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

red that formed a cloud above the suicider’s head; it hung there for a second and then fell to the ground as did the suicider, dead.
    The death of the armed criminal drew the attention of the remaining three suiciders and they turned in the direction from which the fatal bullets had come. This stopped the hail of fire long enough for Sergeant Snyman to lift his head and shotgun over his vehicle and take aim at one of the suiciders, firing then pumping, firing then pumping, firing then pumping three rounds of ammunition into his enemy. His rounds hit their target starting at the legs, blowing one of them clean off and with every new round Sergeant Snyman fired higher on the suicider’s body, hitting the chest and then finally the head, granting the suicider’s wish and killing him.
    This drew the concentrated attention of the remaining two suiciders and they once again started to fire at the Yankee vehicles and Sergeant Snyman and his men.
    Sergeant Night had used his time in the fire fight well. While his colleagues exchanged rounds with the suiciders he had made his way close enough for a kill shot with his 9MM after jettisoning his shotgun following its failure to fire. He flanked the two men who were now fully focused on the Yankee vehicles. He came within a few metres and sighted one of the suiciders with his Vector. He performed the “Mozambique drill” with deadly precision - two to the chest and one to the head. The man fell face first, lifeless, to the ground.
    Constable Shaka had been busy too, he had silently made his way towards the suiciders, tactically weaving his way through parked vehicles and using them as cover until he got close enough.
    Before Sergeant Night could eliminate the last standing suicider who was still firing at Sergeant Snyman and his men and hadn’t noticed Sergeant Night, Constable Shaka came charging past him roaring an ancient Zulu battle cry and brandishing his “Assegai”.
    By the time the suicider realised what was happening it was too late for him. Constable Shaka rounded on him, grabbed him by the throat with his left hand, lifted him clean off the ground and thrust his killing knife into the suicider’s heart from under his rib cage, slaying him instantly.
    “Wouldn’t it have been easier just to shoot him?” asked Sergeant Snyman while getting up from behind his police vehicle.
    Constable Shaka didn’t answer. He removed his “Assegai” from the now limp body of the suicider, let it slump and fall and silently walked towards the bank’s entrance. He knew what he was going to find and so did his colleagues.
     

CHAPTER TWO
     
    Civilians caught up in the robbery were already filtering out of the bank. Some were annoyed and fuming and spitting insults at the police officers for allowing this to happen to them. Others were heavily traumatised and crying.
    Sergeant Night ordered the crews of November Whisky 14 and 21 to set up a check point at the exit to the bank and to collect all of the contact details of the victims of the robbery and to take sample fingerprints from everyone at the scene.  Sergeant Night knew from previous experience that criminals often stayed behind after a robbery had gone bad and posed as innocent civilians – although this time he highly doubted it with “the Devil” being involved. It would have been too risky for the criminals to survive.
    “Control, November Whisky 50” said Sergeant Night over the police radio.
    “Send your message November Whisky 50.”
    “I need an ambulance at the Metropolitan Bank. I also need the mortuary van, detectives, fingerprints, photographers and trauma counsellors. Please also alert provincial command and send the duty officer. I have at least four dead bank robbers here.”
    “Any injured police, November Whisky?” asked the Controller cautiously.
    “Stand by, Control.”
    “Snyman, any of your boys hurt?” asked Sergeant Night.
    “Yes. One of the rookies. He is dead. Shot in the face.”
    “And