MARKSMAN #4 IN THE SOLDIER CHRONICLES IS AVAILABLE FROM AMAZON NOW! Amazon UK goo.gl/F32sCw Amazon goo.gl/u4LH1e Amazon.CA goo.gl/nu4IyJ ‘What are you doing here, Rifleman?’ Cotton exclaimed, face leering. ‘Deserter, are we? I can have you shot for that.’ The captain’s men looked over with eager attentiveness. The guerrillero let the silence drag as he looked back at the shrine. ‘I asked you a question, damn your insolence,’ Cotton’s nostrils flared. ‘As a captain of His Majesty’s Ordnance, I order you to-’ The patriot turned and grabbed Cotton by the lapels, shoving him back against the wagon before he could utter a gasp. His black felt bicorn tumbled down over a shoulder. ‘You don’t give me orders,’ the partisan said. ‘Now, you’ve a job to do, so get your arse moving.’ Seeing his commander being jostled, a huge lantern-jawed corporal shouldered his way through the throng, drawing a muscled arm back. The partisan, seeing the threat, ducked as the thick-fingered fist harmlessly punched the air. He nimbly dodged the next attack and brought up his right fist, which caught the corporal clean under the chin, knocking him backwards into Cotton who made a sound like a bagpipe being squeezed. The moustached man swiftly followed it with a right jab, a left, and then a right. The NCO shook his head to clear it from the assault, but was too slow to stop a thump to his belly and a powerful uppercut that knocked him clean out. Cotton stood wide-eyed with the corporal groaning and bleeding at his feet. The guerrillero had a mask of someone used to gutter fights and brawls that wouldn’t be out of place at a dockside tavern. Cotton’s legs buckled slightly. The NCO gasped and twitched back into consciousness. Blood seeped into the dry soil from a cut above his right eye. He stared disorientated, tried to move his limbs, and failed. ‘Are you all right, Corporal?’ Cotton managed to ask. The NCO blinked and looked up at his assailant who had not moved. ‘You get up again, boy, and we’ll have another go,’ the guerrillero told him. The corporal hesitated, thought better of it, and held up a hand in submission. ‘W-who are you?’ Cotton gaped. The man adjusted the rifle to stare up at the tall captain. ‘Arthur Cadoc,’ he said, ‘and I was once a Chosen Man of the 95th Rifles.’
Posted on: Thu, 27 Nov 2014 13:06:43 +0000
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