Battlefield 4: Countdown to War Read Free Page B

barrel roll and finally slammed on to the ground. Kovic threw himself over Faulkner and Price and Olsen stumbled behind the remains of the station wagon as the helo exploded in a fireball, spraying the area with clumps of disintegrating machinery before erupting into a mushroom of fiery smoke.
    There was nothing to say. They were thirty miles into North Korean territory, their ride home gone, their advantage of surprise non-existent, with a column of flame and smoke rising into the night to alert anyone else in a ten-mile radius who still didn’t already know they were there. Alone, Kovic could maybe have gone to ground, evaded any patrols and tried to make the border. But with two dead and three wounded—
    Olsen looked at him full of contempt. ‘Another one for the CIA Hall of Shame.’
    Kovic was past anger. ‘You’re the one told him to turn back.’
    Olsen jutted his jaw towards Kovic as if to say, ‘Oh yeah? Bring it on,’ and his mouth opened. For a moment Kovic thought Olsen was forming his next insult, but then he twitched, his eyes swivelled upward, his rifle dropped from his hands and he slumped forward, face down in the snow. Price rushed towards him.
    ‘He’s hit!’
    ‘Sniper! Cover!’
    It had come from high ground to their left, almost invisible behind the snow. Blood gulped from a gash in Olsen’s thigh; if the femoral artery was severed he didn’t have a chance. Price tore at a first aid pack. Kovic ripped the already shredded remains of Olsen’s fatigues, made a makeshift tourniquet and bound the thigh tight.
    ‘Here.’
    Price gave him the morphine. Then they mounded snow over the wound to constrict the blood vessels until they were ready to move him.
    Muzzle flashes and wild revving announced a large open jeep-like truck coming at them down the hill, with a second close behind.
    ‘The fuck’s that?’
    ‘Border force. Kaengsaeng-69, that’s Korean for piece-of-shit-mobile.’
    None of them moved. They were overwhelmed.
    ‘We are so fucked.’
    Kovic watched as both vehicles drew to a halt. ‘Not yet. I want those wheels.’
    He figured he had one advantage; these guys were conscripts, not Special Forces. Nothing like this would have happened to them before. The best he could hope for was to pick off whichever he could and scare off the rest. He aimed the M16 infrared at the driver in the first jeep. Bullseye. The driver flopped out of his seat while his passengers jumped for cover. Kovic followed them through the sight, picking off two more. He might be out of shape but his aim hadn’t deserted him. The remainder jumped into the second vehicle, which took off , fishtailing in the settling snow.
    Kovic ran to the abandoned jeep and jumped in. The engine was still running. He stirred the shift until he found first, brought up the clutch until it bit, then manoeuvred towards the group behind the burned-out station wagon.
    ‘I got you in here; I’m gonna get you out, okay?’
    ‘How?’
    Olsen was barely conscious. Faulkner was better but in shock from his pulverised arm. He closed his eyes, waiting for the morphine to take eff ect.
    ‘Plan B: we go through the military crossing.’
    At Kovic’s insistence, the Chinese had agreed a back-up overland escape route via a disused mountain border post.
    Price helped Kovic load the wounded into the vehicle. He was shaking with fear and shock.
    ‘Now, let’s get out of here.’
    The snow was coming down harder and thicker now, a wind sending it straight at them. Kovic killed the lights and relied on his NV goggles, even though they made the flakes look huge, as if they were driving through a huge, exploded quilt.
    ‘This speed we’re not gonna make it,’ observed Olsen, uselessly.
    ‘Wanna get out and push?’
    In the rear-view mirror, Kovic saw the second jeep had turned and was now in pursuit, gaining on them. So much for scaring them off . He tried to find a higher gear. There wasn’t one and in trying to up-shift he had lost