Hit Hard. Amy J. Fetzer

stomach rolled at the image. “Sorry I asked.”

      He drew the slung rifle over his shoulder, loaded it again, and she realized it wasn’t a normal shotgun as she’d first thought. Though shaped like one, it had a high-tech look about it. And a double trigger. “I’ve never seen a gun like that.”

      “Seen many, have you?”

      “Today’s been a veritable festival of weaponry.”

      He gave the rifle a hard shake, once, then slid it to his back, barrel down.

      Sam felt something fly by his cheek and his gaze zeroed in over her head. He yanked her to the ground, shielding her. “Max, down, down!”

      Max dropped without hesitation, drawing his gun. Then Viva heard the soft swish, like a soda can opening, only shorter. And rapid, one after another. Over her head in the trees were teeny spikes and it took her a second to realize they were darts.

      Sam dragged his hat off and aimed. “Crap, they’re back.”

      “Party crashers are so rude.”

      The crack of his rifle made her flinch, the smell of it hanging in the air. Birds squawked and rose into the treetops. She peered around him and where he’d aimed, a thin tree keeled over. Whoa. Max held down the trigger, cutting the trees in rapid succession with his automatic weapon. “Show off.”

      Sam went low, signaled to Max, slipped something into his ear, then drew a small, thin, bendable rod near his mouth. Max did the same.

      They’re in contact now, she thought. Radios? Cool. This was all suddenly exciting.

      “Cover me, buddy,” Sam said, then eased back, pushed her beyond the trees, his attention never leaving the terrain surrounding them. Max offered cover fire in spurts, Sam and Viva quickly shifting backwards.

      “We can’t leave him.”

      “Not happening, and be quiet.”

      Sam came to his knees, his weapon sweeping to his left. He unloaded and she heard something hit the ground hard. Someone’s dead out there.

      “Want to smoke them out?”

      Max shook his head. “There are at least six, I think. Maybe more.”

      Outgunned, and he didn’t have any explosives to make it simple. Where was Sebastian when you really needed him.

      Viva heard movement over the wild beat of her heart in her ears, and tapped Sam, pointed. He swung and fired. The glow of return muzzle flash marked positions and Max opened up on the location as Sam moved, pushing her ahead. Bullets hit the trees, the ground.

      Viva smothered a yelp.

      Sam fell on her, flattened her to the ground. “We have to make a run for it.”

      “They’ll follow.”

      He rolled off her, his body nearly sandwiched to hers. “We just have to be faster.”

      “And me without my Keds.”

      Sam’s lips quirked. At least she wasn’t crying. “Don’t stand, crawl.” He urged her. “Go now.”

      Viva obeyed, moving on her sore knees. Her palms slipped on mossy rocks and she fell, pushed up, and crawled.

      Sam put a hand on her butt and pushed it down. “Drag yourself.”

      Max fired, ripping up the jungle, and crouched low, he backed up. “Meet you at the stream,” he said.

      “Roger that.” Sam rose slightly, and took off. “Come on, woman, put a fire under it.”

      “Tyranny is so unattractive, Sam.” She ran, clawing through the forest, barely flinching as the jungle shredded her exposed skin. The ground grew soft under her feet, slowing her, and when she stumbled, Sam caught her, practically carrying her toward the water.

      He jerked her back before she went into the stream, and forced her to the ground. He aimed from behind a cluster of trees, sliding the rifle barrel between the foliage.

      “Drac, we’re at the rendezvous, where the hell are you?”

      Viva tucked behind him, still as glass. Sam didn’t have to look; he could feel her warmth on his spine.

      Max burst from the forest. “We have company!” he shouted, hurdling. “Move! Move!”

      Sam took off, pushing her ahead to the river, and she shifted to the left, darting over rocks instead of through the black water, Max coming alongside. The bandits weren’t far behind, the ground squishing with wet footsteps.

      Christ, at this rate, he’d get her killed.

      “We need to slow them down.” Sam glanced at Max running a few yards to his left.

      “I’ve got two clips,” Max said into the mike, checking his pockets.

      Sam slowed. Viva noticed. “Why are you stopping?” Oddly, she suddenly recognized the look; pure macho determination. “Don’t do this!”

      “This is risky, pal.”

      “Is there any other way? On my mark.” Sam stopped, and in one motion with Max, turned, and fired. They emptied into the forest, and all Viva saw was blood on green, men bursting through the trees and instantly thrown back off their feet. The bodies bounced.

      Viva turned away, covering her ears, wincing with each blast. Then strong hands were on her, dragging her up the stream’s bank onto higher ground.

      The figure moved through the jungle, soundless, eyes bright with awareness. Above the treetops daylight shone, yet the thick Thai jungle trapped the moisture and air in a vise. Sweat trailed her temples, down between her breasts, yet she kept moving, leaping dead logs and pausing only to slip through a thin outcropping of bushes. They’d been cut, then trampled. The path had already led her to the traitor, then to the tho thahan. Her body shivered with the memory of killing the mafia soldier, a warm heat brewing low in her belly. He’d betrayed the silence.

      Now, the path to her master was wiped clean, the only evidence tucked inside a skin pouch dangling at her hip. None could be trusted, and she was the only one to see it so.

      She followed the sound of gunfire.

      Project Silent Fire

       US–UK Command Post

      Major General Al Gerardo rarely showed his emotions. It’s what made him the consummate professional and well respected from the president down to the corporal who answered his phones. Gerardo never did anything halfway and for him, there was always a better solution, some tiny point that could be improved. It drove his staff crazy, but to work with him on this project, they’d learn to accept and respect it. His small idiosyncrasies had often foiled disaster.

      Even in the most desperate moments of the nation’s defense, he showed unquestionable authority and control. Only those who’d known him for years could recognize his anxiety.

      Lt. Colonel Mitch Callahan was one of them. Gerardo rolled a quarter over his knuckles without looking, as if it was a part of him. All while he watched the video feed, the camera mounted on a Marine’s helmet, the U.S. team backing up British Royal Marines.

      “Be advised, the target is our only source right now.”

      The night vision lens glowed green as the feed went smooth for a moment, then staggered as it focused. Royal Marines had been posted around the small house and though there’d been no movement for over an hour, they knew who occupied the home.

      “Execute,” the general said. The team moved in, Royal and U.S. Marines covering the small house like a blanket. Gas went in first, masks down, then a Royal Marine broke through the front door, just as another team came in through the rear.

      “Clear,” echoed through the head mikes and to Gerardo’s console. They watched the mission unfold. Each room was swept, floors checked for traps