Through the goggles, the trees and the ground looked dark, cool in the frigid night. Then a flash of colour.
A human.
The bright shape raised its weapon at the same time as he did, but a fraction of a second slower. The submachine gun kicked into Herron’s shoulder, the suppressor stealing most of the discharge. Bullets ripped into the operative, and he dropped a moment before he could get his own shot off.
Herron looked around to make sure he was still alone, then he closed in on the downed man. Although his victim was still, Herron put another couple of rounds into his head to be sure, removing the risk of a hidden knife—he wouldn’t make that mistake again in a hurry—or a loud scuffle. Then he stripped the corpse of two extra magazines and departed.
As he searched the forest, he did a mental stock take. In his experience, special operations teams the world over mostly worked in groups of four. It allowed for a mix of specialisations and mission redundancy in the event of casualties, while keeping the size of teams and their missions manageable.
If he was right, he’d evaded the sniper and taken down two of the squad...
One to go.
Fifteen minutes later, frustration was gnawing at him. He’d located and downed two operatives without the tools to do so; now he had the right gear, but he’d failed to find the last man standing between him and freedom.
He let out a sigh. “Where are you?”
As he continued through the forest, he thought through a range of scenarios. The chatter in Mandarin over the comms had stopped, which meant they knew he was on the prowl or he was correct about their numbers, and the last man knew he had no one left to talk to. He scanned left and right, but the night vision goggles showed all dull and dark colours.
There was no telltale brightness to signify another human…
Had he been wrong about the team having four members?
Or was the last doing a good job of evading him?
Or had just bugged out?
Then a pain akin to a white-hot poker lanced into his stomach.
He looked down in shock, saw the entry wound—even with the thermal imaging goggles on——and immediately his sharply trained body and mind shifted from attack to defence. With the submachine gun in one hand, he clamped the other over the wound. Blood oozed wet and sticky between his fingers.
“Not good,” Herron murmured as he took cover behind a tree. “Not good.”
He waited a second, then stumbled through the forest, away from the shooter. Within minutes, he was going to be in terrible pain, the adrenaline only able to do so much. A few minutes after that, he’d go into shock. But that was still more time than he’d have if whoever was out there caught up with him or put another bullet in him. He’d fight while he still could.
Pride wouldn’t let him stop.
He stumbled and fell to the ground. His mind was fogged with pain and blood loss, but instinct and muscle memory got him back to his feet. He made it a few more yards, had to lean against a tree as he fought off a wave of nausea. He vomited—blood in the fluid—and then caught a flash of colour out of the corner of his eye.
He was a split-second too slow to act.
He screamed in pain as the operative who’d been tracking him jammed the stock of his submachine gun into the bullet wound. It was a perfectly aimed blow and hurt more than the gunshot itself, sending Herron reeling. He stumbled to one knee, unable to catch his breath through the pain.
The operative smashed him in the side of the skull. Herron collapsed.
He was bleeding.
He was in excruciating pain.
He was dying.
Not yet...
He rolled onto his back, tried to aim his submachine gun at the enemy, but his foe was too fast. He kicked out at Herron’s hand and dislodged the gun from his weakened grip. It landed in the dirt, and the operative’s boot found Herron’s mid-section, stomping over and over and over.
Herron screamed in agony and anger, the last outraged exclamation of a life that was almost over. With all the strength he had left, he caught the operative’s boot as another kick came in, twisted it. His assailant went down in a heap, his howls loud and lengthy.
With only a second to act, Herron inched closer to the submachine gun. It was a dozen feet away, but in his current state, it may as well have been a dozen miles. Each movement was accompanied by indescribable pain, enough that he might black out at any moment.
But while he was alive, he’d keep fighting.
Eleven feet…
Ten feet…
A breath.
Nine feet…
Eight feet…
He let out a ragged cough, wet and meaty, spat blood on the ground.
Seven feet…
Six feet…
The length of a tall person between him and his target… between him and a chance…
Five feet…
Four feet…
A mighty, urgent scream of determination tore from him.
Three feet…
Two feet…
Almost there.
One foot…
He reached out, clawed at the strap of the weapon, and pulled it closer. Wrapping his hand around its grip, he felt powerful again, like he was the weapon, a blade unsheathed. His life’s work was now to kill the enemy operative, even if it meant his own end.
He had a chance. And that’s all he had ever needed.
“Ooph.”
He grunted as a boot came down on his wrist and pinned the hand and the gun to the ground. The operative stood over him.
“You—”
Pain stole the words from his mouth as the business end of his enemy’s submachine gun pressed into his stomach near the bullet wound. A volcano erupted inside his torso, and he clenched his jaw so hard he cracked a tooth.
The operative spoke for the first time. In English. “You interfered in China’s business once and got away.” He kicked the gun further away from Herron. “Where did he go after Fiji, we wondered. We thought we’d lost you. Lucky for you.”
A kick in the stomach.
“But then you interfered again...”
Another kick.
“You critically damaged our smuggling ring and put it out of business. Yet you still weren’t happy...”
And another.
“You compromised one of our key people, a woman responsible for putting the Philippine government in our pocket…”
Again.
“You’ve ruined our influence in Fiji and now the Philippines, but our primary plan remains unaffected.”
And again.
“So, instead of gaining influence through control over other governments, we will now shift to gaining influence through control over you.”
More.
As more blows rained down and the pain overwhelmed him, Herron blacked out. A few times he woke, surprised to be alive, what reserves of brainpower he had left stunned that he could take so much punishment. Stunned, yet firm in the knowledge of one fact.
He would die here.
He coughed. “Kill…”
“We know who you are, Mitch.” The operative smiled down at him. “You’ve drifted through life since you left the United States military. A nuisance, like a fly buzzing here and there…”
“…me.”
The operative drove his boot down again, cutting him off. “But you finally got swatted. And now you’re going to face up to your crimes.”
Herron’s voice was quiet and broken, barely a whisper, as soft as the breeze still blowing through the forest. “Please...”
The operative grinned, a smile of supreme confidence and situational dominance. Herron had worn it himself a hundred times, moments before he snuffed out a foe. Now the shoe was on the other foot.
“Oh no, Mr Herron. If you think you’re going to die that easily, you’re going to be most disappointed...”
I hope you enjoyed The Azure Backlash. Mitch Herron will be back in January 2022 with The Jade Stratagem (Mit
ch Herron 6).
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Click below to pre-order.
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The Jade Stratagem (#6 - 10 January 2021)
Until then, you might like to try THE FOUNDATION, the first novel in the Jack Emery series.
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Click HERE or the button below to purchase or continue on to sample the first chapter!
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Sample of The Foundation (Jack Emery 1)
Chen Shubian cursed under his breath at the old Hewlett Packard as it whirred to life. He was seated at the rear of a little internet café on the outskirts of Taipei, watching the light in the middle of the case occasionally flash with activity. He was losing patience and about to force a restart when the Microsoft logo appeared.
Chen shook his head. “Vista.”
He dug a small envelope from his pocket and tore it open. Inside was a piece of paper with an alphanumeric code, meaningless to most people. It was Chen’s key to the private server set up by his employers. They’d found him on the Darknet, a refugee searching for his vengeance, and brought him to their community. Now, the private server allowed them to conduct business outside the view of the authorities.
The code wasn’t all that was required to access the server. He plugged his Hello Kitty USB into the front slot of the computer and tapped his fingers on the desk as the ancient machine whirred some more. He typed the code into the black command box that appeared on the screen and hit enter. The black box was replaced by an ordinary-looking web browser.
Chen clicked the only bookmark on the browser, which took him to a message board where likeminded people connected to chat about politics, sport and blowing up international infrastructure. A message at the top of the screen reminded users to ensure the security of the network, lest they end up in residence at Guantanamo Bay.
Chen searched his pockets again and found a small photo. He put it below the computer screen and stared at it for a few moments. His mother and father stared back at him, standing on either side of a slender fifteen-year-old boy with straight, shiny, black hair. The photo had been taken the last time Chen and his parents were all together.
Chen’s life had changed forever when his father—an employee of a large American investment bank—had been arrested on a routine business trip from Taiwan to China. He had been charged with espionage and executed after a show trial. In grief, Chen’s mother had taken her own life soon after the death of her husband.
Chen blamed China, but he also blamed the American bank that had left his father to rot. They’d obviously determined that their business interests in China were more important and had done nothing to help his father. The thirst for vengeance against China had guided Chen’s life ever since: from school, to university, to the Taiwanese Army and then its Special Operations Command. It had honed his anger and his skills.
Though the attack he planned would rock China, his employers assured him that the act would also cause great heartache for the United States. It was a happy coincidence.
He smiled with pride as he browsed the thread, which connected him with others slighted by China and united them all under one cause. He left a message for those who would help him undertake the attack, confirming the final details. He typed another to his employers in the endeavor, noting that their funding had been received and confirming the details of their meeting in a few days’ time.
When he was finished, he ejected the USB and all signs of the message board vanished from the screen. Chen left the internet café as anonymously as he’d entered, satisfied that everything was in place for the attack. He had no expectation that he’d bring down the Chinese Government, though he did believe that a heavy enough blow could cause a fracture in the monolith. He felt a small degree of guilt for the innocents who’d die, but their lives were the price of vengeance.
Men of decisive action changed the world, and if it had been good enough for Mao, who’d driven Chen’s ancestors from mainland China to Taiwan, then it was certainly good enough for him.
Buy The Foundation!
Also by Steve P. Vincent
The Jack Emery Conspiracy Thrillers
The Foundation (#1)
State of Emergency (#2)
Nations Divided (#3)
One Minute to Midnight (#4)
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The Mitch Herron Action Thrillers
The Omega Strain (#1)
The Shadow Enclave (#2)
The Lazarus Protocol (#3)
The Capricorn Deception (#4)
The Azure Backlash (#5)
The Jade Stratagem (#6 - 10 January 2021)
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Available from all good online retailers. Or visit stevepvincent.com.
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About the Author
Steve P. Vincent is the USA Today Bestselling Author of the Jack Emery and Mitch Herron conspiracy thrillers.
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Steve has a degree in political science, a thesis on global terrorism, a decade as a policy advisor and training from the FBI and Australian Army in his conspiracy kit bag.
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When he’s not writing, Steve enjoys whisky, sports and travel.
You can contact Steve at all the usual places:
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stevepvincent.com
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[email protected]
Acknowledgments
Biggest shout out to you — the reader — for your patience. I’ve seen the emails and the social posts, and I know it took a while.
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Boy, a lot happened between the last one and now. My deepest apologies for the delay in getting this story — or any story — to you.
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Six months in lockdown because of the coronavirus and a newborn son combined to detonate all my writing schedules.
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Back on track now!
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Thanks to Gerard and Dave for the beta, Pete for the edits and Stuart for the cover — as always.
The Azure Backlash Page 9