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My helmet sailed by me, hit the ground and rolled over to fluorescent green X. I might as well have a flashing neon sign that pointed out my exact location. But, on the good side, I still had Bertha and my pack.
A volley of bullets turned the branches above me into kindling. I flinched as splinters of wood peppered me. That hurt. A lot.
Stone’s gruff voice bellowed from my helmet. “Alpha five respond.”
“Would if I could.”
More gunfire raked the tree.
Something wet trickled down my forehead. If I didn’t want to die, I needed to make a run for it. Reaching inside my backpack, I took out my last grenade, pulled the pin and hurled it in the direction of the shooter.
Boom!
The barrage of lead stopped abruptly.
I dropped to the ground. The moonless night made it impossible to see the shooters. Taking a deep breath, I did a fast tuck and roll and took cover behind a huge mango root. Were they dead or just playing possum?
Several mercenaries charged out of the water, firing wildly.
Aiming at the muzzle flashes, I shot back.
Someone grunted in pain.
The water churned off the shoreline, followed by smacking thuds. Was my squad fighting the mercenaries?
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a flash of movement. Spinning, I fired my guns, but they just clicked. Shit! I was out of bullets. God, what a rookie mistake. I hurriedly took out a new clip.
A heavily accented male voice taunted, “Out of bullets, are you not? You killed many of my men. For that I will gut shoot you and leave you to die a slow and painful death.”
The idiot was standing on the fluorescent green X giving me enough light to see him clearly. I pulled my boot knife and hurled it.
It impaled in the man’s throat. His eyes widened in shock, and he toppled over.
“I’m not planning on dying today.”
“Don’t shoot me, Tess,” Tex said from behind me.
I jerked in alarm and glared over my shoulder. “I need to put a bell on you.”
Tex’s white teeth flashed in a grin.
“I’m glad to see you.”
His grin faded. “Looks like you have a few more owies.” He pulled out his medic’s kit.
“A few.”
Stone shouted, “Clear.”
Rodriquez tossed some glow sticks down. “Ay, chihuahua!”
“I’ll be damned,” Stone said, removing my knife from the dead guy’s neck. He cleaned the blood off and handed it to me. “Do you know who that is?”
“Nope.”
“That’s Boris Petrov, a Russian assassin with over two hundred kills.”
I winced as Tex treated my cuts. “Okay.”