Operation: Thrustmaster (Rock Hardin: Agent of A.S.S. Book 1) (10 page)

     
Once the shower was done, Rock borrowed some of Burt’s clothes and almost groaned at the feeling of simply being clean. The only thing which fit him reasonably well--even though the two men were of the same height, Burt was much broader than he--were the other man’s pants. He dressed in camo, putting the much heavier insulated coat on over his bare chest rather than having a t-shirt hang loose and empty on him. He zipped it up, and checked it out, being a little vain about his appearance. Burt had thoughtfully left a 9mm Sig Sauer with a couple of clips behind, and he secured it in one of the many pockets of the military jacket, not having a shoulder holster to secure it comfortably. “Ready?”
 

     
Cindy had dressed in what she had available, though she had stolen one of Burt’s shirts and tied it off to the side. She’d kept Rock’s jacket, though, throwing it over the shirt. Clean or not, they still looked a little bedraggled. It would only be for a few more hours, though. She nodded. “Yeah...you’re sure my dad’s safe?”
 

     “
Mav said so, so he is,” Rock said, opening the door. “You’ll see him again soon.”
 

     “
Good,” she said, and when he offered her his arm, she smiled and took it. “Let’s go.”
 

     
They exited, and rejoined Burt downstairs. It took a few minutes for Burt to collect his stuff from upstairs, but in a matter of a quarter hour, they got into the car which would take them to the airfield, the last leg of their journey.
 

     
Burt drove while Rock rode shotgun, Cindy in the back. Their trail led them over the Tower Bridge, going over the Thames. The British government had allowed them use of a private military airfield for additional security rather than public transportation. The agents weren’t taking any chances. Once they reached their destination, they’d be home free.
 

     
As they drove, Rock kept a look out for any trouble. He was pretty sure the enemy thought they were dead because of the crash, but he had a feeling they knew the scientist and Burt was still out there somewhere. If they had taken so much effort to try to kill him and Cynthia, they wouldn’t balk at trying to hunt the other agent down. Traffic slowed down on the bridge due to some construction, and when they hit the jam, both agents tensed. Minutes stretched by… and nothing. The two men shared a look. Rock offered a shrug as if to say ‘Maybe nothing’s gonna happen?’ and Burt sighed. “Yeah, maybe--”
 

     Whatever else he was going to say was cut off by an explosion. Directly in front of them, a car exploded, raining debris and fire everywhere. Cindy screamed, and they ducked, though of course the car shielded them from most of the shrapnel…
most.
A flaming bit of twisted metal shattered the windshield, going between the two agents and out the back without hitting any of them, luckily. “Scatter,” Rock said. “
Out!
”
 

     
All three of them exited the car in a hurry. Rock went out the same side Cindy did, protecting her as best he could as he scanned the scene. Up ahead, just past the traffic jam, a few men stood. It was too far away for him to make out any details about the men themselves, but there were a half a dozen, and one of them carried a rocket launcher. He caught Burt’s eye, and signaled the information, drawing on their mutual military background to get in the information across quickly and quietly. Burt upnodded, and motioned to circle around. Message received, he turned to Cindy. “Go back,” he whispered. “Keep low, but work backwards. We gotta take care of this.”
 

     “
I’m not leaving,” she said, stumbling a little as he began to force her to move, getting them away from their car. People were screaming, trying to back up in their vehicles, or simply abandoning them to flee on foot.
 

     “
Meld with the crowd,” he said. “Mav and I will take care of this.”
 

     “
I’m not leaving you!” she insisted. Another explosion rocked them from behind, the force of them causing both of them to hit the dirt. Rock glanced back, and sure enough… it was their car. Whoever it was had been aiming for them. Cindy followed his gaze as she coughed and tried to straighten. Upon seeing the twisted, burning wreckage, she gave up, “I’m leaving, I’m leaving.”
 

     
Rock took the time to give him a quick, hard kiss, then sent her on her way as he snuck around the nearby abandoned cars while drawing his borrowed gun. He heard a couple of pop-pop-pop’s as Burt fired, causing the villains to take cover, and giving him an opportunity to work forward. He checked his ammo; he only had two clips, one in the gun and one extra. It wasn’t an ideal situation, to say the least.
 

     They returned fire, and scattered. Rock popped up and squeezed off a couple of shots, more trying to distract them than hit. He ducked back down again, taking cover behind one of the abandoned cars as bullets whizzed overhead. He gave it a three count, then began to edge forward again as he heard Burt fire again. He took the opportunity to move to the next car, moving closer and closer. He heard more shots, and a shout of orders… in French. When he popped up next and squeezed off his next shots, he took an extra couple of seconds to look more closely at their assailants and his heart sank. LeMarchand was there… but he already knew he would be. He wasn’t giving up, and as he eased forward, he angled his path to try to intercept the sadist, eventually. He wanted to put that bastard down,
hard.
 

     
When Burt fired off his next round, he heard a loud grunt, and winced. Burt may have been hit, but a couple of more shots told him he wasn’t down. To throw them off balance, he edged out from his cover and fired off the remaining shots in his clip while moving, changing up the pattern and trying to draw more attention, attention away from his fellow agent. He hit home on one, and the man sprawled backwards, falling like a sack of potatoes. From his count, four were left; Maverick must have hit one. “Hey, LeMarchand!” he called out, trying to distract him further. Automatic gunfire sprayed the area, and he kept his head down. “Miss me, asshole?”
 

     “
Agent Hardin,” came the shout. “What a delightful surprise!”
 

     “
Thanks,” he shouted. “What say we just call this off, have a beer?” Another pop-pop-pop told him Burt fired again, and he lunged forward, going for the next car.
 

     
Derisive laughter floated back to him, quickly masked by the rat-tat-tat of the automatic fire. Hardin changed out his clip, and fumbled with his boot. The secret compartment slid open after some time working on it. Glass shattered above him; they had him pinned down here. “I was disappointed to hear your jet went down,” LeMarchand shouted. “But now, I have the chance to kill you myself.”
 

     “
What am I? Chopped liver?” Burt called out. The other agent fired again, but the strategy wasn’t working any longer, and fire was returned immediately on both sides. Although they’d cut down on the opposition, eventually the American agents would run out of ammo. The enemy had come prepared for the assault.
 

     “
You’ll get your turn too, Agent Maverick,” LeMarchand taunted. Rock began to edge out from his cover, but they fired, forcing him to stay where he was. He slid the unassuming bar into his front pocket, saving the micro-uzi for when the pistol was out of rounds and searched around for something, anything he could do to gain the upper hand. As his mind raced, he popped his pistol above him and fired off three rounds quickly in LeMarchand’s general direction. It was answered immediately with more gunfire, and after the dust settled a second later, he could actually hear footfalls close by, maybe on the other side of the car.
 

     
Knowing he had only a few seconds to do something, Rock grabbed a baseball sized piece of rubble. He lobbed it over head, over the hood of the car aiming for the center ground, in between him and Mav. As he did, he shouted at the top of his lungs, “FIRE IN THE HOLE!” The satisfying sound of a body or two hitting dirt was his cue to stand, his ruse having worked. He moved to the next car, firing off round after round at the ducking enemies, hitting one, but the other was too quick and rolled out of the way. Agent Hardin sank to his knees again, back against the car, and mentally counted. He had only a few rounds left, and he had no idea how much ordinance Burt had on him.
 

     
Footfalls were nearby, and Rock tensed, listening. Maverick’s gun went off again, as well as the enemies’. They exchanged fire, and Rock took a quick peek, trying to see where LeMarchand had went. Not seeing him, Hardin stayed behind his cover, and crept to the other side of the car, backtracking just a bit. As he’d hoped, LeMarchand crept closer and closer in the center of the lane, looking for him. The sadist passed him and with great satisfaction, Rock put him in his sights while standing. “Bye, asshole,” he said, and squeezed the trigger.
 

     
The gun jammed.
 

     
LeMarchand whirled in surprise, at first fearful, but then realization dawned on him as Rock swore at his weapon. “No, good bye to you, Agent Hardin,” he said as he raised the machine gun.
 

     
Thinking quickly, Rock threw the Sig Sauer at LeMarchand, his superior reflexes giving him the slightest of edges. As the pistol hit the Frenchman in the face, the spray of machine gun fire went wide and wild, missing Rock by the narrowest of margins. Without hesitation, Rock lunged forward, shouting at the top of his lungs as he tackled the man to the ground. The rifle LeMarchand carried went clattering down the road, out of reach for both men. They rolled around on the ground. Rock tried to punch him, but LeMarchand was a lot more agile than he’d thought, and he twisted out of the way, struggling to get free.
 

     
More gunfire erupted, but he didn’t have time to pay attention to Mav’s side of the fight. As LeMarchand broke free, Hardin climbed to his feet, throwing punches. He tried to get a hold of the villain, but he danced lightly on his feet, using what almost seemed to be fencing moves for a dodge. Rock’s mind filed that away as he tested the other man’s defenses, throwing a jab here and there. Each was blocked or dodged, and they seemed equally skilled.
 

     He fell to the side a few paces, trying to head towards the gun. LeMarchand saw what he was trying to do, and reached behind him, pulling out a thin knife. He whipped the knife at Rock. It whistled through the air, and Rock jumped back, the railing behind him stopping him from going over the edge of the bridge. LeMarchand pulled another knife--of
course
he had another knife--and advanced. The arrogant man sneered at the American agent, hate plastered over his features. “This is the end for you, Agent Hardin,” he said. “I can’t wait to hear you beg for your life.”
 

     “
I don’t beg,” Rock said, jabbing at the villain, clipping him on the arm as the enemy blocked the blow.
 

     “You will,” LeMarchand snarled. “I will make sure of it.” He jabbed at Rock, who dodged to the side, then followed it up with a slash, cutting the fabric of the jacket he was wearing.
I’ve got to close the distance,
he thought.
Get inside his reach, make his knife worthless.
 

     
Rock moved forward, feinting one way, then going the opposite. LeMarchand fell for it, and as Rock stepped inside the man’s defenses, he went for the knife arm. They struggled. Rock tried to wrap his arm around LeMarchand’s, but he punched him in the side, right where he knew those lash marks were. Agent Hardin winced in pain, but didn’t let go of the arm. LeMarchand strained to bring it closer, pushing Rock back against the railing.
 

     
The naked hate on the man’s face spurred Rock on. He wasn’t going to let this bastard win. He twisted his arm, locking up the knife and making it useless, though he suffered more rabbit punches in the side. He brought his other arm in closer, protecting his side, but LeMarchand merely changed the area of attack as he struggled to get his arm free. They were at an impasse, so like every good American, Rock chose his own path: he head butted him and released him at the same time.
 

     
Dazed, LeMarchand stumbled back a few steps, his eyes blinking as he tried to clear his head. Hardin took the opportunity to reach into his pocket and pull out Skip’s micro-uzi. He snapped it open with the quick, clean gesture Skip had showed him. LeMarchand, recovered in almost an instant, lunged forward. Rock jerked the uzi up and let it cut loose. The rounds pierced the sadist’s mid section. Red formed on the man’s white shirt, and Rock moved aside, letting LeMarchand’s momentum carry him over the railing. He turned to watch him fall the long way to the river. The water swallowed him up, and while Rock watched, scanning the turbulent river, he didn’t see him rise again.
 

     
Satisfied, he turned back to the remainder of the gunfight, only to see it was over. Maverick moved through the fallen enemies, searching them while scanning the area, and Rock moved to help him secure the location.