The Uncharted Tales

Chapter 23

Part 2: Drake's Fortune

Victor Sullivan

Sully was tired of sitting around, feeling rather useless while Nate and the girl were off on their own, and, goddammit, he wasn't going to be some damsel in distress again. He had more to offer than just some dubious connections when the occasion called for it, and he sure as hell had many more years on the kid when it came to experience.

It was time to start acting.

When he reached the library, he took note that there was no sign of Roman or Navarro, but they had left behind a plethora of men, all of them loitering outside the church, possibly to stop Sully and the youngsters from entering the building. Sully scooped up a sniper rifle off a dead body, grabbing spare rounds in the same motion, and darted out into the courtyard outside the library. He was significantly outnumbered, but what he had on them was the element of surprise. He leaned back against a fallen pillar in a far corner of the plaza, and peered around the block of stone.

And then the chaos began. He took a guy out with his first shot and the men fell into immediate disarray, searching for the source of the gunfire. Sully picked them off one at a time, waiting for moments to strike that wouldn't expose his location to them. When he could, he changed his location, rolling out of view of watchful eyes as he set himself up in another hiding spot. Twisted satisfaction curled up inside of him. Roman's men were dropping like flies.

How do you like that, asshole?

It wasn't meant to last.

He ran out of bullets, forcing him to switch out for a semi-automatic rifle, and all hell broke loose. He brought down mercs surging to his corner with precision shots, but their numbers were overwhelming him. While he could ward off soldiers, he couldn't move. He was utterly pinned down and any time he raised his head to get a better count of how many of them were left, he was forced to hunker down again. He tried to reach Nate through the radio a couple times, but he was met with nothing except static.

Get your sorry ass over here, goddammit!

He was completely surrounded. Soldiers weren't advancing as brazenly, not after he picked them off when they tried to close in on his location, but he was backed into a corner with no way out. He twisted around, gazing down the end of the barrel, and immediately had to duck back down. Bullets ricochet on the crumbling stone, nearly missing his head.

"Sully, are you there? Damnit, Sully, come in!"

Sully snatched the radio and propped his rifle up on the wall to give the weapon something to brace against with one hand indisposed. "Thank God, Nate!" He exclaimed. "Where are you?"

"Heading your way." His voice had a panicked edge to it, and he sounded utterly out of breath. "They've got Elena, we have to stop 'em!"

Sully frowned. Damnit. "I got problems of my own," He snapped. "Bastard's have me pinned down outside the church." He ducked again as bullets flew freely, and dropped the radio to send off his own rounds.

"Almost there!" Came Nate's reply.

All Sully had to do was buy some time. With a renewed sense of hope, he aimed his rifle and got to work picking them off again, but their numbers never seemed to dwindle. For every one that fell, another took their place. How many goddamn mercs did Roman hire?

They were pressing down on him from all side, slowly closing in on him like a noose. Sully gritted his teeth. He'd meant it when he resigned himself to going out in a blaze of glory; only this time it seemed all he managed to accomplish was dwindling some of their ranks. This might be all on you, kid.