Just as she reached close quarters range, Millie slowed her pace and brought the pistol up. Three quick presses punctured his lungs. He dropped the rifle and collapsed, gasping for air. She dove forward, pinning him against the truck with her shoulder as the man at the rear spun to engage her.
His shots went wide as she flattened herself to the vehicle, returning fire with one hand. Four of her five rounds found their mark, with the last shot splitting the man’s chin as the bullet passed through his neck.
The merc supporting the gunner turned and shouted to his partner. The man behind the machine gun tried to pivot the weapon to the front, blocked by the cab of the truck. The other soldier looked around frantically for his rifle in the bed.
Millie leaped up onto the hood, running toward the back as she slid across the roof. Her foot connected with the gunner’s forehead, sending him staggering into his buddy. They collapsed against the tailgate, knocking it open.
She stood over them emptying the rest of the magazine from her handgun. The 9mm full metal jacket bullets punched straight through both men as she pressed the trigger until the slide locked back.
Tossing the empty pistol, she flipped the machine gun open and pulled a fresh belt of ammunition up, pressing it in place before snapping the top down. Charging the weapon, Millie leaned into the stock, pressing her cheek to the wood as she pivoted the muzzle toward the largest concentration of mercenaries and pinned the trigger to the rear.
Thunder and lightning erupted from the FN MAG. Tracer rounds lanced out as Millie rode the burst through two enemy soldiers. Another one turned to the rear, his face pale with shock as she put the front sight over his body, watching him collapse.
Confusion and shock rippled through the enemy’s ranks faster than the machine gun’s 7.62mm rounds. Most scrambled to their feet, darting to the side. Some never made it as the soldiers with the convoy shot them down.
The mercenary leader spun to face Millie, his face twisted into a mask of pure hate. He brought his rifle up and fired a long burst. The bullets shattered the windows of the truck and tore through the cab as she dropped into the bed.
Millie tried to regain control of the weapon, but her assailant’s rounds pinged and sparked off the steel around her. She slid over the side, dropping to the ground, peering underneath the truck. The man’s boots still stalked ahead, but the rest of the mercenaries were retreating from the battle. Some to the sides of the road, but most were coming in her direction.
She pushed herself up to her feet and snatched the AK from the dead man against the front bumper. Millie slid out into the open on her knees, firing several short bursts at the mercenary leader. He spun to one side, angling himself to put the truck in between them. Millie used the opening to escape, sprinting across the open ground toward the trees at the bend in the road.
She heard the other man’s shouts over his rifle’s reports as he opened fire. Zigzagging, Millie altered her running pattern, presenting a much tougher target.
The man stopped firing only long enough to reload his weapon as he shouted orders to the fleeing men. She didn’t understand what he was saying, but it was pretty clear that she was going to have to evade them all until help could arrive.
At least I took the heat off the convoy, she thought as she reached the edge of the trees.
Millie pushed off hard with her right foot, changing course. Her boots skidded across the twigs and dirt as she hid behind a tree to get a look at her pursuers. Seven men stalked ahead, rifles held up, ready for battle. In the distance, she watched as a faint purple and red glow grew from the horizon.
The sun was coming up, and with it, all of the darkness and shadows she would need to evade the enemy would disappear.
CHAPTER
23
The sliver of golden light broke over the horizon. Curtis squinted his eyes as he eased himself down onto his stomach. Using his hand to block as much of the sun as he could, he watched the men in the distance. They stepped into a section of the forest where the trees thinned, giving Curtis a clear line of sight to the hunting party.
He blew out a short breath through his mouth and thumbed the lens cap up, exposing the rifle scope. Shrugging his shoulder several times, he settled the wooden buttstock against his body as he placed the crosshairs on the chest of the man in front, tracking them.
I really hope you know what you’re doing, John, he thought. Curtis wiped the tip of his tongue along half of his bottom lip as he swept the scope across the group, finding one of Blanchard’s mercenaries. A walking wall of muscle, even larger than John. The man had a canister strapped to his back that had to weight almost a hundred pounds.
“Does that guy actually have a flamethrower?” Curtis mumbled.
He shook his head in disbelief and moved his point of aim back to the other side, spotting Blanchard and the two Alpha assets. They clustered tight enough for him to see everyone in the party, with only a few stragglers in the back — ten men in all.
“Come on,” Curtis whispered, finding the tracker again.
The man in the crosshairs stopped and sank his stance. He pointed straight ahead, where Curtis was lying in wait. The two Alphas positioned themselves in front of Blanchard as the hunting party increased their pace.
Curtis snapped the lens cover over the scope and pushed himself up to a crouch, looping the strap of the rifle across his body. They had spotted the sun’s glare off of the scope’s lens, and now they were moving to kill or capture their prey.
“Over there! I see him,” someone shouted as the report of an AK-74 almost drowned out his statement.
Blanchard shouted for the man to stop firing. He spun toward the others, giving orders to pursue their quarry.
Curtis ducked his head to avoid the lower branches as he ran to his right. He did his best to weave through the thick growth of trees. He knew the men giving chase were gaining ground faster than he could move, but once they reached the denser foliage, he had a chance to escape.
More bullets cracked, slicing across the smooth bark of nearby beech trees. Curtis slid down into a ditch, breaking their line of sight. He had a small window to make his move, hooking a hand around a nearby branch as he pulled his body to his left, changing directions.
His boots crunched along the leaves and twigs as he leaped over a fallen log, rolling his body against the cover. Curtis drew the Beretta and listened to the hunters as they slid down not far from his position.
“Which way?” one of the men asked.
Two more spoke, exchanging harsh words in their native tongue.
“I didn’t see where he went,” the first man said. “You’re the tracker, Menzi. Pick up his trail and point us in the right direction.”
Blanchard stood at the top of the ditch. “Was it Stone?”
“We don’t know, sir. Menzi is looking for something to tell us which way he went.”
“I’ve got something,” the tracker said in his accented English. “He headed west.”
Curtis tightened his grip on the pistol, ready to empty the rest of the magazine when the enemy got close.
More shouts in the distance distracted the hunters.
Blanchard turned away from the tracker. “What’s going on?”
“Godwin is missing,” the behemoth with the flamethrower said.
“What do you mean missing?” Blanchard asked. “Like, he couldn’t keep up and got lost?”
“Someone took him. There’s a trail of blood leading away from the group,” the big man said.
“Split up,” Blanchard said. “We’re only hunting two men, so we’ll still have the numbers when—”
Curtis sat up and rolled to his knees, bracing his arms against the log. His eye found the pistol’s front sight as it settled on the tracker. The Beretta bucked as he pressed the trigger repeatedly. The hunters scrambled, trying to climb out of the ditch.
But one of the 9mm rounds found its mark, tearing through the muscle of the tracker’s thigh. Another bullet sliced acro
ss the man’s deltoid as he reached up for a branch.
He screamed, rolling back into the ditch. Curtis glanced at the Beretta, seeing the slide locked open. He tossed the weapon and started running again. In their confusion, none of the other hunters were in a position to give chase. Instead, they opted for a spray-and-pray approach as their assault rifles popped and rattled.
* * *
John kept as much distance as he could between himself and Blanchard’s hunting party. Once they had spotted the sun’s reflection off of Curtis’ scope, they were moving fast. They had all their attention focused straight ahead toward their prey.
Sloppy, John thought.
He moved through the rough terrain with caution, maintaining just enough speed to keep up with the men. He had circled around, leaving Curtis in a position to draw them in, knowing the tracker would only see the trail up to that point, giving him the opportunity to flank the enemy.
With the men in pursuit of Curtis, John would be able to pick away at the party’s stragglers. He clutched the Ruger Security Six in his right hand in case he needed it, but the gunshot would spoil his advantage.
Several hunters broke from the pack, moving ahead. The rest continued at their regular pace, allowing John to close the distance. The group halted as several of the men that broke away started arguing about something.
John saw Blanchard standing next to the Alpha assets. He raised the handgun, but they were at too great a range to trust the old revolver. The Hyena had a short conversation with one of the Alphas before they moved ahead.
As Blanchard called out to his men, John moved up, stalking one of the hunters in the back. The man held a machete in his right hand, with several more blades sheathed on his body. Tucking the revolver into his waistband, John crept closer.
Standing behind his target, John reached over the man’s shoulder and clamped a hand around his neck, squeezing as he clutched the wrist with the machete in his other hand. He stomped the back of the man’s knee, dropping him lower. John pressed his shin against the man’s elbow and wrenched it back with a sharp crack.
The screams of pain never made it past the vise clamped around his windpipe. John pulled a knife from a sheath on his opponent’s belt and plunged the blade into his heart.
John felt the strength fade from the man as he dragged the body away, into the trees. Once he made it far enough to avoid detection, he dumped the hunter to the side and prepared to head back, in an attempt to grab another.
Before he made it, there were already several mercenaries looking down at the blood on the ground. Blanchard was shouting orders to the others, telling them to split up. John pulled the revolver and started circling back toward Curtis.
A half dozen pops echoed from a distance. The men in the hunting party dropped to a knee, weapons up and ready as they scanned the area around them. The screams of one of their own joined the chorus of the distinctive clanging of the AK-74s answering the first six shots.
“I hope you got the tracker, Clarke,” John said.
CHAPTER
24
Millie’s breath came out in ragged gasps. She had been doing her best to evade the mercenaries coming after her. After the soldiers with the convoy successfully drove them back, several of the enemy attackers joined their leader to find her and exact revenge for turning their own machine gun on them.
She made it halfway up the hill that Jimenez used earlier, but the rest of the climb would be out in the open, with the morning sun highlighting her location. Reaching under the AK-74, she eased the charging handle back enough to check the chamber. She ejected the magazine finding it half empty.
Come on, girl. Stay positive. It’s half full, she thought. Rocking the mag back into the weapon, Millie chewed on her lower lip, looking back and forth at her options. They probably wouldn’t expect her to keep heading in the direction where they had camped earlier.
It was her best bet. She hugged the side of the hill, heading farther away from the mercenaries chasing her. Further away from her friends, as well. Her boot came down on a loose rock, knocking it free. The mini rockslide clacked and rustled, the sound like explosives in her ears.
“I found her!”
Clinging to the hillside, moving in a straight line, Millie knew she would be a sitting duck. She dropped to her butt and slid along the loose gravel and twigs, using her boots to control the rate of descent. The AK's stock pressed against her body as she squeezed the trigger.
The mercenary's shots went well high of her position as her rounds perforated his stomach. She skidded to a stop, crouching as she fired another round through the man’s head. More rifles opened up as she bolted through the trees, hoping her movement to slip around them was enough to keep her offline of their muzzles.
Her throat ached, and her lungs burned. Holding the weapon close against her body, Millie continued in a full sprint once she broke through to the clearing. The men chasing her had been stopping to fire, or running and gunning, making both tasks that much more difficult.
It let her open up the distance, but now that she was out in the open, it wouldn’t be an impossible shot for one of them to make, even with the additional distance she had bought for herself.
Millie spotted the abandoned campsite at the other end of the grassy flatland. The supplies that had been left behind wouldn’t provide a hard barrier against rifles, but they would give her concealment. Perhaps enough to turn the tide.
Trying to pour on the speed, Millie couldn’t summon the extra strength she needed. The first of the mercenaries made it through the trees. His AK barked, but the bullets fell short. Two more joined the fight. Every agonizing step threatened to send her sprawling. In her mind, the campsite appeared just a bit farther no matter how much distance she ate up.
Their battle cries sent chills up her spine. Their taunts only made the situation worse. The ground nearby burst out, peppering Millie with loose gravel and dirt. A bullet split the air as it whipped by her head. It was enough to steal her focus as she staggered.
Millie stumbled several steps before rolling over her shoulder and sliding to a halt. She had dropped her weapon a few meters back, but the sight of the mercenaries rushing her gave Millie pause. Snapping out of the stupor, she scrambled for the AK, but more sprays of dirt forced her back.
She gritted her teeth, bracing for the inevitable death stalking her. The men had slowed down, walking to cover the remaining distance. The sadistic animal-like smile on the leader’s face infuriated her. She rose to her feet, standing tall and defiant. As she faced her foe, something in the sky caught her eye.
A small dark smudge grew larger as it approached. A second speck appeared next to the first. A puff of white pulsed out as something streaked downward. Millie’s eyes widened, and she dove to the ground, covering her head.
The mercenaries spun around, expecting to see a group of soldiers emerging from the forest behind them, but instead, they caught the last few meters of travel as a Hellfire missile exploded in the middle of their group, kicking up a massive cloud of dirt.
Millie felt the blast wave whip across her clothes and hair. A few seconds later, bits of debris rained down around her, a reminder of the air-to-ground missile’s gift. She looked up in time to see the Predator drones passing overhead as they looped around.
* * *
Splinters of bark sprayed the side of Curtis’ face as the chattering assault rifles harried him. He slid down a small hill, almost losing his balance. The stagger slowed him too much, allowing one of the hunters to get close enough to see which way he was going.
Curtis cursed and plowed ahead. He and John decided after executing their plan, they both would circle around and meet each other somewhere in the middle, then move on from there. He spotted a hulking figure crouching near a tree. John.
He signaled for Curtis to keep running. Passing by, Cutis gave John a quick nod and pressed ahead. John stepped out from behind the tree with the Ruger revolver in his hand. The small handgun almo
st disappeared in the big man’s grip.
The lead hunter stepped into view, his eyes locked on Curtis as he brought his AK up. The man spotted John at the last second and faltered, trying to whip the muzzle to the side. The revolver popped three times. The .357 magnum rounds hammered the mercenary in the chest, dropping him.
John tucked the gun into his waistband and made a move for the assault rifle. Two more men rushed into view, weapons firing. Their bullets tore into the ground in front of John, with several striking the body of their still-breathing ally.
Turning to take cover, John spun behind another tree, drawing the small handgun again. Curtis turned to face the battle, dropping to a knee. He braced the rifle against his shoulder, flipping up the lens cap on the scope. Blowing out a breath, Curtis pressed the trigger. The Mauser thumped his body as the bullet pierced his target’s sternum.
He worked the bolt, ejecting the spent casing and chambering the next, watching as the other man stepped back, taking cover behind a large ash tree. It was the opening John needed to break away from the fight.
As John ran by, Curtis stood and followed, keeping the rifle in his hands, ready for battle.
They continued running through the forest until it was evident that no one had followed them. John opened the cylinder and checked the remaining three rounds. His chest heaved, but he breathed in and out through his nose as the muscles in his jaw tightened and relaxed over and over again.
“Did you get the tracker?” he asked.
“Pretty much,” Curtis said. “He won’t be coming after us anytime soon. At least not on his own two feet. We’ve got some breathing room now.”
“The Beretta?” John asked, tucking the handgun back into his waistband.
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