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He heard shots fired in his direction, but none hit their target.
When he looked back, the smoke had cleared, and he was dismayed to see that six men were barreling toward him. They must have anticipated his tactic and had kept low enough to let the shrapnel sail harmlessly over them. He turned and fired his last mag at them. Two went down, but the other four returned fire and kept charging.
Okay, the shitshow was turning into maybe his last stand.
He dropped the empty sub gun, pulled his pistol, knelt down, and took aim. He might very well get two of them before the other two got him. At this precise moment in time that might be as near to perfection as was possible.
He sighted through the scope on his Picatinny rail, as they were no doubt doing with him. He prepared himself mentally for the impact of the rounds that would end his life.
Okay, Robie, it’s been a good run, but all good runs have to come to an end.
The next instant one man dropped, then a second.
Then a third. They were all head shots, and bits of skull, flesh, and eruptions of blood covered the ground around the men as they went down.
The shots were so rapid and so precise that they almost seemed to blend together into one round fired.
The thing was, Robie had not pulled the trigger on his weapon.
As the last man stopped and gazed around, wondering where the hell the shots were coming from, the next round pierced his skull and blew out the back of his head.
He fell to the North Dakota soil without any last words.
Robie rose from the ground and looked around, his pistol at the ready. Just because someone had taken out his enemies didn’t mean they were necessarily his ally.
He whirled when he heard the sounds of methodical footsteps coming across the road. He pointed his gun at the interloper.
When the person came close enough for him to see, Robie was stunned for one of the very few times in his life. He lowered his weapon.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
Dressed all in black, Jessica Reel lowered her customized sniper rifle with her favorite scope attached. She looked him up and down, then surveyed the field of carnage behind them.
Gazing back at him she said, “What else? Saving your ass.”
“IWANT TO KNOWwhat the hell is going on,” exclaimed Joe Kelly.
It was the next day, and he was standing next to Decker and Jamison, as they surveyed the grounds in front of the abandoned apartment building. It was strewn with dead bodies with sheets over them. Hundreds of yellow markers, denoting found shell casings and bullets, covered the ground.
“Looks like quite a gun battle went on,” observed Decker slowly.
“That I can see,” barked Kelly. “What I want to know is why.”
“How should we know?” replied Decker calmly.
“Nothing like this ever happened before you guys showed up,” replied Kelly testily.
“Doesn’t mean it’s cause and effect,” pointed out Decker.
“Have you identified any of the bodies?” asked Jamison.
“None have ID or any other traceable items. And they don’t look American to me, at least most of them don’t.”
Decker glanced at Jamison and said to Kelly, “Do you have photos of the dead?”
“Yeah, why?”
“I’d like to see them. Something might pop.”
