The man’s laugh echoed over the roar and crackle of the fire. “Stand and fight, coward!”
Curtis bounced and rebounded off of several trees as he tried to put more distance between himself and the madman stalking him. He turned long enough to bring his weapon up and snap off several shots. The attempt to slow or suppress his enemy had failed as the figure trudged forward through the smoke. The psycho answered with a sweep of the flamethrower’s nozzle, erecting a wall of flames between them.
The heat hit him from the front like a tactile barrier as an intense stinging also grew across his back and shoulders. While attempting to escape, he had run straight toward the forest fire surging toward him. Curtis was trapped.
He knelt and tried to find his target through the weapon’s iron sights. His eyes stung, watering from the heat, distorting his vision. His breaths were short and shallow, the smoke choking him.
“Think, Curtis, think,” he said.
He felt a quick pulse of adrenaline course through his body, his vision sharpening through the tears. If this madman wants to kill me so bad, he's gonna have to earn it. Curtis stood and took several steps, overcoming the voice of reason in the back of his mind.
You can do this, Curtis. He’s not going to expect it.
He grunted with each step, ducking his head and leading with his shoulder like he was preparing to barrel through a locked door. Curtis dove forward, through the wall of fire, rolling over his shoulder. The pain was intense. He squeezed his eyes and clamped his mouth, careful not to breathe during the leap of faith.
His body rolled and slid to a stop. Curtis struggled to plant his foot for support and push himself up to a knee. His stunt had maneuvered him off to the madman’s left as he moved to circle the wall of fire to finish Curtis off.
The sadistic smile warped into an angry mask of fury, lips pulling back. He spit the stub of the cigar and brought the nozzle up, but Curtis was faster this time. His AK hammered the man in the chest, three of the five rounds striking flush.
The brute staggered. Curtis’ eyes widened as the furious mask whipped back in his direction. To his disbelief, the man stood taller and brought his weapon up again. Curtis stood as well, pulling the stock tight against his shoulder.
As the AK-74 roared, the monster brought his arms up, turning his body. The 5.45mm projectiles tore through the massive limbs as the man took two more steps back. His arm lowered to his hips, still holding the fire assembly of the flamethrower as it swung around to face front again.
“What is it going to take?” Curtis shouted in frustration.
Blood poured from the bullet wounds, but the beast wouldn’t die. At least not fast enough. I need to put this psycho down for good. Curtis lowered the muzzle and put two rounds into the monster’s knee.
Rewarded with a grunt of pain, the man fell as his leg buckled. He spun to the side as he dropped, exposing the fuel tanks on his back. Curtis’ heart pounded against his sternum, the pulse rushing through his ears. He bared his teeth as the wooden stock of the assault rifle pressed into his jaw.
"You seem a little hot under the collar, buddy," Curtis said.
He pressed the trigger, sending a burst into the tanks, igniting the fuel vapors inside the half-empty canisters. The explosion swallowed his opponent as the blast wave sucked the air from Curtis’ lungs. He felt the bits of bone, wood, and steel shrapnel pepper him, but his already burnt and stinging flesh only registered the impacts and none of the pain.
Squeezing his eyes shut, Curtis rose and staggered away from the encroaching forest fire. Gotta get back to help John.
CHAPTER
27
John advanced on the mercenaries engaging him. He had attempted to reach Damien Blanchard when this group cut him off, allowing his target to flee. Four men had taken up what they felt were suitable firing positions. But now a demon unleashed stalked them, his rifle spitting death and destruction.
Keeping the trigger pressed, John emptied the last five rounds into the nearest threat. He tossed the spent magazine and continued moving forward. The other three continued firing, but none had the courage or discipline to stand and fight. Each man fled backward, shooting with weapons held in shaky hands, braced against loose uncommitted shoulders.
One of the rounds grazed John’s calf, but his steps never faltered. Rocking the mag into the well, he had the AK-74 against his shoulder, reaching underneath with his left hand and charging the weapon with his thumb. By the time he secured his grip, the assault rifle was already barking.
His rounds pounded one of the unlucky souls, across his back as he turned to flee, shattering his shoulder blade. John knelt next to a tree and fired at the last two foes, missing. One had spun around, attempting to return fire. The other man dove to the side.
Bullets chipped away at the tree John had been using for cover. He stepped out and advanced, his steps slow and smooth as his rifle continued its rhythmic thumping. Unable to overcome the ferocity of the Ranger’s assault, the merc fell to his back, his body riddled with bullets.
John sprinted ahead, toward the final man, but more importantly, the direction where Damien Blanchard had headed. He brought the weapon up, firing several more rounds before it ran dry. His opponent found himself in a similar situation, his face twisted into a mask of fear as he fumbled with the spare magazine, unable to eject the spent one.
Just as the soldier had his rifle reloaded and ready for battle, John had already descended upon him. He swatted the weapon’s fore end away, sending the first burst wide. John’s fist crashed through the man’s weak defense, knocking him backward. He followed with a punishing hook, cracking one of the man's ribs.
Another combatant burst forth from the haze as his shotgun boomed. The buckshot shredded the mercenary still attempting to stand and fight. John side-stepped behind a tree as the mechanical clack of the pump action taunted him.
"Come out and face me, Stone!” Russell Tatlock called out.
He unleashed another torrent of double-aught, racking another round into the chamber.
Stepping out, John reached for the dead mercenary's assault rifle. His foe took the bait, firing as John switched directions and emerged from the other side of the tree. Tatlock worked pump action, but John forced the barrel up as the weapon thundered.
With two hands, he tore he shotgun from his opponent's grasp, flinging it to the side. To John's surprise, Blanchard's head of security spun in a tight arc, thrusting a foot out into his stomach. The kick separated the two fighters.
Before John could close the gap, the other man lashed out with a flurry of kicks. He felt the impact of one kick on his outer thigh, followed almost immediately by another across his temple. John swiped a hand out, trying to get a hold of Tatlock, but his foe planted a foot into his chest and shoved him away once more.
John brushed the back of his hand over his eyes, clearing his vision. His opponent had reached the shotgun on the ground, leaning his back against a tree as he racked the weapon. John made his move before the man could fire.
In two bounding steps, he covered the distance and buried his shoulder into Tatlock’s ribs. Bone and wood snapped upon impact. The man’s rib cracked along with the trunk of the red beech as he fell back.
John caught him before his body hit the ground. He hoisted the man up and pulled him into a crushing headbutt that rendered him unconscious. He released his grip, letting the hunter’s body fall into a heap. John's shoulders rose and fell with each deep breath.
“John!” Curtis called out as he reached him. “We need to get out of here. That fire is hungry and swallowing this whole forest up fast.”
John picked up an AK from the ground nearby, finding another spare magazine. Curtis looked down at one of the dead men as his radio crackled to life. Blanchard’s frantic voice came through the cheap plastic box and tinny speaker, ordering his men to hold their ground, not letting anyone escape the fire.
He grabbed the radio and squinted, looking at the channels as he s
pun the dial. “We should be able to reach Travis and the others with this,” Curtis said.
“Good. Let him know we’re going after Blanchard,” John said, heading away from the wall of flames.
* * *
Damien climbed up and settled into the passenger seat of the monster truck. Even from their position, the sounds of Russell's shotgun reached him. He turned to the driver, keeping an eye on the smoke rising in the distance.
“Get me back to the compound, now,” he said.
“Of course, sir,” the man said, turning the key to start the engine.
Damien’s eyes widened as a fireball erupted from somewhere deep in the forest. Seconds later the thunder-clap rattled the rearview mirrors. Someone must have killed Retief. His heart raced as sweat trickled down his face. John Stone was an agent of Death, coming to collect souls.
He grabbed the handset for the radio from the dash, tuning to the frequency for all of his other men. “Hold your ground! I want every man to stand fast and keep anyone from getting by.” His voice cracked as he shouted his orders. “Shoot anyone that comes out of that forest alive. I don’t care who it is.”
He slammed the handset into the cradle. “Go.”
As the big truck rumbled, Damien looked into the rearview mirror where a jeep followed them. Zane and the two Alpha assets were all he had to keep John away if by some miracle he made it out and past his men.
He pulled the revolver from his shoulder holster and snapped the loading gate open to eject the spent shell, replacing it with another massive .454 Casull round. The handgun was quite capable of bringing down large game. But Damien almost doubted its stopping power against a force of nature like Stone.
* * *
With the truck loaded, Millie patted the door and gave the driver a quick wave. The SAMIL 50 shuddered and lurched as it started the trip back to the base. Several of the soldiers chose to stay behind to help watch the prisoners and keep their fallen comrades company. She gave one man an understanding nod before heading to the shredded husks of the rest of the convoy.
Travis rested his elbows on the roof, standing in the gunner’s turret, trying to keep an eye out for any stragglers with his binoculars.
“All clear?” Millie asked.
“So far. I just wish we had direct access to the drone feed,” Travis said.
Millie looked down at her hands, wiping some of the dirt away, not knowing the best way to respond. “That’s the kind of thing Parker would have been able to provide, huh?”
Travis lowered the binoculars but kept his eyes on the trees in the distance. “Yeah. No matter what we thought of his methods, the kid is quite valuable to the team. We’re deaf and blind without him, it seems.”
The radio snapped them out of their thoughts of Parker. There were several clicks and a short wash of static.
“Who was that?” Millie asked, sliding into the driver’s seat to reach for the handset.
“I didn’t hear any voices,” Travis said, ducking back into the vehicle.
“Can you repeat that?” Millie asked. “We didn’t get your last transmission.”
“Millie? This is Curtis.”
“Where are they?” Travis asked.
“I’m here with Travis. Can you give us your location? Is John with you?” Millie adjusted the dials to clean up the transmission as best she could.
“Yeah, John’s right here with me,” Curtis said. “We’re about ten or twelve clicks west of Blanchard’s compound.”
“Can you make it back?” Millie asked. “We’ll try to arrange for someone to pick you up halfway.”
“That’s not possible. The forest around us is going up in flames,” Curtis said. “I was hoping you would be able to swing by and pick us up. Maybe lend a few guns to the fight.”
Travis held his hand out. Millie gave him the handset. “Curtis, we’re grounded here. You and John need to find a safe spot to hunker down. We can arrange a pick up in a few hours.”
“I don’t think that’s on John’s agenda,” Curtis said. “We’re heading for Blanchard now. He escaped earlier, and we’re pretty sure the coward is heading home. Is there anything you can do for us in the meantime?”
“I’ve got a couple of drones in the air,” Travis said. “We’ll have them swing by give the area a quick visual sweep to scout ahead.”
“Reapers? We could use someone to mow the lawn once we break the tree line,” Curtis said.
“Old Predators scheduled for decommissioning, but they’re armed for air-to-ground. We can have them clear the path for you,” Travis said. “Can you provide your exact location?”
“Pretty sure we’re in the only forest fire in the area. We’ll be reaching the eastern edge, just before the large clearing by the time the drones reach us,” Curtis said.
“We’ll have your eyes in the sky there in no time,” Travis said.
CHAPTER
28
Curtis coughed into his sleeve. “Looks like we’ve got the fire creeping up from behind and a wall of mercenaries armed with assault rifles waiting to greet us out there.”
John crouched and peered through the monocular. He didn’t have a clear line of sight out into the clearing, and the smoke around them made things worse.
“We’re blind here,” he said. “If we don’t move now, we’re dead either way. I don’t know about you, but I’d rather take my chances out there.”
“In the open?” Curtis asked, following as John marched forward. “Maybe we can draw them in here and fight from the trees.”
“You heard Travis. He’s got drones up there providing the eyes we’ll need. They’ll be no good if we’re all in the trees as everything around us burns,” John said.
“You’ve got a couple of spies overhead now,” Travis said.
“Speak of the devil,” Curtis mumbled. “What do they see?”
“A whole lot of smoke. Visibility is almost nil.”
“We’re moving to the edge of the tree line,” John said. “It should be easier to provide a location from there.”
“Did you get that, Travis?”
“Got it,” Travis said. “Just be careful. Once you designate the targets, those birds are going to swoop in and clear the way.”
“Roger. We’ll call you once we confirm their location,” Curtis said.
John neared the edge of the clearing. He flattened his body to the ground, pulling the monocular from his pocket. Keeping a few of the trees in front of himself for concealment, he scanned the area ahead of them.
Curtis crawled up next to him. “Are they out there?”
“Yes,” John said. “But it’s difficult to see through all of the smoke. They’re also spread out too far.”
“That’s good, right?” Curtis squinted, trying to see through the haze.
“If those drones are going to be effective, we’ll need to get the enemy clustered together,” John said. “Otherwise we’ll be rushing right into a kill box. They’ll be shooting at us from both sides.”
“Looks like we’ll just sit tight until Travis calls back,” Curtis said.
“Maybe the drone pilots can provide some more tactical input to help us come up with something,” John said.
“John, Curtis, you guys still there?” Travis asked.
“We’re here,” Curtis said. “What’s the word from the traffic cam?”
“Bad news, gents. The pilots are saying there’s just too much smoke to get a positive ID on their targets.”
“The enemy should be in the clearing,” John said. “Can they make a quick pass and give us some insight?”
“Negative. The smoke is spreading out from the forest, into the clearing,” Travis said. “They’re going to need someone to designate targets.”
“Alright, we’ll figure something out,” John said. “Sit tight and we’ll call back with more details.”
“Maybe they could just fire out in the middle of the enemy’s ranks?” Curtis asked. “We’ve got plenty to go around.”
> John shook his head. “Blanchard’s men are still spread too thin for a pair of missiles to make a difference.”
“Can’t we just move out to one end and have the drone clear out the men on the outskirts?” Curtis asked. “We’ll be able to fight them off as we pass.”
“They’ll continue to pursue us. We don’t have the ammunition for an extended fight,” John said. “Plus that would take too much time. The fire will be right on top of us before those drones strike. That’s even if we could effectively direct them to the right side.”
“What did you have in mind, then?” Curtis asked.
John pushed himself up to a kneeling position. “I draw them in. They’ve got orders to hunt us down, so these guys won’t be able to resist.” He swapped the partially empty magazine for a full one.
“What? That’s insane, John.” Curtis turned to look at him. “There are a few dozen men out there, all with itchy trigger fingers.”
“That’s perfect,” John said. “Tell Travis to have the pilots target the muzzle flashes.”
* * *
“Muzzle flashes? You can’t be serious,” Travis said.
“John says he’s going to draw the men in toward the center,” Curtis said. “It’s the only way a pair of drones can inflict sufficient casualties to help us out.”
“We can thin their numbers,” Travis said. “What John is planning sounds like suicide.”
“Tell me about it. We don’t have the ammo for a prolonged fight, and we need to get by these guys fast. Otherwise, we’re going to be a couple of crispy critters in here.”
“I’ll pass the info along to the pilots,” Travis said. “You two do what you can to stay out of the line of fire.”
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