The Sixth Seal полностью

Kyle didn’t react, not that he would have swayed Yana’s next move in the least. She squirmed away from the front of the Sno-Cat and quietly crawled out from beneath it. She checked to make sure no one else was joining them inside. Satisfied her presence was unknown, she scaled the rear vehicle and mounted it. She stepped lightly and stayed low.

Yana crouched and met Kyle’s eyes. He gave her the smallest of nods. He lifted his hands and scooted away from Yana and the gunmen. They pursued him, giving Yana a little more room to work.

Thanks.

Yana sprang into the air. She timed her attack perfectly, plunging the tip of the knife into the base of the right-hand merc’s neck. She quickly snapped an elbow into the other man’s face, ripped the knife free, and jabbed it straight into the second mercenary’s Adam’s apple. This one dropped his AK. Yana caught it and smashed the wide-eyed, dying man in the face with the butt of it. She unemotionally checked the rifle over before turning and facing Kyle.

He didn’t speak. Yana’s methods had that effect on people.

“Here,” she said, kicking the first man’s rifle toward Kyle. “Save as many as you can.”

He nodded, grabbed the weapon, and stood. The gunshot wound appeared to be minor. He’d gotten lucky.

“What are you going to do?” he asked.

She smiled and jammed her rifle’s stock deep into her right shoulder. “I am going to kill as many as I can.”

Hammet sat in the passenger side seat of the Sno-Cat. His head was rolled to the side, and his eyes were closed. To most, he’d look unconscious, maybe even dead. In the heat of the moment, it was all he could think of doing. Ethan had opted to stay outside and crawl under the treaded vehicle. Hammet had also thought about it but wasn’t sure he’d fit.

He could hear muffled shouts outside of the cabin’s stout glass. He could also hear the sounds of muffled gunshots. He wanted to open his eyes but knew that doing so could mean his death. So, he waited.

Something slammed into the passenger side door. Hammet guessed that one of the attackers had bashed the butt of his rifle on the glass. Luckily, Hammet could control his nerves better than most. The heavy clunk would have made others jump in surprise.

Russians? It didn’t shock him one bit, all things considered.

The door popped open. The onrush of freezing air made his skin crawl, but Hammet forced himself not to react. The individual spoke Russian to him. Hammet didn’t understand the language, though. The tone was questioning, that much he could tell. This one didn’t know what to make of Hammet’s posture.

The German felt the muzzle of a rifle press against his right shoulder. When it touched him, he snatched it and ripped the weapon free of the bewildered mercenary’s hands. The cabin was too tight to flip the rifle around and use it conventionally. So, Hammet employed the firearm as a club and bashed the man in the face instead. The Russian stumbled back and fell on his butt. Hammet didn’t hesitate. He identified that the man was wearing body armor, then faced him, shouldered the rifle, aimed high, and squeezed the trigger.

The rifle’s owner took a round to the forehead, splattering the ultra-pure Antarctic landscape in blood. The driver’s side of the Sno-Cat was peppered with additional automatic fire. Hammet leaped from the passenger side. When he hit the ground, he rolled to his feet and took cover behind the vehicle. He listened but couldn’t tell which way the second man would come from. The wind was too strong, and it covered the sounds of his footsteps.

And it will do the same for mine.

Hammet edged around toward the front of the Sno-Cat, spying movement inside the cargo hold of the LC-130. Something was happening in there, too. He leaned out of cover and looked for the second shooter. He also paid close attention to the two men who had stayed over with the snowmobiles. They were out of sight, no doubt ducked behind them.

Where did you come from? There must have been a camp somewhere nearby. The possibility spurred another, more sinister notion. They were waiting for us. The Sixth Seal had known about this operation. Zahra’s assault in Chile lent even more credence to it. Hammet looked around. We’re being hunted.

He wanted to make a break for the plane but didn’t want to leave Ethan behind with a gunman unaccounted for.

“Drop the weapon!” a voice shouted in thickly accented Russian.

Hammet spun but didn’t bring up his rifle. Ethan stepped out with a pistol pressed against the back of his head. Hammet dipped the muzzle of his AK but didn’t drop it. The mercenary took notice. He jammed the tip of his sidearm deeper into the back of Ethan’s skull.

“I said, drop it, or your friend dies!”

Ethan’s eyes flicked toward Hammet.

“Scheisse…” he muttered. Then, he did as he was told and dropped his weapon.