War Hawk: A Tucker Wayne Novel (20 page)

A sharp cry erupted outside, followed by a heavy thump.

Kane sinks his teeth deeper into the ankle of his opponent. The taste of blood washes over his tongue. From under the porch, he tugs the booted leg farther through the open stairs, trapping the man.

A moment ago, he had watched the same man come up the steps and knock on the door. He had come casually the first time with no weapon in hand—this time, he came running low, a rifle pressed at his shoulder.

Kane caught the familiar tang of threat off the man’s body, heard the pant of his breath.

All Kane’s senses jangled with danger.

His last order still glowed behind his eyes.

H
IDE
. S
ILENT
GUARD
.

But the menace here outshone that command.

So he acted on his own and grabbed the man by the ankle when he tried to glide up the steps. He yanked him off his feet, sending his body crashing to the boards with a sharp cry.

A growl rises now unbidden, as blood washes through his senses, narrowing his sight. The other brings his rifle around and points it between the steps at Kane.

Kane only sinks his fangs in deeper, crushing to bone, refusing to let go.

The two lock gazes on each other.

Kane holds fast—knowing he could die, but trusting another more.

He hears the door open atop the porch, followed by a muffled pop.

A splotch of darkness strikes his opponent in the face. A bitter scent wafts back to Kane, burning his nose and eyes. The other writhes in agony, gasping and spitting.

He hears a new command from above. The words cut through his blood haze, calming his heart with their familiarity, soothing him.

R
ELEASE
.

After getting Kane to let go, Tucker dashed down the steps with his JPX handgun in his fist. Webster—even blinded and in blistering pain from the wad of pepper spray—tried to raise his rifle and fire toward the porch.

Tucker jumped down and kicked the steel-shod tip of his boot into the man’s temple—and his body went slack.

Out for the second time, you bastard . . .

Kane rushed from under the porch to his side. As Tucker crouched, he holstered his JPX and slung his MP-5 to his shoulder. He had to resist shooting Webster where he lay, but Tucker wasn’t that cold-blooded. Besides, he couldn’t risk making more noise, especially not knowing if anyone heard Webster’s cry a moment ago.

Tucker listened and heard the telltale crunch of tires on gravel. Lights flared from the direction of the parking lot. Frank was on his way back here.

Webster must have grown suspicious, possibly tried to reach Chuck on the radio. When that failed, he must have figured something was wrong. But had he alerted any other—?

Gunfire erupted from the parking lot.

Crap
.

Muzzle flashes flared from one of the cabins across the turnaround. Rounds pelted the porch and gravel around him, but the shots went wide, indicating the shooter feared hitting his boss on the ground.

Taking advantage of that caution, Tucker motioned to Kane, and they flew low up the steps and through the door. Nora slammed it behind them.

“Stay down!” Tucker warned as bullets shattered the windows to either side of the door, ripping through the blackout curtains. He pointed to the back hall. “Head that way!”

Tucker followed them, herding them away from the fusillade of bullets. He imagined the shooter was strafing the front of the cabin to keep his quarry pinned down.

Tucker pulled out his radio and called up Frank. “Forget the turnaround! Meet us behind the cabin!”

He got no response, but he imagined Frank was busy. Gunfire still echoed from the parking lot. He joined the others in the bathroom, which consisted of toilet stalls and a long washbasin along one wall and curtained shower cubicles on the other side. Directly ahead was a window, still open from earlier.

Crouched low, Takashi looked wild-eyed, wincing with the crack of each gunshot. Stan cradled Diane under him.

Nora joined Tucker, eyeing Kane. “What now?”

The answer came from outside with a squeal of brakes.

“Follow me,” Tucker said. “Out the window. Don’t think, just get into the backseat of the Suburban.”

Tucker hurried to the window and spotted the waiting vehicle. The SUV’s engine smoked, and the windows were spider-webbed with cracks and bullet holes. Frank had come in dark, with the headlights off.

Good
.

Frank shouted from inside. “Come on! Hurry!”

Tucker lifted Kane and got the shepherd through the window, then dropped next to the dog. He kept down on one knee with his rifle up, scanning right and left. He waved for the others to exit the cabin.

As they piled through, Tucker pointed to the SUV. “Move it!”

Nora charged forward first and yanked the backseat door open for the others, staying low. As she did so, a scatter of shots pelted the vehicle’s rear bumper and shattered the door window above her head.

Goddamn it . . .

Tucker spun with his rifle raised and spotted a figure hugging the corner of the cabin. He waited for the gunman to pop back out and placed three rounds into his chest. Shouts rose from all around as Webster’s men closed in on their position.

A cry rose closer at hand, coming from Diane. “Stan!”

Tucker looked over and watched the blond man fall from where he must have been sheltering his girlfriend. He toppled sideways, shot from behind, blood pouring from his shoulder.

Diane clawed at his jacket, trying to get him up. Then Takashi was there and manhandled his friend into the backseat with Diane’s help. Nora climbed in after them.

Tucker slammed the door behind her and hollered to Frank. “Go! Circle around the outside of the cabins.”

Frank looked wide-eyed at him. “What’re you—?”

“Kane and I’ll meet you on the other side. Look for us behind the mess hall.”

Frank looked like he was going to argue, but Tucker smacked his palm on the door. “Go!”

Frank twisted back around, gunned the engine, and set off.

Tucker ran alongside the Suburban—but only to the rear of the next cabin, the men’s bunkroom. He crouched there next to Kane as the SUV continued onward.

He lifted Kane’s muzzle. If their group was to have any chance of escaping, he and Kane had to create as much confusion as possible. He stared into the dark brown eyes of his partner, hating to ask this of Kane, but knowing it was necessary.

Tucker pointed between the two bunk cabins. “H
IDE
AND
SEEK
. S
HADOW
ATTACK
BRAVO
.”

The order would send the shepherd sprinting through the camp, attacking any targets briefly, and hightailing it away. The tactic was designed to spread panic—and few things did that better than seventy pounds of snarling muscle sliding through and haunting the shadows.

But it was also dangerous.

Tucker hesitated, but only for a moment. “G
O
.”

Kane took off and swept around the corner.

Tucker rose, grabbed the sill of the open window, and pulled himself into the men’s bathroom. He dashed low to the front of the cabin. He unlatched the door and eased it open a few inches, then dropped to his stomach, his assault rifle pointed out the door.

The grumble of the SUV passing along the back of the encampment to the left had drawn the attention of Webster’s men.

A cadre of six guards came running down the center of the turnaround.

Tucker aimed his rifle and strafed into the group, dropping two men and sending the others scattering to either side. In the confusion, he shoved to his feet, shouldered open the door, and dashed out. He sprinted directly across for the mess hall.

Rounds spat at him, but the potshots went wide.

Off to his right, Kane let out a series of growling barks, accompanied by a man screaming. Two gunshots came from that same direction. Tucker’s throat clamped with fear for his partner—but he kept going.

As gunfire rings out, Kane stalks the shadows, slipping through them with ease. His senses stretch through the darkness. His ears note every shout, every crunch of boot, every hurried breath. His nose picks up the wafting trail of damp sweat, the whisper of gun smoke. He follows those trails, coming upon his prey from behind.

His teeth rip tendons . . .

His bulk slams bodies facedown into mud . . .

His claws rake flesh . . .

Then he is gone, back into the shadows, where he howls his fury and threat until it echoes everywhere.

Then he moves on
.

Praying Kane was still okay, Tucker reached the mess hall, vaulted the steps, and crashed through the door. He raced past rows of trestle tables and aimed for the set of swinging doors that led into the kitchen, figuring there must be an exit back there. He entered the kitchen, leading with his weapon, and saw a door directly ahead.

Perfect
.

He hurried toward it—only to have it open before him.

The growl of the Suburban’s engine rose from outside, coming closer.

A guard backed into the kitchen, plainly intent on ambushing the Suburban as it drew even with the mess hall.

With the gunman’s attention focused outside, Tucker picked up a cast-iron frying pan from the stove, stalked up behind the man, and walloped him across the back of the head. Bone crunched, and the guard collapsed with a grunt of surprise.

Tucker snatched the man’s rifle and slung it over his shoulder.

The more firepower, the better
.

Tucker opened the back door to the kitchen and searched left and right as the Suburban trundled toward his position. He freed his phone and radioed Kane. “B
REAK
AND
RETURN
TO
J
EEP
.”

Of course, the Suburban wasn’t a Jeep, but the command directed Kane back to the vehicle, which the dog’s sharp ears surely heard and could easily track.

As Frank slowed the SUV, Tucker waved for him to keep going. Tucker paced alongside the vehicle. Two more men tried to ambush them, but Tucker chased them off with a fierce barrage of gunfire.

He kept watch for Kane, then spotted a flow of shadows in the alleyway between two of the cabins, coming his way. It was Kane. Before the shepherd could reach him, a figure rolled low into view on the far side, leveling a rifle at the dog.

Tucker yelled. “B
REAK
LEFT
!”

Ever obedient, Kane dodged as the guard’s weapon flashed. The shepherd yelped. Tucker resisted the impulse to look that way. Instead, he focused on the gunman and fired two rounds. The man toppled sideways.

Tucker dropped to a knee. Kane rushed up to him and shoved hard against his side, panting heavily.

The Suburban’s front door popped open behind them.

Nora called out, “Come on!”

Tucker hauled Kane up in his arms, twisted around, and barreled into the passenger seat. “Go!” he yelled to Frank, letting go of Kane only long enough to slam the door shut.

Tucker hugged Kane tight.

Be okay, buddy . . .

15

October 19, 1:17
A
.
M
. CDT

Redstone Arsenal, Alabama

As Frank stamped the accelerator, sending the Suburban surging forward, Tucker ran his hands over Kane’s body. When he reached the shepherd’s right hindquarter, Kane winced. Tucker felt a patch of hot blood matting the thick fur, but it seemed to be only seeping, likely just a graze.

“It’s all right, buddy.”

A warm tongue licked his face with a slight inquiring whine.

“Yeah, I’m okay, too.”

Tucker settled Kane into the footwell and scooted around. Kane hadn’t been the only one shot. Diane was in the backseat, shaking with sobs, cradling Stan’s head in her lap. Nora crouched over the man, pressing a wad of cloth to his upper chest. Takashi had climbed into the rear compartment to make room, but he loomed over the two women, his face a mask of concern.

“Nora, how is he?” Tucker asked.

She glanced up to him. “A lotta blood. He’s out cold. I found what looks like an exit wound by his collarbone.”

Tucker kept his face stoic. The guards had been firing hollow points, rounds capable of shredding everything in their path. Even with medical attention, Stan would not likely make it.

Nora must have suspected the same. “I can’t find a pulse and—”

The back window shattered behind her. Bullets peppered into the rear of the Suburban.

“Get down!” Tucker shouted.

By now, Frank had cleared the last cabin. He made a sharp turn, crashing through the low branches of a pine, and reached the exit road that cut through the forest surrounding the camp. With the way clear, he sped faster toward the encircling perimeter road.

Tucker watched for any pursuit, but so far, the path behind them remained dark. But he knew that wouldn’t last for long.

“We’re almost to the perimeter road,” Frank warned. “Do we go right or left?”

It was a good question.
Right
was the shortest path to the main gates that connected the segregated camp to the larger military base.
Left
would circle them first through the wilder sections of the woods before swinging back to those same gates.

So neither was a great option. At the moment, Tucker had no way of knowing if Tangent had alerted Redstone’s military police. There could already be a shoot-to-kill order on their heads spreading throughout the base.

Frank glanced over to him, waiting for an answer.

Tucker twisted around in his seat. “Can everyone swim?”