — then a horrific scream rose above all else. Completely shrouded in fire, the mercenary ran blindly past her towards the lake.
But there was no water there to extinguish the flames, only ice. He threw himself on to the surface, skidding for a few feet before coming to a stop, writhing and shrieking in helpless agony. The sight was so shocking that those on the shore could do nothing except stare — until the heat of the man’s burning clothes and skin weakened a stress line in the ice. The mercenary abruptly vanished with an icy splash, as if some lake monster had dragged him under, leaving wafts of steam swirling in the cold air.
‘Jesus!’ Nina gasped. ‘Fire and ice — paging Robert Frost!’
Matt was also watching the grisly spectacle on his monitor, rotating Nelson’s camera pod to track the running man to his doom — until something rose to obstruct the image.
Despite his injuries, the mercenary behind the pickup was not out of the fight. The exploding gun had shredded and scorched his sleeve, his wounded hand dripping with blood… but being ambidextrous was apparently one of his talents, as he raised the other to yank a savage-looking knife from a sheath.
Matt swung the robotic arm again, but the man easily jinked past the metal limb. Face contorted with rage, he advanced on the shelter. ‘Aw, hell,’ gulped the tubby engineer as he followed him with the ROV’s cameras, only to realise too late where he was going. The man on the screen lashed out at the canvas flaps — and the knife ripped through the real ones. ‘Aw, hell!’
He stumbled back into the corner of the little tent as the injured gunman pushed his way inside. ‘Try to kill me with a fucking robot?’ the mercenary snarled. He raised the knife. ‘Let’s see how tough you are when you’re facing me for real!’ He stepped closer—
‘Matt!’ Eddie’s voice, close by. ‘Down!’
Matt dropped — and bullets puckered the fabric wall above him. The mercenary spun back, arms flailing as rounds tore into his upper body.
Matt released a shuddering breath of relief. ‘Thanks, mate,’ he called out.
‘No problem,’ came the reply.
‘How did you know I’d ducked?’
‘I didn’t, I just hoped you had.’
‘Oh.’ The Australian blanched.
Eddie allowed himself a small smile — he had seen Matt’s silhouette against the canvas in the glow of the heater — before becoming deadly serious once more. He shifted position to look back at Hoyt’s helicopter. The EC175 was almost at take-off revolutions, kicking up a stinging vortex of snow and ice crystals. The mercenaries from it had spread out, but were no longer advancing. Instead they were holding position in whatever cover they could find on the frozen shore, hiding from the sniper — while protecting Hoyt and his prize. Even Eddie’s brief glance was enough to draw fire, forcing him back as more bullets hit the truck.
The second helicopter was still squatting on the ground, waiting for its passengers. ‘Nina!’ he shouted over the racket. ‘How many more of them are there?’
‘I don’t know!’ she yelled back. ‘Only one or two, I think!’
One or two too many. The only thing keeping them at bay was the threat of the sniper — and the fact that the helicopter carrying the runestone hadn’t come under attack suggested to Eddie that their unseen guardian was on the move. It wouldn’t take the mercenaries long to realise the same thing.
He checked the P90 again. About a quarter of its bullets were left, twelve or thirteen rounds. He would have to make them count…
The Eurocopter finally left the ground, engines straining under the extra weight of the stone slab. Even so, it would be beyond the sub-machine gun’s effective range in under thirty seconds.