Free Survivalist - 21.5 - The Legend by Jerry Ahern Page B

the very bowels of the building and possibly bringing down a wall.
    He was walking right up the middle, the twin Detonics mini-guns in his hands, the reloaded Scoremasters in his belt beneath the uniform tunic, elsewhere on his body the suppressor-fitted Smith &
    Wesson 6906 and the A.G. Russell Sting IA Black Chrome knife, the S&W Centennial revolver in his hip pocket.
    Rourke did not run because he could not run with any degree of comfort, limping badly on his stiffening left leg. The thigh wound had all but stopped pumping and he suspected that the bullet was out, that the wound was just a very deep graze.
    He kept moving.
    If the antiaircraft defenses were out, Colonel Mann and his forces would know and German air power would be starting its attack at any moment-ground forces from New Germany, Mid-Wake, the Second Chinese City and the Icelandics (a small contingent of Icelandic police) storming toward the city. Nearly as small a force as the men of Lydveldid Island were, the few persons from the Wild Tribes of Europe, these not fighters at all, but cargo handlers and the like, doing what they could to further the cause of freedom.
    John Rourke kept walking.
    At last, he neared the position where he had left Natalia, slowing his pace, knowing her night vision was good but not as good as his, not wanting to surprise her.
    But when he reached the spot, Natalia was no longer there.
    The grenades were gone, but both energy weapons and their power source backpacks were there.
    “Shit,” John Rourke observed.
    He picked up one of the energy weapons, slipping into the straps for the backpack. He powered up the rifle, brought it to his shoulder, squinted his eyes against the flash from the first of two shots he intended to make, the first to light the target for the second.
    He shouted in Spanish to Natalia through the darkness, reasoning that there were probably twenty people alive on Earth who spoke that rich and musical tongue now and none of them were here. “Be careful! I am firing now! Keep down!”
    And he touched the trigger of the energy weapon …
    Natalia’s left hand was over the man’s mouth, her right knee crashed against his spine, the knife in her right hand gouging into the side of his neck as she heard John Rourke’s voice.
    She gave the knife a twist and dove toward the nearest wall, draw
    ing the suppressor-fitted Walther PPK as she did so, covering her face and eyes as the hum and buzz of the energy weapon came and went, the faint sound of synth-concrete taking the hit.
    There was no explosion, and she realized there should not have been. John would be firing his first shot to illuminate the target area.
    The second shot came, and a roar followed it, her eardrums pulsing with it.
    “He used it all,” she verbalized to her unhearing ears …
    John Rourke raised up from the prone position he’d dropped to, but with considerable difficulty.
    Fire burned within the base of the air defense control center now, the fire burning so brightly because there were trucks parked within the below ground area, and the synth-fuel tanks they carried, had caught. The fires licked upward around the exterior of the structure, but synth-concrete did not burn.
    While the fires spread-they would be short-lived, he knew-John Rourke hauled himself to his knees behind cover, firing the energy weapon he’d used to detonate the plastique on the green door while he still had sufficient light. This time, his targets were the windows of the structure. Any damage he could do to the equipment inside was a plus, now.
    And, from far to his right, there was more energy weapon fire, but not directed toward him.
    “John!”
    It was Natalia.
    Rourke shouted back to her as he fired, Tm working the windows. Help Michael and Paul, then get out of here! 1*11 be right behind you!”
    There was no answer, but after a flurry of quick shots from Natalia’s direction, her firing ceased.
    The flames from the fire in the substructure of the air