After five repetitions, he estimated he’d been running for just over two minutes. At this pace he ought to be close to the halfway point. When Raven touched down — likely within the last thirty seconds or so — he’d have to remain in the helicopter during the engine shutdown. If Raven’s ship were a Bell 429, the engine cooldown was amazingly fast. Nathan remembered reading that it only needed thirty seconds and its main rotor could be stopped inside of two minutes after landing. One thing was certain, Raven wouldn’t risk striking his main rotor on the steep side of the road up ahead by trying to land in too small of an area. Crashing a helicopter, even a few feet in the air, can yield fatal results. The ship was filled with Jet-A fuel.
Nathan sensed this was going to be a close race.
He dug deeper and summoned some precious reserve energy. He had to arrive at the pass first. If he could get a bead on Raven, he could end this fight before it started, but he faced a major hurdle. His rapid heartbeat and breathing weren’t conducive to making a precision shot. His sight picture would be jumping all over the place. He doubted he could make a kill beyond two hundred yards. The reverse was also true. If Raven bolted from the helicopter and made a mad dash straight up the basin’s wall, he’d be winded as well. Nathan doubted Raven would follow the road on foot unless he landed somewhere on or near it.
He silently thanked Harv for reminding him to drink lots of water, because right now, it was pouring out of him. His shirt was plastered to his chest. He pumped his arms to keep his legs going, but with every stride a tiny amount of additional fatigue crept in. He returned to the cadence. Although his body screamed to slow down, he overruled it with willpower. He had to keep going. All of their lives depended on him seeing Raven first. He glanced up, looking for the pass Harv had described. He ought to be able to see it by now. If only he could—
There!
Nathan saw a wide area of exposed earth up ahead.
Starting about one hundred yards ahead, most of the trees had been cut down. That had to be where the road turned east between the peaks and followed the mountain before starting down into the open-pit basin. It felt good to be so close. The barren area ahead must be one of those spoil dumps Estefan mentioned. What was the word he’d used before Harv interrupted? Abit or adit? It didn’t matter — he was nearly to the pass, and the road was finally leveling out. Rather than increase his speed, Nathan used the flatter terrain to maintain his current pace, which gave his legs a much-needed break. As tempting as it was to run faster, Harv was right. He needed to conserve energy, because he had no idea what he’d be facing up here.
He closed to within fifty yards and saw where the road curved sharply to the right, forming a vista point of sorts. If Harv were right, he should be able to see where Raven had set the helicopter down from there. He slung the M40 over his left shoulder and pulled the suppressed Sig from his waist. In his current state, he’d never be able to hold the rifle steady. And he might not be able to hold the Sig steady either.
Finally, almost fully spent, he slowed down to a fast walk and reached the overlook. To avoid being seen from below, he kept a safe distance from the edge. In the basin below, entire swaths of forest had been stripped away. Scattered randomly, huge open pits containing muddy ponds littered the area. The entire basin looked like a war zone. Dotting the mountainside on the far side of the valley, black mine openings were accented by man-made spoil dumps of blasted rock. He spotted Raven’s helicopter near the middle of the basin but saw or heard no movement. He gauged the distance to Raven’s helo at five hundred yards.
He’d done it! He’d beaten Raven up here.
His excitement ended when he heard footfalls.
In the green image of his night-vision goggles, two armed men followed by a third scrambled up and over the edge of the road like ants coming out of a hole. They all wore digital combat uniforms and looked like pros, not mercenaries. He whipped his head around for cover, but the entire right side of the road offered nothing but a vertical face. He glimpsed an area of deep shadow, but he’d never reach it in time.
A mere twenty yards away, they ran directly toward him, though it wasn’t clear whether they’d seen him yet. The two men in the lead had M-4 assault rifles slung across their chests in the patrol carry position. They also wore right-handed sidearms.
Nathan focused on the third man. He didn’t carry a sidearm, but he held a scoped rifle in the classic tucked-carry position under his right arm — in the exact way Nathan had taught him more than twenty-three years ago. He also wore a pair of NVGs. Nathan couldn’t see the entire rifle, but he was sure it wasn’t an M-4.
Raven.
Caught completely in the open, Nathan had no choice but to shoot it out. There wasn’t time for any other course of action.
Suddenly sensing they were no longer alone, the two lead gunmen stopped running.
Raven yelled, “Shoot him!”
In a purely instinctive move, Nathan sucked in a huge lungful of air, dropped to one knee, and toggled the laser. But the man on Raven’s left was faster. Before Nathan could level his pistol and acquire a target, the gunman’s pistol came out of its holster in a fast-draw motion quicker than Nathan had thought humanly possible.
The handgun flashed twice, and Nathan steeled himself for the ugly result. Contrary to common belief, getting shot doesn’t automatically end a firefight. The human body can sustain a fair amount of trauma and still function, at least for a while.
The darkness of night saved Nathan’s life.
Both shots missed low and left, giving him the half second he needed.
He held his breath, painted Fast Draw’s chest, and squeezed off a two-round burst. One of the bullets whistled away after finding the gunman’s M-4, but his target’s good fortune ended there. The second round slammed home. The man jerked from the impact but didn’t go down. Nathan double tapped him again and released a labored breath.
Eleven rounds left in the Sig.
Raven fired from the hip and bolted for the edge of the road.
The concussion of sniper rifle report shuddered Nathan’s body and slammed his ears. His NVGs showed a green javelin of fire reaching for him.
Five yards short and left, the rocky surface exploded. Even though he wore NVGs, he instinctively raised an arm to protect his eyes. The move saved his goggles. His left forearm took a stinging blow, from a chunk of rock, he hoped, not a bullet fragment.
Even with three center-mass wounds, Fast Draw managed to aim his handgun in Nathan’s direction and get two additional shots off. Both bullets sailed high. The slower of the two men who’d preceded Raven up the slope had initially frozen in indecision, but he now joined the fight.
In eerie detail, Nathan saw Slow’s forefinger enter the trigger guard of his assault rifle.
Had Nathan not been winded from his sprint up the mountain, he could’ve easily ended the threat. But as he sucked in a precious lungful of air, he realized he’d never be able to line up on Slow in time.
A split second before Slow’s M-4 erupted, Nathan dived left, aligning his body to offer the smallest profile. The M-4’s flash suppressor did its job, creating a menacing flower of hot gas and blinding light. Nathan felt his body vibrate like a guitar string from the concussions and braced himself for the crippling result. But the gunman’s rounds — dozens of them — skipped off the ground where he’d just been.