PRIMAL Unleashed (2) (41 page)

The Chechen fire support had resumed and rounds were hitting the building steadily. Shrapnel and ricochets bounced off the stone walls, forcing the team even lower to the ground. As Bishop worked frantically to change the belt on his machine gun, Pavel rolled out to fire another grenade, his body only exposed for a split second.

At three hundred metres it was an easy shot for Dostiger. The 7.62mm round had less than half a second of flight before impact.

“ARRRGH! I’m hit!” Pavel screamed, as he rolled back under cover, clutching at his bloodied thigh. He ripped open a pouch on his vest and pulled out a combat tourniquet.

Bishop worked the trigger of the Mk48, lashing the enemy position with a stream of red tracer. “You OK?”

Pavel snapped the tourniquet around the top of his leg and worked the handle, cutting off the blood supply to the wound. “It’s clean. I’m OK, I’m OK. We’ve got a fucking sniper out there.”

Bishop didn’t have time to dwell on the wounded grenadier as he ripped through another two hundred rounds in short bursts. The exchange of fire was unrelenting and their assailants continued to fire at a steady rate while the PRIMAL team’s ammunition supplies dwindled.

On Kurtz’s side the Chechens had advanced closer, throwing another smokescreen and increasing their rate of fire. The German’s voice cut over the airways. “Boss, we’re getting worked over pretty hard here and we’re almost out of ammunition.” He and Aleks had been reduced to firing their weapons blindly though the window. Miklos was there with them, stubbornly firing his submachine gun, despite his shoulder.

“Hang in there, lads!” Bishop said between bursts, wracking his brain for a way out. They were pinned by the heavy gunfire striking the building from two sides, forcing them behind cover where they couldn’t fight back.

“INCOMING!” yelled Pavel as an RPG screamed in through the open front of the barn and slammed into the rear wall. It detonated, peppering the men’s armor with shrapnel and sending a shock wave through the building. The roof groaned as the explosion lifted it a few inches and then dropped it. The entire room filled with a haze of dust and smoke.

“This dump’s not going to take much more before it fucking collapses,” said Pavel.

He’s right, thought Bishop. Couple of grenades are going to bring this old place down on us. They needed to break out. The team was wounded, almost out of ammo and isolated. Things had never looked worse.

“Let them get closer, lads. Save your ammo,” he ordered. “Once they get in real close, the fire support will have to stop or they’re going to chop up their own men.”

“Hey, boss.” Aleks’ voice came over the radio.

“Yeah, mate.”

“If we don’t get out of this one, I want you to know it’s been fun.”

“Fun? Fun? You’re a goddamn psychopath, Aleks! What about you, Kurtz, you think it’s been fun?”

The German laughed manically. “Ja. Prefer to go out in a blast fucking over some arms dealer than die in hospital shitting in a bag.”

Bishop smiled grimly. Despite the situation he felt calm. If this is it, at least I’m going out with a good bunch of lads, he thought.

“Pavel, you still with us?” Bishop asked.

“Still here, boss.” The Russian was ready to fight, despite his injured leg.

“What about you, Miklos?”

“I’m here too, boss,” he responded.

"Alright then. Job's on, let's roll," Bishop said with a determined grin.

Despite the rounds lashing the building, all five men were calm and waiting patiently for the final assault. Each of them checked their pistols and grenades, fully aware that the final battle was going to be brutal, face-to-face combat.

Chapter 68

The Crash Site

“We have them pinned, sir,” the Chechen commander reported. “The men are no longer receiving return fire from the building.”

“Excellent.” Dostiger nodded approvingly. “I hit at least one of the bastards. Have Alpha and Charlie assault,” he ordered. “This time we’ll wipe the Mossad dogs from the face of the earth.”

Alpha and Charlie squad were ready, despite having taken a number of casualties. The squads had pulled back into the cover of the fuel dump and equipment sheds, recovered their wounded. It would be a simple matter to dash forward and finish the job.

On the other side, Bravo team was still positioned along the low wall, taking turns at peppering the building with gunfire.

The man on the far left of the support team lifted his head and listened. Over the intense noise of the gunfight he could hear a vehicle. He turned his attention from the target building to the small copse of trees at the end of the wall wondering if Dostiger had called for more reinforcements.

With a roar, a giant metal beast exploded through the trees and ploughed into the Chechen, pulverizing his body beneath its wheels. The juggernaught continued its assault, smashing into the line of mercenaries, crushing them against the thick stone wall. A number of them scrambled to their feet, only to be struck down by the carrier’s steel hull, it’s eight wheels churning their bodies into a muddy pulp.

Two of the men managed to turn their weapons on the roaring beast and one of them fired an RPG at it from point blank. The range was too close and the warhead failed to arm, the rocket bounced off and the two men died with their comrades, pulverized by the armored vehicle.

“
NNNYET!
” Dostiger screamed as the armored personnel carrier decimated his entire fire support team. He brought his weapon to his shoulder and fired rapidly through the trees into the vehicle. The rounds bounced harmlessly of the thick armor.

The BTR ground to a halt as it’s wheels started losing traction in the mud and it slid sideways into a ditch. It roared like a wounded animal, digging further into the soggy ground, belching a cloud of diesel fumes into the air. One of the few surviving Chechens sprinted towards the vehicle, a grenade ready in his gloved hand. He climbed up onto the top of the BTR and grasped the handle of one of its access hatches.

That’s as far as he got. His body exploded as a high velocity grenade struck him in the side and detonated, blowing him apart. His legs and hips remained upright before toppling off the side of the BTR. The grenade dropped onto the roof of the vehicle and exploded in a shower of white-hot phosphorus. Within seconds the burning chemical had set the weapons turret and radiators ablaze.

Dostiger and the Chechen commander stared in complete disbelief at what was left of the fire team. The path of the heavy vehicle was a trail of gore, severed limbs, crushed bodies and broken weapons ground into the mud.

***

“Nice shot, Pav,” said Bishop as the grenade blew the Chechen commander off the top of the BTR. “I reckon Ivan might have saved our bacon.” With the enemy’s fire support team wiped out, the gunfire hitting the barn had dropped off.

“We’re not out of the fire yet!” Kurtz’s voice came over the radio. “There’s more of them massing on our flank. We need back up now!”

“On my way,” Bishop said. He leapt to his feet, the machine gun in the crook of his arm. “Pavel, chuck me the launcher.”

“Only two rounds left, boss,” said the injured Russian, throwing the grenade launcher to him.

He caught it with his free hand and sprinted out of the building, down to the wall at the eastern corner. Taking up position beside a pile of firewood, he lay down behind his machine gun, covering the open ground between the barn and the sheds.

***

Dostiger and the Chechen commander had left their position at the rear and moved down the treeline towards their forward line of troops.

“This is far enough,” the Chechen commander said as he reached out and grasped his boss’s shoulder. If they moved any closer, they would be putting themselves in the line of fire.

Dostiger turned on him, viciously slapping the hand away. “I want them dead. Do you understand me? Fucking dead!”

“I understand, sir, but if you get any closer, your weapon won’t be as effective.” The Chechen attempted to placate Dostiger’s fury.

The Ukrainian looked down at his Dragunov before returning his gaze to the Chechen. “Order them to attack. I want this finished here and now. I want those canisters and I want that devil Fischer’s head.”

The mercenary nodded, removing the radio from his harness.

***

Bishop tucked his machine gun into his shoulder. A pair of smoke grenades bounced into the clearing in front of him. They hissed and spluttered, filling the space with a billowing cloud of thick grey smoke.

“Here they come, lads.” Bishop activated the thermal imager built into his helmet. The Chechens glowed red through the smoke, their presence betrayed in the cool morning air by the heat of their bodies and weapons.

Bishop took aim and fired a long burst, sending tracer rounds lancing into the advancing Chechens. Their assault rifles barked in response and rounds thudded into the building. From the window Kurtz opened up with his machine gun and the rate of fire hitting the building faltered as Bishop and Kurtz shot up the advancing forces, hitting them from two sides.

“Run,
schweinnhunde
!” screamed Kurtz as the Chechen line faltered and drew back.

“Ammo check,” Bishop transmitted.

“Fifty rounds,” reported Kurtz.

“Two mags,” said Aleks.

“Mag and a half,” cut in Miklos.

Pavel reported last. “Two mags.”

Jesus
,
thought Bishop, we’re not going to survive another attack.

The fresh morning breeze swept the smoke from between the buildings, revealing the bodies of three more dead mercenaries. The farm was bathed in sunlight as the sun crested the horizon. Bishop’s goggles adjusted to the sun’s rays reflecting off the 5000 liter steel fuel tank raised high off the ground on four legs. He smiled grimly.

As the Chechens regrouped for another assault, Bishop lined the grenade launcher up on the fuel point. He pulled the trigger and a grenade slammed into one of tank’s four legs. The tank groaned as the thick steel leg buckled, but it failed to collapse.

One round left,
he thought. This better bloody work.

He fired the final grenade. It detonated on the buckled leg and collapsed the tank, releasing thousands of liters of diesel. Like a mini-tsunami, the fuel wave washed through the Chechen position.

Bishop pulled a thermite grenade from his vest and flung it into the fuel. The diesel burst into flame, trapping the attacking mercenaries in a blazing inferno. As the burning men fled the fire, he machine-gunned them down in an act of mercy.

Kurtz followed suit, firing at the men as they screamed in agony.

The remaining handful of Chechens, most already wounded from the gunfight, beat a hasty retreat as the flames spread, consuming one of the sheds.

***

“Where are they going?” yelled Dostiger. He watched the last of his men retreat away from the inferno that was consuming the farm.

“I can’t raise anyone on the radio,” the Chechen commander replied calmly.

“WHERE ARE THEY GOING!” screamed Dostiger.

The Chechen turned to Dostiger. “Our men are dead. We need to leave.”

“NO! NO!” Dostiger shook his head in disbelief. “Turn them around. Make them fight. I must have the canisters!” He limped down the treeline towards the fire and smoke that marked the demise of Alpha and Charlie squads.

The Chechen commander followed, trying to talk sense into the manic arms dealer. “Sir, we need to go. Reinforcements will be here soon and we can attack then.”

“No! I will finish this myself. I WILL KILL THEM!” He stopped at the crumpled body of one of the Chechens, slung his Dragunov across his back and picked up the dead man’s assault rifle. His knuckles were white and his face twisted as he raged, “No one comes to my country and fucks with me. NOBODY!”

The Chechen commander reached forward and tore the weapon from Dostiger’s grip. “The attack’s failed! We must—“

Dostiger lashed out at him, striking the younger man’s face with his fist. The mercenary blocked the second punch and caught his boss in an arm lock, dragging him away. “Sir, we must go. We can return with more men.”

Dostiger’s face was livid as they retreated back into the trees, putting distance between them and the burning sheds. Shooting pain in his leg added fuel to his fury. “This isn’t the end, Fischer. I will make you pay if I have to kill a thousand Jews to do it. I will.”

***

Bishop breathed a deep sigh of relief as the last of their assailants withdrew into the treeline, leaving the bodies of their comrades to burn. A beeping noise in his helmet drew his attention from the blaze. He checked his phone. It was a message from the bunker.

Ukrainian military communications traffic off the charts. Response forces have been activated. Expect first military units in your area within thirty minutes.

“OK, team, we’ve got to hustle,” Bishop transmitted. “We may have fought off Dostiger’s mercs but Ukrainian military’s inbound. Aleks, get that truck started, otherwise we’re walking.” The vehicle hadn’t yet caught fire and he hoped it wasn’t too badly shot up.

“OK, boss.”

“Miklos, see what you can do for Pavel’s leg. Kurtz, you’re with me. We’re going to find Ivan.”

Bishop and the tall German stalked cautiously down the treeline towards the remains of Jumper and the wrecked BTR.

“Keep your eyes peeled,” Bishop said as he scanned the forest, machine gun at his shoulder. “There could be more of those balaclava-wearing bastards around.”

The BTR was burning fiercely, the engine compartment and tires fuelling the fire. Through the smoke billowing from its hatches, a lone figure could be seen sprawled in the mud, mere meters from the vehicle. As Bishop got closer. he identified the body.

“It’s Saneh!” He bolted forward, ignoring the heat, and grabbed the Iranian agent under her arms, dragging her clear. He felt for a pulse. It was strong. He ripped off his helmet and lowered his ear to her mouth. She wasn’t breathing.
Her lungs were full of smoke
.
He cupped her jaw in his hand and breathed two deep breaths of fresh air into her lungs. “Come on, Saneh!” He filled her lungs again.