Ice Station - Matthew Reilly [23]
That at least two French scientists – Champion and Rae – had gone along with the French commandos made Schofield even more angry. What could they have been promised that would make them party to the murder of innocent academics?
The answer, unfortunately, was simple.
They would be given the first opportunity to study the spacecraft when the French got their hands on it.
Frantic voices shouted over Schofield’s helmet intercom.
‘– return fire!’
‘– Clear!’
‘– Samurai is down! Fox is down!’
‘– can’t get a fucking shot –’
Schofield looked out from behind the doorway and saw Gant lying flat on her back on the catwalk halfway between the dining room and the main entrance passageway. She wasn’t moving.
His gaze shifted to Augustine Lau, lying sprawled out on the catwalk in the dining room doorway. Lau’s eyes were wide open, his face covered in blood, blood that had sprayed up from his own stomach as Latissier’s barrage of gunfire had assailed him from practically point blank range.
Not far from Schofield, in the tunnel leading to the main entrance to the station, Buck Riley leaned out and returned fire with his MP-5, drowning out the tinny rat-a-tat sound of the French-made FA-MAS with the deep, puncture-like firing sound of the German-made MP-5. Next to him, Hollywood did the same.
Schofield snapped around to look over at Montana, huddled in the entrance to the western tunnel. ‘Montana. You okay?’
When Latissier had opened fire a few moments earlier, Montana and Lau had been the closest men to him, standing in the doorway to the dining room. When Latissier’s gun came up firing, Montana had been quick enough to duck back behind the doorway. Lau hadn’t.
And while Lau had performed what infantry soldiers call ‘the danse macabre’ under the brutal weight of Latissier’s fire, Montana had scrambled back along the catwalk to the nearest point of safety, the west tunnel.
Schofield saw Montana speak into his helmet mike fifty feet away. His gravelly voice came over Schofield’s headset. ‘Check that, Scarecrow. I’m a little shook up, but I’m okay.’
‘Good.’
More bullets slammed into the ice above Schofield’s head. Schofield ducked back behind the doorway. Then, quickly, he peered out around the doorframe. But this time as he did so he heard a strange whistling sound.
With a sharp thwump, a four-inch-long arrow lodged into the ice barely two inches from Schofield’s right eye.
Schofield looked up and saw Petard in the dining room, with his crossbow raised. No sooner had Petard fired his crossbow than Luc Champion hurled a short-barrelled sub-machine gun over to him and Petard rejoined the battle with a sharp volley of gunfire.
Peering around the doorframe, Schofield looked quickly over at Gant again. She was still lying motion-less on the catwalk, halfway between the dining room and the main entrance tunnel.
And then suddenly her arm moved.
It must have been a reflex of some sort as she slowly regained consciousness.
Schofield saw it instantly and spoke into his helmet mike. ‘This is Scarecrow, this is Scarecrow. Fox is still alive. I repeat, Fox is still alive. But she’s out in the open. I need cover so I can go out there and get her. Confirm.’
Voices came in like a roll call. ‘Hollywood, check that!’
‘Rebound, check that!’
‘Montana, check that.’
‘Book, check that,’ Buck Riley said. ‘You’re all clear, Scarecrow. Go!’
‘All right, then, now!’ Schofield yelled as he broke cover and scampered out onto the catwalk.
All around him, in perfect unison, the Marines whipped out from their cover positions and returned fire at the dining room. The noise was deafening. The ice walls of the dining room exploded into a thousand pock marks. The combined strength of the assault forced Latissier and Petard to cease firing