Instinct: A Chess Team Adventure - By Jeremy Robinson Page 0,49
the uniforms, perfect for blending in with the rotting forest floor. But a red patch sewn onto the men’s shoulders, featuring a skull inside a large golden star, revealed them as Death Volunteers.
King sheathed his knife and searched for tracks. He found them leading into the jungle. He readied his M4 while Queen slid her UMP off her back. They looked each other in the eyes. Both knew they were about to face a special forces unit of unknown size with only two weapons and a heap of guts to help them win the day.
“Let’s make this a fast-food run,” King said. “Grab and go. I don’t want to be around when the rest of them show up.”
She nodded and started off into the jungle. King stopped her.
“Queen, if Sara is K.I.A., our objective becomes her backpack.” He hated himself for saying it. But getting the job done sometimes meant being a cold, heartless bastard.
She could see he didn’t like issuing the order, but she knew it was the right thing to do. They both did. Queen flashed a smile. “Don’t worry, King, we’ll get your girl back.” She took off into the jungle, running fast. King followed close behind.
“What do you mean, ‘my girl’?”
Queen looked over her shoulder as she ran. “You stopped calling her Pawn.”
“Shit.” King realized she was right and picked up the pace. Not knowing the size or skill level of the force they’d be up against when they caught up with Sara’s captors didn’t bother him. He was used to that. This new unknown that had snuck up on him like an assassin bothered him most. Sara. He didn’t know a damn thing about her. Hell, Rook knew her better. But Queen pegged him. Something about Sara had caught his eye and he’d be damned before letting her become another missing American in the jungles of Vietnam.
Two minutes later King saw the head of the first Death Volunteer as he carried Sara through the jungle. He raised his M4 and took aim.
TWENTY-ONE
BEING AN AMERICAN born to Korean immigrants never bothered Knight. He had a traditional Korean name, Shin Dae-jung, but that’s where his connection to his Korean roots ended. He had visited Korea once, on a mission. The team flew into South Korea, crossed the demilitarized zone, saw to some nasty business involving a Sudanese terrorist being hidden, and hopped back over the border in time to share beers with some soldiers at the most laid-back military base he’d ever been to. For military personnel looking for a slow pace, South Korea was the place to be. Knight’s only other true Korean cultural experience had come at age ten, when his mother decided he needed to experience the cuisine of his homeland. The roast squid didn’t go over too well. In fact, the one time Knight truly appreciated the country of his parents’ birth was when he saw the brilliant movie The Host. He’d always been a fan of monster movies. Bold heroes. Guns blazing. Running for your life.
The real thing, he knew, was no fun at all. Having survived an encounter with the mythical Hydra reborn had taught him that much. It seemed God, or someone, thought he was due for another lesson.
Vegetation slapped his body as he careened down the mountainside. Trees whipped by in a blur. His breath pulsed in time with his rapidly beating heart.
He’d been running for two minutes straight. Flat out. Top speed. He’d learned to run as a teenager when it seemed like every jock in high school wanted to pick on the small Korean kid. They never could catch him.
But these weren’t jocks. Knight wasn’t even sure they were human. The din they were creating sounded almost chimpanzee-like, but there were no chimps in Vietnam. The only thing he knew for sure was that the things were fast. Damn fast. And relentless. They’d been steadily gaining on him since the chase started atop the mountain. He dropped his sniper rifle and shed his backpack to lose weight, but still they gained.
And now they were twenty feet back. He could hear trees shaking. Branches breaking. Feet slapping earth. And over it all, their chorus of hoots and hollers. These were the creatures from the village. And he had witnessed the carnage they could wreak on a human body. The two soldiers they’d caught were torn apart and crushed like they were nothing more than rotten vegetables. To be caught meant death.