Atlanta Extreme by Randy Wayne White

Hawker. I mean, immediately. I wasn’t kidding when I said that Curtis doesn’t trust you. He told me so himself. That lady of his, Laurene, we call her the black fucking widow. See the way Curtis took her into the bushes back there and started humping her? They do that before every battle. Right out in the open. Curtis taps her on the head, and her fucking pants fall down, man. She gets off on blood and violence and shit like that. Never misses a beheading, that bitch doesn’t. Probably gets her jeans all wet just thinking about it. She’s the one who told Curtis not to trust you. You can bet on that.”
    Hawker tried to reconcile the tender moments he had had with Laurene Catacomez and the picture of her Miles now painted. He couldn’t. He said, “We’re not particularly well prepared for a long trip through the jungle, Sergeant. Between us we have two canteens of water, and that’s all.” The vigilante watched Miles carefully to see how he reacted, to see how serious he was about escaping.
    The sergeant’s face became animated. “We don’t need anything else, Mr. Hawker. Hell, I’ve got my survival knife. And we’ve both got weapons. Curtis trained us on how to survive in the jungle. Shit, he may be as nutty as Ma Brown’s muffins, but that old fuck knows his business when it comes to guerrilla fighting and survival. It should only take us about three days to get to Masagua City, and we’d have no trouble at all living out there for three years. There’s food and water every place you look, man.”
    Hawker nodded. “Okay, Sergeant, you’re on. We escape. Today.”
    â€œNot just today, Mr. Hawker, now .”
    The vigilante shook his head. “Leave, knowing that Curtis is going to butcher the people in that village? No thanks, Miles.”
    â€œBut there’s no way you can stop them, Mr. Hawker. Not and survive, anyway.”
    â€œAren’t you in charge of this squad?”
    â€œWell, yeah, but I’ve already had my orders from Curtis.”
    â€œDid your men hear the orders?”
    â€œNo.…”
    â€œSergeant, Curtis’s orders just changed.…”

ten
    From beneath the giant guanacaste trees on the hillside Hawker could look down into the village. They were much closer now, only three hundred yards away, and he could see the people clearly. In the center of the village a clatter of boys, all ages, played a game with sticks and a leather ball. They shouted and wrestled and laughed. Naked toddlers, brown as the earth, scampered after the gang, not quite fast enough to keep up. Hawker could smell the wood smoke from the cooking fires, and women sat in the shade weaving or tending the food or carrying buckets to and from the river.
    Sergeant Miles said to the seven men crouched around Hawker, “Gentlemen, this is Colonel Curtis’s friend, Major Hawker. He is now in command of this mission. You will obey him as you would obey the colonel. Is that clear?”
    â€œWhy didn’t Colonel Curtis tell us that,” shot back a dour, weasel-faced American. Hawker had noticed the man before: greasy black hair, ragged battle dress, swastika tattoo on right forearm; a dope smoker who didn’t even try to hide the cigar-size joint he toked on during the hike. The vigilante glared into the man’s glazed, dark eyes. “Since when does Colonel Curtis need to clear his orders with you, mister?”
    The military bite in Hawker’s voice set the man back for a moment. “Well, it’s just that I think he should tell us—”
    â€œI don’t give a flying fuck what you think, mister,” Hawker said, cutting in. “You aren’t getting paid to think. You’re getting paid to follow orders. And right now your orders are to shut the fuck up and do exactly what I tell you to do. Question?”
    â€œNo, sir.”
    Hawker looked from face to face. “Do any of you