Offering his hand Kurt helped the next Kazakh up the slope preventing him from sliding back down. Grabbing him by the belt the German’s bicep flared as he lifted and flung him onto the embankment. The Kazakh stood up dusting himself off when the hand of god seemed to swat the mercenary right out of the air, literally tearing him to pieces.
With his face now splattered with his comrade’s blood Kurt rolled out of the way as large caliber rounds tore apart the ground he had occupied a fraction of a second before, churning up a cloud of dust in their wake.
The noise was deafening, the twin barrels chewing apart everything in their line of fire. What had become sporadic PKM bursts now ceased completely, the assault’s momentum now lost.