Battlefield 4: Countdown to War Read Free

his coat were vibrating. Kovic quietly cleared his throat and switched his brain to Korean, running a quick mental check that he’d got the guy’s real name right.
    ‘Shun-kin, I bring greetings on behalf of the government of the United States.’
    The man at the wheel continued to grin but didn’t move, didn’t even look round. Deacon, Kean, Faulkner and Price took up their positions, one at each corner, with Olsen at the back, bookending Kovic. He wanted Highbeam to see the men; give him a sense of security and reassurance that this was for real.
    Kovic kept his NVs flipped up so he looked a bit more human and stepped closer to the driver’s window. The interior smelled of ashtrays and sweat. There was a large fake leather suitcase on the back seat, much like the one his grandparents had brought with them to America back in the thirties.
    ‘Are you ready to take these brave steps to freedom?’
    No words, just a series of rapid nods.
    ‘ It’s okay, you can speak to me: I’ll understand.’
    Kovic’s flair for languages was another thing that spooked Cutler who preferred to do all his talking through interpreters.
    Still the inane grin and the shaking. And still Highbeam didn’t move. Kovic took another step towards him. In Pakistan he’d had tostrap one guy to a stretcher and carry him after he passed out from fear.
    ‘Shun-kin. Please step out of the car. We are taking you to America. You understand? We are taking you now.’
    What was it that rooted him to the spot where he sat? Last-minute doubts, fear of the unknown? The realisation he could never return home?
    Perhaps the sound of a Yank speaking his native language was too disconcerting. This time Kovic tried English, and a little more urgency.
    ‘Hey, Shun-kin, time to go, okay?’
    The Korean opened the door and stepped tentatively out into the night. Despite the cold he was gleaming with sweat. The inane goofy grin didn’t make him look too bright either. Close up he looked so young – too young. Either the guy was a child prodigy or—
    As Kovic reached forward to shake his hand, the Korean jumped to the left and started to run. Kean, who was nearest, blocked his path.
    ‘Get away from me!’ he screamed in clear English. He pushed at Kean, his narrow frame making no impact on the solid, stocky Marine. ‘You must get away from me! They’ve—’
    Kean almost had him in a bear hug.
    Then Kovic suddenly understood. He screamed at Kean.
    ‘Run, man, run! Drop him! Go! Go!’
    The first detonation, an igniter, came from somewhere on the guy’s chest. Kovic caught sight of it just as he turned to run. The second explosion turned night into day and lifted him off his feet as the force propelled him halfway back to the Sea Hawk. He slammed down on to the road and rolled in the snow.
    Shun-kin was gone, vaporised in the blast. The car was on fire, setting off a third explosion as the gas tank caught. Kean lay fifteen feet from where he had been standing; one arm gone, his face a mask of blood. Deacon, dragging one leg, got to him first. Kean reached up to him, then flopped back. He was gone. Deacon’s face was frozen in shock.
    Tex was at the controls, yelling into the net.
    ‘Kovic, talk to me!’
    The blast had temporarily knocked out Kovic’s hearing, but his mind was in hyperdrive. Shun-kin had tried to run; he hadn’t detonated the device himself. It couldn’t have been on a timer as there was no knowing their exact time of arrival. So someone else with sight of them had triggered it. He whirled round and shouted to Tex to lift off , get out of range. On the ground the helo was a sitting duck and they needed eyes in the air.
    ‘Go round; tell us what you can see.’
    Snow and gravel whipped around him as the Sea Hawk ascended.
    ‘Hey, back here, now!’
    Olsen was yelling and waving, as if Tex would see him in the dark. Kovic moved past him and caught sight of Deacon curled up in a semi-foetal position, holding his chest as if the