Free Commando by Lindsay McKenna

Between the shadowy trees, Jake could see several men running with torches in hand through the Tucanos village.

    Shah! Jake dug his feet into the sandy ground and sprinted down the hill. The village seemed so far away. More gunfire erupted. The cries of the Tucanos, startled out of sleep, spilled into the night air. The gunfire continued.

    Suddenly Jake realized that whoever these invaders were they weren’t Indian. No, they looked like the men Hernandez had hired. As he tore down the path, the wind whipping past him, Jake’s mind spun with options. He was unarmed—unable to defend himself, much less Shah or the unarmed villagers. Veering off to the left, tearing through the jungle itself, Jake decided to hide by skirting around the village. He had to get to Shah’s hut! His pistol was there, and so was she.

     

    Shah groggily awoke, the sound of screams filling her ears. Sitting up, her hair cascading around her like a curtain, she smelled suffocating smoke. Firelight danced outside her window. What was going on? She scrambled to her feet, her knee-length cotton nightgown hampering her movement. Just as she reached the window, gunfire slammed through the hut.

    With a cry, Shah dropped to the floor, covering her head with her hands. What was going on? Who was attacking?

    As she began to get up again, a hulking figure appeared in the doorway, jerking the cotton barrier aside. Shah screamed.

    “It’s me!” Jake rasped. He dropped to his knees. “Where the hell is my gun? We’re under attack.”

    Frantic, the cries of the Tucanos shattering her composure, Shah groped for her trunk. “Here,” she told him, fumbling in the darkness. “They’re in here….”

    “Get them!”

    Obeying wordlessly, Shah’s hands shook as she located the holster and pistol. “Here—”

    “Stay down,” Jake whispered savagely, and he forced her to lie on the ground. “Whoever’s doing this is playing for keeps.”

    Sobbing for breath, Shah felt the strength of Jake Randolph’s hand in the center of her back as he forced her to lie flat on the floor. “Who is it?” she cried.

    “I don’t know,” Jake breathed as he hitched the holster around his waist. He could take a Beretta apart and put it back together again blindfolded. Despite the lack of light, he quickly drew the pistol from the holster, snapped off the safety and placed a round in the chamber. Getting up, pistol in hand, he went to the entrance.

    “Don’t you move,” he growled to Shah.

    She opened her mouth to tell him to be careful, but found that she couldn’t speak. Her throat was choked with tears of outrage and terror over the attack. Who was setting fire to the village? Who was firing guns? Why?

    Jake pounded down the bank of the Amazon toward five dugout canoes tied to the dock. Each of them had a small motor mounted in the rear, and Jake’s suspicion that Hernandez was involved grew. Ten men were fleeing the raging inferno of the village, running hard for the canoes. The shrieks of the Indians hammered at Jake as he halted, got down on one knee and aimed his Beretta.

    Suddenly bullets whipped and whined all around him. Hitting the ground, Jake jerked his attention to the left, where the bullets were coming from. He couldn’t see who was shooting at him; everything was dark and shadowed by the roaring flames and smoke that clouded the village. More sand whipped up in geysers around him. Someone had targeted him! Jake knew the other men were getting away. He wanted to capture one of them, but right now he had to protect himself. Whoever was firing at him was serious.

    Sliding down off the bank, Jake moved into the tepid river up to his waist so that he’d present less of a target and the bank could provide cover. In moments, the firing stopped. Jake turned on his side, his Beretta aimed toward the dock. All but one of the canoes had left. Damn! Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the hulking figure of a man sprinting toward the remaining