Wolf Helling hit the ground rolling, bringing up his Kalashnikov, set
on automatic. The renegade guard was back to shoot it out, firing from
somewhere in the area of the pad.
Good. He was going to trap the fucker. This time he would handle the
situation personally; he would not have to depend on a bunch of
incompetent East German Stasi burnouts.
He glanced back and saw the two trailing behind him. When the guard had
opened fire, they'd dived and stumbled pell-mell for the cover of the
storage sheds. They wouldn't be any help, but he'd known that already.
It didn't matter. This was going to be one-on-one. And easy.
The chopper had been lost, which was a shame. Although Ramirez's orders
were to seize it when it arrived, that had not been possible. You win
some, you lose some.
Amid the gunfire the old man had reached the SatCom helicopter, while
the guard was now making a dash for its protection, too, even as he
covered himself with another spray from the automatic that the damn
fools had let him get.
Fortunately his aim was wild again, probably because he was running,
and the rounds sailed by harmlessly. And he was in the open.
Now.
Helling trained his AK-47, long barrel and heavy clip, on him and
pulled the trigger. . . .
His clip was empty.
_Scheisse_! He cursed himself for having used the gun on automatic. At
ten pops a second, you could wipe out a 35- round clip before you could
sneeze.
Still cursing, he pushed the button releasing the clip and slammed in
another. But he was too late; by that time the guard had disappeared
behind the SatCom helicopter. The two East Germans were firing randomly
and ineffectually from the safety of the storage sheds, holding their
weapons around the corners and spraying blindly. Idiots. They were
providing cover, but since they had no idea where they were aiming,
they were endangering him at least as much as their target.
And now the bastard had reached the cover of the helicopter. He was
safe for the moment. But only for the moment.