Machine World (Undying Mercenaries Book 4) by B. V. Larson

“I feel compelled to reward success.”
    So saying, he produced my combat knife and tossed it at the feet of the woman.
    Both she and her partner lunged for the knife. I treaded water, watching.
    “What’s this?” Harris chuckled. “Treachery? So soon?”
    The stout woman had landed on the knife first with rat-face on her back a fraction of a second later. Four hands clamped onto the hilt of one knife. They rolled, grunting, but in the end, the rat found his throat slashed and the woman stood over him panting.
    More applause, appreciative shouts.
    “Come on McGill!” Johnson shouted at me. “Quit hiding out there in the lake!”
    I turned and swam for the waterfall.
    “Well now,” Harris said, “that’s just plain cowardice, McGill.”
    Harris drew his sidearm, an old gunpowder weapon, and shook all the cartridges out of the gun except for one. He threw the weapon at the guy who’d hit me with the rock. “Here, catch!”
    Any of my teachers from Atlanta’s primary education system could have told you years back that I’d never been the most attentive student. But even I, when faced with overwhelming evidence, can figure out where the cards lay.
    These veterans had no intention of letting me win this contest. In fact, it looked to me like they were going to cheat if they had to. No matter what, I was destined to lose. They’d probably set up the fireplug and her rat-buddy to nail Sargon right off, so I wouldn’t have anyone to team with.
    Seeing that there was a gun in play, the fireplug lady ran off around the lake to the far side. Grinning, the dark complected squatty-looking man with Harris’ gun circled the other way. I could tell he wasn’t interested in taking his single shot at long range. He wanted to get in close and make sure of a kill. Both of them headed toward the waterfall on opposites sides of the lake.
    I came up under the waterfall breathing hard. I could see two figures approaching through the mist, one from either direction. This gave me an idea. If they could cheat, why couldn’t I?
    I dove, swimming deep into the cold water. I took long sweeping strokes. I was well below the surface. Each pumping motion of my arms and legs took me back toward the shoreline where this had all started.
    When I surfaced, gasping, it was just in time to hear a shot crack the air. The veterans whooped. They were standing knee-deep in the lake around me.
    I stood up in the water. Johnson was the man nearest to me. His luck was consistent.
    “What the hell—?” he shouted. “McGill? All you do is run from every fight. You have to be the biggest chicken—”
    That was as far as he got. I stepped up to him, pulled his sidearm out of his holster and aimed over his shoulder. I shot Veteran Gonzales, who had just turned in our direction to see what the fuss was about. My surprised target went down on his face with a loud splash. The back of his skull was gone.
    Johnson began struggling with me, but as he was missing a finger or two he couldn’t stop my hand from bringing his gun around and placing the muzzle against his chest.
    Boom!
    I don’t think Johnson could believe his bad luck right to the end. He stared up at me as he was dying, even after the lake water covered his face.
    Harris slammed into me a moment later. The pistol flew out of my grasp. We traded blows for two long seconds. I knew the game might be up. I was getting tired, and my head injury from the guy with the rock was throbbing. Hell, I’d have been lucky to beat Harris one-on-one when I was fresh.
    Harris snatched the fallen gun out of the water. He aimed it at me, his sides heaving with exertion.
    “God dammit! ” Harris roared. “How is it, McGill, that the every time—?”
    Harris made a choking sound. I saw the squatty little guy who’d smashed me with  rock minutes ago. He’d snuck up behind Harris and rammed my knife home. He must’ve taken it from the woman candidate after having shot her.
    Not to be taken out so easily,