The Yeoman: Crying Albion Series - Book 1 Read Online Free

couple on board mounted the ramp they smashed head-on into a
departing van. For those trying the other direction another pair of Rabian gunmen ambushed them with a salvo of assault-rifle
gunfire. Over three hundred people were trapped between the sea and the Rabian positions. Slowly the death toll mounted.
    The islands of Brittania had experienced terrorism before, but the Rabian ways were a newer, more grisly dish entirely.

 
 
    Weyland had the G36 out of the armory along with the
Browning Hi-Power. While the G36 used a different caliber to his L1A5 rifle the
pistol was in 9mm, matching his CZ 75. Tucking the sidearm behind him in the
small of his back he added a couple of spare magazines which went into his
jacket pocket.
    The Junior Commissioner
had resumed calling 999 and was in the middle of a rambling, panic-stricken
monologue. When he heard the sound of metallic noises in one of the offices he
walked halfway across the main office and noticed the Yeoman.
    “What are you doing? That’s restricted
weaponry! You can’t touch that!” Brown said with a high-pitched shriek.
    A door being kicked in sounded and
distracted the attention of the policeman though. As he turned a swarthy-faced
Arab entered through the internal office doorway. He was an ugly man with a big
weapon. Seeing only the lone man with civilian clothes in front of him he
pointed angrily at the officer.
    “Where’s the Yeoman!” he barked in accented
English.
    Brown almost soiled himself at the fear that
washed over him.
    “Tell me or you die Kaffir!”
    As the terrorist said this another voice
spoke behind him in the Rabian tongue. He stepped
through the doorway and focused his attention on the weak-looking man.
    The sight of a man holding his life in the
balance broke any flimsy loyalty to his detainee.
    “He’s over—”
    Brown could not complete the words as Weyland opened fire. The machine-gunner took a three-round
burst on the chest and the neck. The body armor stopped one of the bullets but
the other two tore through his upper-chest and windpipe. Instinctively the
stricken Rabian clutched the trigger and a long burst
of fire cascaded through the office-complex. Weyland shied back around the corner into the small sub-office corner and stayed low to
the ground.
    After the deafening roar had subsided he aimed
around the corner, tracking the carbine at whatever he saw before him. The
untidy office was now a mess, paperwork, plastic and shards of glass littered
the place. On the ground was a dying Rabian , slumped
over a bloody PKP machine gun. The troublesome lawman was not moving either.
He’s been blasted backwards and was face-up with his back twisted awkwardly.
    ‘So much for your gun control,’ Weyland mused with dark humor .
    The other gunfire had subsided and the
silence worried him more now. The terrorist had asked for him specifically,
meaning he was a target for them. A feeling of combative rage swished about him
and the Yeoman moved forwards quietly. By avoiding major noise from the debris
he reached the wall that connected to the main corridor entrance. On reaching
the corridor door the Yeoman tried a ruse. He fumbled and tried the door a few
times while remaining off to the side of it. Swiftly he removed his hand and
arm just as a short burst of AK bullets poured through the middle of it.
    Going to the floor next to the doorway Weyland jammed his Browning against the bottom of the doors
base and aimed one-handed. He fired three times through it into the corridor
where danger lurked and was rewarded with a yelp of pain. He fired four more
times then ripped open the door, while keeping his body clear. No gunfire came
and he jerk-looked around the corner next. No sign of the other Arab was there
either but the far door was open and a blood trail was noticeable.
    He could hear shouts and screams but Weyland kept his cool, carefully exiting the outer doorway.
He saw two armed men distantly firing towards the ferry. They didn’t