Live to Kill

by Brian Drake

  “You will have a half hour head start,” Lassen said. “Better not waste it.”

  “Be seeing you,” Dane said. He led Nina into the dark jungle.

  They had not even a hint of moonlight to help. Wet leaves smacked at them; branches scraped and prodded. Dane kept hold of Nina’s hand, their palms sweaty. They breathed heavily, forcing through the foliage, feeling around tree trunks and fallen logs.

  “They’re gonna start early,” Nina said.

  “I’d be surprised if they didn’t start right away.”

  At each tree they found, Dane felt around the trunk with his free hand.

  “What are you doing?”

  “We need a place to hole up.”

  “What if they bring dogs?”

  “Then we’re finished.”

  “We might be finished anyway.”

  “Now is not the time to be a Debbie Downer.”

  “I need a drink,” Nina said.

  Another fallen trunk blocked them, the soft ground and wet foliage entangling their feet as they followed the length to the other end. They continued forward, Dane pulling her close, grunting as more leaves snapped at them.

  “Let’s stop a second,” Nina said.

  “Our only chance is distance,” Dane said. “And hiding till daylight.”

  “Where?”

  Dane found another tree trunk and felt around.

  “Anywhere,” he said.

  DANE’S FEET caught on a stump, causing him to fall. He breathed hard into the wet dirt.

  Nina landed beside him. “Are you hurt?” She felt his arms and legs. “Steve?”

  “Just winded,” he said between breaths.

  “Let’s stay here. Just a minute.”

  “Good idea.”

  “How do we get through this?”

  “We’ll think of something.”

  “You always have a plan,” she said.

  “Maybe we can find the rebels.”

  “That’s a long shot.”

  “It’s all I got, honey. They have to be watching Lassen’s place. It would be a primary target.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  Dane started to rise. Nina found his left hand and helped him up.

  “Come on,” he said. “Our half hour passed a little bit ago.”

  They started forward again.

  DANE AND Nina found a tree and dropped flat behind it. Their clothes were wet with sweat and mud. Eventually they blended with the jungle. Insects buzzed. The night breeze rustled leaves. Creatures scurried. No sign of larger two-legged creatures.

  “Try to get a little sleep,” Dane said.

  “That’s impossible.”

  “Just try.”

  She burrowed close but they still shivered. Daylight couldn’t come fast enough.

  THE SUN finally cut through the jungle canopy around 7 a.m. The eyes that watched Dane and Nina from twenty yards away belonged to a twelve-year-old boy named Paco Gomez. His hair was buzz-cut close his skull; he wore jungle camouflage, black boots, with camo paint on his face. He clutched a U.S. M-16 rifle.

  Paco made a habit of watching the palace of the “Gringo Dragon,” and the two sleeping on the ground were an unusual sight. Why were they in the jungle, unarmed, improperly dressed and hiding? Perhaps his father, leader of the Nuevo Cádiz rebels, would want to know about them.

  NINA NUDGED Dane. He awoke with a start, coughing into his hand. He looked at her.

  “You okay?”

  “Must look like hell.”

  “We both do.”

  “You’re supposed to say the opposite, ass.”

  Dane looked at their muddy clothes. He dug up a handful of dirt and smeared it on his bare arms and face. “Copy me. We need all the camo we can get now that the sun is up.”

  Nina followed his example.

  “They’ve left us alone out here,” she said, bits of mud falling from one cheek.

  “No, just playing head games. They’re on the move now, though.”

  “We need to find a broken branch, preferably thick, preferably a pair.”

  “You read my mind, baby.”

  THEY FOUND branches that made worthwhile weapons, as long as they somehow came up behind any of Lassen’s troopers. Branches weren’t bulletproof, a deficiency perhaps the Creator would correct the next time He designed a planet. Perhaps He’d let Dane consult.

  They moved in bursts, the light a great help but the steaming humidity making it hard to move often. Their clothes were soaked; the mud so carefully applied to skin to hide them now dripped in yucky brown trails down their faces, arms and legs.

  Dane held up a hand as they moved along a trail. Nina froze. Dane stopped flat and Nina followed. She crawled beside him.

  “I saw something,” he said.

  Leaves rustled in the distance. Dane tried to discern movement. Nothing. They waited. An eternity passed.

  More rustling, ahead and to the right. This time Dane didn’t have to try to see.

  “Three of them,” Nina said.

  He concurred. Three troopers armed with Heckler & Koch UMP submachine guns. Dane almost salivated at the sight. He longed for one of those weapons the way he might want a steak and a cigar.

  “Let them pass,” he said.

  The troops stomped through the foliage with ease, heads moving side to side. They had no fear of being shot. They figured the quarry would be tired, scared, hiding like rabbits. Dane grinned. They didn’t know him or Nina at all.

  The troopers passed. They at least marched properly, in a V formation, with plenty of distance between them.

  “They must have broken into small units like this,” Nina said. “They’ll be everywhere.”

  “Uh-huh.” Dane rose slowly. Time for the hunted to become the hunter. They moved at a half crouch, keeping about twenty meters behind the three troopers. Dane’s legs began to scream from the strain, but they soon closed the gap and Dane struck first.

  They leaped from the half crouch, and he swung his club at the trooper at the right rear position of the V, swinging the club as hard as he could. The other two didn’t know he was there until the club broke against the trooper’s skull with a sharp crack. The trooper let out a yell as Dane tackled him. They were swallowed by the foliage, which rustled as they struggled.

  Nina appeared and smacked the second trooper, her branch not breaking but instead landing with a solid thunk that turned the trooper’s legs to jelly. He fell where he stood.

  The last man started to run for cover. Dane and Nina jumped up again almost at the same time with HKs at their shoulders. The SMGs crackled. The third trooper dropped as the bullets stitched through his back.

  Dane and Nina launched into action without words. They stripped the troopers of ammunition, canteens and ration packs. The troopers’ camo jackets were also a good prize, though Nina had to roll the sleeves above her wrist. The combat harnesses fit better and had the spare ammo and water, of which they drank several mouthfuls.

  “Big improvement,” Dane said.

  Nina moved past him. He followed, HK cocked and locked. She pushed through some leaves. A spot on the ground showed footprints.

  “I saw somebody move from here,” she said. She knelt down and examined the prints. “Did you see any midgets at Lassen’s?”

  “They prefer the term ‘little people,’ dear.”

  “These are not adult-sized footprints. So if we’re not being chased by midgets—”

  “Dear reader, please send your emails to Nina.”

  “There are kids looking for us, too.”

  Dane looked and agreed. He spun around, scanning the distance. “Hear that?”

  “Dogs,” she said.

  “We gotta move.”

  Dane and Nina powered through the foliage, dodging and leaping over obstacles, the sudden incline of the ground making the rush more difficult. The incline sharpened, Nina tripping, Dane helping her up. Almost breathless, they continued, Dane’s lungs burning from the strai
n.

  The high ground might help if it meant seeing troops or dogs from a distance. A massive hollowed-out tree stump, the rest of the towering mass long gone, loomed ahead. “Go for that!” Dane rasped. They hustled. The inside of the trunk offered them a small fortress, albeit one that wasn’t bulletproof.

  Dane and Nina rolled over the side and into the hollow center, lying on the jagged and rough remains, gasping. Dane struggled to lean against the trunk wall and peek over the edge. The seat of leaves rustled with a soft breeze.

  Nina propped herself up beside him. She swallowed some water. “How long?”

  “Anytime.”

  Dane checked the HK. It was chambered for 9-millimeter. Perfect if you wanted to get up close but not the best for distance shooting. They’d have to wait until the enemy neared.

  “Shoot carefully,” he said. “Don’t go full auto until they’re in front of us.”

  “You sound like this is our Alamo.”

  “Hell, it’s our Bastogne.”

  The barking grew in volume, sharp and aggressive, and Dane moved his eyes back and forth, searching for movement.

  14

  Buzzard Bait

  TWELVE-YEAR-OLD Paco Gomez chewed a meal bar. He was hiding behind a stump not far from the man and woman. They were on the run from the Gringo Dragon’s troops, and he didn’t understand why, but they could fight and knew their weapons, and that meant his father would want to know as much about them as Paco could learn. Maybe he might be able to bring them to camp.

  Paco swallowed the last of the meal bar and checked his rifle. Magazine locked, round in the chamber. He had two grenades within easy reach. He heard the dogs approaching. They could find him as easily as the man and woman. That made him nervous. But they also might confuse the scents and become disoriented. That might work to the man and woman’s advantage.

  THE BARKING grew louder, the dogs visible now, straining against their leashes as the troops struggled up the incline.

  Dane spotted Sanchez in the lead. He put the HK to his shoulder. “Let ’em have it.”

  He and Nina opened up with single shots, the SMGs popping in a one-two rhythm. Dane missed Sanchez, the incline throwing off his aim, and Sanchez dropped, shouting orders as two of his troops fell with hits to the chest.

  Two loose dogs, in furious mode, charged the tree stump. Dane fired once, missed. Nina’s shot stopped one of the animals, while the other zeroed in. Dane fired again and hit the dog, who stopped a few feet from the stump. His nose pointed right at Dane and Nina’s hiding spot.

  Dane fired again, shifting his aim with each pull of the trigger. Nina’s gun chattered while Dane pitched one of the grenades from his web belt. He leaped out of the stump and covered Nina while she followed. They ran into the thick. The grenade exploded and somebody screamed.

  Leaves smacked at them as they ran. The incline started to level. They found a hiding spot and dropped flat with about fifteen meters between them.

  Staring through the thick of the jungle was like looking into heavy fog. Dane listened for sounds. Boots, voices, knocking of loose equipment. He heard Sanchez giving orders. His people were splitting up into groups. Rustling ahead. Dane triggered a burst and saw a man fall back, but another took his place. Dane rolled as automatic fire came his way, the rounds slicing through the foliage.

  Nina lined up her sights and fired as the shooter dropped out of sight.

  Dane changed magazines. Shots popped around him as Sanchez and the troops fired blindly. Dane jumped as each round whistled past him.

  Nina threw another grenade. She took off running and Dane followed. The explosion shook the ground but missed targets. The troopers rose to fire. The rounds nicked foliage around Dane and Nina. They found a log and rolled over it, staying flat on the other side.

  “How’s your ammo?” he said.

  “One mag left.”

  “Same here. One grenade, too.”

  They popped over the top of the log to fire at targets. Screams, running, Sanchez shouting. A grenade sailed overhead, bounced off a tree and detonated behind them.

  Dane saw the trooper who had tossed the bomb and shot him in the face. He reloaded. Both he and Nina ceased fire for a moment. Dane plucked his last grenade and gestured for Nina to give him her last, which she did. Dane pulled one pin and tossed one away. He threw the second in the opposite direction. The first blast made the troops scatter, and they ran into the second, multiple screams carrying with the thunder of the explosion.

  Dane readied his HK once again.

  Rustling behind them. Dane and Nina whirled as Sanchez broke through the leaves with his automatic rifle poised to fire.

  A shot cracked. The top of Sanchez’s head vanished in a spray of chunky red. He collapsed.

  More leaves rustled as another trooper in camo joined Dane and Nina, smoke trickling from the muzzle of his M-16.

  Dane said, “Here’s our midget.”

  “Little person, dear.” To the boy Nina said, “Who are you?”

  “I am Paco Gomez. My father leads the rebels against the Gringo Dragon and El Presidente.”

  “How about that?” Dane said. “Will you take us to your father?”

  The boy started to answer but Nina interrupted.

  “Steve,” Nina said. She found a two-way radio on Sanchez’s belt. Dane took it from her. He pressed the Talk button.

  “Anybody home?”

  Lassen’s voice responded. “We’re almost there, Sanchez, just hold a little longer.”

  “Oh, sorry, Cyrus, Sanchez is flat on the ground. He’s buzzard bait. He’s kaput. He’s got a hole in his head for his brains to leak out. In other words, he’s dead. And you’re next.”

  As Lassen replied, Dane turned off the two-way.

  “Where to, kid?”

  “Not kid. I’m Paco. This way!”

  The young solider led them away at a quick pace.

  “Why you not thank me for rescuing you?” Paco said.

  “We didn’t need to be rescued,” Dane said.

  “Stephen!”

  “But that was good shooting, kid.”

  “I told you I’m not a kid!”

  PACO HAD no trouble with the higher obstacles that Dane and Nina had to dodge. Presently he stopped and reached into a patch of ground. He lifted a lid and revealed a tunnel opening. He slithered down and beckoned Dane and Nina to follow. They dropped through the opening, Nina pulling the lid shut behind her.

  Candles resting in dugouts along the wall lit the way. Dane and Nina needed to crawl, while Paco only hunched. He looked back periodically, leading them through the winding tunnel.

  “Where are we going?” Dane said.

  “Camp. I help you, maybe you help us. Nobody’s ever come out of the Gringo Dragon’s palace before.”

  Dane grinned at Lassen’s nickname.

  “We use these tunnels to ambush El Presidente’s forces,” Paco said. “Sometimes they find them, but we always dig new ones.”

  “Pretty handy,” Dane said.

  Some of the candles they passed had gone out, throwing sections of the tunnel into total darkness. But Dane and Nina forged ahead until lit candles returned.

  “Did you light these?” Dane said.

  “On my way today, yes,” Paco said.

  The boy stopped at a ladder and climbed to another hatch, which he pushed open. He started talking as he went up through the hatch, and when Dane stuck his head through he saw why. Four armed men trained M-16s on him. Dane stepped up onto solid ground. One of them yanked away his weapon; another slammed the butt of his rifle into Dane’s stomach. Breath left him as he fell onto the ground.

  Nina cursed as the troops took her gear and shoved her down beside Dane.

  “This is better?” she said.

  Paco yelled at the troops in Spanish, repeating the same words, pushing and shoving at the adult soldiers, but they argued back at him and he continued raising his voice in frustration.

  A new voice broke
in, one deeper and louder and possessing enough authority to silence the troopers. Paco rushed to the new arrival and spoke again, quickly. His father, Dane surmised. The elder Gomez snapped an order. Guards sharply lifted Dane and Nina to their feet. The soldiers marched them forward. Paco and his father trailed beside them. Paco continued telling his story.

  It was a rebel camp like many others, hidden deep in the jungle, full of tents set up in as disciplined a fashion as possible, in this case neatly lined up on two sides with the larger, main tent at the end. Every man and woman carried a weapon. Paco appeared to be the only child. Nina gestured to where camouflaged vehicles sat, just beyond the left row of tents.

  Paco’s father was tall and trim with short, dark hair, olive skin, dark eyes. Much like Paco. The resemblance was uncanny. Dane supposed he’d looked a lot like his own father as well at that age, but he couldn’t remember anymore.

  Paco’s father showed Dane and Nina into his tent, where Paco pulled some folding chairs out of a corner. Dane and Nina sat across from the older Gomez. He told Paco to scoot, and lit a cigarette.

  The elder Gomez regarded Dane and Nina through a stream of cigarette smoke. He had acne scars on his left cheek.

  “My name is Roberto Gomez, and I am the commander of this group.”

  “The whole force?” Dane said.

  “This camp. I’m a major. My son told me how he found you.”

  Major Gomez sat with a straight back, but Dane saw a wariness in his eyes.

  “What can we add?” Dane said.

  “Why does Lassen want to kill you?”

  Dane told the story, leaving out nothing, and Gomez lit another cigarette halfway through the tale. Dane added at the end: “Lassen and Royce are out to turn this country into a criminal sanctuary. The only thing standing in their way is your organization. And Nina and me. Let us help you end this.”

  “How? What do you bring to us?”

  “We know the way in and out of Lassen’s palace. He’s a major cog. He’s the money man in charge of weapons. You can take out El Presidente but Lassen will replace him. You need a coordinated strike to take out them both.”