Free Spider's Web: A Collection of All-Action Short Stories by Stephen Leather

his throat mic, ‘Coming out.’
    Todd climbed out through the hole in the wall first. As Shepherd moved to follow him, he heard the whiplash crack of an assault rifle and saw Todd fall backwards. There was a second crack as the captain dropped to the ground, gouts of blood pumping from his throat. Shepherd had seen no muzzle flash but heard answering fire from the SAS cordon and swung up his own weapon, loosing off a burst, firing blind just to keep the muj heads down before he slid down the ladder and ran over to Todd and crouched next to him.
    Todd lay sprawled in the dirt, blood still spouting from his throat. The first round had struck his head, close to the left ear, gouging out a chunk of skull. The second had torn out Todd’s larynx. Either wound might have been fatal, the two together guaranteed it. Shepherd cursed under his breath, took a syrette of morphine and injected him, squeezing the body of the syrette to push out the drug like toothpaste from a tube. He began fixing a trauma dressing over the wounds, even though he knew he was merely going through the motions, because nothing could save the captain now. Death was seconds away, a minute or so at the most.
    Once the dressings were in place he cradled Todd’s head against his chest, listening to the wet, sucking sound of the air bubbling through his shattered larynx as blood soaked his shirt.
    The captain grabbed at his arm as his body began to shudder. There were more bursts of fire off to Shepherd’s left. Todd was staring at Shepherd, his eyes fearful. ‘You did good, Captain,’ Shepherd said. ‘You did good.’
    A fresh spasm shook Todd, his eyes rolled up into his head and he slumped sideways to the ground.
    As Shepherd looked up, he saw a movement in the shadows by a pile of rubble at the edge of the compound. A dark shape resolved itself into a crouching figure and Shepherd saw a milky-white eye staring at him, though, seen through his goggles, it glowed an eerie yellow. Shepherd grabbed his weapon and swung it up, but in the same instant he saw a double muzzle flash. The first round tugged at his sleeve, but the next smashed into his shoulder, a sledgehammer blow knocking him flat on his back, leaving the burst of fire from his own weapon arcing harmlessly into the sky.
    A further burst of fire chewed the ground around him, and his face was needled by cuts from rock splinters, though they were no more than gnat bites compared with the searing pain in his shoulder. Out of the corner of his eye, Shepherd saw McIntyre swivelling to face the danger and loosing off a controlled burst of double taps, but Ahmad Khan had already ducked into cover behind the rubble.
    Shepherd looked down at his shoulder. There was a spreading pool of blood on his jacket, glistening like wet tar in the flickering light of the muzzle flashes as his team kept up a barrage of suppressing fire.
    Shortt ran over, pulling a fiel Culllikd dressing from his jacket. ‘Stay down,’ he shouted, and slapped the dressing over the bullet wound. Shepherd took slow, deep breaths and fought to stay calm. ‘Geordie, get over here!’ shouted Shortt. ‘Spider’s hit!’
    Geordie sprinted over, bent double. He looked at Todd but could see without checking that the captain was already dead. He hurried over to Shepherd. ‘You OK?’ he asked.
    Shepherd shook his head. He was far from OK. He opened his mouth to speak but the words were lost as he coughed. Helpless, he saw the dark shape of the Taliban killer move away, inching around the rubble heap and then disappearing into the darkness beyond. He tried to point but all the strength had drained from his arms.
    ‘I’m on it,’ said Shortt, standing up and firing a burst in the direction of the escaping gunman.
    Spider tried to sit up but Mitchell’s big, powerful hand pressed him flat again. ‘Keep still and let me work on you,’ he growled. Mitchell clamped the trauma pad over the wound, compressed it and bound it as tight as he