Impasse (The Red Gambit Series) by Colin Gee Read Free Book Online

beyond the immediate threat, wounding two ski troopers and one buffalo soldier prisoner and dropping all three to the snow.
    Forty bullets missed any target, finding termination in frozen earth, wood, or snow.
    The remai ning sixteen spread themselves between the three Soviet attackers.
    The middle soldier died instantly as three bullets struck him in a microsecond, smashing his face and turning his brain to mush.
    Either side of him white ski suits blossomed with scarlet buds and the other men went down, neither killed but both most certainly out of the fight.
    One lay silent but conscious, the blood bubbling on his lips.
    The other joined the screaming, his pain equally spread between the eight wounds he had sustained.
    Another grenade bounced nearby and exploded, its arrival and detonation simultaneous and not permitting Leander the opportunity to duck.
    One piece of metal sliced across his forehead, dropping a two-inch sliver of flesh across his left eye. Another piece smashed into his left elbow and stuck in the ball joint, bringing with it yet another reason for the young African-American to scream.
    Movement to his right focussed him and he pointed the PPSh at whatever it was.
    “Shit!”
    He had not realised that the weapon was empty.
    Some clarity descended on his mind and he turned to the body of Clay, grabbing at the pistol holster and the weapon within.
    A bullet thumped into his left shoulder, passing straight through without contact with vitals or bone, but jarring the elbow against the body of NCO and causing him to almost faint with the pain.
    A second bullet took the dead body in the upper chest and a third struck Clay ’s forehead, sending parts of his skull and brains flying across the snow behind the position.
    The Colt 1911A came free and Leander swivelled, seeking out his attacker.
    No obvious enemy came into view but his vision was still restricted by icy tears of fright and pain in equal quantities.
    To his right , a shot was followed by a short squeal, signifying another life terminated prematurely.
    Again, to the right, the snow seemed to open like a set of theatrical curtains, permitting clear view of a group of four Russians carrying a kicking Buffalo soldier away. The curtains closed as quickly as they had parted and Leander was alone again.
    His right hand trembled, the automatic pistol shaking as he pointed it at any and every small sound that followed the end of the Soviet raid.
    Nothing.
    ‘ I’m still alive. Praise the Lord! Praise the Lord!’
    A distinctive crack made him jump.
    The Colt swivelled and he looked down the jumping sights as the broken branch descended to ground level, bringing snow with it.
    A soft thud behind him reminded him of a grenade and he ducked as best he could, not realising that another ravaged stump had surrendered its weighty load of snow.
    His wounded elbow banged into Clay’s metal canteen.
    He screamed, and relieved himself once more.
    “Medic! Medic!”
    There was no answering call, no repetition of his plea, save that which echoed off the increasing snowfall.
    Nothing.
    His eyes blurred as temperature, stress, blood loss and tiredness fought for control.
    He jumped as his mind sought to fight back and remain alert.
    He watched and listened.
    Nothing.
    “ Oh Lordy, it’s cold.”
    Private First Class Frederick Lincoln Leander, only survivor of his platoon, slipped into the bottom of his little hole and passed out.
     
1349 hrs, Sunday, 4th November 1945, the Kremlin, Moscow.
 
    The GRU briefing ended and Poboshkin waited expectantly.
    He had not been asked one single question throughout, everything he said apparently accepted without dispute.
    “ Thank you, Comrade PodPolkovnik. That will be all.”
    Poboshkin swept up the documentation and stowed it quickly in his case before saluting and turning towards the heavy door.
    Beria’s voice followed him.
    “ Oh, and please inform General Nazarbayeva of our concern for her well-being, and that we look