Baptism of Fire by Todd McLeod

Author:Todd McLeod
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Swordworks Books

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Taylor listened intently to his headset and turned to look at Sergeant Jones. “They want us to advance to the foot of the slope. The drone operator has reported the area clear of enemy activity.”

Jones nodded and glanced at Winston. “You heard? Pedal to the metal, I don’t want to make us a sitting target.”

He grinned and rolled his eyes. “The last thing on my mind, Sarge.”

He started the engine, rammed his foot to the floor, and Eddie clung to the machine gun mount to stop himself being thrown out. The Humvee bucked and pitched as it crossed the rough ground, and he could hear PFC Bellows laughing to himself as he drove forward. It was like being on a fairground ride, and it crossed his mind he was wasted in the Army. He’d have made a great stunt driver, or even a racing driver. He was one of those rare people who seemed to have an affinity with his machine.

What was that thing in Star Trek the Original Series, the Vulcan mind meld? Mr. Spock was pretty impressive. The way he used it to read people’s minds. That’s a trick I could use. Which reminds me of another of Mr. Spock’s special skills, the nerve pinch. If only I could do that!

He’d known Winston Bellows for a few weeks and knew little of his past. Maybe it was just as well, for he’d have discovered the guy had been something of a gangbanger. He had a dark secret. He was responsible for the deaths of his friends. On that occasion the vehicle wasn’t a Humvee. It was a beat-up Chevrolet; V8 engine, tuned and bored out to improve the acceleration and top speed. Someone, not Bellows, had painted the bodywork matte black. Very sexy, and if it impressed the girls during the day, at night it helped them hide from the cops during a pursuit. Turn off the lights and wait in a side street. Give it a few minutes, and the cruiser would go roaring past, siren wailing, and lights flashing.

They never did anything bad, not really bad. Sure, a bit of underage drinking, a bit of weed. A couple of the guys were into the stronger stuff, like coke and crack. He wasn’t into any of it. His thing was cars, the feel of being in control of the massive power beneath the hood. A touch of the gas pedal, a flick of the steering wheel, and the two-ton beast would respond like a thoroughbred. He knew he was good. Car for car he could outrun anyone, and he frequently did.

On that last night they’d all been drinking. Drinking too much, and he was spinning the Chevy around the neighborhood like he was driving a dodgem in the fairground. Giving them the ride of their lives, taking corners on two wheels, and stamping his foot down on the pedal so the hood would go up as the powerful acceleration thrust the heavy car toward the next intersection.

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