Novikov lashed out with a downward stroke, aiming at Nate’s collarbone area, but he managed to jump out of the way. In return, Nate made a backhand upward slash that caught Novikov on the forearm, creating a thick red line. The Russian swore and yanked his arm back.
Each man made several more attempts at wounding the other, with upward and downward slashes and short, quick jabs at sensitive areas. It was a zero-sum game, and the more they lashed out and countered, the more they learned about each other. It would only be a matter of time before one of them got lucky with a strike and then had the advantage.
Using a short, powerful burst, Novikov rushed him, staying low and sweeping his blade left to right near his abdomen. Nate waited for the sweep of the arm to pass and then lifted his leg and nailed his opponent with a front kick to the shoulder, which sent Novikov stumbling back. This only seemed to make the Russian angrier, and he lunged forward with tremendous speed, narrowly hitting Nate’s left flank. The knife cut shallowly into his skin, and he felt oozing blood instantly moisten his shirt.
Nate took advantage of the maneuver and trapped Novikov’s arm. He now had him bent over and stretched out, and he delivered an upward knee strike to the Russian’s face. Novikov threw his other hand up and blocked it, minimizing the impact. Nate twirled his knife in his free hand to grab it with a reverse grip and moved to bring it down into the back of his opponent’s neck, but Novikov anticipated this and drove Nate forward with his powerful legs, knocking him off balance and pushing him toward the oil pit.
The hell with it, Nate thought. Novikov was stronger than he was. It was time to use technique over brute strength, and for that he needed him disarmed. He went high risk/high reward and dropped the Yarborough. The former Green Beret used the now free hand to reach over and grab Novikov’s trapped wrist, absorbing vicious blows to his stomach from Novikov’s free hand.
With the wrist of Novikov’s knife hand in both of his, Nate stepped back, extending his opponent’s arm, and then twisted up and to his left, bending the man’s arm in an unnatural position. The knife fell from Novikov’s hand as he fell back onto his rear.
Nate thought he had him, but as soon as Novikov made contact with the ground, he continued rolling and flipped Nate over. Once again they were in an unarmed struggle, which Nate spent several hours practicing every week. But it was likely his opponent did as well.
From the corner he could hear Shane straining to catch his breath. Then, in a raspy voice he mumbled, “Sambo.”
Sambo was a Russian martial art characterized by powerful takedowns and throws, brutal strikes, and sheer aggression. Shane had recognized the technique and was trying to inform him, and Nate picked up on his friend’s meaning. He would need to match his opponent’s aggression while waiting for him to slip up.
As Nate regained his feet, Novikov came in hard and fast, throwing a flurry of straight punches, which caused Nate to throw his arms up to block direct strikes from getting through. He knew with Sambo a flood of direct hits would likely be followed by an aggressive takedown and needed to deny his opponent that opening. With his arms up blocking his head and midsection, he was perfectly primed to deliver a strike of his own that would interrupt Novikov’s maneuver. He stepped into the punches, closing the distance and making his opponent’s strikes ineffective, before delivering several elbow strikes that caught the Russian in the face. Blood poured from Novikov’s nostrils, but he didn’t stop, and instead swept in for a takedown.
Nate sprawled and then rolled away and got to his feet just as Novikov charged him again and wrapped his arms around his torso. Nate attempted to control the man’s neck with a Muay Thai clinch, but the Spetsnaz soldier was ready for it and kept his head up.
Novikov’s powerful arms lifted him off the ground, and Nate felt himself being turned for what would be a vicious body slam onto the stone floor. He grabbed the Russian’s wrist in his left hand and sprawled his legs out as he landed face up, putting pressure from his right elbow onto Novikov’s shoulder, softening his own impact and causing a great deal of pain to his opponent.
“Guillotine.” The word was spat between blood-flecked coughs. As Wally was busy attempting to save Shane’s life, the former UFC fighterwas doing the same for Nate, watching the fight intently and providing guidance like a ringside trainer.
Nate saw the opening he was talking about and maneuvered to pin the Russian’s arm and neck between his own arms. Once he had it, he squeezed and rolled Novikov over, stretching the Russian out on top of him so the former Spetsnaz soldier was staring at the ceiling, and giving Nate access to his back. He immediately hooked his feet around the other man’s ankles and went for a rear choke. Wrapping his bicep around Novikov’s neck, Nate began squeezing as hard as he could.
Novikov squirmed and tried to find purchase on Nate’s face where he could jam a finger into but found nothing. Next, he delivered a backward headbutt that caught Nate in the temple, right where the Al Qaeda terrorist had hit him with the butt of a rifle. It hurt like hell and Nate felt his grip slipping.
“Extend… the hips,” Shane rasped before going into another coughing spell.
“Easy,” he heard Wally say to Shane. “Stop talking, you mad bastard!”
Nate took the ringside advice and lifted his butt off the ground, the effect an extension of Novikov’s spine. He pulled with all his might as the Russian made gurgling noises. Finally, Nate felt a pop in the mercenary’s neck, and his whole body went limp.
He lay there for several moments, not trusting that it wasn’t some kind of ruse. Finally, he slowly released Novikov and the lifeless body slumped to the floor. Nate slowly rolled over and saw the Russian’s eyes frozen wide in an unwavering death stare. He felt for a carotid pulse. There was none.
“Fucking hell…” he said as he climbed to his feet and dusted himself off, exhausted. He gingerly walked back over to Wally, his body sore all over. “How’s Shane?”
The British medic looked up with concern in his eyes. “I’ve controlled the bleeding and I’m managing his airway, but he’s lost a lot of blood.”
Shane lifted a weak hand and made a fist. Nate gently bumped it and smiled.
“Good match,” Shane said, before lowering his hand back to the ground.
“I couldn’t have done it without you,” Nate responded.
He walked over to where Ana lay unconscious and gently shook her awake. She stirred but seemed fairly out of it. He propped her up against a wall, retrieved a water bottle from the medical bag, and offered it to her.
Ana stared blankly ahead for a few moments before the events that had transpired came back to her. She stared at Novikov’s corpse.
“You killed him?” she asked. Nate nodded. “Good” was all she said. She was no longer crying, but coolly detached as she worked to come to grips with the news that her father was dead.
Nate’s mind began to register the fact that gunshots continued to ring out in the distance, though less frequently than before. He limped across the room, holding his bleeding flank, and retrieved his Yarborough knife and the Glock 19. He reloaded the weapon and glanced over at Wally, who yanked his head toward the sound of gunfire.
“Go get him,” Wally said, and returned to his battlefield surgery.
Nate took one last look at Ana and Shane, then turned and began making his way back down the hallway toward Tim’s position. As he approached the main hall, the gunshots stopped, which he took to be a bad sign. He raised the pistol, holding it solidly in both hands in a good shooting stance, and slowly moved forward, tracking for hostile targets. When he reached the main entranceway to the palace, he carefully pied off the doorway, exposing a little of himself at a timewhile simultaneously giving himself incremental sectors to cover as he moved.
