Death World (Undying Mercenaries Series Book 5) by B. V. Larson Page B

I sprang into the mud, leading the charge. The opposing squad rushed to meet us, legs pumping up and down, brown muck flying high.
    It was on.

-6-
     
    Despite my orders to the rest of my squad, I moved to the middle of the mud. You see, I’m an extremely tall man. That meant that while the mud came to a short person’s waist, it only went to just above my knees, giving me a distinct advantage in mobility.
    I honestly expected to see Harris rush into the center and meet me, but he didn’t. Instead, he sprinted around the rim where it was just deep enough to get his ankles sloppy. He went for my weakest fighters, the ones that were hanging back uncertainly.
    Harris wanted to teach me a lesson—I realized that about ten seconds into the fight. He was a masterful warrior, but that didn’t mean he liked to die. He’d deliberately chosen a grim scenario, one sure to result in horrible moments. He’d also chosen a setup that would play to his own personal strengths. He liked knives and hand-to-hand combat because he was deadly in close.
    Harris met Gorman near the edge of the circular pool of mud, and Gorman went down after three cuts. Harris moved away with a bloody line across his chest but nothing more. Gorman was flopping and shivering in mud at his feet, trying to make it to the edge of the pit. If he could climb out under his own power—well, he might live. Harris danced past him and moved on to the next closest opponent, Kivi. She gave him a harder time, but he put her down pretty fast too. Crippled and making a lot of noise, she crawled for the edge holding in her guts with one hand.
    In the middle of the pit, I had my own problems. Seeing me isolated, three of Harris’ fighters rushed as a team to meet me. I stood my ground, ready.
    Fighting with knives is different than fighting with swords or clubs, especially when you’re stuck in mud. Reach is a critical factor. Although the three men who came at me tried to time it so they hit me at the same moment, one of them slipped and fell behind his two charging comrades. The other two—well, they didn’t have the reach I did, and they couldn’t move their mired feet as fast, either.
    With my arm outstretched to its maximum length, I planted my knife in the neck of the leader. His eyes bulged, and he tried to get to me, even though he was dead on his feet. I applauded the effort, but retreated and let him die face down with bubbles farting up around his grimy head.
    The second man came in before I could retreat and managed to score. He got a shot into my ribs—but there’s a reason why we have ribs, they’re built to deflect weapons and teeth from our inner organs. I was hurt, but the thrust hadn’t punched deep.
    He had his arms wrapped around me, and we did the bear hug thing, struggling to keep on our feet and roaring.
    In return for the blade in my side, I brought mine down two-handed, driving it into the shorter man’s skull. His eyes rolled up, and he slipped away bonelessly into the muck.
    The third man, the one who’d slipped while charging with his two fellows, couldn’t help but notice I’d nailed both his wingmen and was still standing tall. He turned and slogged away as quickly as he could. I didn’t blame him.
    Instead of following the runner, I moved to meet Harris at the edge of the pit, where he was now sparring with Carlos. Whatever else Carlos might be, he’s not a slouch when it comes to a hard fight. The two of them were in a clinch, each holding onto the other’s knife hand and straining.
    Carlos couldn’t hope to win the struggle. Harris was bound to overpower him in the end, despite the fact he was bleeding now from a few wounds of his own.
    What Carlos needed was a quick rescue, and I came up on the two of them from behind, planning on an easy kill.
    Harris didn’t give it to me. He got his foot hooked behind Carlos’ ankle and sent him down on his back. A quick stoop, thrust, and Carlos was out.
    I tried to slosh my way up to