“Stay focused, lad,” Wallis said calmly. “Have you still got the Gunny and the lass pinned down?”
“Negative,” Gavin said. “One of them started popping off rounds in my direction while the other one took off toward Cave-One again. The computer took a spill and won’t come back on, so I had to switch the one-oh-seven over to manual.”
“Probably the lass on the M14,” Wallis replied after a moment. “Don’t spend much time worrying about her; she’s too far out for anything but a lucky shot. Try to get the Gunny pinned down again. I need more time; up to my arse in this bloody snow. Gecko-One, out.”
Muttering to himself, Gavin unscrewed the cables from the M107’s digital night scope, unclamped and removed the rifle from the platform mount, settled it into one of the sandbags, brought the eyepiece of the scope up to his eye again, and began sweeping the area where he’d last seen the scrambling figure; trying to find open patches in the huge expanse of falling snow where he could actually see a rock or tree.
For three minutes… four… then five, Gavin continued to scan his target area with the patience of a man who had done this sort of thing many times before, and knew he had every advantage. It was only a matter of time.
A pale-green-tunic-covered figure suddenly flicked into view for a brief moment. Gavin fired instinctively; saw the impact point against a rock at the upper left portion of the scope’s field; realized he’d led his target a little too much; shifted his aim; started to squeeze on the trigger again; and then lunged backwards as a third barrage of bullets began hitting all around the sniper post.
Stunned by the suddenly-increased accuracy of the incoming bullets, Gavin shoved the heavy M107 rifle aside, grabbed the nearby M4 carbine, thumbed the selector switch to full auto, held it up over the sandbag barrier, and sent a stream of 5.56mm bullets flying out into the darkness.
CHAPTER 42
Near the Sniper Post, Base Camp
It had been Achara’s intention to move in closer to the sniper post after each covering volley of shots — the rifle in one hand, the bow and quiver in the other, and the heavy vest dragging on her shoulders; taking advantage of the terrain and the falling snow to gain ten or fifteen yards and a new protective boulder with every advance.
It was a well-intended goal, but the process would have taken her a good half-hour before she got within effective range of the sniper post; the effort almost certainly exhausting her remaining strength long before she reached that point.
But she’d slipped on a rock after her second burst of shots, tumbling down a snow bank; and suddenly found herself sliding helplessly downhill — feet first and on her back — so fast that it was all she could do to keep the rifle, bow and quiver clutched to her chest as she dug her boot heels and shoulders back and forth into the snow, trying as best she could to steer herself away from the rapidly-appearing boulders and trees.
Thirty seconds later — although it seemed to her much longer than that — Achara found herself buried up to her chest in a deep snowdrift, and next to a large boulder; seemingly anchored in place by a mass of compressed ice and snow that had been forced in and under the vest by the long slide.
Pausing only a moment to catch her breath, she set the rifle, bow and quiver of arrows aside; unzipped the assault vest; worked herself first out of the vest and then the snow drift; got to her feet; peeked carefully around the boulder; and discovered, to her amazement, that she had slid to a spot less than a hundred yards away from — and to the left of — the sniper post.
Still breathing hard, but smiling to herself now, she carefully removed the partially-emptied magazine from the M14; fumbled for a fully-loaded one from the vest; discovered that all but two of her remaining magazines had been lost during her long slide; pulled both of them out of the still-secured pouches; discovered that one was jammed with snow and ice; and then shoved the one functional 20-round magazine into the weapon with what sounded to her like a terribly loud click.
She started forward again, and then hesitated, Setting the rifle aside, she reached for the bow; strung it; slid the bow and quiver over her shoulder; and then started to crawl on her left hand and knees toward the now- clearly-visible sniper post, with the heavy rifle clutched and dragging along in her right hand.
She had gone a good twenty yards, intent on flanking the sniper post from the left, when a ball of flame — immediately followed by a concussive explosion — erupted from the muzzle of the M107 rifle in Jack Gavin’s hands.
Realizing that he was almost certainly shooting at Bulatt, Achara scrambled to a nearby boulder, rose up one knee, brought the M14 up to her shoulder, and began firing at the distant sandbag-protected figure; the recoil from each shot slamming the rifle butt painfully into her already-bruised shoulder. As soon as the dark-green figure disappeared behind the sandbags, she rose to her feet and lunged though the almost-knee-deep snow; wincing, but not stopping, as Gavin sent a volley of 5.56mm bullets streaking up and out into the snow-filled sky.
Much closer now — perhaps fifty yards away — she saw Gavin come back up with the M4 carbine. But he was looking away from her, up the hill, in the direction where she’d begun her slide, so she continued to run… forty yards away now… thirty… her lungs starting to burn… twenty…
And then, when he must have seen something out of the corner of his eye and started to turn in her direction, she brought the rifle up to her shoulder and began firing as she continued to run forward; seeing the sandbags exploding around Gavin; seeing him spin away, disappearing again behind the barricade as the carbine flew out of his hand; and then seeing him come back up a second later with a pistol gripped in both hands.
They both fired at almost the same instant, the 7.62mm rifle bullet catching Gavin square in the center of his armored vest and flinging him backwards again at the moment he pulled the trigger of the pistol; causing the 9mm hollow-point bullet to rip a gouge across Achara’s cheek — instead of catching her center-of-face, where he’d aimed — and twisting her sideways as the M14’s bolt locked open on the now-empty magazine.
Catching her balance, and ignoring the wound, Achara threw the empty rifle aside; yanked the bow off her shoulder; grabbed an arrow out of the quiver and notched it as she charged forward with mindless fury; leapt up on top of the sandbag wall; and sent the obsidian-tipped arrow tearing into the side of Gavin’s vest as the severely- injured ex-SASR commando desperately fumbled for his dropped pistol.
He was still grasping for the pistol — and almost had it — when the second arrow slammed into his neck, severing his spinal cord and pinning him to the sandbagged floor.
Scrambling down to the floor of the sniper post, Achara quickly knelt beside Gavin and felt for a pulse, making sure there was none. Then she took the compass out of her tunic pocket, twisted top and bottom in opposite directions, and set the now-transmitting emergency beacon on one of the still-intact sandbags.
Having done that, she picked up Gavin’s M4 carbine, pulled the partially-empty magazine out of the familiar weapon, and loaded it with a full magazine from the nearby assault vest.
Then, after going through the same re-loading steps with Gavin’s pistol, she set both weapons on the floor beside her, leaned back against the sandbag wall and stared out at the distant hillside as she tried to catch her breath; wondering, as she did so, if the man she had come to treasure was still alive.
On the Road leading to the Maze
Half-way up the barely-visible road leading up the southwest entrance to the Maze, Sergei Draganov was alternately driving the rumbling Snow-Cat™ and explaining to Special Agents Henry Lightstone, Larry Paxton, Dwight Stoner and Mike Takahara how he and his brother had never intended to let things get out of control the way they had — and how it had never occurred to anyone that Borya would actually release the ‘mistakes’ from MAX — when the receiver in Takahara’s hand began beeping wildly.
“That’s the second beacon,” the tech agent said, looking up at his fellow agents. “Guess we’d better hurry up and get our butts up there. Ged might actually be serious about being rescued this time.”
Sniper Post, Base Camp
Exhausted and fearful of what might have happened to Bulatt, Achara Kulawnit was still staring up at the distant hillside when the all-too-familiar voice of Marcus Wallis crackled from the walkie-talkie lying on the floor next
