Read Online PRIMAL Inception by Jack Silkstone - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jack Silkstone
Tags: Historical fiction, Historical, Literature & Fiction, Action & Adventure, Crime, War & Military, Genre Fiction, Mystery; Thriller & Suspense
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abandoned, surrounded by overgrown fields. The roof of the barn had collapsed and weeds grew from the guttering. The stone-walled farmhouse was in equally poor condition.
Slowing, he brought the 4Runner to a halt fifty yards short of the house and waited. A minute passed and no one appeared. He reached for a pair of binoculars and scanned the two buildings. Movement at the end of the barn caught his eye. He examined it carefully. Nothing.
He drove off the track, through the field, putting the farmhouse between him and the barn. The 4Runner was a dozen yards from the stone building when bullets smashed into it, sending a cloud of steam into the air. His instinct to avoid the barn had saved him from the brunt of the ambush, but, at least two assault rifles were still trained on the car. Bullets punched through the windows, showering Ice in shattered glass.
He lay behind the console, and grabbed the radio handset as the passenger headrest exploded. “Shots fired, shots fired!” he yelled into the mike. He stomped the accelerator into the floor.
Rounds punched into the side of the Toyota as its wheels spun, the engine screaming. One of the tires burst as metal-jacketed rounds shredded it. The SUV shuddered in protest as it slammed into a fence.
Kicking the driver’s door open, Ice snatched his grab bag and dove out of the vehicle.
He rolled as rounds lashed the car. Bullets kicked up dirt around him as he crawled into a shallow depression. Lying on his back, he slung the satchel over his shoulder and pulled out the compact MP5K and radio. He checked the frequency and depressed the button. “One-one this is one-two, over.”
The little radio was silent.
“One-one this is one-two, over.”
Nothing. He turned the volume down and stuffed it in his pocket. The retransmitter in the vehicle must have been shot to pieces.
The rate of fire hitting the 4Runner had abated slightly. Ice guessed that soon they would ceasefire and send men forward to inspect the wreck. Standard ambush tactics.
Sure enough, after a few more seconds the gunfire stopped. He unfolded the stock on his MP5K and listened intently. Someone yelled, ordering the searchers forward. He pulled a grenade from the satchel. Twisting the pin out, he held it in his right hand, the MP5K in the other. He heard voices. There was a gunshot as someone fired at the wreck. He popped the handle off the grenade a second before he threw it.
The two searchers didn’t stand a chance. The grenade exploded in the air knocking them to the ground. He sprayed their bodies with a long burst as he sprinted for the farmhouse. Rounds hissed over his head. He skidded to a stop against the stone wall.
As he caught his breath he assessed the situation. If Vance hadn’t heard the gunshots it could be minutes before he reacted with backup. Ice had to buy time. The best way to do that was roll with the initiative and kill as many of his attackers as possible.
He looked up. There was a single window two yards above. Too high. Shuffling along the wall, he glanced around the corner and spotted a back door. He pulled his last grenade from the bag, yanked out the pin, and tossed it at the base of the door. It detonated as he took cover behind the corner.
He charged forward, kicked the splintered wood open and stormed in. A figure backed out of the kitchen. He hit it with a three round burst. Return fire sparked off the walls. Something punched him in the gut and he doubled over gasping for air as he fired another burst.
He knew a round had lodged in his soft armor, a ricochet. He sucked air and edged forward trying to open up the angle into the next room.
“Fuck you!” a voice screamed as an AK blasted the room.
It was deafening in the confined space and Ice’s ears rang as he dove through the doorway and slid across the filthy floorboards. His submachine gun spat flame as it stitched a gunman from groin to chest. As his weapon ran dry Ice spotted a second gunman struggling to
Slowing, he brought the 4Runner to a halt fifty yards short of the house and waited. A minute passed and no one appeared. He reached for a pair of binoculars and scanned the two buildings. Movement at the end of the barn caught his eye. He examined it carefully. Nothing.
He drove off the track, through the field, putting the farmhouse between him and the barn. The 4Runner was a dozen yards from the stone building when bullets smashed into it, sending a cloud of steam into the air. His instinct to avoid the barn had saved him from the brunt of the ambush, but, at least two assault rifles were still trained on the car. Bullets punched through the windows, showering Ice in shattered glass.
He lay behind the console, and grabbed the radio handset as the passenger headrest exploded. “Shots fired, shots fired!” he yelled into the mike. He stomped the accelerator into the floor.
Rounds punched into the side of the Toyota as its wheels spun, the engine screaming. One of the tires burst as metal-jacketed rounds shredded it. The SUV shuddered in protest as it slammed into a fence.
Kicking the driver’s door open, Ice snatched his grab bag and dove out of the vehicle.
He rolled as rounds lashed the car. Bullets kicked up dirt around him as he crawled into a shallow depression. Lying on his back, he slung the satchel over his shoulder and pulled out the compact MP5K and radio. He checked the frequency and depressed the button. “One-one this is one-two, over.”
The little radio was silent.
“One-one this is one-two, over.”
Nothing. He turned the volume down and stuffed it in his pocket. The retransmitter in the vehicle must have been shot to pieces.
The rate of fire hitting the 4Runner had abated slightly. Ice guessed that soon they would ceasefire and send men forward to inspect the wreck. Standard ambush tactics.
Sure enough, after a few more seconds the gunfire stopped. He unfolded the stock on his MP5K and listened intently. Someone yelled, ordering the searchers forward. He pulled a grenade from the satchel. Twisting the pin out, he held it in his right hand, the MP5K in the other. He heard voices. There was a gunshot as someone fired at the wreck. He popped the handle off the grenade a second before he threw it.
The two searchers didn’t stand a chance. The grenade exploded in the air knocking them to the ground. He sprayed their bodies with a long burst as he sprinted for the farmhouse. Rounds hissed over his head. He skidded to a stop against the stone wall.
As he caught his breath he assessed the situation. If Vance hadn’t heard the gunshots it could be minutes before he reacted with backup. Ice had to buy time. The best way to do that was roll with the initiative and kill as many of his attackers as possible.
He looked up. There was a single window two yards above. Too high. Shuffling along the wall, he glanced around the corner and spotted a back door. He pulled his last grenade from the bag, yanked out the pin, and tossed it at the base of the door. It detonated as he took cover behind the corner.
He charged forward, kicked the splintered wood open and stormed in. A figure backed out of the kitchen. He hit it with a three round burst. Return fire sparked off the walls. Something punched him in the gut and he doubled over gasping for air as he fired another burst.
He knew a round had lodged in his soft armor, a ricochet. He sucked air and edged forward trying to open up the angle into the next room.
“Fuck you!” a voice screamed as an AK blasted the room.
It was deafening in the confined space and Ice’s ears rang as he dove through the doorway and slid across the filthy floorboards. His submachine gun spat flame as it stitched a gunman from groin to chest. As his weapon ran dry Ice spotted a second gunman struggling to
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