Battlefield 4: Countdown to War Read Free Page A

contents would spill out if he let go. Kovic rushed to him, ripping a tourniquet from the side pocket of his fatigues. His whole torso was a mass of blood.
    ‘Steady now. Don’t breathe so hard.’
    ‘Fuckin’ suicide—’
    Kovic knew Shun-kin wasn’t a suicide bomber. He had tried to warn them, even though he knew he was done for. He had probably saved Kovic’s life.
    ‘Hey, look!’ Faulkner was pointing. The ‘deserted village’ was alive with men moving toward them.
    ‘Fucking ace,’ Olsen spat.
    Kovic grabbed Deacon and hauled him behind what was left of the station wagon, then went back and got his M4. His goggles were gone, swept off by the blast, and his eyes were full of dust. The temptation was to squirt a lot of bullets around and hope some made their target. Better to resist that, try to think, he told himself. He peeled Deacon’s NVs off his helmet and put them on. There were maybe a dozen North Koreans, just black silhouettes against the whiteness, armed with their standard issue Russian RPKs. At least those would be hard work in the dark and snow and he guessed they wouldn’t have NVs or lasers. On the other hand the RPK’s drum magazines would have seventy-five rounds, good for spray and pray. There were no more than thirty rounds in Deacon’sM4; he was going to need every one of those. Seeing movement ahead and to the left, he jumped up and loosed off half a dozen shots. Three Koreans sprawled in the snow with head wounds, pools of blood merging into a huge spilled snow cone. If they were going to get out of this at all, there was going to be a lot more blood.
    Kovic saw a sniper run towards them, then vanish into the shadows. He aimed into the spot, fired and heard a scream.
    ‘Where’s Faulkner?’
    He was staggering towards them in a daze, clutching his shoulder, his weapon dangling uselessly from his smashed hand. Kovic ran and pushed him to the ground while Price covered them. He pulled a bandage from his kit and tore Faulkner’s sleeve away with his teeth before wrapping the arm as best he could. There was morphine in the kit too, but something else now grabbed his attention.
    Olsen was shouting on the net to Tex.
    ‘The fuck you doing? Cover, for fuck’s sake.’
    ‘We gotta be outta here.’
    ‘Negative.’ Kovic didn’t need this right now. ‘We got to neutralise all this first. He comes near, he’s a sitting duck.’
    Olsen wasn’t listening. Kovic gripped his shoulder and spun him around. ‘They take one shot at him we are lost, got it? No one comes for us.’
    Olsen shook off his grip, his face contorted by rage.
    ‘You took us straight into an ambush, you fucking moron. You were set up. Your intel was shit. It was fucked up from the off . I’m getting my guys outta here. This mission is officially fucked. I’m taking my guys out and you – can go fuck yourself.’
    Kovic lunged at Olsen but he dodged and slammed his knee into his balls. Then Olsen landed a boot in his stomach, sending him sprawling in the snow.
    And then they heard the deep thrum of the chopper. Barely visible, a grey blur behind the snow like a half tuned television image, the Sea Hawk moved above them. Tex was bringing it back.
    ‘Sayonara, assholes.’ Tex yelled over the radio. It was as if the whole covert thing had gone to his head. His side window was slid back and he was waving his grenade launcher where he thought theNK were positioned. He blasted it as he made his second descent.
    But as Olsen gestured to Price to help Faulkner towards the LZ the Sea Hawk lurched sideways, as if grasped by a giant unseen hand that had reached out of the cloud. The engine revs shot up to scream level as the nose tipped up as if struggling for altitude. The whole machine started to slide sideways, the tail rotor combing the ground right where the Koreans had taken up position. One of the main blades snapped free and catapulted end over end away into the night. Then the helicopter started a slow motion