The Alex King Series, A BATEMAN [good books for high schoolers .TXT] 📗

the back-hoe, which required revolving the seat, but he didn’t think he’d be digging a trench anytime soon. In his opinion, he’d done a pretty good job, raising the bucket as a bullet trap, and destroying the security hub as well as the two cars, but he was starting to take fire and the glass all around him had either completely shattered, or was strewn with individual bullet holes.

After leaving King, Rashid had deliberated for some time and had eventually responded to Neil Ramsay’s text message, when he had seen the subject matter. King no longer had to either kill the Russian, or snatch Catherine Milankovitch. Caroline was safe and well. Ramsay was demanding a regroup and debrief. As far as Rashid was concerned, his friend had crossed the line. He wanted to help, but he could only see the odds as a suicide mission. If King had reached the point where he couldn’t see reason, then Rashid had wanted no further part of it. He had driven near, hoping to catch King before his assault. He had texted him, and then, when he received no response, he had called. Straight to voicemail. He knew King would have switched off his phone. It was then that he had heard a thud and echo across the mountainside. The first of King’s IEDs.

Rashid had acted quickly, remembering the road building equipment parked up in the layby. He had no weapon, and his hire car would be torn to shreds if he tried to drive in. He had driven at breakneck speed and decided to steal the massive digger. Hereford had taught him many things, not least how to hotwire enemy vehicles. A skill he had already deployed in Syria many times. The drive back to Romanovitch’s property was a fraught one - the digger could only reach forty-miles-per-hour and Rashid imagined King cornered and taking fire, or worse.

Now he was taking fire of his own. He had heard ricochets in the cab, had pressed his chin to his chest as a fragment zinged past his ear. He had just tossed the mangled Ferrari at the group of men and taken a few out with the wreckage. He slipped his foot on the right brake pedal and spun the wheel clockwise as he pulled hard back on the throttle. The digger span quickly and Rashid lowered the front loader bucket, scything through the air and catching two men who were thrown twenty-metres into the wall of the house. They wouldn’t be getting up.

To counter the nauseous feeling from the inertia of the spinning cab, Rashid swung the wheel the other way and depressed the other brake pedal. The digger practically rotated on the spot, its bucket midway and spinning quickly. The men were starting to gather on the lawn. They were reloading or swapping magazines with each other or picking up scattered weapons from the men killed or injured in the IED blasts. Rashid didn’t give them time. He straightened up and the giant machine lurched forwards towards them. His main concern was a man getting level or behind him and leaping either onto the side ladders or the rear-mounted back-hoe. From there, they would be able to take a shot at their leisure. He countered this by swinging the machine in a zig-zag. The men scattered, some firing, others fleeing. But all the time, Rashid drove like he was demented. The digger turned so severely that it looked as if it may well keel over. Rashid stopped suddenly and reversed. He soon had fifty-metres between himself and the remaining men. He swung the vehicle around and faced off the men he had first engaged at the entrance to the drive. They had regrouped and were advancing. Rashid lowered the bucket and repeated his zig-zag as he neared them. Again, the men reacted in the same way, dodging but failing to anticipate how erratic ten-tonnes of metal could be. Rashid heard the thuds as bodies hit the metal but felt nothing as he kept the digger moving at maximum speed through the grounds. He drove a wide circle, the headlights lighting up the vast area of lawn. As he came around towards the house, he could see that he had allowed too much time for the men to regroup and he saw the muzzle flashes a split second before he heard the bullets hitting the body of the digger. He turned and raised the bucket so that it completely blocked his view, and the bullet strikes as they impacted on the toughened steel of the bucket changed two octaves higher.

Wishing he had gone along with King’s plan of a diversion, Rashid steeled himself momentarily, then yanked back the throttle for a final charge. He bounced out of his seat as he drove over a line of flower beds, then crashed through a water feature and was left with fifty-metres of sparking, pinging bullet strikes over the front loader arms and the bucket. He was closing fast, but the bucket suddenly dropped without warning and hit the ground. The hydraulic cylinder had been hit and hydraulic fluid sprayed over what was left of the windscreen and into Rashid’s face. A mound of neatly manicured lawn was pushing up over the already full bucket and he felt the vehicle halve in speed. Rashid hit the breaks and slammed the machine into reverse. He moved backwards at full speed, the bullets pinging off the grille and bonnet. The range was increasing with every second, and Rashid kept the machine reversing hard all the way towards the front wall. He could already see men at the gates. Some were injured and crawling, others were kneeling and getting ready to fire. Rashid nailed the brake and swung the wheel hard. The digger spun, throwing up huge clods of earth. He was twenty-five metres from the wall when he changed gear and pulled back the throttle. The digger lurched forwards and he had just