Season Of The Harvest (Harvest Trilogy, Book 1) by Michael R. Hicks

Season Of The Harvest (Harvest Trilogy, Book 1) by Michael R. Hicks

Author:Michael R. Hicks [Hicks, Michael R.]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, mobi, epub
Published: 2011-02-05T16:00:00+00:00


CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Sergei Mikhailov was dreaming. It was a strange dream, unlike any he’d ever had before. Neither pleasant nor frightening, it was simply...strange. He could hear something – grunting, perhaps? – through a persistent ringing in his ears. In the dream, he saw concrete, heavily dusted with snow that swirled in a gusty wind that felt cold against his face. Tilting his head slightly, he could see feet, legs, and the buttocks of someone dressed in a camouflage uniform. There was a lot of blood on the man’s legs, and he could see rips in the fabric of his pants and matching wounds in his skin. The man’s legs and feet moved ponderously across the concrete in what Mikhailov suddenly thought was a comical dance.

He also saw an arm dangling down, and after a moment realized that it was his own. He was also wearing a camouflage uniform, and much of the material was blackened. With a sudden start he realized that this wasn’t a dream. This was real.

“Stop,” he croaked. His voice barely penetrated the ringing in his ears. “Put me down!”

He felt himself slowly falling backward, and realized that someone had been hauling him in a fireman’s carry over his shoulder and was now setting him down. As he slid to the ground, he looked up to see Rudenko’s scorched and blood-streaked face staring back at him with undisguised concern.

“Kapitan?” Rudenko shouted. “You were hit by debris from the explosion. Two of those Spetsnaz bastards planted explosives in the terminal while their buddies shot down the Norwegians.”

“How many of our men survived?” Mikhailov asked grimly. The ringing in his ears was gradually fading, but he could still barely hear over it.

“Nine,” Rudenko told him, “including you. A dozen more survived the blast, but the Spetsnaz bastards caught them by surprise and used guns and grenades on them. Our boys tried to take cover under that airliner sitting in front of the terminal, until the Spetsnaz blasted the shit out of it with an anti-tank rocket. Our men burned to death when the fuel in the plane’s tanks caught fire.”

“What happened with your squad?” Mikhailov asked, trying to come to grips with the extent of the disaster. “How did you manage to get away?”

Rudenko grinned, but there was no humor in the expression. “I thought those Spetsnaz shits were up to something from the beginning. I saw them run out of the hangar like their asses were on fire, just after the Il-76 exploded. That’s when I threw you on the ground.” He shrugged. “They thought we were finished. When they chased the other squad under the plane, we let them have it.” The grin faded. “Kapitan...they must have some kind of new body armor. I saw both of them take at least half a dozen rounds and it didn’t even slow them down.” He looked down at his AKS-74U assault rifle, a version of the AK-74 in general use in the Army that had a folding buttstock and a shortened barrel.



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