Chapter 11 - Blood on the Altar
The retreat from Montauk was supposed to be swift, but the storm had turned violent, and Cassian’s surviving Russian mercenary network was not entirely disbanded.
As Andrew stepped through the heavy archway of the chapel carrying Clara, red laser dots swept across the gravel courtyard.
"Ambush!" Marco roared, diving sideways as heavy 7.62mm automatic fire erupted from the treeline surrounding the bluff.
Two Mercer soldiers at the perimeter went down immediately, catching rounds in their tactical armor. Andrew dropped to one knee behind a thick granite balustrade, shielding Clara with his own body as bullets chipped concrete and stone off the wall above their heads.
"They brought reinforcements from the highway!" Marco yelled over the deafening cacophony of gunfire, returning fire in controlled three-round bursts. "Six vehicles at the main gate! They're trying to pin us down until the bird runs out of fuel!"
Clara gasped, pressing her face into Andrew’s shoulder. The silk wedding dress was already ruined, stained with soot and blood. "Daniel! Where is Daniel?!"
"Daniel is secure inside the armored transport behind the chapel!" Andrew shouted back, drawing his Kimber .45 and firing around the stone corner, dropping an advancing rifleman forty yards out. "Stay down, Clara!"
The Sikorsky was hovering low over the lawn, but the pilot couldn't touch down amid the hail of high-caliber rounds pinging off the armored underbelly.
"Don Andrew!" the helicopter pilot screamed over the radio. "RPG spotted on the roof of the manor! Twelve o'clock high!"
Andrew looked up. On the second-story balcony of Blackwood Manor, a mercenary was hoisting a shoulder-fired rocket launcher, aiming directly at the hovering helicopter. If the bird went down, they would be trapped on the cliffs with zero escape routes.
"Marco, suppress that roof!" Andrew roared.
"Magazine empty!" Marco yelled back, violently clearing a stovepipe jam in his rifle.
There was no time.
Andrew shoved Clara deeper into the alcove of the stone archway. "Don't move from this spot!"
He broke cover.
Andrew Mercer sprinted across the open, exposed gravel courtyard in the middle of a torrential downpour, entirely unprotected. Bullets kicked up dirt and shredded gravel at his heels. He raised his sidearm with both hands, tracking the balcony forty yards above him through the blinding rain.
Crack! Crack! Crack!
Three rounds tore through the mercenary's chest on the balcony. The man stumbled backward, his finger spasming on the rocket launcher's electronic trigger.
The RPG fired wide, rocketing harmlessly into the ocean and detonating against the black waves in a massive geyser of fire and water.
But from the tree line, a hidden sniper racked his bolt.
Thwack!
A high-velocity round caught Andrew high in the right shoulder, spinning him around with brutal force.
He hit the wet gravel hard, his weapon sliding across the stones. Blood began seeping immediately through his torn dark coat.
"Andrew!"
Clara didn't think. She didn't hesitate.
Ignoring the gunfire shredding the air around her, the ER nurse broke cover and sprinted straight into the kill zone. She threw herself onto the ground beside Andrew, grabbing his collar and using all her adrenaline-fueled strength to drag his massive frame behind the iron carriage gate.
A bullet grazed her forearm, tearing open the silk sleeve and leaving a burning red furrow along her skin, but she didn't even flinch.
"Are you insane?!" Andrew gasped through clenched teeth, clutching his shattered shoulder as blood bubbled through his fingers. "I told you... to stay down!"
"You came to save my life, you arrogant idiot!" Clara snapped back, her eyes blazing with fierce medical focus as she tore the hem of her silk skirt with her bare teeth. "I’m an ER trauma nurse! You don't tell me when to hide while my patient bleeds out!"
She wrapped the silk tightly around his shoulder wound, tying a brutal, perfect tourniquet knot with professional speed. The pressure was agonizing, but Andrew barely grimaced, staring at her in absolute fascination.
No one had ever spoken to him like that in his entire life. No one had ever dared run into gunfire to drag him to safety.
"The bleeding is contained for now," Clara panted, her hair plastered to her face by the rain, her breath coming in ragged gasps. "Now get your men to kill the rest of these bastards so I can go see my daughter!"
A slow, feral grin spread across Andrew’s blood-smeared face despite the throbbing agony in his shoulder.
"Marco!" Andrew bellowed, picking up his Kimber with his left hand. "Cease fire on the treeline! Bring the gunship down and obliterate that manor!"
Marco didn't need to be told twice. He raised the tactical flare gun, firing a brilliant green phosphorus arc directly into the second-floor windows of Blackwood Manor.
The Sikorsky banked aggressively, swinging its side-mounted minigun toward the target.
The sound was like giant sheets of canvas tearing in the sky. A continuous stream of tracer rounds chewed through the timber and brick of the manor, collapsing the roof and sending the remaining Russian mercenaries scattering in total panic.
Within sixty seconds, the firing stopped completely. Only the roar of the wind and the crackle of burning debris remained.
Marco rushed over, his face pale as he saw Andrew’s blood. "Boss! You’re hit!"
May you like
"I’m alive," Andrew grunted, letting Clara help him to his feet. He looked down at her torn, blood-stained dress, then at the ferocious determination in her eyes. "The nurse has good hands."
Clara offered him a tired, breathless smirk. "Five dollars buys you full medical coverage, Don Mercer. Now let’s get on that damn helicopter."
