One Rough Man - Brad Taylor [66]
39
The lead guard bent down to unlock the shackles on Jennifer’s ankles. She lashed out with both feet, hitting him squarely in the chest and knocking him flat on his back. She hadn’t made a conscious decision to fight, reacting only by instinct. She decided her instincts were correct. Given a choice, she’d rather be beaten to death. Motherfucker’s going to work for this. She rotated on her back, feet out toward the group.
The other guards laughed at the man she had kicked even as they moved in on her. Two circled around her. She tried to stay with them by spinning on her back, but it was impossible. One slapped her hard in the face with an open hand, stunning her. Two other guards grabbed her manacled arms, holding her down. The lead guard got back up, dusted himself off, and walked back to her. Standing over her, he spit into her face, then stomped on her stomach with his full weight, taking the wind out of her and causing her to double up. He bent down and unlocked the manacles on her legs without a further fight. Grinning at her pain, he pulled out a tactical knife and sliced off her clothes. She curled up in a ball, wondering how long her body had left before it was shattered.
STAIRWELLS WERE THE WORST AREA to fight through. There was no cover at all and only one way to move. It was a funnel that required several men working as a team to successfully clear. I had a choice, either sprint down the stairs in an attempt to beat anyone setting up at the bottom, or wait for them to attempt to come up. I split the difference, deciding to wait for them on the second floor. It was a calculated risk, as it would allow the alert to reach everyone in the compound, but I didn’t like the odds of beating the enemy down three flights of stairs. If anyone was at the bottom by the time I got there, I would be easy to pick off. Better to let them do the hard work.
The stairs had one advantage in that it would limit the men coming up to two abreast, thus preventing them from bringing their total fire-power to bear, and allowing me to fight no more than two at a time.
As I reached the second-floor landing I heard the rush of men on the hardwood floor below. I switched magazines, replacing the one in the weapon with a full thirty rounds. I waited in the darkness, my back to the wall, the stairwell opening up five feet to my right. I heard the shouting of the men below as they attempted to organize a collective response, then the pounding of feet on the stairs. I waited for a couple of heartbeats, getting control of my adrenaline. Here we go.... Don’t miss.... Don’t miss. I checked that my holosight was still functioning, then turned into the stairwell, flipping my weapon from safe to semiautomatic.
I saw seven men rushing up the stairs, the first three with a look of shock when they saw me coming. They were all outfitted like the guard outside. Without conscious thought, I shifted my aim to their heads to avoid any body armor. I began firing controlled pairs, pulling the trigger so fast the weapon sounded like it was on automatic. The first three men died instantly, two perfect holes appearing like magic between their eyes. One fell backward, blocking my shot at the remaining men. The four were firing wildly back at me.
Like inexperienced soldiers everywhere, their initial shots went high, but with this much lead coming my way, the odds were against all of them continuing to miss. I clipped one in the shoulder and was turning to move back to the cover of the second floor hallway when one of the wild rounds struck me directly over my heart. The armor plate saved my life, but