Private Rogue

Chapter 66

A shot rang out and the man aiming at me was suddenly spun round and fell face down into the snow. Floyd had shot him through the window, saving me from certain death. I heard yelling from the treeline. The rest of the Russian unit came running toward the building. I glanced to my right and saw some vehicles parked a short distance away. I ducked back inside.

“Who drives the truck?” I asked the border officers, miming turning a steering wheel.

The youngest of the group, a baby-faced guy in his early twenties, raised his hand.

“Let’s go,” I said, gesturing with the submachine gun.

He hesitated.

“Do you want to wait here until the Russians arrive?” I asked.

He shook his head and joined me by the door. Floyd led the way and we ran outside to be greeted by a hail of bullets. The Russians were aiming closer than they had been previously, perhaps because they were more desperate, or maybe because their commander wasn’t there to rein them in. My heart was pumping adrenalin at a furious rate as we ran from the building toward a small parking area where a trio of vehicles were parked: an old Volkswagen, a Lada, and a Mercedes truck that had been converted into a personnel carrier. Bullets chewed the snow at our heels, but we made it to the truck and took cover behind it.

Our driver used a fob to open the cab and we all climbed in. He started the engine and we sped away as the Russian paramilitaries reached the border patrol station. The tailgate rattled as it was hit by bullets, and the rear window of the cab shattered, sending glass everywhere. But the engine roared and we were soon out of range of the shooters.

Floyd slumped in his seat and gave a sigh of relief.

“Pull over,” I said to the driver, when I was sure a bend in the road concealed us from the paramilitaries.

“What the hell are you doing?” Floyd asked.

“We’ll never outrun them in this,” I replied. “We need to be smarter.”

Our driver stopped and I jumped out, Floyd following my lead.

“Keep going,” I told the frightened officer, who drove off down the road, eager to get away from men pointing guns at him.

I indicated to Floyd to move. He did so reluctantly. We ran into the forest, clutching our guns.

We tracked back, picking our way through the trees as fast as we dared. We were halfway to the border post when we saw the Volkswagen and the Lada speeding past along the road; almost certainly carrying the Russian paramilitaries who thought they were hot on our tails.

We ran on.

“You’re not crazy enough to suggest what I think you’re going to suggest, are you?” Floyd asked.

“So you’ve thought of it too?” I replied. “We’re a couple of pilots. Their commander said the bird was airworthy. Why drive when you can fly?”

Floyd scoffed.

We slowed as we neared the clearing. Our escape had thinned the personnel surrounding the chopper. There were now only three guards and the pilot, and all of them had their attention fixed on the border post expectantly. With the chopper now fixed, they were ready and waiting to take to the air whenever the rest of the unit returned.

I signaled Floyd to move to their rear and we crept between the trees. When we had the chopper between us and them, we broke cover and ran across the clearing. The side door of the Hind was open and I could see the pilot through the gap on the other side. He must have sensed movement because he turned and looked me square in the eye.

I raised my gun, but he shook his head fearfully. I recognized the look of an honest man who did not want to die.

He said something urgent in Russian and started running for the border post. The remaining paramilitaries followed, all four men racing away. I guess the pilot had told them they needed to help their comrades. If so, he wasn’t lying.

Floyd and I jumped through the side door, scrambled into the cockpit, slid into the pilot and co-pilot’s seats and fired up the engines.

I looked to my right and saw the paramilitaries turning around, but it was too late. They managed a couple futile shouts and pointless shots before I took to the air. Thirty seconds later, after we had climbed past three thousand feet and were speeding north through the valley, Floyd turned to me and smiled. I responded with a wide grin.

We were heading home.