The Escape (John Puller, #3)(147)

But really she only required her scope and her gun. It literally would be like hitting the broad side of a barn. She had an auto loader to feed ammo to the M107. She pulled out one of the rounds and examined it. The fifty-caliber cartridge had a green tip with a gray ring around it. It was known in the field as a “combined effects” cartridge.

She replaced the round, set up her rifle, lay down behind it, and settled in. The detachable muzzle brake was at the end of the barrel. That diminished the recoil kick. Her rear grip had a mono-pod socket. The bipod feet were spiked for better traction in the ground.

She powered up her scope and sighted through it. She performed a sweep with the gun, taking in points to the left and right of the target before she swung it back straight and true and focused on the safe house.

The last patrol had passed by minutes before. It was dark inside the house. They must be asleep by now. She could see no silhouettes moving through the structure. Well, they would never know what had hit them.

She exhaled a long breath, got her heartbeat within the acceptable range and her physiological status to cold zero. But really she knew she could hardly miss at this range and with this particular target. Not with the ammo she was chambering.

She fired once and the round flew dead on before colliding with the side of the house. The cartridge was an HEIAP, which stood for high explosive incendiary/armor-piercing ordnance. The fifty-caliber round had a thirty-caliber tungsten penetrator built into it. It could blast through tank armor, brick walls, and concrete blocks. Wood siding and drywall thus did not pose much of a challenge.

The Comp A explosive embedded in the cartridge detonated on impact, taking out the entire front of the house. The natural gas supply in the house ignited on top of it, taking the roof off and catching both empty houses on either side of it on fire.

Reynolds fired again and took out the security van in front of the house. All four wheels lifted off the ground as the van disintegrated. She fired again at the house and another explosion rocked the night. Another wall of the house fell inward. The interior was completely on fire. Another explosion hit the structure, collapsing the brick chimney.

Reynolds waited patiently to see if anyone came running out of the house. If so, they would eat a fifty-cal round directly. It would pass right through them and explode on the other side.

She fired three more times, taking out all the other security vehicles. One landed directly in the middle of the road, blocking access. Flames and smoke covered the ground and pushed upward, filling the night sky like a wildfire run amok.

Since Reynolds could no longer see her targets, she decided she was done for the night. Anyone in the house would be dead. It was a nonsurvivable attack. Now there was only a car ride to the jet and her new life in Russia could get started.

She was just about to get up from behind her weapon when the round slammed into her left shoulder.

At first she was in such shock that she didn’t realize she had been shot. The bullet had gone right through her and struck the dirt. Her collarbone was shattered and her rotator cuff destroyed. She was bleeding, but the bullet had struck her with such force that her wound was mostly cauterized and the blood loss was minimal.

Nauseous from the shock of being shot, Reynolds struggled to her feet, holding her useless arm. She looked frantically around to see from where the shot had come. But all she saw was darkness. Leaving her weapon behind, she started to stumble down the path that would carry her to the car where Bok was waiting. Behind her she heard someone coming. She tried to run in the opposite direction, but the person was moving far more swiftly than she could manage.

Reynolds looked back and stumbled over a bush and fell to the ground screaming in pain.

She turned over and looked up.

John Puller stared down at her, his sniper rifle over his shoulder and his pistol pointed at her.

When she saw who it was, she screamed, “I’ve been shot!”

“I know. I was the one who shot you.”

“You bastard. You miserable bastard!”

He ignored this and spoke into his walkie-talkie. “Send a stretcher. Top of the knoll. Got a GSW. Non-life-threatening. No need to rush.”

“I will kill you. I swear to God.” She tried to kick at him, but missed. She fell back moaning and clutching her arm.

He knelt down beside her. “There’s one key difference between the Olympics and combat, Susan. You might have overlooked it.” He paused. “In the Olympics, no one is shooting back at you.”





CHAPTER





73



WITH THEIR GUNS OUT, Knox and Robert approached the car parked off a back road. The security forces guarding them had fanned out looking for Anton Bok, but Knox and Robert had stayed together and broken off in this direction while the others had headed to other areas. Knox reached the car first and peered inside.

It was empty.

“Look out!” yelled Robert. “On your six.”

Knox leapt over the hood a split second before machine-gun fire raked the front of the car, blowing out the front tire and destroying the headlight on that side.

As Knox hit the ground hard on the other side of the car her gun popped out of her hand.

Robert fired at the gunman, but Bok had already taken cover behind a tree. He stepped out and unloaded again, spraying shots at the spot from where Robert had fired. Bark and leaves were blown off trees.