Ice Station - Matthew Reilly [54]
The commando he had taken it from must have used all but the last of his arrows earlier. Now there were none left.
Schofield didn’t hesitate.
He took five quick steps forward and hurled himself at Latissier. He slammed into the Frenchman and the two soldiers went sprawling onto the catwalk behind the rung-ladder.
Gant was still lying face-down on the catwalk about five yards away when she saw Schofield tackle Latissier. She leapt to her feet and was about to go over and help Schofield when suddenly another French commando slid down the rung-ladder in front of her and, through a pair of black night-vision goggles, stared right into her eyes.
Rebound slowly made his way down the long, narrow tunnel.
There was a door at the very end of the tunnel. The door to the drilling room. It was ajar.
Rebound listened carefully as he approached the half-open door. He heard soft, shuffling sounds from inside the drilling room. Whoever had run past the storeroom earlier was now inside the drilling room, doing something.
He heard the man speak softly into a microphone of some sort. He said, ‘Le piège est tendu.’
Rebound froze.
It was one of the French commandos.
Rebound pressed himself flat against the wall next to the door and – still wearing his night-vision goggles – slowly peered around the doorframe.
It was like looking through a video camera. First, Rebound saw the doorframe, saw it slide out to the right of his green viewscreen. Then he saw the room open up beyond it.
And then he saw the man – also wearing night-vision goggles – standing right there in front of him, with a crossbow pointed directly at Rebound’s face.
Even though the French commando standing in front of her was wearing night-vision goggles, Gant could tell that it was the one named Cuvier.
Jean-Pierre Cuvier. The one who had shot her in the head with his crossbow right at the start of all this. Even now, she could see the tip of that same arrow sticking out from the front of her helmet. The bastard seemed to smile when he realised that he was facing off against the American woman he had shot earlier.
In a blur of green, he brought his crossbow up and fired.
Gant was about twenty feet away and she actually saw the arrow dip in the air as it covered the distance between them. She sidestepped quickly, her gun hand flailing behind her, and then suddenly – smack! – she felt that hand jolt sharply as the arrow thudded into her Maghook and sent it flying from her hand.
And then before she knew it, Cuvier was right in front of her with his Bowie knife drawn. He came in fast, his long-bladed hunting knife arcing down towards Gant’s throat –
There came a sudden metallic zing as Cuvier’s blade came to a jarring halt.
Gant had caught his blow with her own knife.
The two soldiers separated and began to circle each other warily. Cuvier held his knife underhanded. Gant held hers backhanded, SEAL-style. Both still wore their night-vision goggles.
Suddenly, Cuvier lunged and Gant swatted his blade away. But the Frenchman had a longer reach and as they separated again he swiped at Gant’s goggles and dislodged them from her head.
For a single terrifying moment, Gant saw nothing.
Just blackness.
Total blackness.
In this darkness, without her goggles she was blind.
Gant felt the catwalk beneath her vibrate. Cuvier was lunging at her again.
Still blind, she ducked instinctively, not knowing whether it was the right move or not.
It was the right move.
She heard the swish of Cuvier’s knife as it sliced through the darkness above her helmet.
Gant somersaulted in the darkness, across the catwalk, away from Cuvier. She quickly leapt to her feet and hit a button on the side of her helmet and, immediately, her helmet’s infrared visor snapped down into place in front of her eyes.
It wasn’t night vision but it was almost as good.
Now Gant saw the catwalk around her as an electronic, blue-on-black image.
Both the