REECE WATCHED AS THE bear of a man ran the bolt, sending a cartridge into the snow. His face remained expressionless as he cycled the action once more, ejecting another round. He then moved the rifle to his shoulder.
Click.
Reece inadvertently flinched at what had just become the loudest sound in the world: a firing pin going forward on an empty chamber.
The beast smiled as he turned the rifle around and, holding it by its barrel, swung it like a bat, letting it fly off into the snowy tundra.
Reece dropped back to a knee, fumbling with the clasp on the snowshoe in a desperate attempt to free his foot, the monster slowing his approach as if to give Reece time.
The snowshoe free, Reece went for the blade at his belt but was stopped by a spinning back kick, which sent him careening into the ground, hitting his lower back on a rock hidden just beneath the fresh coat of snow.
Who is this guy? A spinning back kick coming with such speed from a man of that size was not a good sign.
He’s comfortable here, Reece thought, getting back to his feet and shooting in for a double leg takedown.
His opponent sprawled, then spun to take Reece’s back, lifting him up until his hips were over his head, slamming him down like a rag doll.
Reece’s face met the snow, which luckily softened the impact.
Sambo, Reece thought. Russian military.
His opponent backed off, allowing Reece to start to stand.
He’s toying with me.
The Russian then moved in with an agility Reece had not seen in years, taking Reece back down with a scissor sweep, then recovering in the mount position.
Reece covered his face in a vain attempt to block the blows that rained down from above. He heard the Russian laugh, saying something in his native tongue that Reece couldn’t understand.
An image of Raife’s head in a glass container next to his sister’s appeared in Reece’s mind.
Reece thrust his hips up, surprising the gigantic Russian and moving him forward. That move gave Reece the space he needed to draw his blade. Twisting up on his left side and scooting right, Reece plunged the sharp steel into the Russian’s hip, then slammed his free hand into the back of the hilt to drive it in as far as possible.
Writhing in pain, the Koryak warrior pushed Reece away, giving them both time to stand. A mutual respect for the fighting prowess of the other caused a slight tactical pause. His smile and laughter gone, the Russian drew a large skinning blade from his belt and watched as Reece’s right hand moved behind his back, returning with his Winkler RnD ’Hawk in a hammer grip, his left hand still holding Chavez’s gift. Both men knew only one of them was leaving this desolate patch of terrain alive.
The sharp weapons felt at home in Reece’s hands, the grips designed to offer a hold even when awash in the blood of enemies.
The two fighters moved toward each other, the Russian using his reach to his advantage, attempting to slash at Reece’s stomach. The American anticipated the move. Reece’s short blade connected with the larger man’s arm, drawing a superficial wound. Reece used his momentum to swing the tomahawk at the Russian’s head. Sergei evaded by swaying left, ready to press the attack. Recovering from his missed swing, Reece bent his knees to change levels and hooked his ax behind his target’s ankle. He yanked back, sweeping the Russian off his feet. Capitalizing on his dominant position, Reece rushed in to destroy his opponent but the Russian threw up his feet and used them along with Reece’s momentum to throw the smaller man over his head.
This is why you train, Reece. Push the offensive, capitalize on his first mistake, and kill him.
The native Siberian closed the distance and reentered with a massive downward slash. Reece blocked it by striking his attacker’s forearm with the shaft of the tomahawk and, in a move he’d learned studying the Filipino martial arts, hooked his opponent’s arm with the beard of the weapon, swinging it down and away. The violent motion ripped his tomahawk down his opponent’s arm and through his knife hand in a move known as “disarming the snake.”
Sensing the Russian was both surprised and off balance, Reece swung his left hand around and planted his blade squarely in the large man’s clavicle. Reece moved off centerline and swept the Russian off his feet, which also inadvertently ripped the knife, still stuck in the Russian’s collarbone, from Reece’s hand
Finish it.
Leading with the ax, Reece moved to end the fight but was blasted back with a powerful kick from the Russian.
Don’t get careless, Reece.
Close the distance, get inside his range. Take that advantage from him.
Pushing the ax head down in his hand into a punch grip, the bottom of the ax head resting on the top of Reece’s fist, he squared off again. Sergei entered with a jab.
Mistake.
Reece used his left elbow to guide the punch directly into the spike of the hawk, splitting the Russian’s hand in two. Howling in pain, a look of madness in his eyes, Sergei fired a reverse punch at Reece’s head with his uninjured hand. Reece covered and crashed in, punching the head of his ax into the Siberian’s face, taking off the bottom of his nose and leaving part of his check dangling and exposed. The Siberian attempted another futile rage-filled swing, but Reece passed his opponent’s arm with the shaft of his ax and darted in to clutch his enemy’s head, digging the back spike of the ’Hawk into his neck. Taking his other hand, Reece clinched him close, bumped his hips, and took the huge Russian to the ground, landing with his right knee on his chest.
In full survival mode, Sergei wrapped the ax with his one massive working hand, gripping it for dear life. Unable to use his most formidable weapon, Reece reverted to a palm strike to the side of the Russian’s head and followed it with an elbow. Seeing his blade still protruding from his enemy’s collarbone, Reece grabbed the exposed hilt and ratcheted it back and forth like a joystick. Primordial screams of pain erupted from the large man as the vicious blade cut deeper. Reece pushed it downward toward the subclavian artery, pleural sack, and the top of the lungs, trying to force a tension pneumothorax.
Sensing what Reece was trying to do, the Russian moved his enormous fist to the SEAL’s left hand, which was working the blade into his body. Another target. Reece sliced through the Russian’s last functional hand. He turned the blade over and pressure-cut across his neck and throat before planting the blade into the left eye socket.
Slippery with blood, Reece drew back the ax and used his hip to bump the ax to a hammer grip. He then raised it and chopped it directly into his adversary’s skull. Quickly ripping it free, he continued to cycle full-power blows to the head and neck, driven by a vision of Hanna’s upturned eyes, her hair floating around her severed head. In one last attempt at salvation, the giant rolled over, wrapping up Reece’s ankle. This exposed his side and back, giving Reece new targets, which he attacked with a vengeance. The SEAL continued his onslaught until the ax severed his antagonist’s spinal cord with a strike to the base of the neck.
Exhausted, and steaming from the fluids evaporating into the cold air, Reece sank back on his heels, enveloped in a fog of death.
He closed his eyes and steadied his breathing before kneeling on the Russian’s face and ripping the blade from his eye.
There was still work to be done.