Page 62 of Over the Top

They moved off into the bushes and brambles. How Gunner found his way through them, Chas had no idea. But for the most part, they moved unimpeded into the woods, always going steadily uphill. Gunner led them at an angle more fully behind the main structure of the motel. As Chas’s eyes adjusted to the dark, he saw that the undergrowth thinned out as they moved higher up the slope. Gunner was absolutely silent. Chas never heard him take a step, never even heard him breathing.

As for himself, Chas winced every time he shuffled through a patch of dry leaves or exhaled hard. The noises sounded twice as loud as normal in the utter silence. And to think, at least seven other men were creeping around out here too. And some of them meant to kill him.

The more he thought about it, the scarier it got. The sense of this being a giant game wore off and the cold, hard danger of being hunted like prey settled in his gut like a lump of lead. He hated violence in all forms. He’d spent too much of his life being a target of it and watching people he cared about be affected by it.

He hated that Gunner was out here at risk, and he hated that Gunner had to be prepared to do violence to protect him and Poppy.

Eventually, Gunner stopped beside a big, jagged boulder. He pointed to Chas and then to the indentation at the base of the massive rock. That space didn’t look very big, and the boulder looked in danger of tumbling forward and crushing anyone beneath it. Frowning, Chas crouched and crawled under the overhang.

“Get comfortable,” Gunner breathed as he spread some sort of cloth over him. “You’ll be here a while.”

Chas reached up to drag the edge of the cloth aside, leaving him a slit to peer through. Otherwise he would get claustrophobic for sure. Gunner scooped up handfuls of twigs and leaves that he sprinkled over the cloth. He stood back, made a few adjustments, and flashed Chas a quick thumbs-up.

And then he was gone, as silent as the night that settled around Chas.

GUNNER HATEDleaving Chas, but he had no choice. His teammates needed him. Apparently Spencer and Drago had spotted five tangoes but thought there might be a sixth one out here somewhere.

The hostiles had parked down the road a couple hundred yards in two SUVs and had fanned out from there. Drago had visual on two guys sitting across the road from the motel, one using some sort of sniper rig. Two more had circled around behind the motel and were more or less together. Spencer was tracking them. The fifth one had headed for the top of the ridge Gunner was currently about two-thirds of the way up. His job was to get eyes on number five and check out a possible sixth tango. Easy peasy.

Except the hillside in this area ended with a nearly vertical stone face about twenty feet tall, with the top of the ridgeline above that. He had to make a dicey free climb on loose, unstable rock without making any noise. He stowed his short-barreled urban assault weapon across his back and commenced the climb.

He was perhaps four feet from the flat summit when he heard movement above his head. He froze, clinging precariously to the cliff face by his fingertips and his left foot. His right knee was bent by his hip as he froze in the middle of reaching for another foothold.

Whoever was creeping around above him was doing so stealthily, moving with exaggerated care. But the guy wasn’t rolling from heel to toe, which was resulting in leaves crunching and the occasional scuffing noise. Not Special Forces trained, then.

Gunner’s left leg was trembling with fatigue before he felt safe enough to pull himself up the rest of the way onto the ridgeline, lying flat on his stomach. He gazed around cautiously. Off to his right, he saw faint movement. That would be the guy who’d walked past.

But then he heard a twig snap off to his left.

Crap. There was a sixth guy up here, and he’d come up between him and his apparent patrolling buddy. Freezing in place, he let only his gaze move. No decent cover within several yards in any direction. There was a shallow gully just by his right side, though. For lack of any better options, he eased inch by inch to the right until his body lay in the depression. Moving his hands slowly, he grabbed fistfuls of leaves and dirt and did his best to cover himself.

Footsteps scuffed to his left at a range of about thirty feet.

He went completely still, relying on the human eye’s tendency to focus on movement rather than on unmoving shapes.

The bastard walked past his head, no more than ten feet from him. Gunner didn’t even blink as the guy eased past, his boots at eye level. The hostile was lean in build, medium height. Dressed in black, but not heavily equipped. He was carrying a tricked-out Howa Type 89 Assault Rifle, however. It was the preferred weapon of the Japan Self-Defense Forces. The one this guy was carrying had a video sighting system that would allow a user to hold it away from the body and aim the weapon around corners. Not super useful out here, but hey, if it made the guy feel badass, more power to him.

Spencer and Drago wanted to capture one of these guys tonight. Question him and find out who he worked for and what the hell they wanted with a little kid. This one was a good hundred yards behind his buddy. If Gunner could take him down silently, Hostile Number Five might not realize he’d lost his partner for long enough that Gunner could drag this one away.

To that end, he let the guy move about twenty-five feet past him. Then Gunner pushed up, rising to his feet specter-like behind his unsuspecting target. He moved slowly at first, then picked up speed as he closed the last few yards.

He got an arm around the hostile’s neck before the guy had any idea Gunner was even there. But dammit, the guy had excellent hand-to-hand combat training. He flipped Gunner over his shoulder, and only Gunner’s own training allowed him to twist midair and land on his feet, still clinging to the guy’s neck, which was now bent down in front of him. He made a fast move to one side to get behind the guy again, but the idiot jerked hard against the countermove. It was the kind of flashy move a movie martial artist would make but no sane fighter ever tried in actual combat. Not if he wanted to live. Sure enough, a sharp cracking sound split the night. It sounded like several stalks of celery being snapped in half all at once.

The hostile went limp in his arms, and Gunner swore silently. The guy had broken his own neck with that stupid move, for God’s sake. He lowered the hostile to the ground as the man’s paralyzed body gurgled its last few breaths. Life faded from the man’s dark, staring eyes, and Gunner closed the guy’s eyelids with his thumb and forefinger.

Dammit.

He turned, scanning the woods in the direction this guy’s partner had gone. At least he knew that Hostile Number Five didn’t have any backup now. Maybe he wouldn’t be as stupid as this guy had been and kill himself with some ill-advised hero move.

Gunner moved off quickly, covering a lot of ground for about three minutes before slowing and scanning the forest with the heat-painting feature of his NODs. Spencer and Drago would be wearing clothing that minimized their heat signatures, but the hostiles didn’t appear to be doing the same.

He crept forward, paralleling the cliff. He was close enough to look down on the motel and started when he spotted two men emerging from the woods across the road. Apparently the hostiles were beginning some sort of assault on his and Chas’s room. Jeez. Good thing Chas and the doll version of Poppy weren’t there.

In front of him, a figure rose silently out of a bush and surprised the living hell out of him. The hostile had almost no heat signature, just his hands and throat lit up on Gunner’s gear. Bastard had been well hidden in a thick stand of brush, sitting perfectly still.

Gunner froze midstep as the hostile moved over to the edge of the cliff and trained his weapon toward the motel. This must be the overwatch guy providing sniper support. Either that, or his job was to pick off Gunner and Chas if they tried to flee.

Gunner eased slowly off to his left, counting on the shooter’s concentration on the area below to keep the guy from noticing him. When he’d traveled a ninety-degree arc and was directly behind Number Five, Gunner started forward. This time he drew his Ka-Bar knife as he approached the target.

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