Battlefield 4: Countdown to War Read Online Free

speed.
    As the second jeep drew closer Kovic yelled at Price to fend it off . But none of his shots deterred them. The road was still climbing but it was straight as far as he could see – which was not more than about two hundred feet. The other jeep was now almost alongside. Kovic wrenched the wheel. There was a screech of contacting metal, but the other jeep stayed obstinately on the road. Kovic swiped the jeep again. This time it veered off its path. Its nearside wheels caught in a ditch and it toppled off the road and rolled on to its side.
    The first rush of relief didn’t last. A bend loomed out of the snow, a sharp left with a treacherous negative camber. He pulled hard on the wheel but momentum had got the better of the jeep. It wasn’t going anywhere except straight off the road, where it bounced, rose and bounced again, spilling all of them into the snow before coming to rest in some trees.
    This is so not my night, thought Kovic.
    He flattened himself against the bank and peered at the other jeep. The occupants had righted it and were back on board. The engine fired. It was coming his way. Kovic ducked out of sight as it went by, skidding in the slush. The NK hadn’t seen them go over the edge. He sprinted forward, slipped in the snow, recovered, vaulted into the back of the moving jeep and took aim. The suppressor on his Sig meant the two in the rear seats were gone without the guys up front even noticing, but then the vehicle lurched as it bounced through a pothole, throwing Kovic on to the driver and knocking his weapon out of his hand. The other man up front struggledto free the barrel of an RPK that was trapped between his knees. Kovic smashed his left elbow into the side of the soldier’s head and lunged for the weapon before he could raise it. But the driver, distracted by Kovic’s sudden arrival, let go of the wheel. The vehicle slammed into a post, the impact throwing Kovic head first into the footwell, mashing his chin against the muzzle of the gun. He tried in vain to reach his gun that was now wedged under the pedals. The passenger freed his machine gun and loosed off a spray of fire into the sky that blasted inches from Kovic’s face, numbing the side of his head so that for a second he was sure he had been hit. What an unholy mess, he thought, as he struggled in the tangle of trapped weapons and writhing limbs. He grasped the barrel of the PRK, the heat searing through his gloves, and wrenched it in the direction of the driver just as its owner fired another volley. The bullets perforated the driver’s neck, so many and at such close range that his head almost entirely detached itself and flopped on to his chest. The passenger’s eyes bulged in horror. Kovic saw how young he looked and felt a flicker of pity before he seized the gun from his grip, jammed the butt into his chest and knocked him out into the snow.
    There was still work to do. The semi-decapitated driver’s boot was still wedged firmly on the gas. Kovic seized the wheel – too late to stop the jeep slamming into a low wall and sending him airborne, tumbling over the hood and the wall and into an icy ditch. His nose smashed against a rock and he heard the crunch of splitting bone. On the way down he cursed Olsen, cursed Cutler, cursed the Agency and finally himself for being fool enough to accept the mission at all.
    For a full minute he was immobile. Almost blinded by pain, he struggled to stay conscious, but could feel his brain giving up, shutting down. In this ditch, hidden by the wall, he could just remain and maybe the bad guys would go away . . . the snow could cover him and he’d never be found. It would be so nice and restful. He felt himself sinking.
    Someone was screaming. He snapped back into consciousness, lifted himself a few inches and peered over the parapet where the jeep had come to rest. It was empty. If he could get it moving it wastheirs. He climbed back over the wall and jumped in. The wheel was slimy