John heard a high-pitched cry of Allahu Akbar, and another weapon opened up to his left. He glanced across to see Karam standing in the ditch, his AK held in front of him, firing wildly at Abu Mujahid’s men. The sight spurred John into action, and he pushed himself to his feet, moved to his right, and aimed around the fender of the pickup. The men on the pickup were now directing all their fire in Karam’s direction. John raised the barrel toward the cab and pulled the trigger. He knew what to expect now and was able to control the movement of the barrel. Two bullets hit the fighter on the right in the chest, the third going wide. John stood straighter, more confident now, and aimed at the remaining two. He fired twice more, both rounds going through the windshield. He raised the barrel slightly and fired again, this time finding his target, the top of a fighter’s head exploding in a shower of crimson fragments. The remaining fighter ducked down, and John began to move forward when he heard a bang and then the ping of a bullet embedding itself in the vehicle wing in front of him. Instinctively, he threw himself flat, and wriggled backward in the dirt. He had forgotten about Abu Mujahid. Where the fuck was Steve?
Another couple of bullets whacked into the engine block of the Mitsubishi, and John scrambled backward, then rolled across to the far side of the vehicle, putting as much of the vehicle between him and Abu Mujahid as possible.
More fire came from the pickup, but it wasn’t aimed at him. John turned his head to look for Karam. He was flat in the ditch again. John slid over and peered around the side of the pickup. The remaining fighter wasn’t even bothering to aim, staying hidden and holding his AK at arm’s length above the cab, firing wildly in John’s general direction.
There was a shout from John’s right, followed by an answer from the pickup. John looked out again, and a hail of bullets rained into the dirt to his left. He rolled back in front of the vehicle as another round of fire hit the dirt to his right. Shit. He pulled his legs into his chest, pressing himself up against the front bumper. He was hyperventilating, fighting to gain control of his breathing as his hands and legs trembled with adrenaline. He was pinned down and couldn’t go left or right.
Then he noticed the engine noise and looked up to see the Hyundai mini-truck speeding toward him. The windshield starred as it drew fire from the H.T.S. pickup, but it kept on coming. John stared in horror, the truck showing no signs of stopping. The driver’s door opened, and John saw a figure leap out. The sight spurred John into action, and he leaped to the side, rolling off the road into the field as the truck plowed into the Mitsubishi, forcing it backward toward the pickup. John rolled over twice, wincing as stones dug into his sides. He oriented himself, raised the AK, held his breath, and squeezed off a burst of three shots. He missed, but the fighter ducked down behind the cab of the pickup as the truck and Mitsubishi came to a stop. John cursed and crawled forward to where he had last seen Karam.
“Karam,” he hissed, but the boy didn’t move. John crawled closer and saw a sticky crimson patch staining the back of the boy’s jacket. John was overcome with rage, adrenaline coursing through his body, and he roared. Pushing himself to his feet, he sprinted toward the pickup, his vision narrowed to a single point as he fired round after round at the cab. Dirt fountained up around his feet, but he didn’t see or hear anything, just a pounding in his head. He fired continuously into the cab until he heard a click. He pulled the trigger again, but the magazine was empty. Rounding the cab, he flung the empty AK47 at the fighter as he picked himself up off the bottom of the tray where he had been sheltering. John’s AK bounced off him and landed in the dirt, and the fighter grinned and raised his weapon, pointing the barrel at John’s head. John heard a bang and flinched but saw a look of surprise on the fighter’s head as a hole appeared in his forehead and the back of his head exploded behind him. John spun around to see Mansur kneeling beside Karam, the Glock held in a two-handed grip pointed in his direction. John breathed out, realized his legs were shaking, and collapsed against the side of the pickup. Shit. There was a constant ringing in his ears, and his heart was pounding away. He took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves, but they couldn’t relax yet, there was still Abu Mujahid.
“Mansur,” John called out. Mansur looked up and John held up one finger and pointed toward the place where John had last seen the H.T.S. commander. “There’s one more.”
Mansur nodded and ran at a crouch to the side of the mangled remains of the Mitsubishi.
John ducked down and moved around the back of the fighter’s pickup. He picked up the AK, then remembered it was empty. “Shit,” he cursed and dropped it on the ground. He needed another weapon. He was about to reach into the pickup tray when he heard a shot and a man crying out in pain. John peered around the side, then heard a familiar voice.
“I’ve got him.”
83
John straightened up and looked out from behind the pickup to see Steve standing in the field, pointing the Glock at a figure lying on the ground.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, mate. He won’t be going anywhere quickly.”
John walked around the pickup. A movement inside the cab caught his eye, and
