"Энди Макнаб. Кризис четвертого (engl) " - читать интересную книгу автора "No. It has to be done this way."
I couldn't do both take her and the Source. I was still working out what to do when I heard Arabic voices inside the building. The best way to do my job and protect her was to go forward, to get out of the room and stop the threat before it came screaming in to get us. "I'm going outside," I said in an urgent whisper. "Don't move until somebody comes to get you. Do you understand me?" I checked my mag was on tight as she looked up from the computer and sort of acknowledged. I put the Car 15 into my shoulder, and holding the pistol grip to keep the weapon up, opened the door with my left hand. The lights were still on in the corridor and the sounds of contacts were louder to my right, but my immediate concern was the noises to my left in the corridor. I decided to move down to the next junction and hold it there; that way there would be a weapon at each end with Sarah in the middle. I closed the door behind me and started to run. After seven or eight strides I was moving past an external door when it burst inward. The thud as it hit me full-on was as hard and sudden as if I'd walked into the path of a moving car. I was hurled against the opposite wall, stunned and winded. Worse, my weapon had been forced out of my hands. I had lost control of it. There was yelling on both sides; me from the pain, once I got my breath back, and the Syrian from the surprise. He jumped on top of me on the floor and we grappled like a couple of schoolkids. I tried to get to the pistol on my right thigh, but he had me in a solid bear hug around my armpits. I was I tried to kick and buck out of position, then to head-butt him. He was doing exactly the same. Both of us were screaming. The bloke stank. He had a week's bristle on him and it was rough against my face and neck as he squeezed and squeezed, his eyes closed, snorting through his nose as he cried for help. He was a big old boy, packing over two hundred pounds of solid weight. I needed help, too, and screamed for Sarah. There was no way she couldn't have heard me, but she didn't respond. I wasn't entirely sure what this boy was trying to do, whether he wanted to kill me, or if he was just fighting to protect himself. I yelled again. "Sarah! Sarah!" He responded by lifting his head slightly to scream out even louder. It gave me a momentary window. I head-butted him, trying to make contact wherever I could. He did the same. Then something happened that moved the situation on. You don't normally feel pain during a fight, but I felt a stinging in my left ear. His teeth were sinking in. I could actually hear the skin break and then the sound of him straining to bite harder. The fucker had a gristly bit of my ear lobe in his mouth and was starting to pull his head back. I felt the capillary bleeding at once, warm and wet, splashing the side of my cheek as his heavy breathing spat it out. He was in a frenzy, growling at me through clenched teeth, snot and saliva. I was still trying to get my hands down toward my leg so I could reach my pistol, which wasn't helping |
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