Danger Close

by Allen Manning

  “Empty,” Curtis said. “Did you get any weapons off of the guy you grabbed?”

  “Just this,” John said, holding up the fighting knife.

  Curtis rolled his eyes and let out a short huff. “Are you joking? Please tell me you’re joking.”

  “I'm sorry my score doesn’t live up to your expectations. I was hoping to get the guy with the flamethrower,” John said, smirking.

  “Yeah what’s up with that? These guys are lunatics.” Curtis raised an eyebrow. “So what’s the plan now?”

  “We’ve stirred up the hornets' nest,” John said. “I don’t think we can play hide and seek anymore. Besides, this was all part of the plan. Get them riled up so they would be making plenty of mistakes.”

  Curtis looked at his bolt-action rifle and then at the knife in John’s hand. “We don’t have much room for making mistakes, either.”

  “Then let’s make our shots count,” John said.

  * * *

  “It’s two men!” Damien’s face was bright red. His eyes bulged. “Two men with limited weapons. Why are you incompetent morons having so much trouble with Stone and his partner?”

  The other mercenaries rejoined the group, helping the tracker as they set the injured man on the grass.

  “Wonderful. And now we have no way of finding out which way they went,” Damien said, waving his revolver in Menzi’s direction.

  He holstered the handgun and wiped his hands down his face. “Get some more men back here,” he said to Russell.

  “Yes, sir. What should I tell them?” his head of security asked, pulling the radio from his belt.

  “Tell them we’re going to flush those rats out, no matter what it takes.” Damien turned to Gabriel. “I expect you two to join us for this hunt.”

  “Of course,” Gabriel said with a short nod.

  “We wouldn’t dream of missing out on the fun,” Micah said, checking the chamber of his HK carbine.

  “Retief, I need you to take the jeep and head further west. Make sure nothing survives in that forest,” Damien said. “Burn it all down and cut them off. They’ll have to come to us after that.”

  Retief grinned, pulling the nozzle from the pack and checking the fire control assembly.

  CHAPTER

  25

  Millie reached the edge of the trees at the bend, leading back to the convoy. She clutched the AK-74 at a low ready, still hearing the skirmish. The drone strike had taken out the mercenary leader and most of the attackers, but the few remaining had fled back toward the trucks, engaging with the soldiers there.

  She stepped out, weapon up and ready to engage when the last of the attackers tossed his weapon to the ground, holding his hands up as he surrendered.

  Jimenez circled out holding his R4 on the few surviving attackers, also making the same wise decision. Three soldiers followed him, collecting the enemies’ weapons and securing their hands behind their backs.

  “Looks like you survived the night,” Travis said.

  She could see the look in his eye. He wanted the comment to sound light-hearted, but the genuine fear and concern in his expression was unmistakable. They had all almost died, and he would have blamed only himself if that had happened.

  “With a little help from your buddies.” She pointed a finger upward.

  “I hope that missile didn’t hit too close,” Travis said.

  She looked down at her clothing. “No, I just got a little of the dirt that rained down afterward.”

  Jimenez walked over after securing the prisoners. “I swear, Millie, I don’t know if you’re incredibly brave or just crazy for doing what you did.”

  She shrugged her shoulders. “Why not both?”

  “That was dangerous. Please, for the sake of my health and sanity, don’t do that again,” Travis said.

  Millie looked around. “I think it’s safe to say that I won’t need to do that again anytime soon. I’ll leave the brute force combat tactics to John from now on.”

  “Speaking of, have we heard anything from Curtis or John yet?” Jimenez asked.

  Travis pursed his lips. “Nothing yet.”

  “We need to get to them and help,” Millie said.

  “These men need immediate medical attention,” Travis said, pointing to the soldiers injured in the ambush. “Once we get that settled, we’ll see about helping John and Curtis.”

  “And what about them?” Millie asked, pointing to the enemy soldiers bound up sitting next to the SAMIL 20.

  “They’ll stay here with us until arrangements can be made to take them into custody,” Travis said. “We’ll also need to get the men that sacrificed their lives for us back to the base for proper burials.” He watched as the soldiers with the convoy gently placed the four dead men together, covering their faces with their jackets.

  Millie gave him a solemn nod.

  “I’m going to talk to Kofi and his men to discuss what they want to do,” Travis said, walking over to the truck housing the wounded soldiers.

  Jimenez watched as Travis radioed the base. “John and Curtis are tough. They can hold off Blanchard’s men until we reach them.”

  Millie looked at Jimenez then turned her head to the Mamba MK2s. “We’re not going anywhere in these things. That machine gun tore them to pieces.”

  * * *

  John gripped the loose end of the makeshift cordage and tugged to secure the knife to the end of a long straight branch. He looped the end up and cut it with the blade tied to the shaft, letting the rest dangle freely. Testing the feel and weight, he thrust his weapon several times before flipping it and holding it in a reverse grip, checking how it felt for throwing.

  “I can’t believe you just made a spear,” Curtis said. “We’re out here fighting against small arms, and you’re preparing to hunt the wooly mammoth.”

  “It’s better than nothing. The knife is too small to be of use in a fight against any other weapon,” John said.

  “It’s still not going to tip the scales in our favor.” Curtis ejected the last three rounds from the rifle.

  He worked the bolt action several times, checking its function. Satisfied, he reloaded the Mauser, wiping bits of dirt off of each round before inserting them.

  “Did you hear that?” John asked, dropping to a crouch.

  Curtis turned his head, listening. He narrowed his eyes, holding his breath as he rotated his head the other way. “They’re coming. How did they find us so fast?”

  “I don’t think it’s just a few men,” John said. “Judging by the number of voices, Blanchard brought his whole crew with him this time.”

  “Is that smoke I smell?” Curtis asked.

  “They’re setting the trees on fire to cut us off,” John said.

  “It’s that psycho with the flamethrower. Where did Blanchard find these guys?” Curtis asked.

  “We need to move now.”

  “Right behind you,” Curtis said.

  The staccato crackle of weapon fire prodded them forward.

  “I don’t think they’re even waiting for a clear shot before firing,” Curtis said, keeping his head ducked as they weaved through the trees.

  “Blanchard’s men are desperate. We’ll have to use that to our advantage,” John said.

  They ran for a few dozen meters before John stopped.

  “Something’s wrong. The fire is in front of us,” John said.

  “How can you tell?”

  “The wind is coming from straight ahead. We’re heading into the smoke.” John pulled the monocular from his pocket.

  Curtis brought the scope up and looked through the trees. Faint flecks of red and orange danced between the trees as a haze formed in the distance. “The wind is going to push those flames right at us.”

  Without a word John pocketed his scope and turned to face the oncoming enemy soldiers, staying low to avoid their indiscriminate fire. Curtis followed, holding the Mauser against his shoulder, ready to fire the moment an enemy soldier came into view.


  “Look out!” John shouted, spinning toward his left.

  Curtis turned to see that several mercenaries had spotted them and turned to engage. He stopped and leaned his body against a tree, trying to use the scope to find a target. Sweeping the crosshairs over one of the men, he pressed the trigger, but the muzzle’s momentum took his shot wide.

  He swore and fumbled with the bolt, ejecting the spent shell casing. How does Jimenez do so well with these ancient artifacts? Bullets whipped by and Curtis ran for more cover.

  One of the mercenaries shouted to his friends and rushed forward, firing his rifle as he moved. John stepped into view, shooting the last three rounds from his revolver, hitting his chest. The soldier staggered and dropped to his knees. Blood streamed from between gritted teeth as he lifted the AK.

  John wound up, spear in hand, and hurled the weapon forward with a grunt. The knife buried itself into the man’s throat, crunching into his vertebrae. His rifle chattered, spitting bullets into the dirt as his body collapsed into a heap.

  The other two mercenaries shouted battle cries and unleashed a hailstorm of lead before John could retrieve the weapon from the dead man. He pivoted back around, taking cover. The soldiers continued advancing and firing.

  Curtis saw that they had John pinned. He took three short breaths and dropped to a crouch. He needed to take the men down so John could escape. His mental tally let him know that there were only two rounds left in the weapon. Settling the crosshairs center mass, Curtis exhaled slowly and put the proper amount of pressure on the trigger.

  Just as his shot broke, his target had already moved offline. The bullet missed, but the supersonic whipcrack snapped the man’s attention away from John.

  “Go!” Curtis shouted.

  John spun out as the mercenaries both took aim at Curtis. He watched in disbelief as John didn’t run toward him, but instead heading straight for the enemy.

  What are you doing, you mad man? Curtis wondered, furiously working the bolt as he ducked to avoid the incoming fire. He scrambled to the side and sat back on his foot, using his other knee to brace his rifle.

  Before he could take the shot, Curtis spotted John as he reached the dead mercenary. He scooped up the AK-74 and raised the weapon to his shoulder. Their assailants saw John at the last minute and turned to reengage the real threat. But it was too late.

  John stitched a burst into the first man, riding up from rib to opposite shoulder. As his target fell, John shifted his aim and gave the trigger two short presses, double tapping a pair of holes into the next man’s skull.

  He turned to face Curtis. “Let’s go. The others will have heard that firefight, so we need to break through them if we’re going to make it of here.”

  “No argument from me.”

  Curtis dropped the Mauser and grabbed an AK and several magazines from one of the bodies. John reloaded his weapon and picked up a couple more magazines, stuffing them into his back pockets.

  * * *

  “Say again,” Travis said, ducking next to one of the damaged light armored vehicles. “Are you able to see John or Curtis anywhere?”

  Millie hopped up onto the hood of the vehicle, crossing her legs as she eavesdropped on the conversation.

  “Alright, keep me informed,” Travis said. “Over and out.”

  “Did the drone pilots find them?” Millie asked.

  “Yes and no. There’s a clear indication of a battle of some kind happening, but it’s not clear who is involved.” Travis looked down at his watch. “It would take us hours to reach that site to help out.”

  Millie narrowed her eyes, her mouth pressing together into a small line. “What are they up against?”

  “The tree cover is making it impossible to tell,” Travis said. “They’re not even sure it’s John and Curtis down there. But there’s a section of the forest on fire somewhere between them and us.”

  “Blanchard is cutting them off,” Millie said. “Forcing them to fight his men face-to-face.”

  “They've got the deck stacked against them,” Travis said. “I’ll do what I can to get some help.”

  “John and Curtis are going to make Blanchard’s men pay a heavy toll for taking up this fight.” Millie cracked the knuckles of her right hand before hopping down. She walked over to help the other soldiers as they cared for the injured men.

  CHAPTER

  26

  Sweat beaded along Retief’s forehead. A trickle ran down his temple and dripped onto his shoulder strap. He squeezed the trigger of the firing mechanism and swept the nozzle side to side, feeding the hungry flames behind him. He turned and moved ahead, his grin spreading ear to ear as he chewed on his cigar.

  Every few meters Retief sprayed his flames to either side, letting the wind feed and carry it forward, racing ahead. He laughed at the sight, a deep bellowing sound. John Stone had nowhere else to go. Either he would rush headlong into Blanchard’s hunting party, or turn and face him in Hell.

  * * *

  The stifling heat choked Damien. He wrapped a bandana around his mouth. That madman Retief was going to kill them all. He and a team of hunters traveled quickly through the trees, keeping the sounds of battle on their left as they moved to flank Stone and his partner.

  Damien slowed down, struggling to see through the growing clouds of smoke. The faint glow shone through the haze, stopping him in his tracks.

  “Stop.” He held a hand out to the others. “I don’t hear the shooting anymore.”

  “Maybe the fire got Stone,” Zane said.

  “We can’t keep moving in this direction,” Gabriel said. “The flames are going to swallow us up too if we don’t get out.”

  A shrill sound, shrieks of pain, ended their conversation. Someone stumbled out of the wall of smoke. Most of the man’s body had been engulfed in flames as he wailed, staggering forward, arms flailing wildly.

  Damien’s .454 thundered, tearing a ragged hole through the man’s upper body, nearly severing his arm. The screaming stopped, but the flames hungrily ate the leaves and twigs around them.

  “Get me out of here,” Damien said, grabbing a handful of Russell's shirt. “Retief is going to get us all killed.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Micah looked over at Gabriel. “I see no reason for us to continue this fruitless pursuit.”

  “Agreed. Let’s go,” Gabriel replied.

  * * *

  Sucking in filthy air through gritted teeth, John trudged ahead, rifle held at low ready. He could hear shouting over the ever-growing crackle and pops of the flames encroaching from the west.

  “There’s someone up ahead,” he said over his shoulder as he turned and ran into the thick haze.

  “John, wait up,” Curtis said.

  The booming report of a big-bore revolver stopped Curtis in his tracks. “What was that?”

  John never faltered, only increasing his pace at the sound of the gunshot. A starter pistol urging him forward. “Blanchard.”

  He spotted a group of men heading away. Even through the smoke, he recognized their silhouettes, Blanchard and the Alphas. Their frames and movement patterns were burnt into his mind, like Parker’s Mob Recognition software running in his subconscious.

  John’s jaw tightened, and his nostrils flared. He brought the muzzle of his AK up. Through the white and gray wall, several flashes bloomed, followed by the mechanical rattle of assault rifles. John spun and rolled to the side, avoiding the shots as their rounds tore into the trees around him.

  Using their muzzle flash as a point of reference, John returned fire, his weapon jack-hammering his shoulder. Curtis braced himself against a tree farther back, adding his support to the fight. With the enemy splitting their focus between two threats, John moved forward.

  “Cover me!” he shouted back.

  Before Curtis could answer, a stream of fire cut a line between them like a dragon's breath separating the two. The man with the flamethrower had caught up. John dropped to a knee and took aim near the source of the
fire.

  The stream stopped as a hulking silhouette emerged before disappearing farther into the smoke, heading toward Curtis. John’s instinct was to rush headlong through the fire to cut the man off, but the mercenaries covering Blanchard’s retreat continued spraying in his direction, no doubt firing blindly into the thick haze.

  He’s all yours, Clarke, John thought as he surged ahead, pursuing Blanchard and the Alphas.

  * * *

  Curtis clenched his teeth, pressing his cheek to the stock as the AK rumbled in his hands. He fired two more bursts, suppressing the enemy in the distance, using only their muzzle flashes to locate his targets. He used a fresh magazine to strip the empty one from his weapon, rocking it into place and yanking the charging handle to the rear, letting it snap forward.

  “Cover me!” John shouted.

  Curtis stood and brought his weapon up, ready to continue the fight. A flash of orange and yellow light sliced across his vision, growing into a violent bloom of curling flames. He staggered back on his heels as the roar of the flamethrower filled his ears.

  Intense heat washed over him, with the air around him growing even hotter. John was on the other side of the blast, but now Curtis had a more pressing concern. That psycho is here.

  He moved back several more steps and pivoted to aim the brute coming toward him. The man was a rhino, his weathered skin slick with sweat. He emerged from the smoke into Curtis’ line of sight, as the haze stripped away from him in swirling wisps.

  Everything about this monster screamed danger to Curtis’ mind. He had a cigar clamped between his teeth. His lips were pulled back into a mix of a sneer and a cruel smile, eyes almost bulging with delight.

  Curtis brought his rifle up, but his mind was swimming in molasses as his body was slow to react. Before he could find the trigger, the fire-breathing dragon spit out a gout of hatred and anger. Curtis bolted to the side, shooting from his hip as he ran to avoid the blast.