Liberty Run

Chapter Eighteen

What was keeping Blade?

Sundance sighted on the officer and the ten troopers, and waited until they were in the middle of the lawn before he fired. The officer pitched to the ground, and the rest were decimated, six of them dropping in a row.

The rest took cover, scattering in all directions.

So far, so good! Sundance leaned against the wall on the right side of the gate and peered into the complex. He wondered if the Soviets would bring up a tank or other big guns. Perhaps, since it was a scientific establishment, the barracks garrison was the only military force on the premises. Even so, those inside could undoubtedly call outside for assistance. Reinforcements might arrive any second.

So what was keeping Blade?

A slug suddenly plowed into the wall next to Sundance’s face, and a sliver of stone sliced his left cheek as it exploded from the wall. Sundance spun to the left, and there was a Russian trooper on top of the wall at the other end of the gate. He threw himself backwards as the soldier fired again, then aimed and squeezed the trigger on the FN-50-63. His burst caught the soldier in the abdomen, ripping his guts open, and the Russian screeched as he toppled from the wall to the field below.

They would be closing in now.

Sundance thoughtfully chewed on his lower lip. His position was rapidly becoming untenable.

A faint crackle sounded to the right.

Sundance crouched and whirled, leveling the FN, finding a pair of patrol guards coming at him along the base of the wall. One of them must have accidentally stepped on a twig. He let them have it, hitting the first Russian in the face as the trooper cut loose with an AK-47. The rounds fell short, spraying the dirt at Sundance’s feet. He killed the second guard with several shots to the head.

Where the hell was Blade?

Sundance leaned his back on the wall and hastily ejected the spent magazine from the FN. He slipped in a fresh clip, then glanced into the ministry.

Company was coming.

Four of the soldiers had reached the trees bordering the road, the road winding to the right of the gate, and they were advancing toward the iron gate, going from tree to tree, using the trunks for cover.

Nice move.

Sundance carefully sighted on the foremost soldier, and when the trooper tried to race from one tree to the next, exposing himself for the space of eight feet, Sundance sent a slug into his brain.

The Russian catapulted to the turf between the trees.

The other three halted, all hidden from view.

Sundance hoped his ploy was working. The gunfire must be attracting every guard, every last trooper in the complex. Blade would have a free reign.

What was that?

Sundance twisted to the left, and there was another soldier on top of the wall, trying to fix a bead on him. So he dropped to his knees, and the shot went over his head, missing by mere inches. Sundance was more accurate. His return slug slammed into the soldier’s chest and flipped him from the wall, screaming all the way to the ground.

That was close!

Sundance stood and scanned the driveway.

A second trooper was darting from tree to tree.

Idiot!

Sundance aimed and patiently waited for a glimpse of the soldier’s head. His bullet tore into the trooper’s left cheek and blew out the rear of his cranium, splattering a nearby tree with crimson and fleshy gook.

Sooner or later, one of them would get the range!

Sooner or later.

Sundance inhaled deeply, steadying his nerves. Be vigilant, he told himself. Don’t slack off for an instant!

He stiffened as the growl of a motor arose from within the complex.

What were they up to now? Bringing up a tank? He scanned the length of road to the right.

It wasn’t a tank.

But it was almost as bad.

A jeep containing three troopers and outfitted with a swivel-mounted 50-caliber machine gun was bearing down on the front gate, approaching at a fast clip, the driver weaving the jeep from one side of the road to another, evidently in an effort to present as difficult a target as possible.

The two soldiers sheltered behind the trees opened up with their AK-47’s.

Sundance was compelled to duck from sight. He realized what the pair of soldiers were attempting to do. They were keeping him pinned down until the jeep reached the gate. If the jeep could get close enough, there was no way his FN would stand up to the jeep’s machine gun.

This was becoming hairy.

Sundance dropped to the ground, onto his stomach, and rolled from cover, his automatic rifle trained on the trees.

The two troopers, concentrating their fire on the wall near the gate, were taken unawares.

Sundance squeezed the trigger, and the first trooper jerked backwards and collapsed. His second round tore through the throat of the other soldier, and the trooper clutched at his ruined neck and fell to his knees, gurgling, blood spurting between his fingers.

The jeep was 50 yards off and closing.

Sundance sighted between two of the iron bars, fixing on a point 30 yards away, a 15-foot tract between two trees.

The soldier manning the machine gun on the jeep cut loose, firing bursts between trees, the barrel of the machine gun elevated to achieve a greater range, but his first shots fell short.

A few rounds struck the edge of the wall, but the majority hit the road near the gate, smacking into the asphalt with a distinct thud-thud-thud.

Sundance waited.

The machine gunner did not spot the man lying prone at the base of the gate. He only knew a sniper was near the front gate, and he was aiming his rounds accordingly, at about waist to chest level, focusing on the edge of the stone wall near the gate. At 40 yards his hursts consistently struck the wall, sending broken bits of stone flying.

Sundance waited.

The jeep roared to within 30 yards of the gate.

Sundance squeezed the trigger and kept it squeezed.

The driver was the initial casualty. A string of ragged dots blossomed on his forehead, and he slumped over the steering wheel. The soldier sitting next to the driver lunged for the wheel, but his head snapped back as he was raked with slugs and flung against the seat. The jeep began slewing across the road, and the machine gunner gripped the machine gun for support as the jeep tilted, then upended, rolling for 20 yards before grinding to a stop in the center of the road. The machine gunner was killed on the first roll, the top of his cranium smashing into the asphalt and splitting like a pulpy rotten tomato.

Sundance rolled to the right, seeking cover behind the wall again. He stood and checked the magazine in the FN. One round left. He tossed it aside and reached for another clip in his pocket.

There were none!

Sundance frowned. That was all he’d brought along. The rest were in the SEAL. Fat good they did him there! But he still had the Grizzlies. He dropped the FN and began unbuttoning his shirt. On the fourth button he paused, gazing at one of the dead gate guards nearby.

The AK-47’s!

Sundance darted to the trooper and retrieved the AK-47. The magazine was almost full. He’d never fired one before, but they—

There was a scratching noise above him.

Directly above.

Sundance dived onto his stomach and rolled, and there was a Russian trooper perched on the wall above where he’d been standing.

The soldier blasted four rounds into the ground near the Warrior’s head, his AK-47 held extended over the barbed wire.

Sundance returned the fire, lying on his back, the stock of the AK-47 cradled in his right elbow.

A pattern of slugs stitched the soldier on the wall from his crotch to his sternum. He shrieked as he was hurled backwards and disappeared over the rim.

Sundance heard the trooper’s body strike the earth on the other side of the wall. He rose and leaned against the stone wall again.

That had been close! Too close!

A resonant voice started shouting orders inside the complex. There was a subdued commotion.

Sundance peered through the gate bars.

The Russians were preparing for an all-out offensive. Dozens of soldiers were crawling across the yard fronting the barracks, and dozens more were following the road, using the trees for protection.

Sundance glanced at the woods beyond the field. The Russians had probably held back at first, unsure of how many attackers were at the gate, saving their main force. By now, they’d learned there was only one man, and they were going to throw everything they had at the iron gate in a concerted effort to end the fray. And Sundance knew he couldn’t hold them all off. Not all of them. His best bet was to retreat, to draw them into the woods, buying Blade even more time. If Blade was still alive. A cautious peek verified the Soviets were slowly advancing toward him.

What was that noise?

Sundance cocked his head to the left, listening. It was a strident siren, and he suddenly realized the siren had been blaring for quite a while. In the stress and strain of the combat, he’s scarcely noticed.

Several soldiers had reached the demolished jeep.

Sundance took off, angling away from the front gate, heading for the woods. He’d gone only six steps when a startling insight streaked through his mind: if the Soviets were closing in from all directions, from the barracks to the left and the road to the right, then they must also have troopers closing in on top of the walls!

They did.

Sundance whirled, the movement saving his life as an AK-47 chattered and sent heavy slugs into the ground near his feet.

The walls were swarming with soldiers!

Sundance raced to the wall as a veritable explosion of gunfire sprayed the earth around him. He placed his back against the wall and looked up.

There was a slight lip, or edge, rimming the top of the wall. Attached to metal posts imbedded in the outer edge of the upper surface were coiled strands of barbed wire. In order for the soldiers on the wall to see him, they would need to lean forward over the top strand of barbed wire, exposing themselves to him in the process. If he stayed close to the stone wall, the soldiers up above wouldn’t be able to spy him, let alone shoot him. But if he strayed from the wall by so much as 12 inches, the troopers would have a clear line of fire. So he was somewhat safe it he stuck to the wall.

But what about the troops approaching from within the Ministry?

Sundance carefully moved to the end of the wall and looked around the corner.

The nearest soldiers were only 15 yards away.

Sundance sent a short burst in their direction, then fled along the base of the wall.

Someone on the wall was shouting to the soldiers in the complex in Russian.

Go! his mind thundered. Sundance ran for all he was worth. If he could get several hundred yards from the gate, and if the soldiers on the wall and those within the Ministry believed he was still in the vicinity of the gate, they might not notice when he dashed to the woods. On the other hand…

There was a lot of yelling on top of the wall.

Sundance imagined the Russians were trying to pinpoint his location.

Good. So far, he had them confused. Just a few more seconds was all he needed! His legs pumped rhythmically as he sprinted farther from the iron gate. He dodged the bodies of Bakunin and the two patrol guards and kept going.

An officer on the wall was barking commands.

Sundance exerted himself to the maximum. He discarded the AK-47.

Speed was essential, and the AK-47 was too cumbersome and weighty a burden. His arms and legs flying, he covered 40 yards from the front gate, then 60, then 80. He glanced over his right shoulder just as a soldier appeared, and this trooper was followed by several more, coming from within the Ministry.

The Russians had unlocked the gate and opened it!

Sundance immediately swerved to the right, cutting across the field toward the trees, knowing his only hope was in reaching cover before the troopers downed him. He zigzagged, expecting to hear the Ak-47’s commence firing any second.

They did.

Sundance was turning to the left, running as crooked a path as possible, when the soldiers on the wall and at the gate were alerted to his maneuver by the shout of a watchful private exiting the complex. Fifteen yards separated Sundance from the woods when the soldiers began firing.

Slugs smacked into the grass at his feet. He jagged to the right, followed by a hail of lead. Something stung his left calf and clipped his right shoulder. He focused his total concentration on reaching those trees.

Move! He mentally screamed. Move! Move! Move! Four steps to the left, then cut to the right! Five steps to the right, then angle to the left! Never stop! Don’t slow down!

He was ten yards from the trees!

A slug dug a furrow in his left side, creasing his ribs, and he nearly stumbled and fell, recovering as he was pitching forward. He made a beeline for the woods. Round after round thumped into the earth all about him.

Five yards!

Sundance took a giant step and executed a spectacular leap, vaulting headfirst into the underbrush and rolling. He came to a jarring stop when his right shoulder collided with a tree.

He’d made it!

But the Russians weren’t about to let him escape that easily. Dozens charged from the open gate, fanning out, converging on the trees.

Sundance sat up. His right shoulder was hurting terribly. Through an opening in the brush he saw the troopers approaching in a skirmish line.

And all he had were the Grizzlies! He inched around the tree and rose.

What should he do?

Sundance glanced both ways. If he went to the right, back to the jeep, he risked the Russians finding the vehicle and him. Blade would be deprived of the sole means of transportation. But if he went to the left, toward the road leading to the front gate, he’d draw the troopers off, lead them away from the jeep. And eliminate his only hope of escaping.

There was never any doubt.

Sundance moved to the left, reaching under his shirt and drawing the Grizzlies. He silently skirted trees and dry brush, putting more distance between the field and himself.

Some of the troopers reached the woods. Their boots created a pop-crackle-snap cacophony as they clumped through the underbrush.

Stealth was forgotten in their eagerness and haste to find their foe. They knew their superior numbers would ultimately flush out their prey.

And so did their quarry. Sundance prudently avoided a dead, brittle limb lying on the dank ground. He caught glimpses of the soldiers now and then. None of them knew he was there.

Yet.

Sundance wondered how far it was to the road. A boulder reared out of the brush, blocking his path. He walked to the left, around the boulder, speculating on his course of action once he reached the road. Preoccupied, he missed hearing the trooper until they nearly bumped into one another as they came around the seven-foot-high boulder at the same moment.

The soldier’s mouth dropped, and he frantically leveled his AK-47.

Sundance shot the soldier in the forehead with his left Grizzly.

The trooper’s face snapped back as the rear of his head erupted over the nearby vegetation. He tottered and sprawled to the turf.

And all hell broke loose.

Suddenly, soldiers were everywhere, barreling toward the sound of the shot, yelling and shouting, closing in.

Sundance darted in the direction of the road. He could see uniforms here and there, all bearing down on his position.

He was surrounded!

A tall trooper appeared from behind a tree directly ahead.

Sundance fired, his right Grizzly booming, and the trooper was propelled into the tree. He twisted to the left, crashing through a dense thicket, the limbs and thorns tearing at his clothing and skin, and then he was in a small clearing and there were three soldiers coming at him from different directions. He spun to the right and sent a slug into the mouth of the first, beginning his next turn even as he squeezed the trigger, unable to ascertain the effectiveness of the shot, and he plugged the second Russian in the chest and ducked and twirled, and the third trooper was mere yards away and squeezing the trigger on an AK-47. Sundance threw himself to the right, firing as he dove, his shot searing an agonizing path through the third trooper’s abdomen. And then Sundance was up and across the clearing and into the trees on the other side.

The forest was alive with bellowed orders and cries.

Sundance heard an AK-47 blaze away to his rear, and his left leg took a hit in the fleshy area of his thigh. His leg nearly buckled, and he staggered and went on, dodging behind a tree and hastening over a low rise.

Another AK-47, somewhere to his right, began shooting.

Sundance swerved to the left, then the right, always heading in the direction of the road. He lost all sense of distance. The road was up ahead, but he had no idea how far it might be, the yardage he’d covered, and he was genuinely surprised when he abruptly plunged from the underbrush and there was the road to the gate, not six feet away.

And soldiers.

Seemingly materializing out of thin air.

Sundance reached the road and bore to the left, going away from the Ministry, hoping his efforts weren’t in vain, hoping Blade was accomplishing their mission.

“Freeze!” shouted a stern voice to his right.

Sundance twisted and fired, and a thin trooper doubled over and toppled to the ground. And there was another one, charging from the left, and Sundance pivoted and shot the bastard in the right eye. A pair of soldiers came at him from the rear, firing their AK-47’s. Sundance felt a searing spasm lance his right side, but he refused to drop, to submit without expending his last ounce of strength. His body was a blur as he whirled, both Grizzlies thundering, and the two soldiers were slammed to the earth, but another one appeared to take their place, and Sundance shot him in the chest, continuing to rotate, moving, always moving, squeezing both triggers as three soldiers stormed from cover, and two of the Russians twitched and fell but the third wouldn’t stop for anything, and Sundance fired as the trooper fired, and fired again as the trooper dropped to his knees, then pitched to the asphalt. Momentarily, Sundance was alone, and he stumbled as dizziness engulfed him. He righted himself with a tremendous effort. How many times had he been hit? He’d lost count. And he’d lost a lot of something else too— blood. His uniform felt clammy and moist, especially the shirt. He lurched a few steps and stopped, reeling. If the Russians found him now, he was a goner.

They found him.

A lone trooper crashed from the underbrush on the left side of the road, swiveling an AK-47 at the crimson-soaked figure in the middle of the asphalt.

And a jeep roared up from out of nowhere, a machine gun blasting, its tires squealing as it barked.

Sundance tried to raise the Grizzlies, but his arms were enveloped by an overwhelming lethargy. His wounds took belated affect, and with a sigh he sank to the road.