Page 114 of Ground Truth

But the fog limited the distance the tech could distinguish human body heat, even if Flint were standing in the center of the open grass.

Which he wasn’t.

The enemy grew a bit bolder.

Or maybe he thought Flint had given up and returned to the interior of the farmhouse.

He stepped wide of the shed to give himself a broader viewing range.

Which was when Flint adjusted his aim and fired.

From the relatively short distance, the shotgun blast was more than sufficient to knock the man down. The shotgun pellets spread out in a cone-shaped pattern, causing multiple wound channels to his body.

He screamed and went down. Blood flowed from several wounds on his torso, legs, and arms.

His heart was still pumping. He was suffering from internal bleeding, punctured organs, and broken bones.

But he wasn’t dead.

Which meant he could still shoot.

Flint’s instinct was to hurry toward the injured man to finish him off.

But almost instantly the second shooter fired from across the open space.

Flint was forced to adjust his position, moving around to the opposite side of the tractor.

He raised his pistol and returned fire, crouched low, and retreated to the safety of the farmhouse walls.

When he reached the building, he flattened his back against the cold stone, breathing heavily.

“One down. One to go,” he murmured.

The second shooter’s position was impossible to see from the northeast corner of the farmhouse. Fog covered the distance across the property with a heavy, wet cloud.

Flint couldn’t see the second man at all.

Whether he could see Flint was dependent upon the quality of his thermal vision equipment.

Smartest thing was to assume the enemy had top-of-the-line stuff. Even in the heavy fog, he could at least make out Flint’s heat signature on open ground.

Which, to a marksman with the right weapons, would be good enough.

If the two shooters were amateurs, the second one might run to the first one’s aid.

These guys were not amateurs.

The teakettle was winding down. The steam was failing. As a distraction, the kettle had served well, but its usefulness was over.

Flint reloaded the shotgun and checked the magazine on his pistol.

Where was the enemy’s position?

He didn’t know.

Somewhere on the south side of the property. Near the house, most likely, given the limitations of his equipment.

The shooter couldn’t see the north side of the farmhouse. But could he see the other three sides?

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