Strong arms enveloped Stockwell’s upper body and pushed her rifle downward while the same force tugged on her weapon, threatening to disarm her.
Unable to get her MP5 into the action, she let go of the pistol grip, latched on to the holstered Glock 19M riding in a horizontal holster on her vest and drove her left shoulder into her attacker.
He backtracked.
The two entangled masses slammed into a wall.
She drew her pistol, thrust it to the left, across her chest, turned her face away from the impending blast, and jerked the trigger three times.
Her opponent’s body seized.
From across the room, motion caught Stockwell’s eye.
A second man had regained his senses, and his weapon was up and pointing in her direction.
*******
Jacob advanced further into the dwelling while seeing the space through his NVGs.
Incoming rounds.
He dropped to one knee behind a sofa, peeked out from the right side, and leveled his rifle at where he had seen the muzzle flashes.
One half of a human head and the open barrel of a gun appeared.
He squeezed the Banshee’s trigger four times.
The partial head became a whole head, and a torso followed, as the assailant fell over sideways.
“Tango down.” Jacob stood and caught sight of a second man shooting toward Jacob’s nine o’clock.
*******
The first incoming bullet went right of Stockwell.
She grabbed the man she had shot in the chest and pushed him toward the second attacker while returning fire on the new threat.
A second projectile hit her human shield in the abdomen, expended most of its energy inside its victim, kept on going, and bounced off the FBI agent’s protective vest.
The dying man collapsed.
Losing her cover, she dropped with him while firing her Glock pistol.
A third bullet sped over her head and lodged in the wall.
The corpse hit the floor.
Stockwell landed on her butt and winced. Ow.
The body listed to its left.
Her belly pressed against the dead man’s back, her finger working the 19M’s trigger, she went with the cadaver’s motion and came down on her left side.
The nine-millimeter’s slide locked open.
She glimpsed the empty gun. “Damn it.” Her left arm and left leg trapped under dead weight, she pulled, pushed, and kicked her way to freedom before reloading the weapon and shoving it out in front of her.
Her second attacker keeled over like a tree falling in the woods, his head bouncing off a wall before his body folded in half next to a straight-back chair.
*******
Jacob swung his SBR toward the second man.
Having already taken several rounds to his bare chest, the assailant crashed into a wall and crumpled into a ball on the floor.
Jacob looked further left but did not see his teammate. “Stockwell, report.”
In his ear, grunting and straining sounds.
“Stockwell!” He raced toward her and took a knee on her starboard side. “Are you hit?”
“No. My,” she motioned, “friend here was kind enough to help me out.” She gave him a final kick to the kidney to gain separation and rolled to her knees. “How many did you get?”
“One.” He took her hand and pulled.
She rose to both feet, holstered her pistol, and gripped on her rifle, “Ow,” before lowering her chin to her chest and grabbing her left butt cheek.
“What’s wrong?”
“It’s,” she waved him off, “it’s nothing. I’m good. I just came down hard on my tailbone.” She hobbled forward. “By my count, we have at least one more threat to deal with.”
Having also done the math, “That’s what I’m coming up with, too,” Jacob swapped out the CMMG’s partial mag for a full one. “Let’s clear the rest of the—” spotting movement, “get down!” he hooked his left arm around her tummy, spun left, and took her with him.
The duo landed on the floor behind a flower-print sofa.
In the darkness, fully automatic gunfire erupted. 5.56 NATO bullets sprayed around the home’s interior, punching holes in the walls, splintering wooden chairs and tables, ripping up fabric furniture, and shredding curtains.
Jacob crawled away from his woman, squirmed onto his left side, and brought into the fight his loaded-with-frangible-rounds Mossberg 590 Shockwave SPX. His right hand on the short shotgun’s grip, he fired, racked the gun, and fired again.
Ten feet away, a gray-haired man grabbed his arm and dropped the Colt M16A3 rifle he had fired.
Racking the Shockwave SPX...
Gray Hair ran toward the kitchen and crashed through a flimsy screen door.
...Jacob exhausted another twelve-gauge shotshell on his fleeing mark before trundling onto his knees and hopping to his feet. “Stockwell, you hurt?”
Having come down on her sore butt and tailbone again, she grunted while rolling onto her left hip. “No. I’m,” she snagged a quick breath, “I’m good. Go.” She flailed an arm, “Go get him,” then clawed at the floor to get to her knees.
Unconvinced, Jacob stared at her.
She spied him. “Trust me. I’m fine.” She thrust out a finger. “Go get that son-of-”
Hearing her finish her off-color sentence, he bolted for the kitchen and pulled up short at the mangled screen door, its frame secured to the jamb, its netting ripped and laying on the ground outside.
Somewhere, a motor groaned twice before coming to life.
Jacob transitioned to his CMMG, poked his head and rifle through the opening, and glanced left and right.
The motor revved twice.
He pivoted his head and rifle to the left, toward the sound, and stepped through the screen door.
Tires spun.
He darted for the corner of the building, swung left, and raised the long gun.
A four-wheel, all-terrain vehicle lurched left and disappeared behind the front of the structure.
Jacob sprinted to the next corner, swiveled left, and got off three shots.
The ATV zoomed behind the ‘A’ frame building.
He sprinted.
The four-wheeler’s motor whined higher and higher.
He caught a quick glimpse of the machine and shouldered his Banshee nine-millimeter.
The ATV sped down the driveway and vanished among the dense trees.
“Son-of-a...pup.”
Stockwell: “What’s going on, Jake?”
Recalling the video feed from the drone, and his and Stockwell’s earlier advance up the driveway, he looked right, toward the forest, and took off running.
“Jake, what’s your status?”
“I’m going after him.” He unhooked his shotgun and let it fall. “Remember those switchbacks?” Disconnecting the CMMG from his vest, “the ones we cut across on our approach?” he dropped the rifle.
“Yeah. What about them?”
Now free of the added weight of the long guns, and the threat of them snagging on tree limbs, Jacob leaped over a log and charged into the woods. “I think I can catch up to him.”
*******
Jacob knifed through the heavy brush.
Up ahead, the ATV growled.
Seeing headlights flickering in between tree trunks, he pushed a low-hanging branch to the side and forced his way into the driveway. He drew his Coonan, whirled right, swung his weapon in the same direction, and aimed for the rider’s back.
The target veered left, took the path, and was swallowed up by the tree line on the same side.
He holstered his pistol and ran into the forest while envisioning the next hairpin turn. He’ll have to slow down and come back toward me.
For the next fifty yards, Jacob zigzagged among wide trunks, slapped at branches, and trampled pine needles underfoot.
The ATV’s motor wound down then ramped up two seconds later.
Jacob picked up his pace, risking a collision with a tree, or tripping on a stump or fallen limb.
Fifty feet on his two o’clock, headlights danced.
He glanced toward the light show, faced forward, spotted an opening, and pumped his arms harder.
The vehicle gained speed.
His eyes going back and forth from the opening to the moving target, Jacob ran.
The ATV drew nearer.
After a last glimpse at his mark, he stormed out of the woods, took two steps, leaned forward, and launched himself.
∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞
.