Ever Onward (63 page)

“I’ve found the professor and his
friend, Captain,” the velvet voice said, as barbed and
condescending as usual. “They were climbing the unclimbable. I told
you Williams still had a few things up his sleeve.”

Looking up at the hovering chopper,
Scar growled. “Just tell me where the fuck they are!”

“Above you, captain, on the far side
of the falls. But don’t worry, I’ll soon...” Jocco’s voice suddenly
stopped, replaced by shouts and screams. Scar saw the chopper’s
nose rise abruptly, then fall away at a steep angle, taking it
beyond his view.

“What’s happened?”, he yelled into the
mike. Seconds dragged by, static and curses crackling out of the
radio. Then Jocco was back on, the velvet edge of his voice
stripped away. “The bastards shot my pilot! Press harder, bitch! If
he dies we’re all fucked! Scar, are you there?”

“Ya.”

“Ace’s been hit in the shoulder! We’re
heading back to the lodge. It’s up to you now. Kill those fuckers
and you can write your own ticket --- screw up and I’ll have your
balls!”

Scar smiled coldly and called down to
Lord Walter.

“What’s happening?”, Walter demanded
as he scrambled up the rocks.

“The shit’s hit the fan, good buddy.
It’s them or us now.”

“What are we going to do?”

Scar worked the slide on his H &
K. “Kick some ass.”

Chapter 49
: ‘ACTION OF THE
TIGER’

Devil’s Gate

Sequoia National Park

California, May
26
^th

As the 50 caliber rounds from the
chopper slammed into the cliff just above them, both men returned
fire. Too far for the riot-gun, Josh drew the heavy Browning. Back
to the wall, he fired all thirteen rounds at the hovering machine.
Kneeling, Cobb switched the M-16 to triple burst and began firing
in a steady, methodical manner. Smoke hung in the air; the taste of
cordite bitter on the tongue. Suddenly the chopper dipped and then
veered away, dropping down the far side of the mountain. Brushing
the sweat and rock chips from their eyes, the two men grinned
wolfishly at each other.

“Close!”, Josh said.

“Too damned close!”, Cobb replied,
shouldering his M-16 and coiling the trailing rope. That done, both
men continued to climb. Less than fifty feet above them the summit
waited.

“So near and yet so far,” Josh
quipped.

Cobb, glancing downwards, suddenly
spotted two figures scrambling over the jagged rocks far below.
“Company’s coming.”

It took a moment for Josh to locate
them through the mist and spray. “I see them,” he said. “They don’t
seem in any rush to catch up?”

“Probably waiting to hit us as we
climb in the open or as we go over the top,” Cobb said.

“So? We can’t just sit here!” Josh was
impatient to get moving, to save his son.

“We won’t. But they’re expecting for
us to go up --- so we go down instead.” Cobb pointed to a steep cut
that jagged off to the right. It looked like something an angry
giant with one mother of an axe and a kick-ass attitude had hacked
out of the mountain side. “Once in there, we’ll be out of their
line of fire. We can probably work our way down the cut and maybe
catch those assholes from behind.”

Josh’s expression went from
a concerned frown to a sly smile. “Catch the assholes with their
pants down. I like it. Lead on McDuff!”, he said, giving a
theatrical bow.

If Josh was enjoying himself, Walter
Pinkton was most certainly not. The one thing the two men did have
in common, however, was that they were both quoting Shakespeare.
While Josh glibly shot out a one-liner from MacBeth, Walter was
religiously repeating the famous pep-talk from Henry V, seeking in
the familiar words the courage to face the faceless enemy. Unlike
Josh however, Walter was finding that he needed a hell of a lot
more than
‘a little touch of Harry in the night’
.

Feeling distinctively
mortal crouching in the shadows beside the rushing water, Walter’s
reedy voice cracked as he mouthed the immortal
lines:

“Once more unto the breach,
dear friends, once more!

Or close the wall up with
our English dead!”

Scar, hidden in the rocks
some distance above, scanned the summit for signs of his prey, was
oblivious to Walter’s whispered mutterings.

“Stiffen the sinews,
conjure up the blood,

Disguise fair nature with
hard favored rage.”

Walter’s own sinews felt
like water and though his heart was racing, the only rage he could
muster was directed at Jocco for putting him in this
position!

“Let us swear that you are
worth your breeding, which I doubt not!”

Unlike the warrior-king,
Walter was filled with self doubt. Sweating despite the cold, he
glanced to the left where a narrow cut opened onto the far bank.
There, not thirty feet away, the two men he feared to face suddenly
materialized.
“The game’s afoot
!”, burst into his befuddled
brain, as he stood and began to fire.

A riot-gun at close range is a deadly
weapon. The short barrel guarantees a wide spread, the steel
double-ought pellets guarantees maximum damage. All that was
required of the user was that he point the thing in the general
direction. If Walter had taken the time to do this, both Josh and
Cobb would have been hurt if not killed. Luckily for them, Walter
was in a rush. His first shot went off even before he had brought
the gun around. The recoil jerked the stubby barrel up, causing his
second shot to decapitate a nearby spruce tree. By the time he
gained some control over the powerful weapon, both Josh and Cobb
had him in their sights. Cobb’s M-16, still on triple-burst,
punched him three times in the chest. Josh’s Defender pump, much
like Walter’s weapon, sent a spreading swath of #2 shot into the
former personnel officer’s face.

What was left was not a pretty
sight.

“One down, one to go,” Cobb
said.

“Maybe. There could be more,” Josh
replied.

Cobb shrugged. “Only one way to find
out.”

Both men cautiously moved
up the river bank.

Scar heard the blasts from back down
towards the falls and swore. He thought of calling out, but decided
against it. The little shit was probably dead and there was no
sense in giving his own position away. Even if Walter hadn’t bought
he farm, he was useless as tits on a bull anyway. Scar checked the
banana clip on his H & K and moved to a better position where
he could watch back down the trail.

He didn’t have long to wait before a
figure, flitting from tree to tree, came into sight. It wasn’t
Williams, but it would do. Scar wrapped the leather sling of his
rifle around his wrist for better support and peered into the
scope. The cross-hairs lined up briefly on Cobb’s chest just before
the man moved in behind a large pine. Sucking in his breath, Scar
waited for the man to appear at the far side.

He didn’t. Cursing, Scar looked up and
saw Cobb scrambling on all fours down towards the river. Unwilling
to wait for a still shot, Scar pulled the trigger on the automatic
weapon. Full metal jacket loads streaked across the river, heating
the air with their deadly passage. Rockchips flew, hot led wined as
half a dozen bullets slammed into the stony riverbed.

All but one missed their mark. Struck
in the fleshy part of his left arm, the bullet passed clean
through, missing the bone and leaving a bloody but not fatal wound.
The force of it spun Cobb around and over a knee-high boulder. From
the far bank, Scar fired again, this time holding the trigger back.
The H & K bucked as the perforated barrel vomited death. One,
two, three dozen rounds slammed into the boulder, punctuated by
Scar’s wordless scream.

Then the gun overheated and jammed.
Scar frantically worked the slide to clear the breach, but to no
avail.

“Give it up, friend,” a voice said.
“It’s over.”

Turning, he saw Josh standing less
than ten feet behind him, the Defender pump leveled at his stomach.
Scar’s ruined face distorted into a hideous grin. “Well, Farmer,
looks like it’s just you and me.”

Josh eased to the side, trying to see
if Cobb was still alive. As his eyes flicked towards the far bank,
Scar thrust the jammed rifle directly at Josh’s face. Raising his
shotgun to deflect the thrown weapon, Josh was tackled around the
waist and pushed backwards. Both men toppled over a fallen log. The
force of the landing punched the air from Josh’s lungs and loosened
his grip on the Defender.

“Bastard!”, Scar hissed, clawing for
Josh’s throat, at the same time trying to knee him in the groin.
Josh head butted him in the nose, then drove the heel of his hand
into Scar’s chin. Rolling away in pain, Scar frantically groped for
the .357 in his shoulder holster, but the gun had been shaken loose
by the fall. As Scar scrambled for the Army Colt at his side, Josh
rammed into him, sending both men off the bank and into a deep pool
in the river.

Frigid water engulfed them, sapping
their strength and threatening to seize their hearts. Locked in a
deathly embrace, both men kicked their way to the surface. The .45
was now in Scar’s hand. Swinging the weapon around, he slammed the
butt into Josh’s shoulder. Pain coursed down his arm, then faded,
frozen by the icy grave that sucked at them. The heavy Colt. in
Scar's hand raised again, slower this time, for the glacial melt
made no distinction between good and bad. Half frozen fingers
fumbled for the safety.
'Click'
. Now for the
trigger...

As though in a dream, Josh watched as
the Tanto appeared in his hand, flashed upwards, the icy water
glistening on the blade as it slashed across Scar’s exposed
throat.

Surprise mingled with shock in Scar’s
one good eye as his life’s blood gushed out. The clear, glacial
water was stained pink. Slowly the Colt fell from his hand. Josh
kicked the dying man into the current and scrambled for the far
shore. By the time he made the bank, Scar’s body had already been
carried over the falls.

“Josh!”, Cobb yelled, hobbling over
the water-smoothed rocks. “Josh, are you okay?” Blood from the
flesh wound in his arm left a spotted trail. Cobb winced as he sat
down beside his friend.

“Better than you,” Josh replied,
seeing the bloody arm.

“Hell,” Cobb grinned. “The asshole
only nicked me, but you got him good.”

“Ya, well that ‘asshole’ nearly blew
my brains out.”

“You should have offed him from
behind,” Cobb said grimly.

Josh gazed at the frothing lip of the
falls. “We’ve been chasing that bag of shit for a year now. I
wanted to see his face before I killed him.”

Cobb nodded, his face a grimace of
pain. “Was it worth it?”

Josh’s voice seemed as far away as his
thoughts. “Until a few days ago I would have said yes. Now I just
want my boy back.”

Cobb placed his good hand on his
friend’s shoulder. “We’ll get him out, Josh. Flame too.”

Josh attempted a smile. “Sure, but
right now we have to stop that bleeding.”

Leaving Cobb with his arm thrust deep
into the rushing stream, Josh left to retrieve the dropped weapons.
By the time he returned, Cobb’s wound was washed clean and numbed
by the cold water. After dressing it and giving Cobb two pain
killers, they lit a small fire and ate. Scar’s pack had produced a
variety of freeze-dried food, a flask of rum as well as six
grenades and extra clips for both the H & K and the .357. While
Josh played chef, Cobb field stripped each of their
weapons.

“This H & K is a real piece of
work,” Cobb said, the appreciation for fine craftsmanship clear in
his voice. The pain-killers had done their job, and a few belts
from the flask hadn’t hurt either. Both men had been going full out
for the last two days and knew they needed an hour’s rest for what
still lay ahead.

“How so?”, Josh asked, more out of a
desire to continue the conversation than out any real interest.
When left alone to his own thoughts, they always turned to his
captured son.

Cobb listed the H & K’s high
points. “Laser scope with infra-red capacity and digital distance
read-out, perforated barrel for rapid cooling, thumb switch for
single, triple or fully automatic, side ejecting and a banana clip
that holds fifty rounds.”

Josh filled his pipe from a zip-lock
bag of tobacco. “Sounds like you’re in love. Want to swap for the
M-16?”

Cobb smiled. “Thought you’d never
ask.”

A half hour later both men,
now walking arsenals, headed on the last leg of their
journey

John Lonefeather and Charley Little
Dog made their way quietly back to the LAV. Though the news they
carried was vital, Jim Carrol had forbidden them to use their
walkie-talkie this close to the lodge.

“Shit!”, the older Indian said. “Those
buggers came down hard! Bent the tail section all to
hell!”

“Ya, but they still made it back in
one piece. I was hoping the buggers would crash!”