Highlands, Scotland
Fleming’s voice had come from the right. The opposite direction from where Logan had approached the area. He crouched low, peering into the dark distance for any sign of movement, listening for any other noise, voices.
Logan began to wonder whether he’d imagined the voice. But it had been so clear. Perhaps his senses were fooling him, though, as to which direction it had come from?
Then, a few seconds later, he heard the distinct sound of Fleming’s voice once again. And it was near. Logan remained as still as he could, his breathing slow and shallow, his body solid and unmoving. His mind was in overdrive.
For hours, Logan’s thoughts had been filled with ways to get his own back on Fleming, Butler and the others. Not just for what they’d done on this exercise, but for the abuse they’d so readily inflicted on Logan for weeks. He wanted to make them pay, even if harming the men at all, never mind out in the middle of a frozen wasteland where they had no way of contacting base camp, would likely be a really bad career move. The JIA were training him to be a fighter, weren’t they?
So he would fight.
Logan began to move forward, still crouching low. His steps were slow and soft, his eyes darting back and forth between the ground and the area in front of him.
He caught a glimpse in the near distance, lit up in the dim moonlight, of the familiar grey and white fatigues that he and each of the SAS men were wearing. He inched further forward, even more slowly than before. Finally he came to a stop at the base of a thick pine tree. He spotted two figures hunched over in a small clearing just yards in front of him.
Fleming and Butler.
They were huddled over a fire. Although Logan couldn’t see the flames as the fire was sunk into a pit, the ember glow emanating from the hole was clear and was lighting up the two men, the orange illumination cutting a stark contrast to the near-darkness surrounding them.
They were talking but their voices were too quiet and muffled for Logan to make out any words. He guessed they’d stopped for a longer rest; a neat pile of twigs and logs next to them suggested they were planning on keeping the fire going for some time.
Logan began to creep forward again, staying low. The clearing that Fleming and Butler were in was only about ten yards wide. There was now just one more tree between them and Logan. He edged up to it and came to a stop once more.
Keeping his eyes on the two soldiers, he felt around on the frozen ground beside him, looking for a stone or a loose branch. Anything he could use as a weapon. He found a small fallen log, about a foot long, three inches in diameter. Exactly what he needed. He turned it over in his hands, ignoring the ice-cold that seeped from the log into his bare hands, thinking through his attack. Part of him felt like a coward for even contemplating what he was about to do.
But they had it coming, didn’t they?
Logan was about to leap into action but then he stopped suddenly. A crunching noise somewhere off to his left. His gaze shot in that direction and his body froze.
Was it the trackers? Or the rest of Fleming’s men, perhaps?
Logan held his breath and waited, staring into the darkness, aware that Fleming and Butler had stopped talking and must have heard the noise too. He risked a glance over in their direction. Butler was on his feet, peering over to where the noise had come from. Fleming had turned too, though he remained sitting on the ground. Logan followed their line of sight and a moment later there was more noise, rustling.
Logan’s heart was thudding in his chest. He gripped the log tightly. His whole body was tense.
A second later, a small grey squirrel darted out into the clearing, sniffed the air, then bounded straight back into the darkness.
Logan exhaled slowly, feeling his nerves calm. He began to caress the log again, feeling its icy surface with his fingers. But then he turned his gaze back to Fleming and Butler and his eyes widened.
Fleming was staring right at him.
Logan froze. He held his breath, his body solid, completely still except for his thumping heart. The noise seemed to fill his head and make the world before him jump with each beat.
As Logan continued to stare at his foe, Fleming’s face showed no visible reaction or emotion. No surprise or fear or anger. After a few moments had passed without so much as a blink or a twitch from Fleming, Logan could only assume that he hadn’t given his presence away and Fleming was merely staring into the black forest around him. Logan’s body was, after all, obscured by the tree that he was hunched behind and the glow from the fire didn’t reach as far as where he was.
Catching Fleming’s glare had startled Logan nonetheless. It was clear that Fleming and Butler were on high alert. Both because the trackers were somewhere out there and because they would surely assume Logan was following them.
Maybe it was more than that even. The feeling of isolation and the eerie blackness must affect even the most hardened and experienced soldiers, Logan guessed.
After a few more seconds, Fleming returned his attention to the fire pit and he and Butler began talking again, though their voices were noticeably quieter than before.
With them both distracted, Logan took two deep breaths and then sprang into action. He leaped to his feet. He darted forward, aware that his approach would be anything but silent, but banking on his speed over the short distance giving him the element of surprise.
When he was three steps away, he swung the log back and began to bring it forward, aiming for the back of Butler’s head. It was a cheap shot. Taking the solider out from behind. Butler had shown no qualms, though, when he’d done the same thing to Logan earlier. In the moment, Logan really didn’t care what the consequences would be. Butler had it coming. Fleming too.
But when the log was just a few inches from making contact, Butler suddenly reacted. Logan knew his foe’s movement, his speed of thought, was too quick and deliberate for him to have been alerted by Logan’s approach. There simply hadn’t been enough time.
Which meant Butler had known the attack was coming.
Which meant Fleming had likely spotted Logan after all.
All of this dawned on Logan in the split second that he was in mid-swing with the log. By then, it was too late to do anything about it.
Butler twisted his body. He brought up his arm to protect himself from the incoming blow. The log smacked against Butler’s forearm. The contact was solid. It sent a judder through the log and all the way up Logan’s arm, into his shoulder.
But the force of the blow wasn’t enough to stop Butler’s counterattack. He was already shooting up, his other fist balled and hurtling toward Logan’s midriff.
Butler’s fist caught Logan in his kidney and sent him reeling back in pain. He slouched down, fighting against the haze that suddenly clouded his vision. He lifted his head. He caught sight of Fleming, already on his feet, moving fast around the side of him.
Logan instinctively turned his body, following Fleming’s movement. He was completely oblivious when Butler’s fist came toward him again, an upper-cut that caught Logan right on the edge of his chin, snapping his head back painfully.
He was on the ground in a heap before he knew it.
Logan heard Fleming laugh.
‘Great shot, Butler!’ Fleming said. ‘Jesus, I thought that one was going to take his jaw clean off!’
Logan opened and closed his eyes, waiting for the stars to disappear. His body felt distant.
‘Get him up on his feet.’
A thick hand wrapped around Logan’s arm and began to tug at him. Then there was a shout of pain.
‘Fuck!’ Butler screamed, letting go of Logan and falling backward. ‘I think my arm’s broken. That little piece of shit!’
He thrust a heavy boot into Logan’s side. Logan winced in pain, though he couldn’t help but crack a wry smile once the throbbing from the blow began to subside. He knew the contact with the log had been good. Certainly enough to smash the thin bones in the lower arm.
‘Hey, Butler. How’s that arm?’ Logan murmured through laboured breaths.
‘I’m going to fucking kill him!’
Butler lunged toward Logan but Fleming leaped up at him, holding him back.
‘Not like this,’ Fleming said, his hard stare fixed on Logan.
Fleming held on to the raging Butler, keeping him at bay, waiting for the red mist to dissipate.
Logan was still dazed but he was beginning to feel some focus returning. He lifted his torso, placing his weight onto his elbow, grimacing from the pain in his side and jaw.
‘Help him up,’ Fleming said, releasing Butler.
Butler stood staring daggers at Logan. His left arm, the one Logan had struck, was dangling uselessly down by his side. Butler grabbed Logan with his good hand and hauled him up onto his feet.
‘So what was the plan, Boy Wonder?’ Fleming spat. ‘Take us out with our backs turned, then leave us out here to die?’
‘No worse than what you did to me,’ Logan slurred.
He felt around his jaw. It had seized up and was painfully sore to touch but didn’t seem to be broken.
The fog in his mind from the initial kidney blow was fading and, despite the odds, Logan began to plan his next move. But he was caught unawares when Fleming hurled a fist into his stomach and he doubled over in pain again.
‘You forgot one thing, though, didn’t you?’ Fleming said. ‘You’re not dealing with dumb civvies out on the streets of London here. We’re better than you. We’re trained for this shit.’
Fleming wound up for another hit, but this time Logan was ready. Adrenaline was surging through his body. He was way past the pain. Anger and hatred were boiling up inside him. He dodged Fleming’s fist and the soldier’s momentum sent him stumbling past. Logan twisted and threw a hook into Fleming’s back, sending him to the ground.
As Logan tried to reset, he spotted Butler lunging toward him. Logan stooped down and charged forward, catching Butler below the waist and sending him up into the air. The soldier somersaulted over Logan and landed in a heap on the ground, head first.
These soldiers were tough, trained fighters. The best the army had to offer. Logan might have been less experienced, less gnarled and slower too, but he was bigger. The soldiers lacked the brute strength that Logan had. He knew that his hits could make the difference in this fight.
But what the SAS men lacked in sheer strength, they made up for in speed and cunning and pure fighting instinct. When Fleming next came forward, Logan tried again to dodge him, winding up for a killer blow. But he never saw the feint from Fleming coming.
Fleming spun around in an arc, completely flummoxing Logan. As he completed the turn, Fleming’s elbow caught Logan just below the ear. The jolt of pain caused him to stumble sideways. Before Logan could do anything to react, to defend himself, to offer up any kind of response, Fleming crashed the sole of a thick boot against Logan’s lower leg.
It was a perfect shot. Full of power and purpose. Timed and placed with absolute accuracy. Logan’s weight was planted, his leg stiff, making the impact worse. If his leg had been relaxed, bouncy, the strike would have taken his foot off the ground, the moving limb cushioning the blow. As it was, his foot didn’t budge and his lower leg simply caved in, the tibia and fibula snapping like they were nothing more than dried twigs.
Logan screamed in pain and fell to the ground, immediately clutching at his stricken limb.
‘You just don’t listen, do you?’ Fleming growled, righting himself, then crowding over Logan. ‘You’re not like us, Logan. You’re just not good enough. You never will be. The sooner you stop fighting it, the better for everyone.’
Logan heard the words but he didn’t respond. He was still screaming in pain, his body tumbling this way and that as he fought against the agony. He looked down at his leg. The white of broken bone protruding awkwardly through a tear in his fatigues was clear even in the dull light. There was already a large, dark, wet patch from the blood that was flowing out of the open wound.
Logan’s eyes rolled at the sight and from the pain coursing through him. He felt like he would pass out. He hoped he would, to escape the pain.
He caught sight of Butler on the ground just a few feet in front of him. He was sitting up, nursing his neck.
‘Butler, come on, get up,’ Fleming said. ‘It’s time to get going.’
Butler looked over at Logan, at his injured leg, then into his defeated eyes.
‘Shit, Captain. What are we going to do?’ he said.
‘What do you mean? We’re going. This prick got what he deserved.’
Butler clambered to his feet, grimacing, his broken arm hanging like it was merely an attachment to his clothing rather than one of his limbs.
‘We need to get you out of here,’ Fleming said to Butler. ‘Get you back to camp so they can get your arm seen to. Fuck knows what damage’s been done.’
‘He’ll die out here,’ Butler said. ‘I can still walk but Logan’s completely screwed now.’
Fleming looked over. Logan, panting heavily, caught his gaze and fought hard to keep his stare on Fleming. He wanted to get up and rip the captain’s head off, even though he was absolutely certain that his opportunity had now gone.
This fight was over.
‘He brought it on himself,’ Fleming said.
‘Captain, I–’
‘Soldier, move out! That is an order.’
‘Yes, Captain.’
Butler glanced at Logan one last time, a sorry look on his face. But he didn’t question Fleming’s orders again. He hung his head and turned around, then he and Fleming walked off, back into the dark treeline, without saying another word to Logan or to each other.
Within a few moments, they were gone, out of sight.
And Logan finally closed his eyes.