Mike Johnson
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As the soldier neared the rear corner of the shed, Henry was just two paces behind. He swiftly closed the gap, like a stalking cat lunging for its prey. The soldier sensed a presence lurking behind him. Too late. Henry jammed his left knee into the rear of the soldier’s left knee. Simultaneously, the retired general drove his left fist into the soldier’s kidney and viciously coiled his right arm around his neck. Dick, by now soaked through to the skin, looked up. He saw the soldier’s terror-stricken face. Henry, his right forearm locked under the hapless North Korean’s chin, dropped quickly to the ground in a prone position. The soldier, unable to resist, dropped his rifle and collapsed to the ground on his back, his arms outstretched behind him in an effort to cushion the fall. Henry applied increasing pressure to his pinched throat. The soldier’s eyes widened and teared. He saw death approaching. Henry jerked his powerful arm down and back. The soldier went limp. Henry released his grip. He saw Dick, now on his haunches, looking at him in wonderment. “An old lesson remembered,” Henry whispered grimly.
The rain was dripping from Dick’s matted hair and down his face. He swallowed hard. “What now?”
