Read Online Down: Pinhole by Glenn Cooper - Free Book Online Page B

another who seemed quicker with his weapon.
    The clanging of steel rang in John’s ears until one of his own thrusts felt different from the others. The point of the blade crunched through the man’s sternum, collapsing him to his knees where he clutched his chest. Two other soldiers took up the engagement, cursing and slashing. When one of them deflected John’s sword, the other used his pommel to strike John in the forehead. The sharp thud sent him reeling back a few steps. He tried to shake off the pain and dizziness but he had little time. The two soldiers advanced as one, raising their swords high to deliver killing blows. In desperation, John gripped his sword with two hands and swept it in a great arc, catching both their throats with the same strike, releasing geysers of hot blood.
    Boom!
    It was the unmistakable sound of a large-caliber round going off and for an instant the room was incandescently bright.
    The last soldier was standing at the door behind the four men John had felled, a smoking pistol in his hand. John felt a searing pain in his left arm. The soldier was a young man, not much older than Dirk and he looked scared. His next bullet, fired unobstructed from only three feet away, would be center mass. John would die in this place and Emily would be trapped.
    He waited a long second. Then two.
    Then he was hit, not by a bullet but by a revelation. There wasn’t going to be a second shot, not from this gun.
    It was a flintlock pistol, something out of a museum.
    The soldier dropped the gun and started drawing his sword but John sprang forward and caught him in the belly, hard enough to ram his blade clean through.
    John pulled the sword out and when the young man crumpled, John rested his hands on his knees in exhaustion, his chest heaving. He’d killed men before, but not like this. This was brutal and primitive, unlike his usual surgical kills at a distance through a scope.
    The muddy floorboards were slicked with blood. Dirk emerged from under the bed and let out a low whistle.
    “Never seen sword play so nice. Good on you. You a soldier then, John?”
    Through panting breaths he answered, “Used to be.”
    “It’ll come in right ’andy ’ere.”
    Dirk gingerly stepped over the bodies and peeked out the door. There were no more soldiers, only riderless horses hitched to a post.
    “That’s the lot of ’em.”
    Dirk lit one of his scarce candles from a glowing log as John laid his sword on the table and peeled off his jacket and shirt to inspect his arm. There was a shallow, bloody crease in his deltoid muscle that he washed with beer. Cutting off the sleeve of his shirt with the sword blade, he tightly wrapped his arm and tied it off, then quickly donned his jacket over his undershirt.
    He reached for the flintlock pistol then frisked the gunman and found two pouches, one with a full horn of powder and one with lead balls and wadding. He knew how to handle the weapon. There wasn’t a firearm John hadn’t mastered and that included black-powder guns.
    “I had a gun. It didn’t make it through,” John said as he poured powder down the barrel, dropped in a lead ball and wadding and pressed hard with the tamping rod. He finished the job by inspecting the flint and priming the pan.
    “Metal don’t come over,” Dirk said, “Just flesh and bone and cloth. Come on. We’ll take their best ’orses. I’ll take you to a man who can ’elp you find your lady friend. Then you’ll ’elp me find Duck, right?”
    “I keep my promises.”
    John took the candle from Dirk to search the other soldiers for anything that might prove useful.
    He started to squat beside the pile of bodies but suddenly caught himself and jerked his body straight.
    “Christ Almighty!”
    All of the men were still showing signs of life despite unsurvivable blood loss. The men with chest and abdominal wounds were slowly writhing. The men with slashed throats were opening and closing their mouths, their lips smacking