Read Online Blood & Tacos #1 by Johnny Shaw, Matthew Funk, Gary Phillips, Christopher Blair, Cameron Ashley - Free Book Online Page A
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Worker Fields—as my command post. A staging ground for a thrust into the breadbasket of the future United Socialist States of America. But the inspired loyalty of our new comrades, my taking of a field wife—this is my personal effort."
"And of course, you had to destroy the church," McCreary hissed.
"We are not animals, Capt. McCreary." Azov said "We waited. And when Lt. Hawkerov let us know that you were en route, I decided that the church would be the perfect demonstration. The perfect incentive for you to visit us again."
"You've disobeyed orders," McCreary snickered. "Your own superiors can't trust you."
"As you disobeyed orders to come here," the general said. The ice in his glass clinked. "We're not that different, you and I, Capt. McCreary. We love our countries. We love the warrior's path. But at the end of the day, we are men who live by our own rules. "
Calm down, Jake old boy,
McCreary thought.
There's a way out of this. Don't let him get to you.
And in his calm, McCreary's plan gelled. He could taste its humble brilliance. It tasted like freedom.
"That's where you're wrong, General," McCreary said. "I'd never take another man's town, much less his wife. I'd never engineer a sneaky invasion of another country. That's not the American way."
Azov drained his glass and leaned forward toward McCreary. "You Americans," he said, "always so idealistic."
"Yes," McCreary said, "idealistic—and very good at untying knots.
Especially us Eagle Scouts."
Azov's eyes twitched in recognition that he'd made a grave error. Rope flew and McCreary's fist circled in from the right and smashed the good general's cheekbone. Azov crashed into the desk and crumpled to the floor. McCreary stood over Azov, fists ready.
"Get up, you Commie sonofabitch!"
The Russian guards at the door had already pulled their sidearms and had them leveled on McCreary.
"Ostanovit!"
one of them cried.
"Ostanovit, vas kapitalisticheskaya svin
‘ya!"
McCreary turned to them. "Go ahead. Do it," he said. "Shoot me, you godless puppets! I haven't got all day."
The arrows that pierced the windows of the mayor's office hit the guards' chests so quickly, it appeared to McCreary that they'd burst from their hearts. Both Russians slowly sank to their knees.
Still tied to his chair, Whitefeather let out a shrill cry. "It's my brother warriors, Captain! They heard my call on the spirit winds!"
Outside the mayor's office, three sets of dissimilar sounds rose: Russian cries of alarm, sporadic AK fire… and a hundred Comanche war whoops.
McCreary had the big Indian untied in seconds. Azov was struggling to his feet, but the general collapsed again, moaning, struggling to unholster his Nagant.
"That was some punch, Cap!" LaRoy cried. "Look at that Mongol bastard! He can't even stand!"
Whitefeather untied LaRoy. They each took one of the guard's sidearms. "You better do the same, Captain," Whitefeather said. But McCreary was way ahead of him. He grabbed Azov's pistol from the general's weakened grasp.
Outside, the battle raged. Through the windows, McCreary caught glimpses of action: scrambling Russian soldiers, flashes of gunfire, mounted Comanches in deerskin and full regalia, chasing them down. Gunfire. The twang of bowstrings and the thud of tomahawks. Screams of panic and pain.
McCreary pulled the dazed general to his feet.
"Leave him!" Whitefeather said. "The sacred battle is joined!"
"No," McCreary said. "You and LaRoy go. The general and I have someplace to be. Don't we, General?"
LaRoy was beside himself. "Let's go, Whitefeather! I always wanted to be an Indian brave!
Whoooooop!
" And out they went, leaving McCreary and the General.
"On your feet," McCreary said grimly. "Take me to my house."
McCreary's homestead lay to the north of town, away from where the battle between
the Russians and the Comanches was playing out. McCreary had to resist the urge
to shoot Azov, rescue Sunny on his own, and sprint out of town. But he couldn't
"And of course, you had to destroy the church," McCreary hissed.
"We are not animals, Capt. McCreary." Azov said "We waited. And when Lt. Hawkerov let us know that you were en route, I decided that the church would be the perfect demonstration. The perfect incentive for you to visit us again."
"You've disobeyed orders," McCreary snickered. "Your own superiors can't trust you."
"As you disobeyed orders to come here," the general said. The ice in his glass clinked. "We're not that different, you and I, Capt. McCreary. We love our countries. We love the warrior's path. But at the end of the day, we are men who live by our own rules. "
Calm down, Jake old boy,
McCreary thought.
There's a way out of this. Don't let him get to you.
And in his calm, McCreary's plan gelled. He could taste its humble brilliance. It tasted like freedom.
"That's where you're wrong, General," McCreary said. "I'd never take another man's town, much less his wife. I'd never engineer a sneaky invasion of another country. That's not the American way."
Azov drained his glass and leaned forward toward McCreary. "You Americans," he said, "always so idealistic."
"Yes," McCreary said, "idealistic—and very good at untying knots.
Especially us Eagle Scouts."
Azov's eyes twitched in recognition that he'd made a grave error. Rope flew and McCreary's fist circled in from the right and smashed the good general's cheekbone. Azov crashed into the desk and crumpled to the floor. McCreary stood over Azov, fists ready.
"Get up, you Commie sonofabitch!"
The Russian guards at the door had already pulled their sidearms and had them leveled on McCreary.
"Ostanovit!"
one of them cried.
"Ostanovit, vas kapitalisticheskaya svin
‘ya!"
McCreary turned to them. "Go ahead. Do it," he said. "Shoot me, you godless puppets! I haven't got all day."
The arrows that pierced the windows of the mayor's office hit the guards' chests so quickly, it appeared to McCreary that they'd burst from their hearts. Both Russians slowly sank to their knees.
Still tied to his chair, Whitefeather let out a shrill cry. "It's my brother warriors, Captain! They heard my call on the spirit winds!"
Outside the mayor's office, three sets of dissimilar sounds rose: Russian cries of alarm, sporadic AK fire… and a hundred Comanche war whoops.
McCreary had the big Indian untied in seconds. Azov was struggling to his feet, but the general collapsed again, moaning, struggling to unholster his Nagant.
"That was some punch, Cap!" LaRoy cried. "Look at that Mongol bastard! He can't even stand!"
Whitefeather untied LaRoy. They each took one of the guard's sidearms. "You better do the same, Captain," Whitefeather said. But McCreary was way ahead of him. He grabbed Azov's pistol from the general's weakened grasp.
Outside, the battle raged. Through the windows, McCreary caught glimpses of action: scrambling Russian soldiers, flashes of gunfire, mounted Comanches in deerskin and full regalia, chasing them down. Gunfire. The twang of bowstrings and the thud of tomahawks. Screams of panic and pain.
McCreary pulled the dazed general to his feet.
"Leave him!" Whitefeather said. "The sacred battle is joined!"
"No," McCreary said. "You and LaRoy go. The general and I have someplace to be. Don't we, General?"
LaRoy was beside himself. "Let's go, Whitefeather! I always wanted to be an Indian brave!
Whoooooop!
" And out they went, leaving McCreary and the General.
"On your feet," McCreary said grimly. "Take me to my house."
McCreary's homestead lay to the north of town, away from where the battle between
the Russians and the Comanches was playing out. McCreary had to resist the urge
to shoot Azov, rescue Sunny on his own, and sprint out of town. But he couldn't
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