Pirate - Duncan Falconer [60]
Sabarak pulled at the men around him in an effort to get through to the safety of the trees. Stratton fired again. The bullet slapped past Sabarak’s face and struck a man in the neck. The Saudi fought desperately to get out of the line of fire. He knew it was Stratton and knew he was the target. He felt like he was running in molasses, the time between the shots painfully long. He pushed his way in between the men in front of him. Stratton shot the man directly behind Sabarak to clear his field of fire. The target dropped but another replaced him. Stratton shot him too but by the time he had fallen away, there was another where Sabarak should have been. Stratton lowered the weapon to get a better look. The Saudi had gone.
By then, many of the fighters had taken up firing positions in the dirt and were training their weapons up the slope. Stratton’s eyes fell on Hopper, who had not moved, kneeling in the middle of the clearing, a lone figure surrounded by mayhem and bodies, with a headless corpse beside him. Hopper was clearly confused but doing what he knew was best in such a situation and that was to remain still. If it was a rescue attempt, the rescuers knew precisely where he was and in the absence of any instruction from them he would remain still and avoid getting in the way.
The only thing Stratton could now do for Hopper was obvious enough. The only humane thing he could think of doing. Hopper’s fate had been truly sealed the second Stratton fired.
A round came Stratton’s way, the first return of fire, thudding into the rock a foot from his head. He didn’t move other than to raise the barrel of the carbine and set the sights on Hopper.
Another bullet screamed at him, ricocheting close by. As a another struck close to him, he placed Hopper’s head in the sight picture. Hopper still hadn’t moved but he was swaying. Stratton breathed out, then he pulled the trigger, dropping to the ground at the same instant he fired as a volley peppered the rocks around him.
He remained there for a few seconds. The jihadists loosed off wild fire in his direction. But he needed to know Hopper was down. Stratton wanted confirmation. The retribution Hopper could expect would be torturous and malicious. So he had to know he hadn’t missed. He had aimed for Hopper’s head when he fired. He was certain he had struck him. There was a possibility he had flinched as he pulled the trigger but he doubted it. But he realised he could do no more if he was to have any chance of surviving himself.
He gripped the rifle in one hand, moved the safety catch back one click into the fully automatic fire position and put a finger on the trigger. He took a deep breath, aware that it might well be one of his last, and scrambled around the back of the boulder. Without a pause, he stepped out from cover, held the rifle in his outstretched hand, aimed the barrel towards the clearing and fired, running along the incline.
10
The enemy’s reaction to Stratton’s charge from cover was slow, possibly because several of his rounds found their marks in the crowd of men. The clearing offered the fighters little protection. Shouts went up as fighters tried to warn of the enemy sighting but the majority of the jihadists reacted with unrestrained hysteria and anger and a lust for revenge.
It felt to Stratton like he had been running in the exposed open for minutes. He failed to see how they couldn’t bring him down. Several rounds struck the ground around his feet, kicking up dirt and stones. He had expended his ammunition in the first few metres and ditched the weapon because it slowed him down. He felt sure a concentrated volley would hit him before he reached the crest. As another round struck close by, he threw himself