Firepower by John Cutter (best ebook pdf reader android .TXT) 📗

I wasn’t. But you coming here like that — and on foot — no, you’re not going through this gate without authorization from Mac.”

Vince smiled grimly. “Mac? I could tell you a story about Mac Colls.”

“What story’s that?” French snorted.

Vince shook his head. “Not for your inky ears, kid.”

“What’d you say to me, dude?” French said, starting to come around the gate.

Gunny reached out and grabbed French’s arm, holding him back. “You try it, he’ll wrap that rifle around your head.”

Takes a professional to know one, Vince thought. Too bad he’d probably have to kill Gunny. The twisted old bastard.

Gunny was on his cell phone now. “Need you out here, Mac. Question about a man at the gate.”

He broke the connection, and Vince put down the shopping bag.

“I should mention that I’m armed.” He lifted his shirt to show the Desert Eagle.

French whistled. “That’s a big damn pistol.”

“Better leave that with me,” Gunny said. “For now.”

Vince thought about it. Then he nodded. “I guess it’s protocol.”

He tugged the big pistol out of his waistband and handed it across the gate to Gunny.

“Can I see it?” French said, putting his hand out.

“No,” Gunny said, hefting the gun.

They waited, Vince with his arms crossed over his chest, whistling that old Jimi Hendrix song to himself.

A dark-green SUV came down the road from the base. Mac Colls was at the wheel. He pulled up just behind the checkpoint, got out, staring at Vince.

“You look surprised to see me, Sarge,” Vince said mildly as Colls walked toward him, one hand on his holstered Glock.

Colls looked at the two guards. “You men leave us here — I need to talk to this man alone.”

“My orders don’t allow for that,” Gunny said. “The General said—”

“This is coming from the General!” said Colls, drawing his pistol.

“You’re lying, Mac,” said Vince — and he vaulted over the gate, knocked Colls’ gun hand aside, and hit him hard on the point of the chin with an uppercut.

Colls grunted and fell flat on his back, the gun still clutched in his hand. He was out cold.

“What the fuck!” French burst out.

As the two guards stared, still trying to wrap their heads around what had happened, Vince picked up Colls’ gun, tossed it into the brush, and then lifted the unconscious man up. He slung Colls over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry and toted him to the SUV.

“Gunny,” French said, “we can’t let him — I mean—”

“Stop right there, Bellator!” Gunny called.

“You two can shoot me down, but the General sent me on a mission and he’s expecting me back, so you’d better think about explaining that to him,” Vince said as he dumped Colls in the passenger seat of the SUV. He walked over to the open driver’s side door and got in. The keys were in the ignition.

“Just wait here while I call it in!” Gunny shouted.

“I’ll explain to the General in person!” Vince shouted, starting the car. He backed the SUV up, turning, swung around and floored it, roaring down the gravel road toward the base.

It took him about a minute to get there. The gates of the compound were open.

Vince pulled into the compound and up to the front door of the bunker complex. He turned off the engine and got out as a guard called to him from the fence.

“Hey — No one said you could — whoa there!”

Vince picked up the still slumbering Colls, carried him over his shoulder into the building, up the stairs — past Wynn Foster, who was gaping in amazement — and up to Gustafson’s door. “General!” He called out. “It’s Vincent Bellator! Little emergency here!”

Marco opened the door and Vince pushed past him, then dumped the groaning Colls on the floor. He was beginning to wake up.

“Mac here had a mishap, sir,” Vince said.

Gustafson, standing behind his desk, stared open-mouthed down at Colls. “What the devil is this?”

“It started with his taking a shot at me when I was coming back to exfil, and then taking off in the heli without me,” Vince said. “Just now he tried to get me alone — and he had his gun in his hand. I left my gun and the bag with my uniform in it with Gunny Hansen.”

“He hit me,” Colls said, rubbing his jaw. He tried to sit up. “Sucker-punched me.”

“If you let someone sucker-punch you, you don’t know your job,” Vince said.

Gustafson turned to Marco. “What’s this about? I was told Bellator didn’t come back from the mission!”

“Well — the sarge ordered me to take off,” Marco said, wincing. “I did notice he took a shot at something through the door. But I didn’t see who…”

“Stirner’s men,” Colls said, wobblingly sitting up. “Shot at them.”

“There was no one left alive to follow me back,” Vince said. “I killed them. Stirner too.”

“We got word that Stirner and a group of men were killed,” Gustafson said, sinking into his desk chair. “But… I don’t know who to believe.”

“I figured the Ragnarins killed Bellator and came after the helicopter,” Marco said. “Because — why would the sarge shoot at Bellator?”

“Why indeed?” said Gustafson, looking at Colls.

“First he shot at me,” Vince said, “and then he left me there and didn’t pick up when I called from the burner. He figured it was his chance to get rid of me. Maybe he thinks I’m a rival. Maybe he’s with the feds. I don’t know why he did it, General. But I’m reporting in. Mission accomplished, sir.”

“He’s lying!” Colls snarled. He stood up, still unsteady.

“You hit him, Bellator, because — you said he pulled a gun on you? Where was this?”

“Out at the checkpoint. But I hit him because he deliberately took off