Patriot by M.A. Rothman (summer reading list TXT) 📗

He was asking a lot, and he knew it. And he was putting a lot of his own faith in two men, one of whom he barely knew and the other whom he didn’t know from Adam.

This wasn’t the first time he’d been under fire from a large-caliber weapon. There’d been many times in Afghanistan and Iraq when they’d gone up against militia groups with technicals and machine guns. But the thing about the big weapons was, they still needed a human touch to operate. You take out the human element, you take out the gun.

Duncan didn’t seem to like the idea. He hesitated as Connor moved toward the edge of the building. “You’re going to use yourself as bait?”

Connor shrugged. “I prefer to think of it as distraction. But yeah.”

“You’re crazy.”

Connor laughed. “You should meet my partner. Ready?”

He didn’t wait for Duncan’s answer; he just sprinted out from behind the corner, firing as he ran. He was a better shot than most on the move, but that didn’t mean any of his shots were accurate. Rounds sparked off the pickup’s hood and punched through the windshield. The gunner ducked, halting his fire for a few precious seconds. Then Connor heard shots behind him and saw the rounds hit home. The gunner jerked, stumbled back, and toppled over the tailgate.

Another hostile stepped out from behind the truck and Connor dropped him with a single shot. “Come on!” Connor shouted, picking up speed when no one else appeared.

He took a knee next to one of the dead hostiles and pulled off the man’s balaclava. Not Arab. Definitely European. He dropped the mask and inched his way to the back of the truck.

“They’re going for the chopper! Thompson shouted.

Through the destroyed section of fence Connor could see six armed men climbing into the Agusta. If he had to guess, Müller was among them.

Connor couldn’t let him get away.

He turned to Duncan, who was just coming up behind him. “Cover me, okay? I’m going to get some.”

Duncan’s eyes followed Connor’s pointer finger, and he smiled at the realization of what Connor meant to do. “Gotcha.”

Connor pushed his M4 around behind him, climbed into the pickup’s bed, and grabbed hold of the mounted machine gun. The belt-fed automatic weapon swung freely on its swivel mount, and the ammunition box was still more than half full.

Connor heard the Agusta’s engines whine, and knew it was about to lift off.

“Chopper’s lifting off,” Thompson warned.

“Working on it,” Connor said, stepping around the bed. He pressed his butt against the back of the truck’s cab and bent forward slightly.

The Agusta lifted off the pavement just as Connor leveled his sights. He squeezed the trigger and hugged the stock as the rifle fired. He stitched the rounds from back to front, drawing a line diagonally up across the side of the fuselage. Windows blew out, and the engine pitched higher as the helicopter lifted faster.

Connor shifted fire to the cockpit. The curved windshield over the cockpit exploded.

Someone appeared in the side hatch, rifle in hand, and fired back. The rounds chewed through the grass ten meters behind the pickup. Connor caught movement on his right side and saw Duncan move up, take a knee, and add his own fire to the attack. Connor couldn’t even hear the sound of Duncan’s shots over the reports of the machine gun.

The man in the side hatch fell back, and the Agusta began to pitch over, away from them.

“She’s going down!” Connor shouted, not letting up his attack.

The Agusta banked to the right as it rolled. Its rotor blades dug into the pavement, sending bits of asphalt and titanium flying. Two of the rotor blades spun through the air; the others simply shattered into shrapnel. The bird hit hard, its frame crumpling under the force of the impact.

Behind the machine gun, Connor straightened, but he kept the sights trained on the wreckage, ready to drop anyone that came out with intent to do anything but surrender.

“The U-Haul’s rolling!” a voice on Duncan’s radio advised.

Connor saw the truck pulling away from the dock, its driver and passenger laying down continuous fire on the officers near the access road. A pickup turned to follow. At least this last truck didn’t have a machine gun mounted in the bed—just two men with SCARs.

Connor slapped the roof of the pickup. “Duncan!” he shouted. “Drive!”

The officer yanked open the driver’s door, tossed his rifle on the seat, and started up the engine. Thompson climbed in the back passenger seat and rolled down the window. Connor braced himself against the cab.

Duncan maneuvered the truck around the lodge and through the gravel lot, weaving through the cop cars. “Move!” he shouted. “Get the hell out of the way!”

Through a clump of trees Connor could see the U-Haul racing down the access road, smashing through two patrols cars at the entrance. In the pickup that followed behind, the two men with SCARs riddled the patrol cars as they passed. Two officers went down at the edge of the road, both taking hits in the chest.

“Go!” Connor said. “Drive this thing like you stole it!”

Chapter Forty-Four

Annie pulled up the thin piece of metal, bending it at a ninety-degree angle, before lowering herself through the new opening in the top of the trailer.

“I’m in.”

Brice, in her earbud, said, “I can see.”

Some light spilled in from the hole she’d created, but otherwise the trailer was dark, and with the exception of a waist-high crate near the back, the interior of the trailer was mostly empty. Annie pulled out a mini-flashlight and clicked it on as she approached the crate, her heart pounding in her chest.

What the hell are you doing, Annie? she asked herself. You have no business being in here with a nuclear bomb. Every instinct told her to run and get as far away as she could. But she knew that running would be pointless; she’d never get away from the blast at this