Free Dead in Their Tracks (A Mitch Kearns Combat Tracker Story Book 1) by JT Sawyer

minutes behind them
since we left the ranch but that gap keeps growing as this fucker’s a ghost.”
    “We’re on his turf. He’s FBI as well as a
seasoned combat tracker.” Perry heard some of Drake’s men grumble at his
statement and cast concerned glances at each other.
    “He’s going to be pushing forward with a
few sideways dummy trails every mile or so to throw us off. He knows he has to
get out of the region as quickly as possible before the search envelope folds
in on him.” Perry looked at his GPS unit again, pulling up the topographic map
for the area. “My guess is that he will head northwest until he can get up on the
mesa and then make a beeline for the highway.”
    While Drake’s men removed spare magazines
from the dead agents, Perry got on the radio to Ryker, simulating transmission
interference by issuing a garbled message. “This is Alpha….Team…over.”
    “Go ahead.”
    “In pursuit…hostiles, heading….east. No
sign of….primary subjects.”  
    When he was done letting the static linger
for a few seconds, Perry turned off his radio then moved back towards Drake.
    “Ritter said that you were in need of my
mantracking skills so I’ll take point on this leg of the operation.”
    “He told me you were at my disposal as an
advisor. I’ll let you know if I need any help, pal.”
    Perry looked at the hulking figure’s
forearms, which had numerous small lacerations from bushwhacking, then glanced down
at the man’s nearly brand new, fresh from the box boots. “Back at Aeneid, you
must be the top dog, but out here things are different. One of your guys steps
on a Gila monster or runs into a javelina, it’ll only slow us down and allow
our subjects to slip away.” Perry’s eyes remained unflinching as he took a step
closer to Drake. “I’m guessing the old man told you to wrap this up quickly
without a lot of attention being drawn to your presence here, am I right?”
    Drake nodded, taking a step back. “Alright,
lead on then, but you run anything by me first when it comes to major decisions.”
    A few minutes later, a short man with a
thick goatee came over, holding a blood-soaked wad of gauze in his hand.
“Jameson is not looking good.”
    Perry gave the man a puzzled expression
until Drake spoke up. “He walked into a bunch of punji-type sticks on the
trail.”
    Perry shook his head in disgust as he
walked with Drake to the swath of hackberry trees where a man was lying on his
back in the shade. He saw the remains of the mantrap and looked at the moaning
figure whose upper thighs were perforated with several jagged holes. “Ah, Mitch—you
always did like the old-school shit.”
    Perry shuffled forward towards the injured
man, who appeared to be in his late twenties with powder-blue eyes. “That’s a
nasty wound, son. Let me help you with that.” In a fluid motion, he flipped
open the folding knife from his pocket and slashed the man’s throat. As the
desperate figure clutched his gushing carotids, Perry stood up and looked at
the other mercenaries who’d gathered in a circle, looking on in shock.
    Perry stabbed his blade into the sand,
removing the blood, then stood up. “Everybody clear on how I work? You fuck up
out here, some coyote is gonna be shittin’ out your remains tomorrow.”
    The men’s faces grew solemn and they
focused their eyes squarely on Perry, averting their gaze as he glanced at each
one of them. He rested his eyes on Drake, who had a startled demeanor cloaked
by a veneer of anger. The brutish figure exhaled deeply and then looked away.
    Perry unslung his rifle and walked through
the center of the group back to the trail. “Good, now let’s push on and wrap
this up by sundown.”

 
    Chapter 13
    Mitch and Dev sprinted from tree to tree,
covering a hundred yards at a time. This gapping burst allowed them to cover
sufficient ground quickly and protected them from the injuries associated with
running long-distance over rocky terrain with cumbersome