Juggernaut

Raphael staggered backward. He dropped his rifle and sat down in the dirt. A big chunk of scalp missing. He reached up and touched brain.

Huang fired at Gaunt, blowing chips out of flagstones.

Gaunt ran for cover. He hid behind Bad Moon. He looked round the nose of the chopper, pistol held cocked and steady.

Raphael was on his knees collecting chunks of head. He fumbled like a drunk picking coins from a sidewalk. He blew sand from each fragment of scalp and stuffed them in his trouser pocket. He kept his left hand pressed to his shattered forehead to stop brain spilling out.

He saw Gaunt.

‘Hey, Ese,’ he mumbled. ‘Think I might be hit.’

Gaunt edged forward. He could see Huang’s boots at the lip of the cargo compartment.

The guy had fired seven shots. The Glock held fifteen rounds. Plenty left in the clip.

He crept further forward. He wanted to dispatch Huang with a quick, clean headshot.

Flicker of movement in the periphery of his vision. Lucy and Voss at the temple entrance. They stood in silhouette. He couldn’t see their faces, but he could tell by their posture they were looking right at him.

Fleeting plan: maybe he could bluff it out. Tell them: ‘Huang went crazy. He started shooting. Must have been delirious. I had to finish him off.’

He was lit by the cabin lights of the chopper. They could see the pistol in his hand: smoke curling from the thick suppressor. An assassin’s weapon.

Radio crackle. Huang shouting into the throat-mike of his TASC headset.

‘It was Gaunt. Fucking double-cross.’

Gaunt fired at the silhouettes. Thud of suppressed gunshots. Smack of bullets hitting stone.

He snatched his backpack from the pilot cabin and ran.

He heard the crack of rifle-fire. Heavy shotgun roar. Flagstones and masonry erupted around him. Rock dust and stone chips. Double-nought buckshot and cupronickel penetrator rounds shattered brickwork.

He heard Lucy shouting to Voss:

‘Don’t hit the choppers.’

A bullet grazed Gaunt’s ear. The shrill shriek of a high-velocity round streaking past his head. Burst eardrum. A shockwave like a hand slap. Reek of sulphur and cordite. He fell. He staggered to his feet and kept running. He swayed. He stumbled. Balance shot to hell.

He ran into darkness. He scrambled over titanic blocks of stone. Each boot-scuff betrayed his position and brought down a fresh volley from Lucy and Voss as they fired blind into shadow

He crossed a cloistered forecourt and threw himself behind a broken archway. He was sweating. His hands and face steamed in the cold night air.

Pop. Hiss. An illumination round streaked skyward and burned brilliant white as it drifted to earth. The rubble around him lit with shifting, sliding shadows.

He looked back towards the distant choppers. Lucy heading his way, pointing, shouting.

He shouldered his backpack and ran as bullets smacked into the wrecked cloister buildings. Whip and whine of incoming rounds. A bullet plucked at the sleeve of his leather jacket.

He sprinted down sand-choked colonnades and across courtyards, slowing to a walk as the sky-flare sputtered out leaving him in deep shadow, lost in primal ruins.

Raphael got to his feet. He staggered. He swayed. He turned to face Huang. He fumbled at his drop holster and drew his pistol.

Face-off. Huang and Raphael, pistols raised, each trying to focus.

Huang was pale and sweating. His lips were blue.

Blood trickled down Raphael’s face. He wiped his eyes. He spat.

Huang pulled the trigger. Click. Jammed. He threw the pistol. It bounced off Raphael’s shoulder.

Raphael struggled to aim his automatic. He tried to squeeze the trigger. The pistol slid through bloody fingers like wet soap and fell in the dirt alongside his rifle.

Raphael staggered to the chopper and fell against the fuselage. He slid along riveted aluminium to the pilot cabin and hauled himself inside. He flicked toggle switches. He wiped blood from his eyes. A gentle whine built to a scream as the rotor began to spin up.

Lucy and Voss stood among the citadel ruins. They surveyed a vista of moonlit rubble. Cloisters and courtyards. Jagged pillars. Half-fallen archways.

Amanda’s voice over the radio:

‘What the hell is going on?’

‘We’ve got problems. I need you to guard the truck, all right? Look out for Jabril.’

‘Okay.’

‘If Gaunt comes calling, shoot him in the fucking face.’

‘Ten four.’

Lucy turned to Voss.

‘He won’t go far,’ said Lucy. ‘We’ve got the gold. We’ve got the choppers. He’s got no food or water. There’s nowhere for him to run.’

‘He’s still armed. The little shit will pick us off if he gets the chance.’

‘Let’s get back to the temple. We can send Mandy out here with the nightscope. Should even the odds. Put her up one of the guard towers. One man among all this stone. He’ll stand out like neon.’

‘Tell her to knee-cap the fuck. Shoot him in the gut, or something. I want him to suffer.’