Read Online 'A' for Argonaut by Michael J. Stedman - Free Book Online
Authors: Michael J. Stedman
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to his ears. It took all his strength to stifle a wail. Into what dark depths had his world sunk?
Images faded in and out.
They had desecrated his honor. For the first time in his life, he tasted the bittersweet bile that bubbles up from deep inside with the uncivilized craving to kill.
The Animal. The Pentagon. Damn them to hell!
He had been in the hospital eight days.
Chapter 8
Eight
Kinshasa—Months earlier
P anic raged outside Faisal’s store. A large black Humvee materialized from the smoke. Several armored personnel carriers followed it. They pulled up through the dust and mayhem and gangs of men and boys piled out, pouring into the street. They were armed with rocket-propelled grenade launchers, automatic rifles, spears and machetes.
She stood, mouth agape, nowhere to flee. Momentary relief passed through her body as the rebel terrorists barreled past.
Devils!
Crocodile skin capes adorned with small cowbells and gourd rattles flapped from what she recognized as U.S. Army multi-cam battle uniforms they were wearing, their bodies protected by U.S. body armor, rifle-bullet-proof vests with armored neck-nape pads. They ran around the shops and through the street in front of her.
Shouts of fear turned into screams of pain all around her. The street was overrun with military vehicles, armor, and ordinance. The crazed invaders fired automatic weapons and slashed with machetes through the crowd of people who were fleeing in every direction. The mutilated bodies of old men, women, and children lay splayed in the mud. One small child threw himself on his mother’s corpse, his arms encircling her, pleading for her to get up. The screams pierced Amber’s heart.
Amber knew who they were.
Vangaler’s Ninjas branded themselves as crocodile devils and zombies. Ostensibly, they were freedom fighters demanding independence for the Cabinda exclave which was still shackled by the Angolan government and its army. In fact, they were just an organized gang of savages who wreaked horror for profit on superstitious natives from Kinshasa to Cabinda. The tactic worked. The entire region lived in the fear of a visit from them. It was so bad that villagers under threat would sleep in one of the missionary churches. That worked until the Ninjas caught on and began burning those down.
Amber turned back to the dealer. A hulking Ninja appeared, gold-framed mirrored sunglasses on his flared, diamond-studded nose. Packed in combat gear with an H-harness over his shoulders draped with grenades and flares, he held a machine gun aloft, waving it around over his head with one huge hand. Two full cartridge belts crisscrossed his chest. Several heavy diamond-encrusted gold necklaces played alongside them as his body moved. Most noticeable, however, was the cape of crocodile skin, knotted with a gold clasp at the neck and draped over his shoulders. He had rolled up the sleeves of his camouflaged combat jacket. Ropy muscle rippled along his arms like writhing adders. Splashes of blue, white, and crimson grease paint warped his dark features into a gargoyle-like grimace.
He reached for Amber’s bag containing her stones.
Instinct triggered her adrenaline, overcame her fear.
She crouched and spun into a serpentine curl.
“ Yi!”
The skills Amber had employed in Xing Yi Quan were passed on through her family roots from the great sifu father Xu Shih Sheng of the Jai Song Lan Mountain Temple in Northern China. The practice was just one of the many martial arts skills she had learned.
Her snarl exploded with the first Cantonese word of the Yi Quan fighting count. Her right arm shot in the air; her left hand gripped her upper right arm around the biceps as she used all her force with both arms to smash her right elbow across the man’s forearm.
“Er!”
She swiveled her torso to her left, leaned as far over her left foot as she could, cocked her right leg, her knee folded against her chest and jackknifed a fierce Yoko-geri side
Images faded in and out.
They had desecrated his honor. For the first time in his life, he tasted the bittersweet bile that bubbles up from deep inside with the uncivilized craving to kill.
The Animal. The Pentagon. Damn them to hell!
He had been in the hospital eight days.
Chapter 8
Eight
Kinshasa—Months earlier
P anic raged outside Faisal’s store. A large black Humvee materialized from the smoke. Several armored personnel carriers followed it. They pulled up through the dust and mayhem and gangs of men and boys piled out, pouring into the street. They were armed with rocket-propelled grenade launchers, automatic rifles, spears and machetes.
She stood, mouth agape, nowhere to flee. Momentary relief passed through her body as the rebel terrorists barreled past.
Devils!
Crocodile skin capes adorned with small cowbells and gourd rattles flapped from what she recognized as U.S. Army multi-cam battle uniforms they were wearing, their bodies protected by U.S. body armor, rifle-bullet-proof vests with armored neck-nape pads. They ran around the shops and through the street in front of her.
Shouts of fear turned into screams of pain all around her. The street was overrun with military vehicles, armor, and ordinance. The crazed invaders fired automatic weapons and slashed with machetes through the crowd of people who were fleeing in every direction. The mutilated bodies of old men, women, and children lay splayed in the mud. One small child threw himself on his mother’s corpse, his arms encircling her, pleading for her to get up. The screams pierced Amber’s heart.
Amber knew who they were.
Vangaler’s Ninjas branded themselves as crocodile devils and zombies. Ostensibly, they were freedom fighters demanding independence for the Cabinda exclave which was still shackled by the Angolan government and its army. In fact, they were just an organized gang of savages who wreaked horror for profit on superstitious natives from Kinshasa to Cabinda. The tactic worked. The entire region lived in the fear of a visit from them. It was so bad that villagers under threat would sleep in one of the missionary churches. That worked until the Ninjas caught on and began burning those down.
Amber turned back to the dealer. A hulking Ninja appeared, gold-framed mirrored sunglasses on his flared, diamond-studded nose. Packed in combat gear with an H-harness over his shoulders draped with grenades and flares, he held a machine gun aloft, waving it around over his head with one huge hand. Two full cartridge belts crisscrossed his chest. Several heavy diamond-encrusted gold necklaces played alongside them as his body moved. Most noticeable, however, was the cape of crocodile skin, knotted with a gold clasp at the neck and draped over his shoulders. He had rolled up the sleeves of his camouflaged combat jacket. Ropy muscle rippled along his arms like writhing adders. Splashes of blue, white, and crimson grease paint warped his dark features into a gargoyle-like grimace.
He reached for Amber’s bag containing her stones.
Instinct triggered her adrenaline, overcame her fear.
She crouched and spun into a serpentine curl.
“ Yi!”
The skills Amber had employed in Xing Yi Quan were passed on through her family roots from the great sifu father Xu Shih Sheng of the Jai Song Lan Mountain Temple in Northern China. The practice was just one of the many martial arts skills she had learned.
Her snarl exploded with the first Cantonese word of the Yi Quan fighting count. Her right arm shot in the air; her left hand gripped her upper right arm around the biceps as she used all her force with both arms to smash her right elbow across the man’s forearm.
“Er!”
She swiveled her torso to her left, leaned as far over her left foot as she could, cocked her right leg, her knee folded against her chest and jackknifed a fierce Yoko-geri side
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