Chapter Thirty-five

 

 

Buinosky, Dagestan

December 6, 4:35 a.m.

 

The back of the Nissan crashed against the burning Toyota. The force of the impact pushed it out of the way. Justin turned the wheel, changed gears, and flattened the gas pedal. The Nissan zoomed into the next back alley but they were not yet out of the kill zone.

Justin chose as the direction of their retreat the path of least resistance. But the Nissan was a larger target and the gunmen had clued in to Justin’s plan. They doubled their firepower and Justin felt the entire town had woken up to pour out their rage against the night raid.

Svetlana was doing a great job covering the front and the right side. She was alternating between short bursts and single shots.

Justin held his AK over his left arm and kept his finger on the trigger. He pulled it whenever he saw muzzle flashes up in balconies, windows, or rooftops.

The Nissan was taking round after round and Justin had no idea how long it would bear such a rate of fire. Bullets skipped over the hood of the Nissan, hitting dangerously close to their heads. A few pierced the dashboard and one or two ricocheted inside. A bullet grazed his right forearm but Justin ignored the pain and the blood oozing out of the wound. He kept driving and shooting as they crossed to another section of the neighborhood.

Just as they rounded a corner, two RPGs screamed over their heads. One pounded a small car parked in front of a one-story house and exploded into a million fiery fragments. The other zipped through the street and blew up as it came into contact with a wooden electricity pole.

Justin saw the power line come down in a sea of sparks. The electrical wires snapped and crackled through the air, as if a giant hand was waving an electrically charged whip. Justin turned the wheel hard to the right. The wires missed the Nissan, leaving behind a shiny trail of sparks.

Justin could not tell if the RPGs were aimed at the Nissan or if they were getting closer to the location of Team Two. He turned the wheel to the left and they drove by a couple of houses without taking any fire. He let out a sigh of relief.

His earpiece crackled with static.

Justin said, “This is Team One, say again.”

“Team One, this is Team Two. Was that you wearing white by the Christmas tree?” Timofey’s rough voice came into Justin’s ear.

“It’s us. Where are your men?” Justin said.

“Holed up about five, six houses to your left. When you—”

“This is Team Three, got a four-car convoy leaving the area,” Daniel interrupted him. His wavering voice sounded enthusiastic and worried. “I think Kaziyev is with them.”

“Kaziyev?” Justin said and glanced at Svetlana. “Say again.”

“Yes, I said Kaziyev.”

“Roger that. Eyes on the target?” Justin asked.

Daniel hesitated for a second. Hushed voices came over the radio waves. It seemed he was confirming with someone on his team.

“Positive. Two men confirm our target.”

“Light them up,” Justin said.

“This is Team Two,” Timofey said. “Team One, advance to the target.”

“You’re positive?” Justin said.

“Affirmative. Open up on target,” Timofey said.

“Roger that. All men, clear to engage the target,” Justin gave the order.

“Copy that,” Daniel said.

A maelstrom of gunfire burst out about ten or twelve houses to their right. Flying RPGs and a series of explosions lit up the night sky. Machine gun reports began dueling with staccato AK volleys.

“The party will be over soon,” Svetlana said with clear disappointment in her voice.

“There will still be some cake,” Justin replied.

They drove past another few quiet houses. Then the powerful explosion of a rocket or missile blew up almost the entire corner of a two-story house in front of them. Justin hit the brakes and the Nissan came to an abrupt halt in front of the tall heap of debris.

Another RPG struck the same house and another hail of bricks came down a few feet away, blocking the remaining part of the narrow alley.

Justin flung open the door. “We continue on foot,” he said to Svetlana.

He slid a new magazine into his AK, readied the weapon, and followed the gunfire sounds to the battlefield.

“All teams, friendlies arriving from the south,” he said on his mike. “Two friendlies from the south.”

Both teams acknowledged receipt of the information.

Justin made his way over the heap of debris and inside the devastated house. No bodies were strewn about in that room or in the next one. He thought the heavy weapons must have gone astray and hit the wrong house. He changed his mind once he stepped inside the kitchen, on the other side of the building.

The bloodied bodies of two young men were lying by the back door. They had wounds in their chests and heads, and AKs and an RPG launcher were by their feet. The back door, the windows, and the walls were bullet-ridden.

Justin looked behind and nodded at Svetlana. She nodded back. Justin climbed down five stairs and stepped into the backyard, sinking into the two-foot-deep blanket of snow. He trudged to the gate amidst gunfire coming from the street.

He stopped when he reached the metal-plate gate and stole a glance through the gap between the gate and the wall. A black SUV was stopped in the middle of the narrow alley about seventy yards away from him. Four or maybe five men had set up positions around it. One of them was hammering away with a heavy machine gun, while another one was preparing to fire an RPG.

These two men were going to be Justin’s first targets. He opened the gate without making much noise, then assumed a standing firing position with his feet planted firmly on the uneven ground. He leveled his AK sights with his eye and pulled the trigger once. The bullet struck the gunman in his back and he fell to the ground, next to his machine gun.

One of the other gunmen noticed the fallen gunner and looked behind. Justin nailed him with a bullet to his back and another one to his head.

Shooting the second gunman had cost Justin a fraction of a second, but it was a fraction of a second too much. The man with the RPG had also noticed Justin shooting at his friends. He had already pointed his RPG at Justin.

Justin fell to the ground just as the projectile screamed above his head and struck the wall behind him. The explosion was only a few feet away and the blast wave washed over him, covering him in small debris and dust. He rolled on the ground and fired at the man with the RPG before he could reload his weapon. Two bullets to the gunman’s chest and he dropped dead along with his RPG.

Svetlana had joined him in the street and was firing short, calculated bursts at the other two gunmen. Once she was done with them, she turned her attention to a couple of muzzle flashes coming from a rooftop to their left. A few rounds, and two men came toppling down to the ground.

“Advancing to the SUV,” Justin said as he reloaded his AK.

He rose to a high crawl and moved forward for a few yards, wincing every time his wounded left leg and arm touched the slushy ground. He saw and felt no bullets landing near him, so he got up to one knee and then rushed along the side of the house.

He checked the gunmen to make sure they were all dead. He reached the SUV—an old model Honda—and checked it. No one was hiding inside. A yellow truck was stopped in front of the Honda and more dead bodies were spread around it.

Justin began to walk toward the truck. He took measured, cautious steps, swinging his AK to cover all directions for any surprise attacker.

He was about three feet away from the truck when he heard the rumble of a diesel engine. A silver truck rolled through the street and turned into a side alley. Two RPGs smashed right behind it but missed it by a couple of yards.

“Kaziyev’s in that truck,” Daniel shouted over the radio.

Justin’s eardrums hurt but he said nothing.

“He’s getting away,” Daniel said.

“No, he’s not.” Justin climbed into the new-model Mitsubishi truck. “Pursuing him in the yellow Mitsu.”

“Two guards with him in the truck,” said Daniel.

“Roger that,” replied Justin.

He flattened the gas pedal and the truck growled to life. It jerked forward and Justin turned the wheel to avoid a huge pothole that could break the truck’s springs. He ran over the leg of a gunman—or perhaps it was just a bump on the ground. He slowed down to go around the corner, slid on the ice for a couple of feet, then took the turn.

“Justin, rolling as backup,” Timofey’s voice boomed in his earpiece.

“What’s your position?” Justin asked.

He looked left and right for Timofey’s position.

“You’re coming up to me, at four o’clock,” Timofey replied.

Justin turned his head to his right just as Timofey jumped from the second-story window of a gray-colored house. He was carrying a Kord machine gun in his hands. Timofey was a big, burly man and his body size and the powerful weapon gave him an ominous look. Justin was glad he was not fighting against this giant.

Timofey pulled the door open as Justin stopped for just a moment. He filled the entire front passenger seat and rammed the barrel of his weapon through the windshield, brushing aside the broken shards of glass with his big paw of a hand.

Justin stepped on the gas as Timofey set up the bipod of the machine gun high on the dashboard and straightened the ammunition belt.

“Which way?” Justin asked him.

“Left, they went left,” Timofey said.

“Affirmative,” Daniel’s voice came on the radio. “That’s the road out of town.”

“Faster,” Timofey shouted.

“We’ll get them,” Justin replied in a quiet, calm tone.

The Mitsubishi fishtailed around a corner as Justin twisted the steering wheel. Timofey was caught by surprise and was thrown against the door. His head banged against the window’s glass.

Timofey smiled. “Good job,” he said.

“Yeah, and a close call.”

The Mitsubishi picked up speed, leaping over the bumps on the broken road. Justin gripped the steering wheel with both hands, struggling to control the rocketing vehicle. The road began to swerve around a rocky hill and Justin stepped lightly on the brakes. The truck kept to the road, the tires gaining traction because of fresh, powdery snow that had not yet turned to ice.

“Where is that devil?” Timofey asked.

Justin shrugged. “We should see them soon.”

The road straightened and began to drop down into a low valley. Up ahead, maybe half a mile or so away, faint brake lights appeared in the midst of the thin haze. The runaway silver truck was nearing the edge of town.

“It’s them,” Justin said.

“Yeah,” Timofey said with a grunt. “Faster!”

Justin glanced at the speedometer needle moving quickly to the right. They were already doing fifty miles per hour.

“We have to get closer,” Timofey shouted.

Justin considered telling him to turn down his voice a notch, but thought better of irritating the big man. He flattened the pedal and the truck raced down the hill.

Bullets struck a dozen or so yards away from the hood of the Mitsubishi truck. The shooter or shooters were using tracers, to see where their rounds were landing and then adjust their aim. Two phosphorus rounds lifted sparks off some rocks three or four yards to the right of the truck.

Justin flicked off the car’s headlights for a moment. Everything around them turned pitch black, as the thick clouds had shut out the moon. He could struggle and drive blind, but not at this speed and trying to catch up to the gunmen.

He turned the lights back on. Timofey leaned back in his seat and pulled the trigger. The harsh rattle of the machine gun filled the car, louder than the engine roar. Empty cartridges bounced around their seats.

Timofey’s rounds included tracers every five or six shots. His aim was improving and bullets were now striking just a few feet behind the target. The distance between the two trucks was also shrinking, but that helped not only Timofey but the gunmen.

A bullet shattered their right headlight, sending sparks and slivers into their faces. Justin felt the sting of the sharp plastic fragments on his lips, but thankfully they missed his eyes.

Timofey cursed the shooters and their mothers. He readjusted his aim and let out a short burst. “Take that, you pigs,” he hollered as his bullets found the rear end of the insurgents’ truck. “You’ll die now or you’ll die later.”

He let out another long volley that missed his target. He cursed again as the truck disappeared around a sharp turn.

Justin slowed down as they came to the turn, and the truck squealed as he stepped on the brakes. Timofey squeezed off a few rounds just in case the insurgents were waiting to surprise them around the blind corner. They were not, and he stopped to link another ammunition belt to his weapon.

Their target became visible once again as they came to another straight stretch of road. Timofey resumed his shooting. His bullets once again were hitting close to the truck’s tailgate.

The insurgents responded with their own barrage. Their rounds were mostly off target but a couple whizzed dangerously close to the pursuing truck’s tires.

The road curved up ahead as it came to a truss bridge, about fifty yards long, stretching over a small creek. This was the location of Justin’s original plan. Svetlana and he were to break away from the rest of their teams. They would sneak up on Kaziyev and his guards on the other shore. Justin was going to rig the bridge with explosives and blow it up after Kaziyev’s vehicle crossed the river. This tactic was going to cut him off from the rest of his fighters. Because the insurgents had detected Ludomir, that plan was never put into action.

“New plan,” Justin shouted at Timofey over the deafening bursts of his machine gun. “Let’s blow up the bridge.” He gestured with his left hand.

Timofey took a moment to think about Justin’s suggestions. “How?”

“There’s an RPG launcher in the back seats.”

Timofey turned his head, then slid back his seat. He folded the bipod and pulled the machine gun inside the cabin. Justin hit the brakes to make it easier for Timofey to swing his body around and reach the launcher.

“I got it,” Timofey said. “Keep going.”

He pulled a warhead and a propelling charge. He screwed them together with quick, practiced moves, then loaded the assembled grenade into the front end of the launcher.

The silver truck swung around a turn as it neared the bridge.

Justin slowed down as Timofey shouldered the launcher.

He’s going to fire it from inside the truck, Justin thought. The back-blast will burn us to death with hot gases.

“I’m stopping,” Justin said and hit the brakes.

“Ah,” Timofey grunted. “Little warmth never killed anyone.”

He pushed open the door and stood about two yards away from the truck. He aimed the launcher at the bridge and looked through the optical sight. A moment later, he leveled the launcher. He flicked the safety catch and pulled the trigger.

The projectile rocketed out of the tube at about 385 feet per second. It screamed through the cold air, leaving behind a gray trail of smoke. It hit the truss bridge on the side, close to the other bank of the river.

“You got it,” Justin said.

The smoke cleared after a couple of seconds, blown away by a cold wind gust. The RPG had hacked down a couple of vertical and diagonal beams, chords, and ties, but the bridge was still standing. The truck was nearing it, increasing its distance from Justin and Timofey. A few more seconds and it was going to enter the bridge.

Timofey spat out a loud curse, then reached for another warhead.

Justin grabbed the machine gun and fired at the truck. His aim was better since he was in a static position, the machine gun resting firmly on the ground. One of his bullets lifted sparks off the truck’s cabin.

The driver lost control of the truck. It veered off the narrow road, sinking into the ditch along its side.

Justin kept his finger on the trigger. Two more bullets hit the truck, but the driver—or perhaps the front passenger—managed to get the truck back on the road.

Then the RPG’s terrific blast shook the area. The warhead crashed almost into the middle of the bridge. The beams snapped like twigs and a large portion of the deck collapsed into the river twenty feet below. A couple of the floor beams hung along the side, suspended from their chords.

Timofey cursed again, then gave Justin a proud grin. “Let’s finish them,” he said.

Justin was not sure if Kaziyev’s men would attempt to drive or escape on foot over the damaged bridge. They would most likely decide to make their last stand at the foot of the bridge. A thicket offered them some protection, but not much, because Justin and Timofey had the higher ground.

In any case, the chase was not over.