Still laying on his front with the binoculars Hutchinson found his phone and answered it.
“Jim!” Dennis called in a loud whisper.
“Yes Pete.”
“Are you still watching and seeing this?”
“Yeah.”
“What has Von Werner been handed?”
“It’s a wooden pole or something. It doesn’t look to be anything special. It’s quite ordinary sort of….Holy shit Pete! I think it’s the shaft of a spear.”
“A spear…” then the realisation of what he was witnessing sunk in, “Hey! Do you think it’s a Roman spear shaft?”
“Could be,” Hutchinson replied, “You mean like the shaft of Longinus’ spear.”
These words hit home for Dennis.
“Yeah could be,” then the doubt set in, “No it can’t be can it? What would someone, a terrorist, soldier, mercenary, or whatever he is be doing with such a relic here in Palestine. No it can’t be.”
“Well it seems pretty important.”
“Yeah important enough for Von Werner to be paying in brand new Kalashnikov AK-12’s. Those things only came out this year.”
“Yeah I saw that…. Shit Pete look out!”
A shadow fell across Dennis. He turned and was able to roll out of the way just in time as a machine gun butt crashed into the crate where his head had been a moment before. He kicked out with his legs and this made the other man stumble long enough for Dennis to get to his feet. He wasn’t quick enough and the other man was on him, grabbing him by the throat and pulling him close. The grip was death like and Dennis was already struggling to breathe. The man was mocking Dennis in a language that was gutteral, the teeth bared. It sounded Russian to the journalist’s ears. Dennis brought his hands together and chopped at the man’s pressure points by the side of the neck but he met tough, heavy, Kevlar. It numbed his hands. Incredibly the man squeezed Dennis’ throat harder and he felt his face go red. He wriggled and fought and scrabbled at the man’s clothing. His opponent was heavily armed and armoured. Dennis’ fingers found a handgun but in the fight he couldn’t free it from the holster across the man’s chest. Then his fingers brushed against the handle of a large, very sharp, combat knife. Dennis managed to unclip the knife and pull it out. The other man head butted him hard twice in the face while still choking him. Dennis felt the knife slip from his fingers and fall to the desert floor. He now felt his face turning purple and he began to cough. Frantically he searched with his fingertips for anything he could use against his assailant. Then his fingers found grenades on the mans combat vest and he felt a ring pull. His fingers entered the ring and he pulled the pin out and held it up to the man’s face. The Russian let Dennis go who groped away drawing his first breath in over a minute. The man was frantically patting his equipment over looking for the live grenade. Dennis jumped up and drop kicked the man who staggered back half a dozen steps. Dennis threw himself face first into the sand and covered his head with his hands as the Russian shouted something and then exploded. A smoking boot landed next to Dennis’ head and he opened his eyes and moved his hands away from his head. Where the Russian had been there was now a large black mark on the sand and the entire area was soaked in blood. Large lumps of meat were raining down around the journalist. Dennis heard voices shouting and he turned and saw men running towards him with guns ready.
“Fuck!”
Dennis took the AK-47 from his shoulders, slung it round in front of him and loosed off a volley at the approaching men. He hit one who went down flat on his face which sent other men diving for cover. Dennis ducked back behind a pallet and continued to lean out and fire random bursts. He changed mags and leaned out again. The men he was firing at were moving up on his position, drawing closer. In the background he saw Von Werner and the redhead running for the Hercules, it‘s engines now running.
“We have been compromised!” Von Werner shouted at the man in camouflage as he and the redhead raced past and ran up the ramp and into the Hercules. The man in camouflage watched them go then turned, drew his handgun and began walking slowly after his men.
Everytime Dennis leaned out from cover to fire the Kalashnikov he was alarmed to see his enemies had moved even closer. He fired another burst at a man who was trying to flank him. The man was hit in the legs and went down groaning and holding his knees. Dennis sent another burst and the Ak-47 suddenly stopped firing. He pulled the trigger again but now there was only a click. He took the magazine out. He was out of bullets.
“Damn!”
He slung the Kalashnikov over his back and took out the Sig-pro again. He leaned out of cover and shot one man straight in the face. The man went down without a sound, a look of surprise on his face. Bullets now sprayed the pallet of crates Dennis was crouching behind. He waited until they stopped, leaned out and hit another man four times in the chest. This man went down also. Dennis turned to his right and shot another man who was trying to flank him dead. Something heavy landed in the sand near him and he saw it was a grenade and instinctively dived out of its way. It exploded two seconds later so close it caused ringing in his ears. For a second he was stunned and he shook his head not yet knowing if he was hurt or not. He fired the Sig-pro again and again but missed his targets. Then this gun stopped also and Dennis knew he was out of bullets and that he was now living the last few moments of his life. He looked at the Sig-pro and pursed his lips, accepting his fate. He looked on as the men advancing on him had stopped running and were now walking slowly towards him, their weapons trained on him, calling out, taunting and jeering him. Dennis saw the man in camouflage at the back of his men, fury written all over his face. The forklift had picked up the last pallet and was now heading for the loading ramp of the Hercules, Von Werner at the top of the ramp still shouting orders.
Dennis had resigned himself to his fate and was now stood with a smirk on his face as the two men closest to him began instructing him to drop to his knees with his hands on his head. Slowly he sank to the sand. One man let his machine gun fall to his waist by its straps and drew a vicious looking hunting knife, his mouth grinning. He spun suddenly in surprise and died under the wheels of the land rover defender being driven by Hutchinson. The second man turned with his machine gun to fire at the vehicle just as it collided with him with force and threw his body twenty yards away, the sand staining red with his blood. The other men pursuing Dennis now dropped to one knee and began firing at the land rover. Natalie threw open the rear passenger door while ducking from the bullets splattering the bodywork.
“Peter get in!” she shouted.
Dennis jumped up and sprinted to the land rover. Hutchinson sped away as Dennis dived through the door. Hutchinson ran two more men down as others dived out of his way.
The Hercules was now moving slowly along the sand runway, the ramp slowly raising. Von Werner’s men running after it and jumping in one at a time. Dennis picked up an AR-15 from the back of the defender, pointed it out of the window and killed three of the men in camouflage.