The Soviet Comeback Jamie Smith (ebook reader online free txt) 📖

was relieved. No father should see his son do what Nikita had just done.

He covered the ground cautiously back to the house, thawing snow dripping uncomfortably down every crack in his clothing. As he sidled along the house, he heard a commotion from the front.

When he reached the corner, he peered around the front of the izba to gauge the situation, and his heart leapt into his mouth.

It was over.

CHAPTER 29

In front of the house, forty yards away, Brishnov and Veselovsky stood over their two captives. Chairman Klitchkov and Gabriel Allochka were both on their knees in front of them, heads bowed, faces bloody.

Brishnov and Veselovsky had guns pointed at them — Brishnov at Klitchkov and Veselovsky at Gabriel, and they were laughing.

Klitchkov looked heavily wounded, blood dripping from several places, clearly visible in his white overalls.

Gabriel’s clothes were torn, his face bloody from what looked like a pistol whipping, his eyes unfocused and concussed.

Nikita threw himself back behind the wall, the breath driven out of him. If he took out one of the enemy, then either his father or Klitchkov would surely die. He cursed himself for dealing with the rear, his attention should always have been on Brishnov.

“I shall enjoy this, Chairman,” he heard Brishnov say.

“Then get on with it. I do not want to waste my time bandying words with a traitorous dog,” Klitchkov snarled.

“Me, a traitor!” said Brishnov, flaring. “You betrayed me. I have been a faithful servant to the state my whole life. You forsook me, and so did this Soviet Union. I put duty above everything, above a life,” and for a moment there was a look of almost longing that crossed his usually cold face “I will take it all back,” he cried, spittle bubbling on his lips. “Pamyat will bring my homeland back from its knees.”

Klitchkov said nothing, which only served to infuriate his captor all the more. Brishnov paced back and forth, rolling his shoulders.

“Come, come, Nikita, time is against us,” Brishnov called out impatiently.

“Save your sister!” shouted Gabriel, in his native Igbo language, spitting blood out of his broken mouth.

A broken mouth, a broken giant.

Veselovsky hit him across the face with his pistol once more and Gabriel fell onto his side.

“We know you are there, Allochka. It is over,” called Brishnov. “You can save your father and sister. All we want is you.”

“What?” said Veselovsky sharply. “I will leave no blacks alive. You promised I could crucify them.”

“Quiet,” ordered Brishnov.

Nikita didn’t hesitate and stepped out from behind the wall. “NO!” shouted his father.

The world had gone into slow motion. Nikita stumbled forwards, throwing his Makarov pistols to the floor, unstrapping the Sig Sauer from its holster and casting it aside. He could hear music, and see the faces of Sarah and his mother. He would join them now. It started snowing, and Nikita pushed back his hood, the snowflakes snaking like tears down his face.

“Upon us all, Allochka,” said Brishnov softly. “We all must die. There is no place for the Black Russian in the new world.”

Nikita looked at his father. “I love you,” he whispered and closed his eyes as Brishnov raised his Desert Eagle and fired.

There was a roar and the bullet pinged off the wall of the house to Nikita’s right. His eyes snapped open and saw that Klitchkov had driven himself at Brishnov, tackling him to the ground, where they grappled.

Veselovsky looked caught in two minds, whether to intervene or not, but it was near impossible to get a clean shot.

Klitchkov tried to force the weapon in Brishnov’s hands back upon him, but the old and wounded leader of the KGB was no match for the lithe and younger agent who quickly began to gain control.

Seeing his opportunity, Nikita began to run towards the pair. Veselovsky opened fire, peppering bullets from his AK-47 haphazardly in his direction. Nikita was grateful that Brishnov had brought a man with no military experience along with him. He was grateful right up until a bullet hit him in the shoulder. The very same shoulder he had wounded in Texas and pain flashed through his whole body.

He didn’t stop running however, and without breaking stride kicked Brishnov hard in the face, forcing him onto his back so that Klitchkov could regain control. Another bullet lanced through him, this time grazing the side of his head, filling his skull with a deep burning. Gabriel, also seeing his opportunity, rose like a bear from hibernation and threw a giant fist at Veselovsky, who dodged it just as Nikita was upon him and began to wrestle with him to gain control of the Kalashnikov automatic rifle, blood splashing down from his head and shoulder.

A boom of a gunshot behind him averted Nikita’s eyes for a moment and he looked around to see Klitchkov lying on the floor. Brishnov, also on the ground, had shot him through the side.

“NO!” shouted Nikita, seeing Brishnov grinning and climbing to his feet, as the AK-47 was wrenched from his hands by a gleeful Veselovsky. His glee was short lived, as this time Gabriel’s knuckles connected with his temple and he fell to his knees, where Gabriel began pummelling his face.

As soon as he saw that his father had dominance of Veselovsky, Nikita grabbed the AK-47 from the fallen neo-Nazi and began firing shots at Brishnov, running towards him. But ever-agile, Brishnov rolled down a snow bank and leapt to his feet. At that moment the magazine gave the fatal click of an empty chamber. Another click, followed by another. Brishnov cackled. “I have to admit you are a determined man, Allochka. But you must accept your fate,” he said, raising the Desert Eagle and giggling.

Nikita dropped to the floor, and quickly darting a hand to the back of his neck, he pulled out the