Read Online Birth of the Wolf (Wahaya) by J. B. Peterson - Free Book Online
Authors: J. B. Peterson
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sounds complicated,” Cynthia said with a worried look on her face.
“ It is complicated.” Dave said, “and very difficult to do.”
He refused to let his own worry show to the three women. The odds of Nick catching up to them before the extraction were diminished substantially if he failed to catch them before Dave had to leave a cache…odds on the edge of impossible. “There’s nobody I’ve ever known that is anywhere near as good at it as Nick,” he said breezily. “Now let’s get moving. You ladies spread out, except for you Abbie, I’m going to carry you about a klick before I set you down…the track you leave hobbling is too easy to read.”
As they began to spread out, Cynthia whispered in his ear. “He left his rifle with me Dave, he’s helpless!”
Dave grinned at Cynthia, happy to have a question he doesn’t have to resort to false hope to answer. “Feel sorry for the bad guys Cynthia. If they have something he needs, Nick will take it. He’s the most dangerous man I have ever seen.”
He could have told her story after story of Nick’s ability to acquire weapons when he possessed none himself, but there wasn’t time…and besides, Nick had a knife and at least two spare magazines for the Glock .22 pistol. It almost wasn’t fair to Conde’s goons.
Chapter 6
Nick backtracked their trail to a point about two hundred meters from the river. The loud talk and confusion from the riverbank was barely audible, but it told Nick that he had time to implement his plan.
He carefully covered the next forty meters of their trail, and then knelt on one knee as he reached into the left side cargo pocket of his night suit and pulled out the roll of green parachute cord he had carried in the field since he was a young second lieutenant. Parachute cord is tough, small diameter rope that is light to carry and has more uses than the average human could conceive of. The fifty foot roll made a packet about six inches long and half that wide.
Nick cut off three lengths of the rope and secured them to his web gear, one left side, one right side, and one centered from the back of his belt. To the ends he attached sticks heavy enough to leave a trail when dragged, but not large enough to impede his progress much. This task completed, Nick set off at the easy lope he had conditioned himself to keep up for days on end. He headed for what had appeared on the map to be a dismal mangrove swamp.
He ran for five klicks or so before he struck water, and then he moved another klick deeper into the swamp before he felt comfortable cutting the drags from his belt. He was careful to cut the ropes from the heavy sticks before casting them randomly aside. The parachute cord was wadded up and replaced in his cargo pocket.
Nick looked around and selected the oldest and largest of the old growth mangrove trees. It is an established fact that men tracking other men keep their eyes on the ground unless they are professionally trained not to. “Death from Above” was not a motto created by Airborne troops, they had borrowed it from Native Americans.
Nick fumbled in the various pockets of his night suit for something to eat, and found an energy bar. It was enough. Half an hour later, Nick caught a break. The point man for the scout team tracking him passed beneath his mangrove, AK-47 at the ready and ammo pouches full.
Opening his combat knife, Nick slid silently out of the tree and slid the knife deeply at an upward angle just below the man’s lower left rib from behind. Without a sound the man fell dead in Nick’s arms. Nick quietly removed the AK from the man’s dead arms and slung it across his back. He then took as many of the man’s magazines as he could fit in his own four ammo pouches -- twelve thirty round magazines, and one fresh one for the magazine well.
Nick had no idea if the magazine in the weapon had been used. He would throw it away and insert the fresh one
“ It is complicated.” Dave said, “and very difficult to do.”
He refused to let his own worry show to the three women. The odds of Nick catching up to them before the extraction were diminished substantially if he failed to catch them before Dave had to leave a cache…odds on the edge of impossible. “There’s nobody I’ve ever known that is anywhere near as good at it as Nick,” he said breezily. “Now let’s get moving. You ladies spread out, except for you Abbie, I’m going to carry you about a klick before I set you down…the track you leave hobbling is too easy to read.”
As they began to spread out, Cynthia whispered in his ear. “He left his rifle with me Dave, he’s helpless!”
Dave grinned at Cynthia, happy to have a question he doesn’t have to resort to false hope to answer. “Feel sorry for the bad guys Cynthia. If they have something he needs, Nick will take it. He’s the most dangerous man I have ever seen.”
He could have told her story after story of Nick’s ability to acquire weapons when he possessed none himself, but there wasn’t time…and besides, Nick had a knife and at least two spare magazines for the Glock .22 pistol. It almost wasn’t fair to Conde’s goons.
Chapter 6
Nick backtracked their trail to a point about two hundred meters from the river. The loud talk and confusion from the riverbank was barely audible, but it told Nick that he had time to implement his plan.
He carefully covered the next forty meters of their trail, and then knelt on one knee as he reached into the left side cargo pocket of his night suit and pulled out the roll of green parachute cord he had carried in the field since he was a young second lieutenant. Parachute cord is tough, small diameter rope that is light to carry and has more uses than the average human could conceive of. The fifty foot roll made a packet about six inches long and half that wide.
Nick cut off three lengths of the rope and secured them to his web gear, one left side, one right side, and one centered from the back of his belt. To the ends he attached sticks heavy enough to leave a trail when dragged, but not large enough to impede his progress much. This task completed, Nick set off at the easy lope he had conditioned himself to keep up for days on end. He headed for what had appeared on the map to be a dismal mangrove swamp.
He ran for five klicks or so before he struck water, and then he moved another klick deeper into the swamp before he felt comfortable cutting the drags from his belt. He was careful to cut the ropes from the heavy sticks before casting them randomly aside. The parachute cord was wadded up and replaced in his cargo pocket.
Nick looked around and selected the oldest and largest of the old growth mangrove trees. It is an established fact that men tracking other men keep their eyes on the ground unless they are professionally trained not to. “Death from Above” was not a motto created by Airborne troops, they had borrowed it from Native Americans.
Nick fumbled in the various pockets of his night suit for something to eat, and found an energy bar. It was enough. Half an hour later, Nick caught a break. The point man for the scout team tracking him passed beneath his mangrove, AK-47 at the ready and ammo pouches full.
Opening his combat knife, Nick slid silently out of the tree and slid the knife deeply at an upward angle just below the man’s lower left rib from behind. Without a sound the man fell dead in Nick’s arms. Nick quietly removed the AK from the man’s dead arms and slung it across his back. He then took as many of the man’s magazines as he could fit in his own four ammo pouches -- twelve thirty round magazines, and one fresh one for the magazine well.
Nick had no idea if the magazine in the weapon had been used. He would throw it away and insert the fresh one
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