Brothers in Arms

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

Dahl growled in anger as he slammed his foot to the floorboards once more. No one alive had ever fired an RPG at him and got away with it. He wasn’t about to let that change now.

Komodo, the seasoned ex-Delta soldier, swallowed hard. “Um, Dahl…”

The Humvee powered up to the very back of the big Mack truck, inches from touching it. Without a word, the big Swede opened his window and angled his body so he could slip out of the opening. Then he let go of the wheel and drew his gun.

Komodo yelped and threw himself behind the wheel. With inches to spare, the two huge vehicles sped along the interstate. Those left standing in the back of the eighteen-wheeler fired at the Humvee, seeing their bullets bounce off the windshield. Dahl leaned out the window and pumped half a dozen shots into the opening. A man pirouetted, spraying blood, slammed into the side of the truck and then slipped off the back end. His body bounced along the concrete and across the median at speed, instant roadkill.

“That’s one.” Dahl spoke into his throat mike and used the distraction to gracefully rotate his body until he was sitting out the window, arms rested carefully on the roof, sighting his rifle. Only his legs remained in the car. Komodo used every ounce of concentration and skill to stay on the truck’s rear end. Dahl squeezed his trigger, taking out another enemy. A return bullet grazed the roof near the Swede’s head.

Dahl had had enough. Gyrating quickly, he squeezed fully out of the Humvee, balanced on the edge of the window for half a second and then slithered down the windshield, landing on the hard metal hood. Wind buffeted his face and plucked at his clothes with enthusiastic fingers. The man who had fired the RPG at him raised another weapon.

Bad move, arsehole.

Dahl ran and jumped, one arm aiming his rifle, the other reaching for a thick rope that flapped gently around the back of the truck. As his hand closed around the rope, he fired his gun, taking the RPG firer’s head off at close range. The rope flexed as it took his weight, rolling him out of the truck and around the side.

Dahl bounced off the outside of the eighteen-wheeler, gun aimed high, hanging on with grim determination.

Komodo let out a harsh expletive as his mouth dropped open.

Drake shook his head. “Now he’s showing off.” Alicia whooped with excitement. “C’mon, Drake! Get us into the action! The mad Swede’s having all the fun.”

Dahl’s momentum sent him swinging right back through the open doors. Instantly, he let go. Bullets flew past him, fired in haste by the two remaining occupants. Dahl rolled as he hit the metal deck and came up on one knee, firing two head shots.

Both adversaries fell dead.

“Four.” Came over the comms system.

Dahl wasn’t finished yet. Buckling into a pair of ratchet straps, he shot out the lock of a forward door and again stepped out into the blasting wind. For a moment, he hung from the vehicle as he hooked a strap over a rail that ran the length of the truck and then began to traverse sideways toward the cab, one step at a time.

Komodo brought the Humvee around, now seeing the F150 running in front of the truck — thankfully out of grenades but still with men balancing in the open bed of the vehicle. Beyond that, three SUVs, the limo and the Viper sped, snaking through the sparse traffic.

Komodo gunned the engine as he spied guns being leveled at Dahl from the back of the Ford. As the first man fired, Komodo’s heart leapt into his throat, but the Humvee gave an instant response and surged forward straight into the bullet’s path. As more men opened fire, Komodo kept the big armored vehicle steady, giving the F150 men no human target.

Dahl crab walked along the side of the fast-moving eighteen-wheeler. When he reached the cab, he fired through the window. Glass exploded, but the passenger was ready for him. The man flung the door wide, leaning out with a machine pistol cocked and ready. Dahl froze. But the driver of the truck hadn’t reckoned for the sudden explosion of glass. The shock made him jerk the wheel, the Mack swerved violently, and the passenger lost his balance, tumbling right out of the door and crashing to the concrete road below.

Even Dahl winced as the truck bounced over him.

The Swede grabbed the swinging door, unhooked his strap and brought all his considerable strength to bear as he leaped into the cab. The truck driver just stared at him — this mad Swede with fiery eyes and a face set as hard as obsidian — and licked dry lips.

“I give up, man. Whatever you want. Just don’t kill me.”

Dahl nodded at the wheel. “Stop the bloody truck.”

The driver practically stood up on the brakes and Dahl smashed into the windshield. The truck jackknifed, back end swinging around at high speed. Komodo hit the gas even harder, urging the Humvee to outrun the approaching mass of metal, at first losing the race but then, inch by inch, gaining enough ground to stay marginally ahead of certain death.

Dahl waited until the truck began to coast, slowing down. He saw Drake’s and Hayden’s armored cars and the three fast cop cars flash by.

“Bollocks.”

The driver gawped at him. Dahl motioned him out of the truck as the standard black-and-whites caught up. “Half a dozen small container crates in the back,” he told one of the cops as he climbed down, shaking the road dust and grit from his clothes. “Probably full of advanced weapons so, whatever you bloody do, don’t look inside.”

The cop stared.

“Ever hear the saying ‘if I tell you, I’ll have to kill you?’ Same principal applies here.” He shrugged in explanation.

Then his eyes lit on something magnificent. “Oh, would you look at that.”

And he walked off, hearing the cop mutter something about “English ass” at his back, eyes full of the gorgeous light blue Shelby GT500 Mustang that stood idling near the median of the highway. It seemed luck and good fortune was on his side today.

The Shelby’s driver stared at him with frightened eyes.

Dahl gave him a feral grin. “Step aside.”