Alexa - Legionnaire : Training an Assassin: Prequel to Alexa - The Series Read Online Free Page B

Broad-shouldered with muscular arms, ranked as a sergeant, the workhorses of the military. The man had numerous tiny cut marks on his forehead and chin. This guy had been in a couple of bare-knuckle fights.  
    The soldier hunkered forward, hands in front of his face, in a boxer’s stance. Bruce kicked out and landed hard on the soldier’s thigh. He then hammered three blows into the man’s shoulder, and the soldier covered up, the way Bruce knew he would. The sergeant dropped his arms to let the sting out. Lactic acid would build in the arm, rendering it ineffective within a couple of seconds. Bruce shifted his focus to the second man but had to jump back when the sergeant pulled a knife from an ankle holster, rolled towards Bruce, and lashed out at his hip. Bruce shimmied and narrowly avoided being cut.
    He twisted and connected the man flush on the chin with his elbow. Not a perfect blow, but it stunned the soldier momentarily. The soldier to his left saw a non-existent opportunity and rained punches onto Bruce.  
    Wrong move, pal.
    Bruce took a couple of glancing blows on his arms, feinted right, and connected with a perfectly-timed knuckle punch to his attacker’s throat. The man’s eyes bulged, and he slumped to the ground, clutching his neck with both hands.
    Bruce waved the sergeant forward, trying to shake the pain from his broken finger. They both looked up as Weinstein stumbled into the room.
    “Hold it right there, Bryden.” Weinstein pointed a gun at Bruce’s chest.  
    Bruce slowly lifted his hands. Shit .  
    Weinstein raised the gun to Bruce’s head and then pointed it to his own.
    What the . . .?
    Bruce closed his eyes and the shot reverberated through the room.
    The sergeant glanced at Bruce in bewilderment and raised his hands in front of his chest. “Look, I want nothing more to do with this.” He jerked his head in Weinstein’s direction. “I took my orders directly from the colonel. The colonel is dead; I’m relieved from my duties.”
    Bruce nodded his head and the sergeant spun around, heading towards his injured colleague who was still writhing around on the floor. Weinstein lay in a pool of blood, his feet beneath his bottom, slumped on his side.
      “Wait,” Bruce called.
    The sergeant stopped and turned around, reluctantly.
    “Why did you not use my gun to shoot me? Why aren’t you armed?”
    The sergeant strode to a door at the far end of the room and opened it. “This is what we were guarding.”
    The door led to an adjacent room. Inside stood an assortment of cardboard boxes and wooden crates packed to the ceiling. “What is it?”  
    The sergeant shrugged. “Explosives. Ammunition. Land-to-air, air-to-air. Nimrod antitank missiles, Baraks. You name it.”
    Bruce whistled.  
    “A stray bullet could have blown this whole damn city up,” the sergeant said.
    Bruce checked his broken index finger. It stood out at a peculiar angle, starting to swell. It throbbed like a bastard. “That was a smart move,” Bruce said, holding his finger in the air.  
    The man studied Bruce with narrowed eyes. He stood lightly, like he had springs attached to the soles of his feet, ready for any retaliation.  
    “What’s your name, Sergeant?”
    The man relaxed. “Allen, sir. Staff Sergeant Neil Allen.”
    Bruce retrieved his gun and magazine clip then pried Weinstein’s gun from his fingers. “Where is Cohen?”
    Sergeant Allen waved his thumb, like a hitchhiker. “Down the passage.”
     

June 16, 1992
    Jaffa, Israel
    20:13

    Callahan paced around the room, his hands behind his back. He turned to Zachary. ”How did he get past the security cameras?"
    Zachary licked his lips. “You were running an MVS 3.8."
    “Speak English,” Perreira said.
    “It was a massive mainframe that could operate a smallish city’s infrastructure on its own,” Callahan said, staring blankly at the wall.
    “So what?” Perreira asked.
    Zachary glared at Perreira then continued. “Bruce helped me