Outlanders 12 Wreath of fire by James Axler

Author:James Axler
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 19

The molded polycarbonate armor covering Kane's chest had a rounded surface designed to turn even heavy bullets. Still, the impact knocked him on his ass and promised a hell of a bruise from the blunt trauma. His chest burned, and he struggled to draw in a breath.

He forced himself to move, reflexes taking over. Whoever had shot him was good, or was damn lucky, snap-firing like that. Shoving the vicious snout of the Copperhead under the fallen tree he'd tried to leap over, he aimed at the man's legs as the guy ran, then squeezed the trigger.

The 4.85 mm steel-jacketed bullets chopped a short line through the ground, throwing up clods of dirt. The 15-round clip emptied rapidly but not before the running man's legs were cut out from beneath him. He screamed shrilly, calling out in a language Kane didn't understand.

Kane shoved himself to his feet, breathing steadily in spite of the pain that held his chest in a vise. He removed the empty magazine from the Copperhead, shoved it into a sheath on his leg, then pushed a fresh one into place. He used the tree for cover.

Hostile gunfire raked a flurry of splinters from the fallen Tree, tearing white patches in the bark. Kane heard Grant's Copperhead roar, then the gunfire ended abruptly.

"Target's down," Grant called. "Clear?"

"Clear," Kane agreed. That was two down. His mind aced, trying to remember where he'd seen the others. He glanced at the motion detector on his wrist, noting four other targets now. He wasn't sure if that was all of them.

He levered himself over the tree, going lower. When he'd first leaped over it, he'd expected the suddenness of his movement and the black armor to surprise the men. The fact that it hadn't told him they were seasoned to gunplay, and maybe even used to seeing Mag black. It was something to think about.

He ran through the forest, keeping the snout of the Copperhead pointed down ahead of him. Even with the weapon's slight recoil, it had a tendency to rise, so starting low on a target and allowing it to naturally track up was the best way to handle the weapon.

The man he'd shot in the legs tried painfully to get back up. His pained screeches filled the forest. His outflung hand grabbed his weapon, a Dragunov sniper rifle that Kane knew held impressive stats for distance and knockdown ability.

Kane triggered a 3-round burst that smashed through the man's forearm.

The man released the sniper rifle and whirled, leaning heavily against the tree behind him. He was not much above five and a half feet tall, and was built slight. Oriental features held a mixture of hate and fear. A wispy mustache and beard covered his lower face. Gold earrings dangled from both ears, and tattoos marred his skin, including his face and neck. He wore loose-fitting homespun clothing.

Kane kept the Copperhead trained on the man. "Do you speak English?" he demanded.

A stream of invective flew from the man's mouth, not one word of it understandable.

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