Overthrow (A James Winchester Thriller Book 2) (James Winchester Series) James Samuel (reading tree TXT) 📖

had tried to be a hero. Blood flowed from a wound near his collarbone, yet he managed to draw a knife from his belt.

James eyed the tactical knife and a sense of urgency washed over him. He had to get the man out of the way to give himself room to move. James took in a deep breath and braced himself as the soldier moved in for the kill. He lunged for James, but he grabbed the man’s wrist as he evaded his swinging blade.

The soldier lashed out with his other hand, clouting James on the top of the head. James struggled with his attacker for possession of the knife. No matter how much he fought, he couldn’t pry the weapon free from the soldier’s iron fingers.

James began pushing the soldier away. The soldier roared in his face like a wild animal. James responded by loosing a globule of spit straight between his eyes. The Khmer’s momentary jerk allowed James to throw the soldier back. With only a few feet between them, he reached for his pistol and fired.

The Khmer dropped to the ground. The knife finally leaving his fingers.

In anger, James fired downhill to let the rest of his comrades know he was still there. These soldiers were little more than amateurs, but they were brave. Braveness bordering on stupidity.

James considered trying Sinclair again, but he ventured on. He wasn’t safe yet. As he approached the corner that would take him in direct conflict with the viewpoint he’d discussed with Sinclair, he slowed his pace. General Narith wasn’t stupid. He would have prepared something. He was sure of it.

He inched around the corner. A mounted machine gun of some kind greeted him. It rattled off enormous rounds straight at him. James threw himself back, feeling the power of the bullets woosh by him. Narith’s forces had dug themselves in, creating a strongpoint he would have no choice but to cross.

James fired a few errant shots, but he knew they wouldn’t do much. They had more ammunition than he did. He couldn’t afford to waste anything on ill-placed shots. He retreated back up the hill to the cache that might save his life. His only hope depended on Sinclair’s planning, his genius in choosing the spot in the underbrush they had found yesterday.

He scrambled up the path, ignoring the pain in his back. He blessed Sinclair’s organizational brilliance as opened up the chest and put his hands on the RPG-7V2. The grenade launcher felt big and bulky as he put it together and lifted it to his waist. As he feared, his wound screamed in protest when he positioned the launcher on his shoulder. He hadn’t fired one of these in a long time, and he steadied it in both hands as he moved back down the trail. As awkward as he felt with the bulky weapon, he didn’t know how he was going to get a lock on them.

By the time he found his previous spot, sweat poured into his eyes and slicked his hands. His body screamed in pain and he willed himself to ignore the discomfort. His years of training came into play; nothing existed now but the mission, his target. He’d have time to lick his wounds when he’d vanquished the general and his army.

The soldiers still awaited him somewhere in the distance, searching for any signs of movement. He popped up and threw the RPG-7V2 into position. He stared down the UP-7V sighting. James had a lock, then the punch came.

The soldiers had spotted him. He threw himself back as their machine gun emplacement rattled away at him.

“Damn it,” James cursed, backing against a rocky outcrop that provided some cover.

If he still had a grenade, he could use it as a diversion. The RPG was all he had; he had to take the risk. Once again, he backed away and switched to the other side of the trail. The precious seconds it would take the Khmer to turn the emplacement might give him the chance he needed to break the strongpoint and leave the way open to General Narith.

James tried to forget what it would feel like to get one of those slugs in his belly. No question, it would penetrate his Kevlar armour. The bullet wound in his back twinged again, sending another little reminder for his mind to play with. He counted backwards and stood up.

His eyes pinpointed the sighting. He had a lock. The soldiers screamed for their compatriots to turn the gun around, to find him again, the pesky moving target. But it was too late. He hit the release and the projectile rocketed out of the tube towards the emplacement. A little puff of smoke rose behind him as James waited and watched.

Khmer yelled to scatter, but the rocket hit their emplacement anyway. What had once been human beings evaporated in a fraction of a second. The emplacement burned, giving off a stench of burning metal and barbequed flesh. James looked on in horror at what he’d just done. The survivors broke and fled.

James lowered the grenade launcher and let it fall to his waist. He shambled through the brush to the carnage he’d unleashed on these enlisted men. The blackened skin, the bloody flesh, and the missing limbs. He took one last look at the grenade launcher and threw it over the fence of the tourist viewpoint.

It vanished into the vast green void before him, hitting a thick branch and tumbling away.

Chapter Sixty-Three

Phnom Penh, Phnom Penh Province, Cambodia

 

Dylan’s head only stayed above table level through the sheer will of his right arm. He’d been sitting here for too long without a word from Sor. The Khmer continued to stare intently at the hanzi in front of him, symbols incomprehensible to the majority of Khmer. Nhek, on the other hand, had disappeared to speak to