the Storey Arms. Porter summoned one last effort in his tired muscles. We’re almost there, he told himself. Don’t give up now. Another two hundred metres. Then we’ll cut Tank off from the main road. He’ll have no choice but to retreat back up Fan Fawr. There won’t be anywhere else for him to go then. He’ll be trapped in the mountains.
Then we’ll teach the fucker a lesson he won’t live long enough to forget.
Porter was a hundred and fifty metres from the tower when he spotted Tank.
The gunman surged into view past the water tower and staggered towards the main road, ninety metres away. Even at this distance, Porter could see that the guy was spent. He was moving along in big lumbering strides, like he was negotiating a bunch of car tyres on an obstacle course. The frantic race up and down Pen y Fan, the firefight and his rushed escape, all of it taking its toll on his body.
Tank ran on. Porter was a hundred and twenty metres from Tank now. The guy crashed through the gate at the edge of the footpath and limped into the road. Porter brought his AK-47 to bear and went to loose off a round. Tank caught sight of the two Regiment men charging towards him and let off a quick burst at the civvies in the lay-by. His muzzle flashed six times. Half a dozen rounds zipped past Porter and Bald, smashing into the caravan parked to his immediate right. Bullets shattered the windows and blew the tyres. Air hissed violently out of the punctures. A woman shrieked in terror. Some of the civvies hit the deck. Others scurried for cover behind the camper vans. Several people legged it in the opposite direction of the gunfire, spilling across the road and blocking Porter and Bald’s path.
‘Out of my way!’ Bald roared, shoving aside a screaming woman. ‘Fucking move!’
A hundred metres ahead, Tank turned towards a dark-blue Vauxhall Vectra motoring towards him from the south. He stood in the middle of the road and pointed the AK-47 at the windscreen. As if he was shaping to spray the driver. The Vectra hit the brakes a couple of metres ahead of Tank. He shouted something at the driver. A second later, a dark-haired woman in jeans and a sweater stepped out from behind the wheel. Porter still couldn’t get a clean shot off at the gunman. Tank grabbed the woman roughly by the arm and shoved her aside. Then he flung open the driver’s side door. Glanced up. Saw Bald and Porter finally breaking free of the crowd of panicked civvies and racing towards him. Tank arced his AK-47 slightly to his left. Pointed the barrel in the direction of the terrified bystanders scattered across the lay-by. Pulled the trigger.
‘Get down!’ Porter shouted at the civvies. ‘NOW!’
Tank emptied his clip at the lay-by. He wasn’t even aiming at anything. Just praying and spraying. He just wanted to cause as much chaos as possible. Round after furious round struck the camper vans. A podgy middle-aged guy jerked as he took a bullet to the nape of his neck. He skidded to the ground like he’d slipped on ice. A nearby woman screamed hysterically. Her cries were drowned out by a throated grunt as another man was shot in the guts. Several people rushed over to the guy, screaming for help as he bled out on the rain-spattered tarmac. Everyone else scrambled for cover, rushing past Porter and Bald and slowing them down.
Porter shoved aside a guy in jogging gear. For a split second he had a clear line of sight to Tank. He brought his AK-47 to bear. Zeroed in on the gunman. Tank was fifty metres away. He’d slotted the driver. She was lying in a bloodied heap on the ground a few steps away from the Vectra, pawing at her gunshot wound. Porter returned his focus to Tank. The guy was folding himself behind the wheel, preparing to take off. Porter took aim and fired twice. The bullets starred the windscreen. Chink-chink . Both rounds missed. Tank ducked out of sight below the dash and gunned the Vectra engine.
Two rounds fired, plus two back at the
Then we’ll teach the fucker a lesson he won’t live long enough to forget.
Porter was a hundred and fifty metres from the tower when he spotted Tank.
The gunman surged into view past the water tower and staggered towards the main road, ninety metres away. Even at this distance, Porter could see that the guy was spent. He was moving along in big lumbering strides, like he was negotiating a bunch of car tyres on an obstacle course. The frantic race up and down Pen y Fan, the firefight and his rushed escape, all of it taking its toll on his body.
Tank ran on. Porter was a hundred and twenty metres from Tank now. The guy crashed through the gate at the edge of the footpath and limped into the road. Porter brought his AK-47 to bear and went to loose off a round. Tank caught sight of the two Regiment men charging towards him and let off a quick burst at the civvies in the lay-by. His muzzle flashed six times. Half a dozen rounds zipped past Porter and Bald, smashing into the caravan parked to his immediate right. Bullets shattered the windows and blew the tyres. Air hissed violently out of the punctures. A woman shrieked in terror. Some of the civvies hit the deck. Others scurried for cover behind the camper vans. Several people legged it in the opposite direction of the gunfire, spilling across the road and blocking Porter and Bald’s path.
‘Out of my way!’ Bald roared, shoving aside a screaming woman. ‘Fucking move!’
A hundred metres ahead, Tank turned towards a dark-blue Vauxhall Vectra motoring towards him from the south. He stood in the middle of the road and pointed the AK-47 at the windscreen. As if he was shaping to spray the driver. The Vectra hit the brakes a couple of metres ahead of Tank. He shouted something at the driver. A second later, a dark-haired woman in jeans and a sweater stepped out from behind the wheel. Porter still couldn’t get a clean shot off at the gunman. Tank grabbed the woman roughly by the arm and shoved her aside. Then he flung open the driver’s side door. Glanced up. Saw Bald and Porter finally breaking free of the crowd of panicked civvies and racing towards him. Tank arced his AK-47 slightly to his left. Pointed the barrel in the direction of the terrified bystanders scattered across the lay-by. Pulled the trigger.
‘Get down!’ Porter shouted at the civvies. ‘NOW!’
Tank emptied his clip at the lay-by. He wasn’t even aiming at anything. Just praying and spraying. He just wanted to cause as much chaos as possible. Round after furious round struck the camper vans. A podgy middle-aged guy jerked as he took a bullet to the nape of his neck. He skidded to the ground like he’d slipped on ice. A nearby woman screamed hysterically. Her cries were drowned out by a throated grunt as another man was shot in the guts. Several people rushed over to the guy, screaming for help as he bled out on the rain-spattered tarmac. Everyone else scrambled for cover, rushing past Porter and Bald and slowing them down.
Porter shoved aside a guy in jogging gear. For a split second he had a clear line of sight to Tank. He brought his AK-47 to bear. Zeroed in on the gunman. Tank was fifty metres away. He’d slotted the driver. She was lying in a bloodied heap on the ground a few steps away from the Vectra, pawing at her gunshot wound. Porter returned his focus to Tank. The guy was folding himself behind the wheel, preparing to take off. Porter took aim and fired twice. The bullets starred the windscreen. Chink-chink . Both rounds missed. Tank ducked out of sight below the dash and gunned the Vectra engine.
Two rounds fired, plus two back at the
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