One Rough Man - Brad Taylor [168]
He keyed his radio to speak but was interrupted by more gunfire erupting out of his sight, on the north side of the target house. He recognized the sound as an MP5.
“Cease fire! Cease fucking fire! Who’s shooting?”
“Sir, it’s Sanford. I had a clear shot at Pike in the target house. I think I got him.”
“I said don’t shoot until I gave the command! Jesus! Everyone listen up. We’re getting out of here. Move back to the—”
Before he could finish, another burst of fire came from the north side of the house. It wasn’t an MP5.
He swore under his breath. This is turning into a fucking debacle. What is it with this guy? He was like a curse.
“All elements check in.”
He saw the driver of the vehicle to his rear give him a thumbs-up, on a knee and covering the house the AK fire had come from. He saw the final man from his vehicle running back across the street from the south of the target house, hearing him in his headset. “This is Copfeld. I’m coming across right now.”
With the dead man shot from the window, and including himself and his driver, he had everyone but Sanford.
“Sanford, this is Lucas. You copy?” He paused and tried again, “Sanford, Sanford, this is Lucas. You copy?”
When Copfeld reached his position he said, “We need to get the fuck out of here. I want you to run back to the other vehicle and get a view down the north side of the house. See if you can find Sanford. Don’t penetrate across the street. If he’s there, get him here. If you don’t see him, he’s on his own. Watch that house to the rear. You understand?”
“Yeah. Give me some cover while I move.”
Lucas grabbed his sleeve before he left. “You do anything different from what I just said, and I’m going to kill you myself.”
Copfeld stumbled back from the ferocity on Lucas’s face. He began running toward the other car as fast as he could. He made it about twenty meters before Lucas saw his head explode and his body crumple to the ground, twitching from the impact of multiple rounds. Lucas had barely registered his death when bullets began slicing the air near him like a buzz saw. What in the hell is inside that house? An army? He immediately collapsed behind his car, trying to make himself as small as possible, the bullets shattering the glass and puncturing the sheet metal all around him. The drivers of both vehicles rolled out, rapidly bringing their weapons to bear on the men shooting from the house.
The fight lasted a total of fifteen seconds. The drivers returned fire to the best of their ability, but couldn’t compete with shooters safely ensconced behind cover. First one, then another fell over as a hail of bullets pummeled their bodies like an invisible meat tenderizer. The other targets gone, the bullets began to focus on Lucas’s specific position, chewing up the concrete of the street, the dirt around him, and the metal of the car. He knew he had seconds to live. He thought about returning fire and going out with his guns blazing, valiantly trying to accomplish the mission. A bullet clipped his arm, making the decision for him. He felt explosive rage at his failure, knowing that Standish had kept vital information from him. Just another retired soldier, my ass. He suppressed his anger, wanting to fight another day. Wanting the chance to bring some pain to the Honorable Harold Standish. He raised his weapon by the barrel and waved it back and forth over the roof of the car. The firing ceased. He stood up, laying the weapon on the roof of the car and raising his hands.
He saw the front door open and two men come out, both holding weapons and scanning the area before running to his location. They drove him facedown into the ground and flex-tied his hands behind his back.
BAKR RAN UNTIL HIS LUNGS FELT like they would burst. He didn’t look back, didn’t attempt to blend in, didn’t try to hide his fear from other pedestrians. He just let his legs churn