Binary code: Mystery number one - стр. 86
Ruthra loaded the last grenade, pressed himself against the outer wall of the hall so he could see a little of the terrorist's hiding place, made a ballistics calculation with the computer, and fired so that the grenade exploded after falling to the floor where the woman had fired from. There was a rumble and a squeal. "Got you, bitch!" – he rejoiced and pulled his leg up, fighting through the pain, and headed toward the house.
Ruthra walked over to where she was hiding, leaned against the wall of the house, and tried to look inside. The house was two stories high, with a balcony at the bottom and a balcony at the top. No trim, it was moulages. He peered behind the lower balcony. No one. Then stepped forward and decided to go behind the perimeter. At that minute, the "creature" popped through the first floor window opening. Her whole face was covered in blood. She pointed her AK-9 assault rifle at him and fired. Rutra, seeing her, fell down on purpose, as it would have taken a long time to run away or bounce aside in his position – a split second could cost a life.
He lay, rolled over on his back, and waited, keeping the exit from the house and the upper windows with the balcony in his sights. The attacker appeared to be in shock and wounded, confused; she was firing her assault rifle in different directions. Lying on his back, Ruthra turned his attention to the ceiling of the main room. It showed the hoods where the night vision cameras had been placed. "So they're watching the battle. Someone's watching and waiting for the outcome. Wait for me to get to you," Ruthra said to himself, and then he realized he couldn't really do anything. "The main thing is to survive," he decided.
The bastard stopped firing, probably out of magazines. Ruthra crawled, sideways, and began to move around the corner of the house. It was safe there; there were no windows or doors. He stood, waiting. His pants and sleeve were wet with blood, something was pouring down his face. Ruthra felt his left cheek, it was congealed blood with a chunk of flesh and skin. He'd been hit, and in the heat of the moment he hadn't noticed. A shrapnel or tangential shot had torn his cheek, oozing blood. Ruthra was worried that he might die from blood loss, so he decided to go for the assault. He had to cover the mask of his helmet, even though it lost his view, but the wound on his face was enough of an argument.
He walked along the outer wall of the hall to the balconies, no one was there, went further, looked through the window opening into the room, also no one. Sneaking up to the door, he shot inside, turned on the thermal imager, probed the situation inside with his usual technique, saw a red spot on the screen with his side vision. While he was looking at the image on the thermal imager, a line of bullets started coming in his direction. The bullets hit the rifle, knocking it out of his hands. Ruthra, too, dropped down to hide, and grabbed the pistol in pain.