James Axler – Gemini Rising

The men climbed inside, and the noise of the battle diminished.

Taking hold of the northern fuses, Overton patted his pockets and cursed. “Nukestorm, I dropped the matches!”

Tucking his blaster into his belt, Ryan pulled out a small butane lighter. “Any order?” he snapped impatiently. “What?”

“Is there a sequence, damn it!”

“No,” Overton replied, glowering at the older man. “No sequence. Just light any one.”

“Damn amateur,” Ryan grumbled, and lit every fuse there was in the northern pipes. Almost instantly, the burning strings vanished out of sight with a sizzling hiss.

Turning quickly with his blaster drawn, Ryan found Overton in the exact same position. This time neither relaxed his stance.

“How did you know about this trap?” Overton demanded, beside himself in rage. “How did you know! Do wedo I have a traitor in my troops? Tell me, or die!”

“So much for your word of honor,” Ryan said, disgusted. “But I really didn’t expect any better from rad-blasted trash like you.”

“Tell me!”

“About the fuses and the trap? Fireblast, boy, it couldn’t have been more obvious. It’s exactly what I would have done.”

“WHAT ARE THEY DOING?” the lieutenant demanded, peering out from the side of the boulder.

The private packed his muzzle loader with a ramrod. “I think they’re digging in for cover.”

Struggling to clear a jam in a patchwork machine gun, a corporal growled unhappily. “Crap, it’ll take us forever to squeeze them out.”

“Orders, sir?” the sergeant asked, thumbing fresh rounds into a homemade shotgun.

Scowling thoughtfully, the lieutenant started to speak when the ground thunderously erupted beneath their boots, sending their broken, twisted bodies hurtling into the starry sky.

“Artillery!” shouted a sec man, backing away from the steaming blast crater.

Two more tremendous explosions occurred on either side of the gaping hole, spreading the destruction wide, claiming a dozen more men and spraying a wave of shrapnel across the rest, killing and maiming a dozen more. Breaking loose from their restraints, the terrified horses plowed through the stunned sec men, galloping madly away into the night.

“Retreat!” the sergeant ordered, and the Casanova troops broke ranks and charged for the dirt road.

Already burning, the underground fuses outraced the attackers, and a fast series of strident explosions ripped apart the dirt road, annihilating the wounded men, bloody gobbets of flesh raining across the forest for hundreds of yards.

“HOLY SHIT,” Nathan whispered, lowering the gren launcher. A single live round remained in the breech of the predark cannon.

“It worked!” a brown shirt shouted.

“That’s called a sequence strike,” J.B. said, lighting a cheroot “First confusing the enemy, then making them run straight into the main charge.”

“Nasty,” Mildred commented.

“Efficient,” the Armorer corrected.

Clem and Jak made no comment, taking the opportunity to reload their weapons.

“Where’s my dad?” Dean asked, looking across the dark clearing toward the well-lit cave.

“DONE,” RYAN SAID, glancing at the fuses leading in the other direction, and that was when Overton made his move.

Pretending to be in pain, Overton tossed away his blaster, the movement catching Ryan’s attention for a vital split second. The other man grabbed the one-eyed man’s gun arm and batted the weapon to the floor.

Ryan pulled out his panga just in time to block a strike from a massive bowie knife.

“Now you’re done,” Overton grunted as the combatants circled each other warily. His blade was covered with ornate silver filigree, but the edge was shiny sharp. It was pretty, but highly functional.

Shuffling his feet, Overton jabbed for a quick kill, and Ryan easily blocked the thrust to his armpit. Damn, the man knew how to knife fight. That was bad news. Amateurs went for the face or belly. Pros tried for the armpits or inside the thighs. Those were the locations of major arteries, and a cut there killed quickly.

Contemptuously, Overton tossed his knife from hand to hand in a steady pattern designed to frighten and disorient a novice knife fighter. But Ryan knew that no trained knife fighter ever let go of his weapon, and that hand-to-hand thing was for idiots. It was much too easy for a quick man to kick the blade away, and you were defenseless. So only a fool would do such a thing. Or, he added, a highly trained fighter who wanted you to think he was stupid and lure you into a sucker attack.