Operation Orion - Kevin Dockery [65]
More soldiers charged from the open hatchway, and Falco picked off two of them before they, too, joined their companions in the snow. “How damned big is that place, anyway?” he wondered, guessing that something like forty men had emerged already.
He rose slightly, looking for a target, when something smacked him hard in the faceplate. He fell backward, wrenching his neck, tasting blood, and feeling cold, dry air chill the skin of his face.
“I’m hit!” he croaked, shaking his head, which only provoked more stinging pain in his neck. Where had the shot come from? He hadn’t even exposed himself to the men who were emerging from the hatch.
“Shit!” LaRue cursed, the sound of his voice tinny and rattling in Falco’s ears. “Big trouble!”
Releasing his rail gun, G-Man left the weapon lying in the snow as he snatched up the G15 slung across his chest. Raising the gun to his shoulder, he sighted along the barrel and snapped off one controlled burst after another. Most confusing to Falco, he was shooting to the left, not toward any of the soldiers they had seen emerging from the hatch.
Rolling back to his stomach, Falco pushed himself up to his hands and knees. His cheeks were numb, and his eyes teared from the cold air that surged through his shattered faceplate. Blood ran down from his forehead, and he impatiently wiped it away. Then he saw what LaRue had seen.
A concealed hatch in the side of the cliff had popped open directly to their left, less than a hundred meters away. More soldiers emerged from it, charging toward the two SEALS. As G-Man shot several of them, the others spread out, returning fire from their lethal short-barreled assault rifles. Some knelt, covering the advance with short, well-aimed bursts, while the others came on at a run. They were closing fast.
“We gotta get out of here,” LaRue said, his voice surprisingly calm under the circumstances. Falco nodded, adrenaline driving his pain into the background. He shook off his partner’s hand when the big man tried to hoist him up.
“I’m okay,” he snapped. “Let’s move!”
He snatched up his squirrel gun while G-Man hoisted Baby over his shoulder. Staying low, the two SEALS backed down from their ridgetop position for a dozen steps. When they were low enough for temporary cover, they turned and sprinted through the snow, heading up the canyon, away from the base and the rest of the Team. Counting their steps, they ran for about fifty paces until they guessed that the attackers would be nearing the crest they had just vacated.
At the same instant, the two SEALS dropped prone in the snow and aimed their carbines toward the crest. A few seconds later, three or four of the parka-clad soldiers appeared there, crouching low, advancing at a lumbering run. With a few precise bursts, the shooter pair cut them all down. For another few heartbeats they watched until it was clear that there were no other pursuers eager to cross that deadly horizon. Springing to their feet, they ran, covering fifty or sixty meters through the deep, exhausting snow.
Once again they paused, turning back to wait but only for a second. The pursuing company came over the ridge in a wave, dozens of men charging into view, diving over the crest, tumbling into the deep snow where Falco and LaRue had set up their firing position. The SEALS snapped off more short bursts, but there were too many targets, and even as they shot down some of the enemy soldiers, more of them poured over the ridge, guns blazing.
Rounds zinged through the snow on all sides of them, and Falco felt another impact, this time on his left shoulder. It was more of a punch than a penetration, however, so he hoped that the suit’s armor had deflected the blow. There was nothing he could do about it in any event.
Again