Copyright© 2010 by Michael Wolfam
Max watched the retreating Jeep from his hidden perch, high above the battlefield. Was she really running away from the fight? Liv Driscol had proven herself to be a worthy adversary, and Max was disappointed that she might back down. "I know you've got a bigger pair than that," he muttered as the black vehicle disappeared into a stand of trees.
He concluded that she was likely trying to lure his men down the narrow, forest road. The skinny trail would minimize the numbers advantage his men held. On the open plain, the machines could attack from all sides, forcing her to defend many fronts. On the narrow road, she would only have to defend one side of the armored vehicle.
Max clicked the throat microphone on. "Hold back, don't chase after her. She has to come back this way. Get back into position! Now!"
Vlad could barely believe his ears. "Retreat? Fuck that." he twisted the snowmobile's throttle and raced after the armored vehicle. "All you other pussies can take it easy ... more silver notches for me." A twisted smile appeared under his white ski mask. The little craft skimmed the surface of the snow as he reached seventy miles an hour. Vlad quickly closed the glimmering white gap between him and the retreating SRT-8.
"You fucking prick! Get your ass back here and get back in position," Max shouted into his microphone. Everyone but Vlad had reluctantly broken off the chase and returned to their assigned positions. Max knew they were pissed at him for breaking off the chase, but he didn't want to fight the Driscol bitch on her own terms. She would have to come to him. Vlad was not a crucial part of the ambush, but Max could not tolerate disorder. He watched Vlad's red sc