Maksim, meanwhile, was pinned down on the floor of the truck, the swirling blood soaking into his shirt and hair. A soldier was lying on top of him, crushing his chest, a knife in his right hand, attempting to thrust it downwards straight into the Russian’s heart. But Maksim was holding him off, using all his strength to keep the hand with the blade a few inches away from his body.
Ollie roared, then grabbed hold of the soldier, jerking his head back with his left hand, then using his right to stab his still-bloodied blade into the man’s throat. In the same instant, Maksim bucked upwards, then kicked out with his legs, delivering a brutal blow straight into the man’s chest. He whimpered with pain, like a dying animal, but within seconds, he’d been crushed to death, his heart seizing up under the violence of the sudden assault.
‘I would have dealt with him,’ said Maksim, pushing the corpse away from his body. The wounded pride was evident in his voice.
‘Of course you would, Maksie,’ said Ollie with a rough grin. ‘Just wanted to save you the trouble, that’s all . . .’
Steve was running hard towards the stalled truck, the Uzi machine pistol drawn, and his finger slotted onto the trigger.
The driver of the truck, and the soldier sitting alongside him, were looking bewildered. They were unable to understand why their vehicle had stopped working. The clouds of smoke were obscuring their vision, and the burning flames from the diesel drums had turned the sky a bright, hazy orange. A troop of soldiers were rushing to cordon off the Presidential car. All around them, the crowd was starting to panic, with men, women and children screaming wildly, then starting to run in every direction, creating a scene of chaos that paralysed the entire road.
Block it all out, Steve told himself.
Just focus on the driver.
He ran harder, but waited until he was just ten yards from the vehicle before opening up a murderous barrage of fire, using the full power of the weapon to punch a deadly blast of hot metal straight through the window and into the faces of the men sitting behind it. The glass screen shattered into a thousand fragments, but did nothing to stop the volleys of bullets that sliced into both men. Steve kept on running, slotting a fresh mag into the Uzi as he did so.
Using one hand to open the door on the driver’s side of the vehicle, he used the other to rip the man clean out of his seat and cast him straight to the ground. In the same movement, he clambered up into the truck, hoisting the second corpse out into the road. He sensed there was some life left in the soldier - the bullets had peppered his chest, but not severed any major arteries - but he had lost consciousness and there was no time to double tap him now. Behind Steve, up in the main part of the truck, he could hear the noise of a fight. It was impossible to have any idea what was happening up there.
As he looked out of the window, he could see Nick approaching from one side of the road, Ian from the other. Both men were hurtling towards the vehicle at full pelt, their guns drawn, blasting their way through the crowds of terrified civilians and confused soldiers clogging the avenue. Huge fireballs were still spitting out from the row of incendiary devices, and the soldiers were rushing towards the garage, putting down barrages of fire into what they assumed was the enemy position, but the intense heat from the flames was driving them back, making it impossible for them to figure out what was happening behind the wall of fire.
Chaos we can live with, decided Steve. But in the next few seconds, they’ll realise this isn’t a major attack. Just three blokes, with machine pistols, and more balls than brains. And once they know they outnumber us a hundred to one, they’ll crush us like maggots.
He climbed out of the cabin and peered up into the back of the truck, his gun drawn and ready to fire.
‘Thanks for dropping by, old boy,’ Ollie panted. ‘But I think we’ve got the situation under control.’
Steve took a second to digest the scene. So long as you didn’t count bruises, sweat, stubble, grime and hands dripping with blood, all five of them looked OK. Their knives were still in their hands, and the butchered remains of the five soldiers who had been guarding them lay on the bed of the truck.
‘Then let’s get the hell out of here,’ he replied with a grin, and swung himself back down into the cabin of the truck.
‘Christ,’ he muttered under his breath, as he slotted himself behind the steering wheel, and tried to get a decent lungful of oxygen amid the smoke and fumes. There’s just a chance we’re going to pull this thing off.
Ian and Nick had already climbed, beside him.
‘Turn that thing off,’ he snapped, pointing towards the HPES still held between Nick’s hands.