The others dove for cover behind the vehicles. “Weapons up!” somebody screamed in panic. Doors slammed wildly.
Someone fumbled frantically for a gun. But the old man moved faster and cleaner than any of them. He stepped sideways and used an old fence for cover.
He fired again, this time knocking another weapon out of a man’s hands. The road dissolved into confusion.
Shouts rang out. Sharp reports cracked through the air. Dust and the smell of gunpowder filled the road. One of the attackers bolted from behind cover.
He fired wildly toward the fence. Bullets thudded into wood, kicking out splinters. But the old man had already changed position.
He moved with the ease of someone who had done this before. He didn’t rush. He didn’t panic. He simply worked, taking the fight apart one man at a time.
A third precise shot knocked away another weapon. A fourth blew out a tire. Another man dropped beside the vehicle, too rattled to hold onto what he had.
The big leader finally understood that nothing was going according to plan. The whole situation had slipped out of his control. “In the truck! Everybody in the truck!” he yelled.
But it was already too late for any organized retreat. The old man pulled a flash-bang from his pocket. With one quick motion, he yanked the pin.
The grenade traced a clean arc through the morning air. It landed by the front wheel of the lead SUV. The men saw it too late.
“Down!” somebody shouted. The blast hit the dusty road with a deafening crack. White smoke surged up at once.
One of the vehicles lurched hard to one side. Somebody cried out in shock and pain. Thick white smoke swallowed the road.
When it began to thin, the picture was clear. Several men were already down and out of the fight. The rest were disoriented, stunned by the blast.
The big leader, covered in dust, pushed himself up onto one knee. He looked at the old man coming toward him. There was no mockery left in his face now.
Only raw fear. The old man stood in the middle of the road as if he had complete command of it. His weapon was trained on the men he had beaten.
And all at once, everybody understood. This was not some frightened local. This was a man with real combat experience.
And whatever war he had once fought, some part of it had never really ended. The smoke drifted slowly off the road. The air smelled of burned powder and hot metal.
Glass crackled under the old man’s boots. One vehicle was disabled. Its tire was shredded, its hood twisted.
The windshield had become a spiderweb of cracks. The men on the ground were stunned and disarmed, but not badly hurt. Some lay still, ears ringing.
Others tried weakly to move or crawl. But the fight itself was over. The old man stood on the road with full control of the scene.
His breathing was steady. As if he had just finished splitting wood. In front of him, only two men were still in any shape to speak.
The big leader braced himself on the ground, his face gray with dust. Beside him lay the younger man with the wounded leg.
The others had already given up. For several long seconds, no one said a word. Only the morning wind moved the grass at the roadside.
The big man slowly raised his eyes. There was no swagger left in them now. Only the clear understanding that he had lost…
