The Reluctant Warrior (Warriors Series Book 2) by Ty Patterson Page B
Authors: Ty Patterson
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rapid pace. They prodded the slow ones with their rifles or slaps and muttered curses. One slap felled an illegal to the ground, and the coyote grabbed an arm, dragged him upright, and slapped him again to prod him on.
Roger tightened inside and drifted closer to the group, a hundred and fifty feet separating him from them.
The group turned around a large rock outcrop that narrowed the track, and they lost sight of the mass momentarily. They slowed down their pursuit… it was a good place for an ambush. Roger tried his phone again and after a while put it back in his pocket in disgust. Bwana crept forward, hugging the far end of the ravine, and peeked beyond the outcrop. After a while, he made a hand signal, and they surged forward.
The main body of people was flagging – they had probably been on the move all night, and the heat and the pace was telling on them. The coyotes were growing increasingly angry, and the frequent sounds of slaps and curses punctuated the air. Bwana looked across at Roger expressionlessly. He would have the same expressionless face if he was breaking the arms of the coyotes.
Roger looked at the group, looked back at the trail, and what had been gnawing away at him became stronger. He came to a halt and dug into another pocket and drew out a military compass and checked his bearings. He pictured their location in his mind and placed the compass on it and then zoomed in and out on his mental map.
He frowned, looked up to signal Bwana.
Three shots rang out.
Chapter 14
There was a haze of dust in the air, further dulling the visibility. But the aftermath of the shots was clear, even from their distance in the dark.
Two illegals lay on the ground; a couple of others hunched over them.
The coyotes were loosely strung out and were threatening the group of illegals with their guns. All eight of them. The rest of the illegals were huddled together, cowed.
Roger couldn’t make out the expressions on their faces, the darkness and distance rendering the faces into pale blobs, but none of them were showing any signs of aggression. Roger and Bwana hugged the rocky outcrop, invisible against its dark shadow beyond the dim light of the flashlights.
One of the illegals crouching over the dead, a woman, sprang suddenly at the coyotes, shrieking, her arms outstretched. The heavy closest to her stepped back without a word, upended his AK-47, and with a lazy, casual swing hit the woman across the face. The woman fell back and then collapsed in an untidy heap without a sound, and seconds later the dull watermelon-like thud of the impact reached Roger and Bwana.
The coyotes shouted and prodded the rest of the group who resumed shuffling along the corridor. The coyote who had felled the woman hawked and spat on her body and stepped across her as he followed the group.
The gang started hazing and herding the illegals, urging them to go faster. The last one bent over the fallen woman and felt something on her body. He then rose and fired a short burst into her body. Point blank. He then stepped across the body, went to the wall of the ravine, hitched his shirt up with a loud sigh, and urinated a long stream. Just another day in a coyote’s life.
Roger felt loose and light. He could smell and taste each molecule of air that brushed his face and feel the blood steadily pulse inside him. He looked across at Bwana. He knew Bwana understood. Nothing needed to be said.
They moved like a well-oiled machine, countless missions in hot spots of the world perfecting every step they took. They drifted along, flanking the group from both sides, narrowing the gap.
Bwana was closest to the last gangbanger, the one who had fired into the prone woman.
One moment the coyote was trotting to catch up, his AK-47 held loosely in his left hand, feeling deeply satisfied with the night’s activities. The next moment, a steel band whipped across his throat, and a knife pierced his ribs. Before his neurons could transmit and his
Roger tightened inside and drifted closer to the group, a hundred and fifty feet separating him from them.
The group turned around a large rock outcrop that narrowed the track, and they lost sight of the mass momentarily. They slowed down their pursuit… it was a good place for an ambush. Roger tried his phone again and after a while put it back in his pocket in disgust. Bwana crept forward, hugging the far end of the ravine, and peeked beyond the outcrop. After a while, he made a hand signal, and they surged forward.
The main body of people was flagging – they had probably been on the move all night, and the heat and the pace was telling on them. The coyotes were growing increasingly angry, and the frequent sounds of slaps and curses punctuated the air. Bwana looked across at Roger expressionlessly. He would have the same expressionless face if he was breaking the arms of the coyotes.
Roger looked at the group, looked back at the trail, and what had been gnawing away at him became stronger. He came to a halt and dug into another pocket and drew out a military compass and checked his bearings. He pictured their location in his mind and placed the compass on it and then zoomed in and out on his mental map.
He frowned, looked up to signal Bwana.
Three shots rang out.
Chapter 14
There was a haze of dust in the air, further dulling the visibility. But the aftermath of the shots was clear, even from their distance in the dark.
Two illegals lay on the ground; a couple of others hunched over them.
The coyotes were loosely strung out and were threatening the group of illegals with their guns. All eight of them. The rest of the illegals were huddled together, cowed.
Roger couldn’t make out the expressions on their faces, the darkness and distance rendering the faces into pale blobs, but none of them were showing any signs of aggression. Roger and Bwana hugged the rocky outcrop, invisible against its dark shadow beyond the dim light of the flashlights.
One of the illegals crouching over the dead, a woman, sprang suddenly at the coyotes, shrieking, her arms outstretched. The heavy closest to her stepped back without a word, upended his AK-47, and with a lazy, casual swing hit the woman across the face. The woman fell back and then collapsed in an untidy heap without a sound, and seconds later the dull watermelon-like thud of the impact reached Roger and Bwana.
The coyotes shouted and prodded the rest of the group who resumed shuffling along the corridor. The coyote who had felled the woman hawked and spat on her body and stepped across her as he followed the group.
The gang started hazing and herding the illegals, urging them to go faster. The last one bent over the fallen woman and felt something on her body. He then rose and fired a short burst into her body. Point blank. He then stepped across the body, went to the wall of the ravine, hitched his shirt up with a loud sigh, and urinated a long stream. Just another day in a coyote’s life.
Roger felt loose and light. He could smell and taste each molecule of air that brushed his face and feel the blood steadily pulse inside him. He looked across at Bwana. He knew Bwana understood. Nothing needed to be said.
They moved like a well-oiled machine, countless missions in hot spots of the world perfecting every step they took. They drifted along, flanking the group from both sides, narrowing the gap.
Bwana was closest to the last gangbanger, the one who had fired into the prone woman.
One moment the coyote was trotting to catch up, his AK-47 held loosely in his left hand, feeling deeply satisfied with the night’s activities. The next moment, a steel band whipped across his throat, and a knife pierced his ribs. Before his neurons could transmit and his
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