The Hangman by Will Patching

Author:Will Patching [Patching, Will]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Will Patching

‘This is down to me, Chagos… Shit.’ Doug couldn’t stop shaking his head at his stupidity as he inspected her wound. ‘I didn’t check him properly. He was hiding it in his wrist.’

Brzezinski’s raised right arm. The left hand squeezing off the blood supply, covering the wrist sheath and the knuckle blade concealed there. The honed steel, shaped like the club symbol in a deck of playing cards, was no longer than Doug’s thumb. The base consisted of three circular finger holes, enabling the user to wield the stabbing blade like knuckledusters. Their captive had used it to slash through the webbing constraining him, allowing him to grab the nearest rifle and fire a single snap shot.

They were lucky. If Brzezinski had been a fraction of a second quicker, or had full use of his stronger hand, he could have switched his weapon to fully automatic fire and blown them both to hell—unloading the whole magazine with one squeeze of the trigger.

I was lucky…

‘I got the bastard, though, eh?’ She coughed, struggling to sit, but Doug held her down. ‘Got them all… Haha! Seven Blackrock mercenaries… It’s not so bad.’ Her pain wracked features told otherwise.

‘You did real good, Chagos. Made me proud to have you as my partner… but you need to stop talking, for once, eh?’

Doug grinned at her as he rifled through the captured bags, trying hard not to let her know how serious the wound was. He found a field medical kit, shot morphine into her and did his best to patch her up. The worst of it was the exit hole, the size of his fist, and he did not like the implications one bit. He packed it with dressings and bound her up, hoping it would keep her alive long enough. The morphine soon had her woozy, muttering, with bursts of babbling and laughter, crowing about her sniper skills. She needed a hospital, and the nearest was in Semdinli.

There was nothing else for it, he decided. He stripped off his polar gear, and after selecting the contractor with a similar frame, set about dressing as a Blackrock employee. Once in fatigues, the jacket tight across his chest and the trousers clamping round his thighs, he slipped the flask into his requisitioned molly, grabbed the rifle Brzezinski had used to shoot his partner, checked the magazine, and propped it by a tree.

‘Time to go, Chagos.’ He hoped the morphine would help her, but knew she was in for an uncomfortable ride. ‘No complaints, or I’ll leave you behind.’

‘What? You should leave me.’ Out of it. ‘Don’t want to go anywhere… I’m a bit high.’

Not for much longer.

Doug grabbed her right arm and told her, ‘Come on, partner. Let’s get you out of here,’ pulling her upright as she tried to assist him. She was as much help as a ragdoll. An Amazonian version—a heavy one, too. ‘Here goes.’ He hauled her across his shoulders, eliciting a scream of agony and a stream of invective before she quietened, head flopping, unconscious.

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