Reflexive Fire - 01 Read Online Free PDF Page A

groaned back, following Deckard to a white Range Rover.
       J-Rod sat in the back, handling his M4 and whatever ammunition they had left for it in addition to the AK.  Pat racked the charging handle on the P90, watching a 5.7 round drop out from the bottom to ensure that it was loaded.  He shoved the 1911 between the seat and the center console just in case.
       Turning the ignition and starting the truck, Deckard hit the garage door opener mounted on the sun visor.
       “Hold on,” he said, stomping down on the gas.
       The Range Rover hurtled out of the garage as Deckard spun the wheel hand over hand taking them in a ninety degree turn toward the villa's front gate. 
       Ornamental plants and jungle flew by as more gunfire sounded, the rear window imploding and sending shards of glass everywhere.  The Colombian counter-terrorist team had no idea they were there and assumed they were with Ramirez's crew.
       “Thank the Agency for me,” Deckard grunted, as they drove out the front gate.  “I'm sure they sent the AFEU in as soon as an inside source reported your capture.  They wanted Ramirez dead and didn't care how it got done.”
       “Nice,” Pat muttered, as Deckard sped onto the winding mountain road.
       “No worries,” Deckard assured, cutting around a fork in the road.  “All we have to do is fight our way through a half dozen or so cartel checkpoints and we'll be home free.”
       “Shit,” J-Rod said.  “How did you get up here to begin with?”
       “Took a taxi.”
       Shooting down the crumbling asphalt road, Deckard blasted through the first checkpoint, the cartel men manning it screaming and waving their guns in the air for them to stop.  On their right side was nothing but a blur of green leading to a sheer cliff face.  It was what the conquistadors had called the infierno verde.   On the other side, the road immediately dropped off the edge of the mountain, at certain points the mountain actually overtaking the road as huge washouts were created by erosion.
       Nowhere to go but down.
       Downshifting, Deckard eased them around another bend, not knowing what was around the corner.  Straightening out the wheel on the other side, they were greeted by another checkpoint, one of the Colombians manning it speaking into a hand held radio.
       While the gunman was still receiving the message about a runaway Range Rover over his walkie talkie, Pat leaned out the passenger side window, easily maneuvering the stubby sub-machine gun.  Holding down the trigger, he sent a full auto stream of 5.7 armor piercing rounds into the guard's chest, sending him tumbling backwards into a runoff ditch on the side of the road.
       As they flashed by, the dead man's partner reacted, firing on the truck as it passed.  J-Rod returned fire, getting several shots off with his M4 through the already shattered rear window before running out of ammo and transitioning to the AK-47.  He was fairly sure he missed his mark.  Firing from a moving vehicle wasn't easy to begin with, especially on the mountain road, and especially with Deckard driving.
       “Everyone good?”
       “We're kosher,” Pat replied.
       For a moment the truck was engulfed in a tunnel of green, vegetation spilling into and over the road before they came out on the other side.
       The third checkpoint had gotten the word and was on alert.  As soon as the truck pulled within line of sight of the gunmen, the Columbians opened fire, muzzle flashes giving them away just an instant before bullets peppered the front of the truck.  One shot managed to blast off Deckard's side mirror in a miniature explosion.
       Resisting the urge to return fire, he ducked down and kept both hands on the wheel and his foot on the gas, knowing that he needed to focus solely on driving.  Pat leaned out the window again and began squeezing off rounds as they rushed up to the checkpoint, his bullets kicking up little puffs of