War Girls (The Juniper Wars Book 5) by Aaron Ritchey (find a book to read TXT) 📗

And the chores of that black night weren’t over. I had to break Sketchy and Tech out of jail.

But if Peeperz wasn’t making his way to the cockpit, by killing the Moby I might’ve killed myself. We floated farther and farther upward into the night sky. The Heartbreaker seemed like a lost carnival balloon, bound to pop.

Chapter Ten

UNCLE SAM NEEDS US to fight!

Dawn is coming but it’s still night

Land of the free, home of the brave,

It’s freedom itself that we must save

Many boys have fallen, now it’s up to the girls

Yankee-doodle ladies will save the world!

—U.S. Army Recruiting Song, All Rights Reserved, Copyright 2035

(i)

The Heartbreaker rose quickly into the night, soaring south. If I didn’t get to the cockpit, we’d overshoot the police station. Pilate should be there by now, waiting for my signal.

The minute I popped out of the hatchway from the bubble, the soldier girl hit me from out of the shadows. Sapropel lanterns burned at intervals down the main hallway. They gave me light to see my attacker’s punch.

I ducked it. The soldier girl was an African-American woman, her scalp shaved close. Fierce brown eyes blazed from dark skin. She was far taller than me and tightly muscled. On the chest pocket of her fatigues, a single name, Baptista.

Glad I dodged the punch, or it would’ve torn my head right the hell off.

Instead of going in, which was what she expected, I backed away.

Didn’t say a word, just backed up, and put my fist up.

Neither one of us went for our sidearms. We knew, the one who did, the other would grab the barrel, twist it back, and snap the finger. If we could get it back far enough, we’d put a bullet into the skull of the other.

She came at me. Sure, I had stolen her ship and she had stayed behind. Question was, were there others?

She made a big show of going high but went low. I was waiting. I swiveled, building up power around my core and spinning it around in a punch I landed right on her chin. She wobbled and hit the wall. One punch and I had her.

Now that I had some space, I drew a .45, aimed, and fired—surprised myself that I didn’t kill her. Neither did I wince at the noise. She did. The round hit the wall right next to her head, just above her shoulder, close enough for her feel the wind and hear the whine. “I won’t miss again, Baptista.”

Dizziness showed in her eyes and her lips split in a grimace. Teeth clenched, the girl growled at me.

I laughed. “Easy, Baptista. Take a deep breath and think about your odds of getting to me before I shoot you in the face.”

She froze.

Yes, I was pointing a gun at her. You don’t point weapons at anything you don’t want to destroy. If she took a run at me, I’d destroy her. I had fourteen rounds left. Not sure why I didn’t kill her. Then I knew. “Can you fly this thing?”

She shook her head.

On her belt, I noticed she had handcuffs. But first, her weapons. “Drop all your guns and your belt. Then I’m going to have you take off your shirt and pants. To make sure. You get me?”

She nodded. And she did as she was told. In seconds, she stood there in her underwear, arms at her side. She didn’t have anything to hide and she sure as hell wasn’t hiding the hate she had for me.

“Kick over your gear,” I said. I thought about thanking her for cooperating with me, but I didn’t want her thinking I wouldn’t shoot her. Didn’t want to appear weak.

The whole zeppelin pitched forward right then, a dramatic movement that knocked us both to the floor.

I wedged myself into a doorway, but she was careening toward me, feet first. And all I saw were her raised fists and the gleam of rage in her eye.

No help for it.  I was going to have to shoot her.

A second later, the Heartbreaker rose again and leveled off.

She was staring down the barrel of the gun. My finger was on the trigger. We stopped with our legs entangled. She could’ve grabbed the pistol, but she didn’t.

Was it bad training or was it something more?

I didn’t know, but I figured Peeperz made it onboard after all. If not, and if it was a U.S. peacekeeper, I’d be in big trouble. Then I would have to shoot my way out, all thought of mercy plucked out of my hand by cruel fate and a desire to avenge the boy.

“Ease on back, Baptista,” I said. “Slowly. You and I both know I should’ve shot you dead a couple times now. How about we make a deal? If we go up to the cockpit and if it’s my people, you’ll be my prisoner-of-war, but you’ll get your clothes back. If it’s your people, then I’ll give myself up. Is it a deal?”

I was lying. But it would make getting there easier, and it would make me seem less crazy than I prolly was.

Baptista nodded.

“Can you talk?” I asked. So far, she hadn’t said a word.

“Yes.”

“What’s your first name?” I asked.

“Jen.”

“Well, Jen, let’s go on then. Scoot back. Go slow.”

She walked back on her hands and her feet. I bent and shook out her shirt and pants. Nothing in them but I wanted to keep her off balance. I threw them at her feet. “Carry your stuff.”

She collected her uniform. “What’s your name?”

“I’m a Weller girl. Call me Ms. Weller and we’ll call it square.”

“You’re Wren,” Jenny whispered.

“Damn straight,” I shot back. “So don’t you mess with me. I’ve killed a hundred women if I’ve killed one.”

She trembled a bit, at my sister’s name, at my bravado, and I grinned at her. “You do what I say, you’ll be able to tell your children you met a real Juniper outlaw and lived to tell the tale.”

She nodded again.

It was good she