Hair of the Dog by Gordon Carroll (classic novels to read .txt) 📕

Hudson, the arrogant kid, knelt next to a tree as Van moved up to him. He tapped him on the shoulder and was about to tell him to flank to the left, when the kid’s head snapped back and he fell dead. His face destroyed like a mashed cherry pie. So much for Van’s record. He fired three fast shots into the tree line and moved to the right.

Things were getting out of hand here and Van was just the man to get them moving back in the right direction. He saw one of the men he’d spotted from the car lying prone by a tree and sighted in while he was still running. Van could hit bulls from fifty yards at a sprint all day every day. His finger was just taking up the slack on the trigger when his whole body was ripped from the ground by an unstoppable force. He blacked out for an instant as he hit the ground, full on his back, but was jerked awake as teeth tore into his carotid and jugular. Van saw his blood jet into the air, highlighted in green-black from the night vision that still illuminated his world. The pain was there, but seemed far away as his frame shook, this way and that, from the horrible power of some monster from his childhood nightmares.

A part of him, that also seemed far away, told him to get up, to keep fighting, that his men needed him and he was the only one that could save the day. He wanted to comply, to be that knight of old, riding in on a white charger in shining armor, but his ability was lost, like his honor, and instead of rising, he slid into unconsciousness and death to face his Maker and answer for his choices.

I put the little red dot on Jerome’s forehead, right where I’d shot the driver a few minutes ago, and almost took him out. I stopped at the last instant; I don’t really know why I stopped, but I did and instead scanned the landscape for more targets. Seeing none, I swept back up to the road where the second SUV sat idling. Trees obstructed my view of the windshield, so I just started blasting away into the car. My AR15 isn’t full auto, but I can pull the trigger pretty fast. I finished the thirty round magazine, flipped it over and inserted its upside down double, snapped back the bolt and put another ten .223s through the windows and doors. After that, I found Jerome in my little green reticle and caught him trying to sneak up on my left flank. Of course he was in complete darkness and had no idea that I was watching him. Not that I really needed night vision for him. He was making so much noise I could easily have peppered him by sound alone. Still, I didn’t want him to get too close, what with him having a full auto rifle and all. Wouldn’t be prudent. So I stayed in my prone position and put a bullet through the buttstock of the little Commando he was carrying. There was a chance the bullet would ricochet into him, but that was a chance I was willing to take. As it turned out, the impact ripped it out of his hands, and for the second time tonight, he stood there looking a little stunned, having been disarmed as if by magic from afar.

“I can have Max tear your throat out or I can put one through your brainstem and drop you like a puppet with its strings cut… or… we can make sure these guys are all out of the fight and then talk things through. Your choice.”

I saw him stand there for a few seconds, then nod.

“Walk to the sound of my voice,” I said.

When he made it to within about fifteen yards, I had him stop and sit down. I stood and Max and I went to him. I did a quick pat down search for weapons. Finding none, I sent Max out on a search and destroy mission for any hiding or advancing soldiers coming our way. I took up a position of cover behind a thick tree, leaving Jerome sitting in the open to draw fire, while I scanned the landscape for intruders. Max came back ten minutes later. He didn’t have any blood on his mouth and I hadn’t heard any screaming or gunfire, so I figured the coast was clear. Keeping Max between us, we made the rounds, checking each of the dead men that had come after us… or at least me. I figured they couldn’t have known Jerome Larkin would be here, so that left me as their target. I thought I recognized the second man we found. He was the guy I’d shot in the hips. Someone else had put one through his forehead, up close and personal. I guess they weren’t planning on leaving any witnesses, not even their own. On a recent case, I had a run in with a squad of mercenaries for hire, and while researching their boss, I’d come across this man’s bio and picture. He didn’t work for the guy I was researching, but he had his name out in that world looking for work. I couldn’t remember much of the details, but he was ex-army or special-forces or DEA or something like that, gone to do wet-work in the civilian branches of the business.

None of this was making sense to me. Gang members I could understand, but mercs?

“You know this guy?” I asked.

Jerome shook his head. “Nope. Never seen the man in my life.”

We made our way to where the SUV went over the cliff. I had Jerome sit again and set Max to guard him while I shimmied down to the burned, crushed up wreck. The vehicle had actually gone up in a fire