THE FOLLOWER: SAS hero turns Manchester hitman (A Rick Fuller Thriller Book 4)(9)

Al-Mufti’s men poured into the street, from the mosque, from the storage building and from the main house.

First from the house itself was the big guy who manned the M2. He clambered onto the Toyota, but the moment he reached the weapon, Des opened fire with his AW50. The round struck the heavy machine gun and exploded sending the barrel spinning into the night and tearing the guy to pieces in the process.

I heard Butch firing his own M16 and instantly men were dropping like flies in front of the storage facility. He fired in short bursts and changed his position after each, rolling in the desert sand to confuse the enemy.

Des fired again, this time at the engine compartment of the Toyota. The explosive charge in the AW’s cartridge blowing the bonnet into the night and destroying the engine.

Flames leapt from the vehicle and lit up the street.

I kept my eye on the front door of the main house, as more of Al-Mufti’s crew barrelled outside. They were in the light, firing wildly, unsure where the threat was coming from. We were in the dark, and other than our muzzle flashes, they had no way of identifying our positions.

I opened up again, and took down two more men at the door.

Then they found Frankie.

Two men had been taking cover behind the Shogun, and with its raised suspension, Frankie had been in plain sight.

I heard the hi-pitched crack of the Yorkshireman’s Browning and one of the men cry out. The second man was about to push his AK under the Shogun and let fly, but I caught him in the throat and head with two rounds before he could fire.

Frankie’s only cover was the narrow entry that lead towards the rear of the main house.

I hit my comms again.

“Frankie, you need to move now, roll out towards the front door and we’ll cover you. Get into the alley ten metres to your left.”

I didn’t wait for him to answer, just poured rounds towards the men exiting the main house, whilst Butch did the same with the storage unit. We needed to buy him precious moments.

Dozens more men were running down the street from the mosque screaming in Arabic, and I wondered exactly how many more we would have to deal with. One thing was for certain, if Frankie didn’t make the alley in the next few seconds, they would be on him.

Des fired at the approaching hoards with the AW50, then gave up with the big cumbersome weapon and let go with the M16, dropping two or three guys and sending the rest scattering for cover.

I saw Frankie sprint along the pathway and dart left into the ginnel that ran alongside the property towards the rear of the house and I felt instantly better.

It was short lived. The second he turned, there was a tirade of automatic gunfire from deep in the alley, the muzzle flashes lighting up the narrow lane.

My heart sank. I tried the Yorkshireman’s comms, once, “Frankie come in…” Twice… “Frankie, do you read me?”

I got nothing.

There were lights and engine noise from behind Al-Mufti’s property and I heard a vehicle driving away at speed.

No one needed to tell me that it was our target, his wife, his children and his close bodyguards on their way to safety. In that moment, I realised that Frankie Green, had walked straight into our target’s CP team as they were extracting their subject. Al-Mufti would not be fighting us today.

We had failed, and we’d lost a good bloke.

Gritting my teeth in anger, I emptied my second thirty round clip at the approaching militia, dropping four, maybe five more, but they still came.

The enemy’s return fire had been wayward at the beginning of the battle, but now they were getting their shit together and identifying our positions. The sand around me was kicking up with white hot .762 and .556. I was forced to wriggle down into what cover I had, and it was getting harder to get my own shots away.

Then one of their guys opened up with some big stuff.

They’d found a second M2 from somewhere and loaded it with .50 tracer. It crackled though the air above my head, the massively powerful rounds lighting the night sky.

We were massively outnumbered and out-gunned.

It was time to fuck off, but not before we did the maximum damage possible to Al-Mufti’s operation.

Des put a round into the Shogun with the AW50 and blew the engine compartment to pieces.

Even though Frankie had managed to plant his device under the car, C-4 is very stable and cannot be detonated by a gunshot, even one so powerful as the one fired by the AW. It must be initiated by a shockwave or detonator.

I threw one of my HG85’s under the car.

180g of TNT did the trick, triggered the C-4 and the Shogun was blown ten feet into the air, spitting lethal shards of razor sharp metal in all directions, killing and wounding several more of our enemy.

I knew if we wanted to put distance between us and the marauding hoards, we needed an even bigger bang.

For once, I had to agree with Butch. This was no time to worry about collateral damage. Al-Mufti’s kids were long gone and any civilians with any sense had fucked off too.

I hit my comms. “Des, put everything you have left from the AW into the front of the storage building.”

“Roger that,” was all he said before he started the steady single shots into the warehouse.

If I had been right and the gaff was indeed Al-Mufti’s dump, we were in for a major firework display.

On shot four there was a whoomph from deep inside the building as the incendiary rounds did their job.