They started ahead when Curtis dropped to a knee. “Wait.”
John stopped and crouched next to him. Curtis pulled his phone from his pocket, using his hand and body to shield as much of the screen’s glow as he could.
“It’s Travis.” He accepted the call and brought the phone up, pressing a finger to his other ear. “Not sure how long I can talk, but I hope you’re calling to tell us you’ll be swinging by in a helicopter to pull us out.”
John peered up over the grass, watching the wall of mercenaries encroaching. Curtis listened to Travis, only offering the occasional short vocal affirmation.
“I can’t hear you. Can you repeat that?” Curtis asked.
John looked back over his shoulder at Curtis as he put the phone away.
“Weak signal. The call dropped.”
“What did he say?” John asked.
“Millie reported that Blanchard has special plans for us,” Curtis raised his eyebrows. “He’s organizing a manhunt. These gentlemen are supposed to be driving us toward the hunters.” Curtis nodded his head in the direction of the soldiers advancing on them.
“What about the convoy?” John asked. “Do they need our help?”
“Sounds like they’re in a pretty good spot for now, but I think Travis was just telling me what we wanted to hear. We should still head back when we can.”
John narrowed his eyes, thinking of his next move. “Come on. We need to head away from those men.”
“Are we still planning on swinging around?” Curtis asked.
“No,” John said, picking up his pace.
Curtis struggled to keep up without breaking concealment. “No? Are you intentionally heading deeper into Blanchard’s hunting grounds?”
“Damien Blanchard wants us to head in his direction. We’re going to oblige the man,” John said, turning to face Curtis. “We’re going to turn the tables and hunt him down first.”
CHAPTER
20
“Sir, you should see this,” Russell said.
Damien took the binoculars from the man and looked where he was pointing. “What are they doing here?”
A line of soldiers emerged from the wall of red beech and Mutuba fig trees in the distance, moving slowly as they scanned the ground around them. They probed and swiped at the grass and shrubs with their weapons as they advanced, eyes fixed downward.
“Stay alert, gentlemen,” Damien shouted down to the hunters around him. “If we’ve reached the line, that means Stone has got to be somewhere between them and us.”
He handed the binoculars back to Russell and slapped the side of the truck. He rode in the back with the other two men while they moved ahead, scanning the area thoroughly. The line of soldiers split, letting a jeep pass as it turned off of the rough path, heading toward the monster truck sticking out like a monument in the plains.
“Stop here,” Damien said to the driver, already climbing down before the vehicle came to a standstill.
His boots crunched in the loose dirt as he strode over to the approaching jeep. Gabriel killed the engine and stepped out, Micah following behind him. Both men took rifles from inside and looped the straps over their shoulders as they joined Damien.
“We just passed your men back there,” Gabriel said. “They should be meeting up with us in a few minutes.”
“I can see that,” Damien said. “Any sign of Stone?”
“I was about to ask you the same,” Gabriel said.
Damien took in a breath through his nose, blowing out through his mouth as he craned his neck, turning side to side, hoping to catch a hint of his quarry’s whereabouts. He shook his head.
“He must have made it deeper into the grounds before we arrived,” he said.
“Or slipped by your men back there,” Gabriel said.
“No, I don’t think they would have missed a big buffalo like Stone stomping around.” Damien looked down at his watch, the eerie green glow giving him a sickly pallor. “Set up camp here. We’ll continue the hunt in the morning.”
“Yes, sir,” Russell said, turning to his men. “Set up a patrol. All directions. If Stone is in the area, I want to know immediately.”
* * *
“This can’t possibly work,” Curtis whispered, his tone still harsh.
“Keep that pistol in hand,” John said. “If someone spots us, let him have it, and I’ll take his weapon. We fight our way out if we have to.”
John shifted the placement of his boot, wedging it between two branches in the cape ash. Both men had chosen the tree because of its thick growth and foliage, using the shadows from the leaves to stay hidden.
“They’ll see us from a mile away,” Curtis said.
“The closest man is only a few dozen meters, and he hasn’t spotted us yet,” John said.
“How can you be sure?”
John tucked in his body a little more as the soldier closed the distance. “He’ll definitely hear you if you don’t shut it.”
Curtis nodded as he wrapped his leg around a near-vertical branch, pressing the Beretta between his palms. He eased the hammer back and took aim, placing the front sight on the soldier’s head.
Both men held their breath as the chatter from the mercenaries reached them. The line of soldiers moved slowly through the heavily wooded area, scanning the ground around them, kicking at the grass and rocks. Two men worked together to roll a fallen log to the side and shined their flashlights into the deep pools of darkness in a nearby ditch.
Tense moments passed as the closest merc walked under the tree. Curtis tightened his finger on the trigger, taking up the slack, aiming directly at the top of the man’s head. John’s hand flexed, gripping the branch he used for support.
A voice in the distance called out, “Alles veilig.”
John didn’t know what it meant, but each of the soldiers nearby repeated what he had said, each in turn. A sort of call and response. All clear. They hadn’t seen the men perched in the trees directly overhead.
The night swallowed the soldiers before John and Curtis dropped down.
Curtis stayed low, watching the wall of trees. “How did you know he wasn’t going to see us up there?”
“Those men were spooked. I could tell they were keeping their heads down, focusing on the ground in front of them,” John said, checking the time.
“Where to next?” Curtis asked.
John turned his head side to side. “We shouldn’t be too far from the next clearing. Let’s tail these guys until then.”
“We’ve got a good shot at sneaking up and taking one of them out for his weapons,” Curtis said, holding the Beretta up.
“Not worth the risk,” John said. “We’re going to follow them, and they’ll bring us right to Blanchard.”
“What then?”
“We take the weapons we need and end it.” John jogged toward the soldiers heading away.
* * *
“You’ve got a rather large group of visitors rushing your position right now,” Jimenez said. “Numbering maybe twenty, all armed.”
“Anything you can do to thin the herd?” Travis asked.
“Figured I’d save them for you, so I can focus my attention on that machine gun rolling up.”
“Good call,” Millie said.
She turned and gave a couple of hand signals to the soldiers nearby. Travis had the Mambas set up forming a wedge in the middle of the road, allowing them to use the gunners' ports in each of the vehicles and still keep the trucks safer. Several of the soldiers with them, including those injured in the ambush, took up firing positions.
Travis braced the AK-47 against his body, resting his elbow on the hood of one of the Mambas. “I see them.”
“Wait until they fully break from the tree line,” Millie said. “Don’t waste your shots. Remember, measured trigger presses, and make sure you’ve got your target in your sights.”
The first wave of enemy soldiers rushed out into the moonlight. They clutched their weapons against their bod
ies, shouting as they fired from the hip, their shots wild.
“Light ’em up!” Travis shouted.
The roar of the Vektor R4 rifles and Travis' AK shook the air. The blinding muzzle flashes pulsed and strobed as two mercenaries fell in their blitz. The rest took a knee or bolted to the side to find cover.
Their return fire came back more disciplined as one of the shots tore into the shoulder of the man next to Travis. He triggered a quick burst and stepped out into the open to pull the man behind the vehicle for cover.
“Get him back to the truck,” Travis said, returning to his position to continue the fight.
“Any help you can give us would be greatly appreciated, Jimenez,” he said between shots.
“The truck is rolling up now. I’m going to take out the driver.”
His Remington’s thunderclap broke through the firefight. Several seconds later a monstrous roar came from around the bend. The enemy had deployed the machine gun, but not at the convoy.
“What’s happening?” Travis asked. “What is that gun aiming at?”
“Me,” Jimenez said, panting. “They’ve zeroed in on my position. I’m Oscar Mike.”
“Doesn’t sound like you were able to get the gun out of the fight,” Millie said, dropping behind the second Mamba to reload her MP5.
“I took the driver out, but the passenger hopped out and climbed behind that MAG.” Rocks and gravel crunched through the radio as Jimenez slid down the hill. “Must have seen the muzzle flash.”
The pickup bounded around the corner, skidding to a stop in the distance, fish-tailing to end up sideways. A merc in the back stood and braced the FN MAG to his shoulder, unleashing a stream of tracers, lighting up the night.
Bullets tore into the steel skin of the vehicle Millie used for cover. She dropped prone, watching the soldier next to her crumpled as a round punched a hole through his helmet. She stared at the man’s empty eyes for a second before rolling to her right.
The machine gun’s thunder reignited the fire in the enemy’s chest. The men they had pinned earlier got back to their feet and rushed ahead. Millie shifted her weapon and squeezed the trigger, firing a burst at the lead man. The 9mm FMJ rounds punched small holes into the man’s torso before passing through and clipping another mercenary in the shoulder.
“If we don’t take that machine gun out of the fight, we’re done for,” Travis said over the roar of the small arms fire.
Millie belly-crawled to her left, taking aim underneath the armored vehicle. She used short, precise trigger presses, snapping out three single shots, shattering the knee and shin of another merc. He fell forward, his face slamming into the hard-packed earth with a crack.
She looked for another target, but the man’s writhing body blocked her view. Millie put him out of his misery with another shot, but puffs of dirt obscured her vision as the machine-gunner rode his rounds across the road to Travis’ Mamba.
“I can’t get a shot on the truck,” she said, looking over her shoulder to the only man near her. “Cover me. I’ve got to swing out into the open.
The soldier nodded, working the charging handle to reload his R4. “Ready when you are.”
“Now!” Millie shouted, darting to the side, completely out from behind her only cover. The soldier popped up and fired his weapon in a series of bursts.
Sliding to a stop on her knees, Millie brought the MP5 up to her shoulder, aiming in the direction of the truck. She could see the gunner swinging the weapon toward her in slow motion, the tracers lancing out as the muzzle tracked her.
Millie’s weapon cracked twice, sparking off her target’s gun. He flinched, ducking into the bed of the pickup. Another enemy soldier fired, his bullets peppering her with rocks as the rounds hit the ground to her left.
Gritting her teeth, she propped her elbow on her knee and hit him with a burst to the chest. He fell to all fours and spit a glob of blood before raising his AK-74 in her direction again.
In her peripheral vision, Millie could see the man in the truck settle in behind the gun. She tensed as she heard the FN MAG chatter once more. Her body struggled to swing the muzzle toward him, racing the tracer rounds. Too slow, she thought.
The man’s head snapped, twisting to the side as his body tumbled from the truck. A split-second later the thunderous report of the Remington 700 followed.
Jimenez ran up next to Millie, transitioning to his pistol. He punched a trio of holes into a nearby merc’s chest. Millie’s MP5 popped, hitting the soldier three more times.
“Thanks,” she said, getting back to her feet. “Come on, we need to drive them back.”
CHAPTER
21
“Not too close,” John said. “I don’t want the others spotting us when this group meets up with them.”
“That would be bad,” Curtis said.
He dug around in the pocket on his thigh and pulled out the monocular, handing it to John. The deep, throaty rumble of a powerful engine filled the silence, its growl still vibrating the air as a truck on a set of giant tires, sitting on a jacked up suspension, rolled to a stop. A pickup truck and jeep joined the beast as the soldiers they were following stepped out from the trees, heading for the newcomers.
“Tell me some good news,” Curtis said.
“It’s Blanchard,” John said. “I didn’t think the man had the guts to show up.”
“Something tells me that ’80s throwback he rode in on has something to do with his bravery,” Curtis said.
John chuckled, still staring at his target through the small scope. Careful to stay within the grove of trees, he moved up a few more meters.
Curtis moved with him. “What’s going on? Why are we creeping up?”
“Right there.” John pointed to a trail of dust rising where the dirt road cut across the land. “There’s another jeep approaching.”
Curtis tilted his head, leaning as he strained to spot the vehicle as it passed through the line of soldiers he and John had evaded earlier. The jeep pulled off to the side, driving through the grass toward Blanchard and his hunting party.
John’s hand gripped the monocular tighter, the muscles in his forearm flexing. “It’s the Alphas.”
Taking a deep breath, John twisted his head to one side before relaxing to look through the monocular again.
Curtis could see what the man wanted to do just from his posture. “John, you’re not planning on charging them, are you?”
John relaxed and looked at Curtis. “No. We both know that’s a suicide mission. We would be risking our lives for a chance at reaching Blanchard and the two assassins.”
“Man, you don’t know how relieved I am to hear you say that,” Curtis said, letting out a breath. “I take it the plan is to sit tight until we’ve got an opportunity to take Blanchard down for good, and then get out.”
“That’s a hunting party out there,” John said. “It would be a shame if we didn’t give them their money’s worth.”
“Are you saying that we should let them come after us?”
“I’m saying we go hunting.” John handed the monocular back to Curtis. “Give them a taste of the terror they’ve been inflicting for years.”
Curtis saw the look in the man’s eye. He paused for a moment before nodding. “Alright. I’m in. How do we go about it?”
“We draw them out one at a time and pick them off,” John said. “Shake the group apart with fear. Let them start making mistakes. By then, we’ll have the weapons we need to finish the fight.”
* * *
“They’re retreating,” Millie said as she fired another burst.
“Probably just regrouping before another attack,” Jimenez said. “There are quite a few more men around that bend.”
“And without your eyes up on that hill, we don’t know when they’ll strike again,” Travis said.
“We need to help these men,” Millie said, moving to a young man on his back, pressing a hand to the wound on his leg. “Treat the wounded. Get them back to
the truck. We need to get out of here.”
“These Mambas aren’t going anywhere,” Travis said, kicking a tire. “That machine gun shredded them. And the trucks aren’t much better off. The SAMIL 50 has got two flats. It’ll probably snap an axle hauling all of the extra weight.”
Millie wrapped a pressure bandage around the wound on the man’s leg. “It’s not too bad. Just keep this on and try not to move too much.” She turned back to Travis. “We don’t have a choice. Dump the cargo and load the men on the truck. Including the dead.”
Jimenez pressed his cheek to the stock of his rifle. “I don’t know if we’ve got the time for that just yet.”
“Are they coming back already?” Travis asked, sighting down his rifle.
“Yeah, it looks like their friends have joined them.” Jimenez pulled the weapon tighter and pressed the trigger.
The .308 caliber round struck his target dead center, knocking him from his feet. Travis watched the others as they staggered back several steps. The mercenaries near their downed buddy scrambled for cover, but the man in charge shouted to them as they fell back.
“Get everyone up and ready for a fight,” Millie said. “Here comes the next wave.”
Travis retrieved the radio from the Mamba. “I need to call for some help.”
* * *
Damien pulled the remaining scraps of meat from the chicken bone with his teeth before tossing it into the campfire. He had far too much nervous energy coursing through his body. The anticipation of the hunt had him buzzing.
He stood and dusted his pants off, walking over to Retief. The mercenary leader spoke with one of the soldiers that were tasked with flushing John in their direction.
Retief turned to face Damien. “He says they saw no sign of Stone or the other man. The line never broke formation, and no one would have been able to sneak by.”
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