Night of the Black Bastards (An Action-Packed Thriller) Read Free

saw that the AK sniper’s weapon was rested on a bipod. They were professional current or ex-military for sure, he thought to himself.
    At this point all that could be heard was the multi-layered sound of Night’s 12 gauge pounding away at the enemy, and the bank robbers’ unmistakable AK, with the sharper sound of police pelting down 9MM rounds from their Vector pistols at the AK sniper – none of which would be effective in killing their opponent at current ranges. It was up to Stanislov and his trusted 7.62 assault rifle to eradicate the sniper threat and in the mind of Sergeant Night there was no one better for the job.
    Constable Stanislov looked down the iron sights of his weapon at his target and focused in on the sniper’s head. He found it face down in a natural attempt at shielding himself from the incoming rain of fire and now firing blindly at the police officers. Constable Stanislov took one more half breath and squeezed the trigger, slowly with focus and intent. He saw his round make impact, splitting the enemy’s skull, killing him instantly.
    At that moment Constable Stanislov heard a thunderous bang and looked to his right to see a 7 series BMW crash straight through the two Yankee vehicles that were en route to block the entrance to the underground basement parking. The Yankee vehicles were light and small Ford Focus hot hatches built for speed and highway pursuits and stood no chance against the larger luxury saloon vehicles that were the criminals’ car of choice for cash-in-transit robberies – using the sheer weight and state-of-the-art safety systems to ram the CIT vehicles off the road. This time though it was the Yankee vehicles feeling the force of these cars.
    Sergeant Night quickly noted the now dead sniper on the roof, the luxury vehicle breaking through the police blockade and like Constable Stanislov made the calculation that they were up against the real deal -- professional South African criminals coming from police and military backgrounds. Ruthless post-apartheid killers who will kill anyone for anything.
    In a shootout a gunfighter’s mind works at an extremely fast rate. It seems as though one is able to write a diary full of thoughts while engaged in deadly combat with your enemy. Everything happens in slow motion, happening both fast and slow together. Fast thought, slow movement.
    In unison Sergeant Night and Constable Stanislov looked at each other and both knew that Constable Shaka’s baby brother was already dead.
    Another luxury getaway vehicle emerged behind the first, this time an E Class Mercedes. The armed robbers were making a break for it.
    “Suiciders are coming out the front door” shouted Constable Shaka.
    “Suiciders” were what members of the South African Police called a small element of bank robbers who would stay behind after a bank robbery or CIT heist if a job was interrupted by the police, such as this. Their job was not to survive, in fact they were obligated to die so they could not inform on their companions and more importantly to them, so that their family members would not be raped and killed by the gang leaders. Their job was to kill as many policemen as possible and to allow their higher ranking gang members to escape.
    There were four of them, all armed with AK 47s and it was their purpose to kill Sergeant Night and as many of his brothers in uniform as they could.
    The two luxury escape vehicles were now past the two Yankee vehicles, whose police crew had managed to get out of their battered vehicles and spread out across one line of the parking lot behind their now immobile response cars and were giving the criminals everything they had – the vehicle drivers firing at them with 9MM rounds from their police issue Vector Z88 handguns, the vehicle commanders blasting away with their 12 gauge shotguns  and the vehicles’ third crew members blasting 5.56mm rounds from their R5 assault rifles. The noise was deafening.
    The damage being done to