He continued, “I will go first. If I fall, you do not stop. And if we don’t see anyone, we keep going until we reach the far perimeter fence, then move left, to the east. That puts more distance between us and the sniper tower,and also puts us closer to the end of the field that is nearest the suspected target in Neukölln.”
Taylor nodded, then took his hand and squeezed it.
Brodie looked in her eyes. “See you on the other side.” He got to his feet and took off across the snowfield.
CHAPTER 52
Brodie sprinted across the white expanse with his rifle across his chest. Within two seconds he heard a gunshot. And then another. He slowed down, then cut left and sped up, trying to avoid a straight line or a constant speed, to make the sniper work for his kill.
In the snowy haze ahead of him he thought he saw a vehicle. Two more shots rang out from the distant air traffic control tower as he ran toward the vehicle, which Brodie realized was speeding toward him. The vehicle flicked on its headlights, momentarily blinding him.
He kept running as he fired his rifle above the headlights, at the windshield, sending tracer rounds streaking toward the approaching vehicle. It kept coming.
He pivoted to his left as another sniper shot rang out from the control tower. He looked over his shoulder and saw Taylor behind him, still running and peeling off to the right.
The vehicle swung toward Brodie, gunned the engine, and sped straight at him. Brodie fired another burst at the oncoming vehicle, which he could now see was a four-wheeled military personnel carrier, which would be armored, and the windshield and tires would be bullet-resistant, and nothing he was carrying was going to put a dent in that thing.
The personnel carrier was getting closer, and Brodie pivoted right again to force the vehicle into another sharp turn to stay on him.
Taylor was ahead of him now, and beyond her Brodie could see men running. Someone barked orders in German. A piece of equipment was being pushed across the snow.
The armored vehicle swung around again and was bearing down onBrodie, and the headlights illuminated what he and Taylor were charging toward.
Brodie had only seconds to take in what he was seeing—two men in camo were setting up a large mortar tube on a wheeled base and bipod, and another two held a long, finned mortar round. Three men with assault rifles were standing in front of a military utility truck with their rifles trained on the approaching silhouettes.
The headlights of the armored truck momentarily blinded the armed men, and they fired wide, just missing Brodie and Taylor and pinging off the front of the truck. Brodie and Taylor returned fire, and one of the men fell. The mortar team dropped their equipment and scrambled for weapons as the armored vehicle screeched to a halt behind them and flicked off its headlights as two men jumped out.
Brodie slammed full-speed into a soldier holding a rifle and they fell back into the snow. Brodie got on top of the guy and pressed his rifle barrel across the man’s throat, choking him. The guy punched Brodie in the gut and rolled away, then stood and raised his rifle, but Brodie put two rounds in his chest before the man could fire. A second later, he heard Taylor cry out.
He turned toward where he’d heard the cry, but he could barely see anything now in the dark field amidst the swirling snow.
Someone fired in Brodie’s direction, and he saw a tracer round streak past his head. He dove for cover behind the utility truck. The rear of the truck was a large flatbed with metal sides and a canvas cover. The truck contained long metal ammunition cans that probably held additional mortar rounds. He got low as he heard two bullets impact off the side of the truck.
The shooting stopped for a moment, and then another shot rang out and hit the truck a few inches to Brodie’s right. The soldiers were limiting their fire, wary of hitting the mortars through the canvas flatbed cover and blowing them all to hell. That would actually be a pretty good outcome, all things considered, as they were in the middle of nowhere and the heavy snowfall would probably limit the bioagent’s spread. But when the best you can hope for is getting yourself blown up, you’re not having a good day.
Brodie stayed low near the rear of the truck’s flatbed with his rifle ina firing position, sweeping the area and trying to get a visual on anything around him. He quickly evaluated the situation. There were at least six or seven armed men still standing, Taylor was down, but hopefully not out.
I will see you in the field.
Colonel Granger and chief geneticist Dr. Hausner were planning to be here, to witness the launch of Titan Genetics’ latest product.
So, where were they? Maybe they’d decided it was too risky. Or maybe they’d departed after the first gunshots.
Brodie eyed the canisters of biologically weaponized mortar rounds. He’d momentarily interrupted the attack, but they would begin firing into Neukölln as soon as he was dead or captured. Meanwhile, where were the German police? Brodie had to buy time, and the way to do that was to stay alive long enough for the cavalry to arrive.
Brodie dashed around the passenger side of the truck with his rifle trained ahead of him. He heard someone shouting orders in German and more gunfire. Then someone off to his right started pumping rounds in his direction. They missed and hit the side of the utility truck, but didn’t detonate the mortar rounds. So maybe he’d have to do that.
Brodie returned fire until his mag was empty. He checked his pockets for another mag but realized he was out. He tossed the rifle and pulled his pistol as a soldier came running around the truck toward him.
Brodie squeezed off two rounds and dropped the guy, then pressed his back against the truck and swept his pistol across the snowy field. He was exposed at all angles, with almost no visibility and nothing but a sidearm with limited ammo. In fact, he was as good as dead as soon as more men came around the truck and got a visual on him, so maybe the time had come for him to empty his pistol into the boxes of mortar rounds…
Time seemed to slow down. Scott Brodie looked out at the expanse before him, but it wasn’t snow. It was sand, stretching to the horizon on both sides of the road, and filling the air from the powerful winds blowing across the hot desert wastes and blotting out the midday sun.
He smelled the acrid stench of burning fuel and rubber. And flesh. The Stryker at the head of their convoy had been disabled by a roadside bomb and was now a burning wreckage blocking the road. Another explosive device had taken out the vehicle directly behind theirs. They were on a highwaycutting across the desert west of Ramadi, which meant they were isolated, with no one around except the people trying to kill them.
Sergeant Brodie’s machine gunner had been killed, so he manned his Stryker vehicle’s mounted gun, pumping .50-caliber rounds into the sand dunes on both sides of the road where the enemy had taken positions for their ambush. Bullets pinged off the gun shield and both sides of the armored vehicle. His remaining men had left the Stryker to engage, and he heard a guy get hit. And then another. Someone yelled for the medic, but the medic did not respond.
As Brodie swiveled between both sides of the road unloading heavy rounds into the swirling sandstorm, he made his peace. He’d die here. He’d die young. Shit happens.
