Reflexive Fire - 01 Read Online Free PDF Page B

not ducked down, eyes still looking over the dash.
       At twenty five meters Deckard eased down on the brakes. The battered truck squealed in protest as the frame twisted back and forth.  Meanwhile, Pat drilled a second AK gunner with a two round burst.  Deckard almost brought them to a complete halt.  If he attempted a break out at high speed, he would destroy the Range Rover, ending their chances of escape, if not killing all of them in the process.
       The truck was stitched back and forth, shattering the few remaining windows, a round burning across Deckard's forearm, causing him to flinch off the wheel for a split second.  Pushing the muzzle of his gold plated AK out the window, J-Rod finally put an end to the gunman's erratic fire.
       Just a meter away from the roadblock, Deckard grasped the wheel and hit the gas, powering through.  The Range Rover made contact, jarring their molars and pushing the SUVs outwards to clear a path out of the kill zone.
       Speeding back down the road, Deckard shook out his arm.  The bullet had only grazed him but burned like hell.
       “You okay?” Pat asked.
       “Yeah, we got lucky.”
       “What do you got for ammo, J-Rod?”
       “Ten rounds maybe.”
       “Shit,” Pat said, inspecting the translucent magazine the laid horizontal across the top of his sub-machine gun.  He had about the same left in what had been a fifty round magazine.  “Me, too.”
       “Maybe fifteen rounds for the CZ,” Deckard added.  “Only fire if it's a sure thing.”
       The road continued to weave its way downhill.  Deckard could see his objective in the distance, just passed the two cartel triggermen pulling a Nissan across the road.  The ridge line on the opposite side of the checkpoint opened up into a saddle, a thin reprieve from the green hell, and their only chance at escape. 
       No way were they making it through another half dozen checkpoints lining the road down to the valley floor.
       Deckard got them as close as he dared.  Hearing the staccato rip of gunfire, he slowed the truck before pulling the emergency break and power sliding to the side of the road.  With the Range Rover still rocking on its suspension, Pat and J-Rod threw open the doors and escaped onto the clean side of the vehicle to take cover behind the wheel wells.
       Climbing across the center console to avoid coming out on the contact side, Deckard could hear the enemy's AK-47 rounds bouncing off the asphalt and slamming into the side of the truck with one thump after another.
       Getting to his feet alongside the Delta soldiers, he saw one of the enemy collapse under his own weight, one of J-Rod's shots coming in a little low and knee capping him.
       Lining up his front sight post over the next shooter's face, Deckard knew he had to aim high.  A fifty meter shot with a pistol wasn't easy even on a good day.  Holding the CZ75 in a modified weaver grip, he rested his hands on the hood of the truck to steady his aim.
       Firing, he let the recoil ride up his arms.  The gunman doubled over for a moment, touching his stomach in disbelief until Pat fired a shot that took a chunk out of his neck.  Falling to his knees, the wounded man did a face plant in the middle of the road.
       The third shooter was a little smarter but not by much.  He had taken cover behind the Nissan but not behind the protection offered by the metal and rubber around the wheel well.  The two Delta operators triangulated in on the man, bouncing their final rounds off the asphalt under the truck.  The ricochets shot out as shrapnel into his feet and shins, causing excruciating pain that sent the cartel shooter wailing to the pavement.
       Deckard loaded his only spare magazine before breaking cover and heading towards the dead and dying.  The Delta men dropped their now empty weapons, and Pat yanked the 1911 out from between the seat before lifting J-Rod over his shoulder to carry him.