Turning from the scene, one of the supposedly dead Burmese suddenly launched at Korgan, the triangular shaped bayonet under the AK-47 narrowly missing his abdomen as the Sergeant Major twisted at the hips to avoid it. Undeterred the militia man sprang on the Kazakh pushing him into a nearby table, metal tools rolling off the edge and paper schematics flying into the air.
Momentarily stunned Korgan lost his grip of the fore guard of his rifle. Seeing an opportunity, the Burmese decided to grab at his AK and wrestle him for it, his own apparently out of ammunition or jammed. Reaching out with his weak hand Korgan grasped something on the table and swung it as hard as he could.
The solid steel billet caught the UWSA gunmen just above the eyebrow splitting the skin. The militiaman collapsed to the cement floor like a empty coat, dead from a fractured skull. Korgan looked at the billet in his hand, blood and skin coating the corner of it.
Shrugging his shoulders the squad looked on with nervous laughs.
Tossing the billet aside, it struck the ground just as the factory’s windows imploded sending triangular shaped pieces of glass everywhere under a torrent of gunfire.
Reflexive Fire 