“Lasko,” Mike said, “can you see Breslav?”
Lasko tracked around the camp with the spotting scope and then paused.
“Upper right quadrant,” Lasko said. “South of the stream. Talking with someone.”
“Got it,” Mike said. He lased the two men and got a range of twelve hundred meters, tough downhill and with a crosswind. He carefully lined up the man Breslav was talking to and engaged. He had to time the shot between heart pumps since his heart rate was way up.
“Target. Kill,” Lasko murmured. “Breslav has gone to ground behind the tree trunk.”
Mike shot the tree a couple of times just to make his point.
“We’ve got company coming up the hill,” Praz said.
“Good,” Mike replied.
“They’re engaging,” Praz pointed out.
Mike couldn’t hear any bullets nearby, which was fine by him. But he did see an RPG land short of their position and heard a following crack from Praz’s rifle.
“Got the RPG,” Praz said.
“Let’s go,” Mike replied. “They know where we are at least.”
“They’re following,” Praz said as they headed down the hill.
“Good,” Mike replied. “Anybody see the main group?”
“Negative,” Praz said as they scrambled down the hill. When they hit the flats they were going to be in the open, fair targets for the pursuing Chechens.
“Oleg, Oleg, this is Kildar, over,” Mike panted into his mike.
“Kildar, this is Team Oleg, over,” Adams replied.
“We’re being pursued by two groups of Chechens,” Mike said as they hit the bottom of the hill and crossed the small stream there. “One group is on our hill and in direct pursuit. The main body should be behind them. We’ll try to engage from the far tree line and get the two to close up. The mortars might or might not have been taken out. One is definitely down, the other is a possible.”
“Roger,” Adams said. “We’re in position.”
“Don’t let Vil move, yet,” Mike said. “We need to have both groups across the valley before he moves.”
“We’ve got a good view of the valley,” Adams said. “You’re in view. Speaking of which, so are the guys behind you.”
They were crossing a plowed field with a hint of green showing on it. The farmer was out of his house, plowing in another field. When he saw the camouflage-covered men burst from the trees he dropped the traces of the plow and began running for his house. But not as fast as Mike, Praz and Lasko were running.
“I am… getting tired,” Lasko grunted.
“Gimme your pack and weapon,” Mike said, dropping back and pulling the pack off.
“I can… make it…” the Keldara replied, struggling to hold onto the pack.
“Fuck that,” Mike said, snatching the pack off the older man’s back. “I’m younger and in much better shape for this. Praz, how you doing?”
“I’m going to die tired,” Praz grunted but kept moving.
“Kildar, be aware, the pursuing group is in view of you,” Adams said.
Mike heard a round crack overhead but they were most of the way across the valley, at least three hundred meters away, and muj shooting was notoriously bad. All they had to do was make it to the tree line.
“Fuck,” Praz grunted, stumbling to his knees and then back up. “Took one in the body armor.”
“You okay?” Mike asked as he slithered down the bank of the main valley stream. It was wide and shallow, easily fordable, instead of the mountain torrent they had crossed on the hillside. For that matter, it offered a moment’s cover but they couldn’t stay there.
“Fine,” the sniper said, shaking his head. “Let’s go.”
They scrambled up out of the stream with rounds cracking around them and darted across the last open area to the woodline, reaching that concealment without anyone getting hit again.
“Spread out,” Mike said, handing Lasko his gear and moving to the east. “We’re going to have to shoot and move towards the trail.” He dropped behind the stump of a fallen tree and started searching for targets. The Chechen force had moved out into the valley and was running towards them but they were more than four hundred meters back.
He lined up one guy who was gesticulating and pushing some of the laggards, taking him down. He jacked another round into the Mannlicher and shot the next guy in view.
Praz was engaged as well and Mike had taken down five targets when the Chechens hesitated and then began running back for the opposite tree line. By the time they’d gotten there, Lasko was finally shooting and before they reached the trees there were twelve bodies scattered on the green field. The farmer’s ox, meanwhile, had wandered away to the west, away from the gunfire.
“Lasko,” Mike called. “Move up the hill to the east. Stay concealed as much as you can. Move about thirty meters, find an overlook spot, then call.”
“Yes, Kildar,” the Keldara said. Mike could hear him move out, barely; the hunter was remarkably stealthy.
Mike spotted a Chechen moving on the far hillside and lined him up. He fired and saw the man drop out of sight, dead or at least wounded. Okay, maybe just scared and fast.
Some of the men on the ground were only wounded and one was crawling back towards the tree line. Mike let him get about thirty meters from the tree line and then carefully shot him in his remaining good leg. The man waved at the tree line for help, dropping back to the ground, then lifting himself up.
“You’re a bastard,” Praz said.
“Wait for it,” Mike replied. Sure enough, a Chechen darted out from cover, running to the man’s side.
“Yours,” Mike said.
There was a crack from Praz’s rifle and the “rescuer” fell to the ground.
“Kildar,” Lasko said, over the radio. “I am in position.”
“Go, Praz,” Mike called. “Leapfrog past Lasko.”
There was a sudden fusillade of shots from the far tree line and another Chechen darted into view. Mike ignored the shots, most of which weren’t even making it to their position, and again waited for the Chechen to reach the injured man in the field. This time, though, he shot him as he lifted the man up.
“You are a bastard,” Praz said over the radio. “I’m in my spot. Lasko’s well up the hill; don’t get in his line of fire.”
Mike pulled out of his position, moving slowly up the hill from bush to bush. The trees gave plenty of concealment but he wasn’t willing to take chances at this point.
“Kildar,” Lasko called. “I can see the main force of the Chechens at the opening to the trail. They are closing on your position.”
“Roger,” Mike said, swearing faintly. “I’m heading for the trail. You two, keep the second body under fire. When the main force gets fully in view, head straight up the hill to the first switchback.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Mike quit trying to move slowly, instead going as fast as he could on the steep hillside, moving from one handhold on a tree to another. In a few minutes, he reached the trail and looked out towards the south.
The main body of the Chechen force was deployed in the field with a machine gun setting up to the west. He dropped to his knees and lined up the machine gun, taking out the gunner and AG and then darting onto the trail. At this point he was about five hundred meters from the Chechens and while he was in sight he was depending upon the distance and moving to avoid being hit. The machine gun might have gotten him, they were better for long distances, but so far the Chechens’ personal shooting had been no great shakes.
He stepped onto the trail and looked back at them, waving his rifle over his head and then putting it to his shoulder. As the group opened fire, he carefully lined up one of the fighters and shot him through the head. Then he turned and ran up the trail. The first bend was less than twenty meters away but by the time he reached it the trees around him were dropping leaves from the flurry of shots.