side-hilling just below the crest of the ridge that circled the valley. It was tough going and both men were quickly winded. Dimitry heard another shot, but this time he could hear the muffled muzzle blast. The hollow sound that echoed back from the valley below told him that another of his men had fallen. Shit!
Dimitry knew the shooter was close so he bent downward as he ran, using his muzzle to motion for his comrade to do the same. They cleared a small rise and his eyes quickly found the new source of gunfire. The man was prone behind his rifle and focused on the valley below. Dimitry stepped behind one of the large pines that dotted the landscape and braced his wounded right arm against the bark to steady his aim. The sniper was only fifty yards away.
Dimitry was right eye dominant and struggled to find a good sight picture from his left shoulder. He’d closed his right eye, and the blurred figure filled the crude open steel sights of the AKM. He began to press the rifle’s heavy trigger when the last member of the team opened fire to his left, the sniper disappearing in a cloud of dust and debris.
CHAPTER 43
REECE SCANNED THE VALLEY but saw no sign of movement. He would skirt the ridgeline to his left until he had eyes on Raife and, assuming that he was ambulatory, would cover his movement out of the kill zone. His brain had made the conscious decision to rise but his body had yet to respond when the world around him exploded. A searing heat slashed across the back of his calf amid a deafening blast of sound. On instinct, he rolled away from the fire and found a slight depression that gave him momentary defilade. He spun to his right, searching for targets, and the image in his scope became a collage of greens and browns. Shit. His optic was still on full magnification. He fired three quick rounds before grasping the power ring and quickly dialing down to 1x to address the closer threat.
He was taking accurate fire from extremely close range, and his available cover could be measured in inches. If one of them had a frag to throw, it would be over in seconds. Reece’s world was all muzzle blast and dust, with rounds landing all around him. He fired ten rounds, trying to push his enemies behind cover. His eye caught movement as one of the shooters moved laterally to achieve a better angle, one that would put Reece directly in his line of fire. Reece moved the rifle to engage but, before his finger found the trigger, he watched the man’s head explode in a shower of bone and brain tissue. His body fell like a dropped sandbag as his brain discontinued its instructions to the muscles that held him upright. A rifle’s report, audibly louder than that of the AKMs, boomed twice more.
Jonathan Hastings was charging through the pines, firing his battered FAL from the hip like he had done during countless ops as a young man. Reece had never seen him look so alive.
Reece rose to his knees and watched as Zulu pounced on a downed man, the canine’s powerful jaws locking on his enemy’s throat. Jonathan kicked the man’s rifle clear and held the muzzle of his 7.62mm battle rifle to his chest. Reece safed his rifle and stood. As he did, he was reminded of the wound to his leg. It hurt, but he could run, and he sprinted forward to link up with the Selous Scout.
The attacker appeared to be gut shot and had also taken a hit to the upper leg. He held his bloody abdomen with his wounded hand as he fought with the other to break away from the hound’s death grip.
“Zulu, release!” Jonathan snapped. The dog complied instantly, barking in the wounded man’s face as he did so.
“Good boy, Zulu. Find Raife. Find Raife, Zulu.”
The dog considered the command for a moment before putting his nose to the ground and making ever-widening circles in search of a scent trail. Within a minute, he was thundering down the valley toward the spot where Raife had entered the creek. He barked at his pack and boots. Reece took a knee and searched for additional threats as he heard the downed man mutter in a language that he could not decipher.
“It’s Russian,” Jonathan said, without being asked. He jabbed the man in the chest with