Drake saw four chase vehicles in total. Two standard and two with the wicked-looking turret. The latter two were leading the pack now, their guns lined up.
“You have to get off this road,” Mai said tightly. “We’re lit up like Chinatown.”
“What I have to do is blow up one of those assholes,” Luther said, loading quickly.
Drake saw the problem here. Luther was a blood and fury old-schooler. This was what he did. Realistically, it would come down to who had the biggest, meanest weapons.
“What else you got in that crate?” Kenzie asked quickly.
“We could help,” Drake said. “We have as much riding on this as you do.”
Luther merely snarled. “Once I’ve bagged my meat, it’s let out only to be thrown into the oven. Sit tight.”
Dahl sighed. “I don’t think he likes you.”
“Really? And he’s such an accommodating guy.”
A shrug. “So says Alicia.”
“Now what’s that supposed to mean?”
“A joke.” Dahl and Drake watched Luther fire another rocket, missing the two lead trucks but hitting one of the followers. Flames and tearing metal marked the devastation, and a pump of the fist from Luther.
The loss only spurred the attack on. Both lead vehicles were close now, turret-guns trained and men visible in the back with rifles at the ready. Shells slammed out of the turrets, both missing by inches and sending plumes of dirt across both truck beds and the cabs. Luther bellowed crazily, picked up a semi-auto and started peppering the closest attacker with bullets. Nielsen ran to his side, the two men unleashing walls of lead and seeing them bounce off bulletproof glass and metal.
“Grenades,” Luther said.
When he turned to watch Nielsen fetch them, Drake saw a feral twitch to the side of his mouth, an agreeable expression across his face. Nielsen ran back and the two stood right on the back of the truck, lobbing grenades at their pursuers.
“Happy days,” Dahl said with concern. “This isn’t looking good, folks.”
“Need to get free,” Drake pulled on the cuffs again. “Nielson has the keys.”
Ignoring the grenades, prepared to risk injury to gain the rewards, the chasing vehicle ploughed through each explosion, coming closer and closer. When it was near enough to jump aboard Drake could see the expressions of the men driving and of those in the back. The gun turret swiveled, but it was a distraction.
Through rear rails, guns were propped. The sudden sound of gunfire was ear-splitting.
Luther staggered and fell to one knee, holding his side. Nielsen was shot through half a dozen times, the bullet ripping holes in his back and deflecting past Drake and Dahl to slam in the cab, as the unfortunate man tumbled backward and came to lay dead, right in front of the SPEAR team.
Luther turned. “I need more firepower.”
Drake saw the other truck under similar assault. Another hail of bullets struck right down the center of the truck. A scream from the driver sent everyone’s nightmarish fears into overdrive.
The truck began to veer.
Drake and Dahl dived to the floor.
Luther protected himself just as the offside wheels veered into a sandbank and the entire vehicle tilted, slowed rapidly and fell over. The world tilted, everything shifted. Drake hung on once more for dear life.
And heard the mercs laughing hard as they pulled up, some firing for fun into the sky. He figured they had about thirty seconds to live.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Drake saw legs and torsos approaching the sideways truck. Luther was already prepared, machine gun lying along his right leg, aimed at the mercs. Drake patted Nielson everywhere before finding the keys, uncuffing himself and then handing them to Dahl.
“I know what you’re doing,” Luther said without moving a muscle. “Making one more mistake to add to the ledger. Don’t.”
Drake rooted through the upended crate, finding grenades and guns. “First time we’ve been free in a while, mate. Feels good.”
“You are not free.”
“I beg to differ,” Mai said. “We hold all the guns. And they’re trained on you.”
Luther grunted. “It will do you no good, Kitano.”
“Well, I’ll give you this,” Kenzie said appreciatively. “You sure do have balls.”
“Like steel.”
“But you are lacking in the brains department, my friend,” Mai told him. “Surely by now you can see you need us.”
Luther didn’t reply for a moment; even from behind Drake could see his shoulders and muscles working as he struggled.
“I need no help from prisoners,” he said. “Especially enemies of the state.”
And, as the legs got closer, Luther opened fire, shearing some off at the knee and shredding others. At the same time he shimmied himself down the truck and through the tailgate, finally able to stand and face the enemy as he wanted to — head on.
They ranged all around him, at least ten men with semi-autos. Still firing, he waited for the hot death of a dozen rounds.
Fury smashed and burned all around him. Wounded and dying men, the fires and smoke of crashed vehicles, the evil thunder of gunfire; it was the very place where he’d been born to die, and he’d known it from around the age of six.
The HK fell on an empty mag. Never giving up, never resting, Luther whipped a new one out and slammed it home. By then, of course, a dozen men had him lined up in their sights.
Ah, shit.
And then glory stung the battlefield, and Luther’s very soul, as the SPEAR team streamed around his left and right sides, a torrent of violence and surprise attack, a surge of death gunning for the very men that had incarcerated and tortured them. Luther stood strong at the center, picking attackers off one by one, and the SPEAR team lived up to every expectation he’d ever heard, chasing the bullets down, running into danger, facing the worst of the worst and tearing their ruthless lives to shreds.
Luther’s second truck fared in a similar manner to the first, its disavowed occupants jumping into the fray after slewing to a halt. When Luther looked around, and all too soon, the second pursuing turret-gun vehicle was pulling up, closely followed by the one remaining standard truck.
“Go, go,” Drake cried. “Into the desert. Run!”
Luther saw his two surviving people among the others. The kid, Pine, and the diva, Carey. It would be hardest for them.
“Move it!” he cried. “We have more safety in numbers for now.”
Later on, he would re-evaluate that statement.
Drake aimed for the high desert mounds after checking everyone was together. The group didn’t bunch in case Vladimir and his mercs decided to empty a mag in their direction. Drake ranged ahead, ignoring the sweat and the heat, the deep sand that dragged his steps down, the aches, pains, cuts and bruises he’d suffered in the arena.
This was desperation survival now; the end game to end it all.
“How far to that road?” he asked Luther, the man’s huge head about all he could see on his right periphery.
“Last check had it two miles,” came the low reply. “That way.”
Drake altered the direction of his run. Behind he saw Alicia, Dahl and Kenzie, followed by all the others, heads down and running easily. Crouch was being helped by Smyth and Kinimaka, but the Englishman looked to have perked up.
“Chocolate goooood,” Drake called to him.
“Anything is good when you’ve been beaten, tortured and forced to fight for over a day.”
Drake nodded, thinking: It’s not over yet, pal, and slogged on. Behind them he saw Vladimir and Saint’s frames vanishing in the heat haze, but noticed how the mercenaries were lining up.