WW III 03 Viper Mission by Nick Ryan

Author:Nick Ryan [Ryan, Nick]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-05-27T20:00:00+00:00

Chapter 6:

With the two Ukraine soldiers in the vanguard, the rest of the bedraggled refugees followed in single file. They made a miserable procession, moving cautiously in the darkness, their path lit by just the stars and the glow of raging fires. Their route took them south through a precinct of low-income apartment complexes, and across an abandoned industrial estate of small warehouse buildings.

Oleksandr carried the steel case tucked inside his uniform jacket, the chain dangling from the handcuff attached to his wrist. Maksim walked amidst the column of refugees, his steps slow and shuffling, his weight on a length of steel pipe he used like a walking stick.

McQuade drifted back through the column until he found himself walking beside the woman who had stared at him so brazenly and defiantly in the cellar; the woman he had crossed the road alongside and covered with his body when the Russian eight-wheeled APC had almost discovered them.

He watched the young woman covertly from the corner of his eye as they walked. She wore stained and faded denim jeans and a scruffy parker over a sweater. Her dirty blonde hair was scraped back from her face and gathered in a pony tail. Over her shoulder was slung a battered old bolt-action rifle with a telescopic sight.

They reached a laneway between two apartment buildings. To the west of where they stood an entire city block seemed to be on fire. The flames lit up the night forcing the refugees to pick a path through the shadows. A thick blanket of black choking smoke rolled over them.

“You have no children with you,” McQuade said.

“No,” the woman moved like a cat, lithe and silent.

“And no husband?”

The woman stopped and looked levelly at McQuade. “No. He was killed in the fighting against the Russians.”

“I’m sorry,” McQuade muttered. “Was he a soldier?”

“No, he was a doctor. Russian artillery shelled the city block where he was working. Many people were killed.”

They cleared the laneway and began to wind a ragged path across a carpark of burned out and abandoned vehicles. Some were peppered with bullet holes. Others had been set on fire, the windows smashed and the seats slashed by scavengers.

“Why are you here?” McQuade persisted gently. “Why did you join Maksim’s refugees? Is it to avenge the death of your husband?”

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