Lethal Misconduct by C. G. Cooper Page A

Spanish.
    As Price rushed to the old man’s hut, fire erupted from their flank, taking down two of their number.
    Like the trained professionals they were, Cal’s men took cover and returned disciplined fire, even the wounded. You could hardly see a thing through the undergrowth, except for the occasional muzzle flash. Then came the RPG rounds.
    Cal directed the men to move forward, seeing one of his men take a hit in the shoulder. The experienced operator shook it off and kept moving, firing and maneuvering as he went.
    More rounds flew overhead and more explosions sounded as repeated RPG rounds slammed into the trees above them. Poor aim, but still deadly should someone get lucky with a shot.
    Daniel was nowhere in sight. He’d disappeared. Cal knew the sniper was doing what he did best, finding the enemy. From the gunfire Cal estimated that there were at least twenty enemy fighters and they didn’t appear to be closing in, instead maintaining cover. Sensing it before it actually happened, Cal threw himself to the side just as another RPG round slammed into the tree next to where he’d been standing, sending Cal flying, the creeping darkness already swallowing him.
     
    +++
     
    Daniel couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen the ambush coming. Cool anger fueled his movement as he sprinted his way through the jungle, trusting God and his instincts to keep him safe. If he didn’t get to the enemy soon more of his friends would die. He couldn’t let that happen.
    Plowing ahead, a ghost in his element, Snake Eyes closed in, his inner beast unleashed.
     
    +++
     
    Raul Nadin was on his fifth magazine, the rounds going quickly. He’d opted to stick his AK-47 above his head and over the log he was hiding behind, squeezing the trigger. To hell with aiming. He didn’t want to die. He wasn’t getting paid enough money for what he’d done in the last day. It wasn’t that he necessarily felt remorse over what they’d done to the Amazonian tribe, they were Godless heathens after all, but Raul didn’t want to die.
    Only twenty-one years of age, Raul hoped to marry within the month, and he needed money, not to mention his life, to do it. Loading another magazine into his weapon, Raul lifted the barrel over the sturdy log even as he noticed a shadow to the side. He turned, confused. He was on the far right flank. Shrugging when he didn’t see anything to confirm his suspicions, he went to lift his weapon again only to find that it was no longer in his hands.
    Then the pain hit as he raised his arms, bloody geyser stumps spraying his lifeblood like the burst pipe at his grandmother’s house. A man crouched next to him. He had just enough time to make out the man’s eyes and the crimson dripping machete in his hand as the blade swept in, finishing the deed.
     
    +++
     
    Cal woke to MSgt Trent shaking him, his ears ringing.
    “Cal, you okay?”
    “What?”
    His vision was blurry, but his other senses were returning. Except for a raging headache and a few soon-to-be bruises, he felt whole.
    “I’m good.”
    Cal could barely hear his own voice, but took Trent’s hand and hefted himself back to his feet. Rather than babysit his friend, Trent took off in the direction of the firing. Cal followed right behind.
     
    +++
     
    Half of the Colombian line had fallen silent before their commander, a chubby thirty-something with an eye patch and a hair-lip, noticed that anything was amiss.
    Fuckers better not be running away . He growled to himself.
    Unafraid of death, he moved to see what the problem was. He’d picked out the position personally, knowing a fair amount about infantry tactics from his time as a sergeant in the Colombian army.
    His boss had given him a score of untrained troops, promising him a big payday when he succeeded. He didn’t care about his troops being killed. That meant more money in his pocket, but if any of the idiots ran off, he would find them and kill them personally.
    The first sign that something was