Читать книгу Triplecross - Don Pendleton - Страница 3

POL CHECKED HIS M4, DREW THREE QUICK BREATHS AND BROKE COVER

“Go, go, go!” shouted Lyons.

The three men of Able Team charged the cafeteria, their guns at their shoulders, gliding in a combat crouch that gave each of them a stable firing platform. Their weapons barked; there were still a few men left mobile after the Osprey’s attack. Most of those in the cafeteria now, however, were dead or dying. A few moaned. The floor of the cafeteria was awash in blood.

“Clear,” Lyons said.

“Clear,” Gadgets responded. He turned to Pol and his eyes widened. “Pol! Your six!”

Pol spun around, dropping low, trying to get himself out of the line of fire. The man drawing down on him held an AR15. Pol snapped off a shot that punched through the man’s thigh, toppling him, causing him to lose his grip on his weapon.

“Secure that guy!” Lyons ordered.

Pol was already on the move. He dashed to the wounded shooter, kicked the man’s gun away and put the barrel of his own M4 under the man’s chin.

“Do not move,” he ordered. “Do not attempt to take any hostile action or I will blow your brains all over this floor.”