Chapter 4

Nothing happened.

No visible-laser aiming light.

No destructive microwave maser beam hot on its tail.

The rifles didn’t do shit!

“The EMP!” Grant shouted.

It had cooked the RACR’s electronics.

I dumped it and pulled out my mini-rocket launcher.

It worked just fine.

I fired a three-round spread, then ducked aside.

One return blast took out where my head had been moments earlier.

When I dared look again, I was peering up at the blown onion dome atop the Kremlin’s pillar. It hadn’t been cracked open as I’d thought; it was a gun emplacement that had opened its outer doors after the dome collapse.

Or rather, it had been.

Two of my three rounds had blown the tip off their banger but good.

“Damn, Sarge. You seriously circumcised that bastard.”

I held up a hand and he high-fived it. Felt good.

I glanced skyward once more. The third round was headed straight for the tarnished brown globe of the Earth. It certainly wouldn’t do any noticeable harm there.

Reminded myself—again—that Russians are tricky.