Firepower, John Cutter [best summer reads .txt] 📗

got in line for the run, just behind Deek, which made Vince the last man on the run. Vince asked, “That blond really headed into the woods all by her lonesome?”

Deek was already watching her walk onto a game trail and into the brush. “The General, he’s all into wild edible plants and mushrooms. Says women of the olden times would gather them. That Deirdre girl knows the right ones so she heads out there to pick ’em. Goes out there… all alone.”

Marco blew a whistle and the run began. The trail run went in stages, the man in the lead taking thirty seconds to get out ahead, the next man going out thirty seconds after him. They weren’t allowed to bunch up on the trail. Vince started out half a minute after Deek, running along the well-trod trail that wound up and down a series of low hills.

It was a three-mile route that looped back close to the starting point, and Vince was having to work at it to keep from gaining too much on the leadfooted Deek. They were almost back at the training field, a quarter mile away, when Vince saw Deek glance nervously around, then cut off the trail, into the forest.

He was taking a route through the brush that would intercept Deirdre.

Acting on instinct, Vince followed. He was quickly under cover of the black gum and kudzu-coated fallen logs and granite outcroppings rising from the uneven ground. He could follow Deek’s trail easily; it was deeply marked in the dry leaves fallen from the stand of shagbark hickory.

Vince followed as quietly as he could. Ten minutes on, he came to a rise overlooking a narrow clearing. He could see Deirdre, hunkered down, using a satellite phone. In front of her was a trench with an aluminum box in it where she’d kept the satphone hidden. A grass sod covering was pushed to one side. Nearby was her basket of wild plants and mushrooms. But evidently that was only her excuse for coming out here alone. She was here to call someone, in private.

“Holy shit,” Vince murmured. Deirdre was quite likely an undercover federal agent.

Deek burst out of the underbrush, a few yards north of her.

She gasped, dropped the phone and reached into the box — but Deek sprinted to her before she could bring the gun out and get it into play. He threw himself on her, pressing her onto her back, grabbing the wrist of her gun hand.

Vince leapt off the rise, landed heavily but stayed upright, and dashed toward the two. He was sorry he didn’t have his knife. The Brethren didn’t allow weapons during Centurion training. The combat blade was in the locker next to his bunk.

“All I wanted was some nookie, and come to find out you’re a spy, bitch!” Deek cackled as he held her down. “Now you’re gonna give me some and then I’m taking you back to the General!”

She struggled, tried to knee him, but only hit his hip. She’d lost her hold on the gun.

Then Deek heard Vince running up to them.

He turned to gape at Vince — and was drop-kicked in the face.

Deek yelped, and blood arched from his broken teeth and lips as he rolled back, half off Deirdre, losing his grip on her right hand. She bared her teeth and grabbed at the gun. Deek’s right hand came up with a large rock from the ground — and Vince kicked him hard in the brisket.

Deek doubled up, wheezing, dropping the rock, and Deirdre twisted free. She scrambled to her feet — and then Deek sprang at Vince, tackling him low.

Vince went heavily over backwards, inwardly cursing himself for carelessness. He struck the ground with enough force to knock the wind from him. Gasping for air, he brought both fists together hard on the side of Deek’s head. The militia thug yelled, blood spraying with the sound. Vince shoved him off.

Shaking his head as if to clear it, Deek got up and Vince rolled aside to avoid being kicked. Deek’s boot flashed past and Vince grabbed it, wrenching to pull Deek off-balance. The big man fell heavily on his side.

Deirdre was aiming the 9mm Smith & Wesson at Deek.

“Don’t fire that weapon,” Vince snapped, getting to his feet. “They’ll hear the shot.”

Vince got to his feet as Deek got up and rushed him. Vince sidestepped, grabbing one of Deek’s arms as he went by, using Deek’s own momentum to twist it. Deek tried to turn, but Vincent stepped behind him and got his left arm around the man’s neck, wrenching the man’s right behind.

“You want him alive?” Vince said, struggling to increase his hold, the words coming out as grunts.

“I — I can’t arrest him…” she said. “Not feasible.”

“Let me go you traitorous fuck!” Deek roared, writhing to get free.

Vince made up his mind. They couldn’t keep their cover with this asshole running around.

Vince set his feet — and Deek seemed to sense what was about to happen. He pushed his head, straining his neck muscles against all the power in Vince’s left arm. Vince suddenly released Deek’s head on one side and pushed it hard on the other so that the man’s own force helped do the job.

And Deek’s spine snapped.

The big man went limp in Vince’s arms.

He stepped back and let the body fall. Panting, he looked down at the limp, staring dead man and asked, “You okay? He hurt you any?”

“Not to speak of,” she said hoarsely, looking in shock at the dead man.

“You FBI? Or maybe… a state police detective?”

“Agent Deirdre Corlin. FBI.” She shook her head and turned to Vince. “I know who you are. Vincent Bellator, codename Charon. I was with Defense Intelligence when I first started and… I saw your file when you resigned from Delta