Gunship: Reflections

By John M. Davis

The Benzan Mafia battle the blood-starved Hunter Clan in this epic book of adventure! Captain Adam Michaels and his crew have risked everything for the love of a single woman. That may prove to be a mistake as Adam's lover now seeks to end them all.

• Language: English
• Publisher: John M. Davis
• Release date: Aug 4, 2012
• ISBN: 9781311065650

John M. Davis

John M. Davis is the bestselling author of Gunship, as well as Wicked, and the novelization of the motion picture REDD. Also known for his popular Book Commander Podcast, John is a former writer for the Legends Football League and owns a minority share of the Canadian Football League’s Saskatchewan Roughriders. He currently lives in Virginia with his wife of 18 years and their two spoiled kids. When he isn’t writing or podcasting, John enjoys reading, studying history, and listening to his favorite band, Evanescence.bookcommander.wordpress.com#bookcommander

Book preview

Gunship III: Reflections

John M. Davis

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2013 Serenity Valley Publishing

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1: Days Gone By

Chapter 2: Backtracking

Chapter 3: A Battle To Come

Chapter 4: Life Behind Bars

Chapter 5: The Finale

About the Author

Chapter 1

Days Gone By

I'm surprised you would have the balls to show your face again. Walter Jones said with sarcasm.

The small time crime boss stood in a less than fine suit, two armed men at his side. They weren't killers, that much was obvious by the deer in headlights look upon their faces. They anxiously held Dalton at gunpoint using rifles, and that always had a way of rubbing him wrong.

Aw now, no need to be so rude about it. How about you get these boys to lay down arms so we can have ourselves some honest dealings? Dalton asked casually.

Walter Jones laughed, knowing Dalton and crew were smugglers and that was about as far from honest as it could get. Not to mention he owed Dalton James and his friend Adam Michaels money from a job previously completed.

Now why in the hell would I do that? Walter asked.

A split second later, one of his armed men fell to the ground in screaming pain; victim of a sniper's shot from the far distant.

Well sir, cause you 'aint got a choice for starters. I got a sniper up above with you all scoped at this very moment. That's the biggest reason I got the balls to show my handsome face again, Dalton said, smiling wide. Now where's the money? he asked.

Walter Jones had planned to screw him a second time of course, but didn't want to risk the possibility of his own demise in the process. Throwing a sackful of credits to Dalton's feet, Walter scowled heavily. It's all there.

You may think I'm somewhat of a stickler, but after you gave Adam and me a sackful of blank paper on the last go round, I think I might be counting it this time. Dalton said, bending down to unzip the bag.

It was filled with credits alright, and he was due two thousand for the job recently completed. Looks like about two thousand. Dalton said as his fingers quickly fanned through the money.

I told you it was all there. Walter replied. Yea, but see, Dalton said walking a bit closer as he pulled a tightly rolled cigar from the pocket of his good as new brown coat, blazing up the tobacco stick and adding heavy smoke to the mix. You still owe me three thousand for a job already done. And I can't figure out the exact number without an adding machine, but I'm thinking you need to be handing over the rest of it if you wanna walk out of here alive. Dalton replied.

Are you insane? You know I don't have three thousand more credits on me, Walter Jones said loudly. I'd be a fool to carry that kind of money. he added.

Yes sir, I'd be inclined to agree, Dalton replied, stroking rough fingers through the course patch of his beard. Well, how about you boys empty your pockets into the bag, including your watches and such. Then we'll just call it even. Dalton demanded, kicking the sackful of credits a bit as it moved closer to them in the lifeless dirt.

Are you kidding, Walter asked snidely. Why don't you get on the ground and take the man's gold tooth too for God's sake? he added loudly as his gun struck man still lay on the ground, a blanket of pain and agony doing little to quiet his screeching.

Several minutes later Dalton stood there with a smile painted to his face and a loaded bag in his hand. God damn you Dalton James, you'll pay for this! Walter yelled, his man now one tooth shy and rolling on the ground in pure oral pain.

Never one to pass up a suggestion to make money, Dalton had pulled a pocket knife from his brown coat; using its small set of pliers to jerk the golden tooth from the man's skull. It would only fetch thirty or so more credits, but that was money owed to him by Walter Jones and he wasn't about to leave it laying. Of course the man would have to do without tough meat in his diet for the next few days, but that was of no concern to Dalton.

Well boys, it's been a blast. I guess this is it until next time. Dalton said in his usual wise ass tone, turning to walk away from the deal gone sour.

Dalton, if you ever show your face here again I swear I'll cut that damn smile from your skull, Walter yelled. You tell Adam Michaels I said the same! he added.

That 'aint gonna happen. Dalton replied, his cigar burned down to nothing more than a saliva ridden stub.

Shortly after, Dalton boarded the ship, walking up the steel grating of the ramp as he was greeted by Whiskey. His pooch had been with him for a while now, a loyal friend who even sported his own custom made brown leather coat. It wasn't as thick as the one Dalton wore on his back of course, but the couturier had thrown it in for free. Together they looked almost like twins, the fur on Whiskey's face just a tad thicker of course.

Where's the Capt'n? Dalton asked, petting Whiskey for a moment before standing with the bag of credits, jewelry and that single loose tooth.

Right here. Cambria said, slowly moving down the spiral stairs that led from the cargo hold to the crew's quarters. She was perfect in every sense of the word, her lush curves tightly wrapped in form fitting cargo pants and tight t-shirt that did wonders in showing off her upper body. The upper body that interested men, of course. Her skin had a glow of white satin about it, which only brought more attention to her vibrant blue hair.

She was from the Drifts, a series of smaller planets on the fringes of charted space. Some of the planets lacked modern technology, while others simply shunned it altogether. Everyone from the Drifts had a unique look about them, and hers just happened to be a look of insatiable sex and electric innocence.

Cambria Sims was still fairly new to smuggling, which was the biggest reason she laid down the kind of money she did for Dalton; which amounted to nothing more than drinking money. He had experience, was wise to the way things worked in this type of life and when things went wrong he was plenty capable of taking care of things with his own two hands.

Damn you are a welcome sight for sore eyes. Dalton said, watching such a beautiful woman head into his direction.

Kneeling down to retrieve the bag full of credits while looking up at him with a smile, her pouty lips only inches away from the most vital area of Dalton's body, the part wrapped in a zipper; Cambria smiled slightly.

I still say we should take this to the next level. I could make an honest woman out of you. Dalton said as Cambria slowly stood to her feet, purposely keeping herself only inches from his body so their lips could be nearly touching when finished.

Maybe one day cowboy. For now though, good job on today's catch. she replied softly as though she was ready to kiss him, instead turning to head back to the crew's quarters.

One day you are gonna be courtin' me exclusive. You watch and see baby, I'm gonna break you down. Dalton said, grinning ear to ear as Cambria walked away slowly, her ass moving with only the slightest of bounces; a perfect testament to her capable curves. Rather than answer, she turned slightly and smiled at the experienced smuggler.

Now Whiskey, there goes a real damn woman. I know my away around the bedroom as good as any man, but my gut tells me she'd be able to show me a thing or two, Dalton said under his breath with his trusted pooch by his side. I'd almost give up drinking for fifteen minutes with... Dalton added, interrupted by the shuttle pulling from the planet's surface.

He quickly made his way to the ship's entrance, spinning the wheel which served as a handle, the metal door sliding shut as he bolted it into place with three locks.

Goddamn steam engine, I still hadn't got used to it. Dalton said with ill intent.

Cambria was Captain of the Outer Heaven. It could house only a small crew but was proudly made in the Drifts, needing nothing more than constant steam to operate. It had its advantages and disadvantages of course, but made almost no sound which was ideal for smuggling. It was a deep space capable ship, though it looked more like an airship or elongated balloon. A mixture of solid steel and thickened glass, the Outer Heaven was a marvel of Victorian technology.

Good shootin, Dalton said as he turned to nod his appreciation to Skulls. His God given name wasn't Skulls of course, it was Trevor Lagrange. But he had a very odd hobby. He enjoyed collecting skin, bones, teeth and even the occasional shrunken head. A hobby that quickly led to his nickname. This is for you pal. Dalton said, pulling the still bloody golden tooth from his pocket and flicking it to the strange man.

Skulls was a very tall human, nearly seven feet. He was far from large though, a majority of his frame nothing more than pale white skin and sturdy bones. He wore black leather from his boots to collar, though it was very loose hanging. A black top hat sat firmly on his head as the stringy haired man simply nodded his appreciation.

His Salvation model sniper rifle hung by a nylon strap down the middle of his back. The Salvation rifle was a much older model and being bolt action made it less popular because of the accuracy needed to make a kill. Skulls loved the weapon because he was accurate. Damn accurate. Anytime he pressed his eye to the telescopic lens mounted onto the rifle, death would surely ensue.

Best head up and get your cut. Dalton said, turning to make his way up the spiral stairs. They were narrow, made of all steel and noisy as hell; having taken a verbal lashing by Dalton more than once during the routine hangover.

Cambria stood near the crew's table with Tank as they emptied the contents of Dalton's bag, credits piling high. Tank also answered to his real name, Greg Shelling, but Tank fit more appropriately. The dark skinned man was huge, at least six and a half feet tall with a muscular frame to go along with it. He stood there in a sleeveless white t-shirt, green pants and boots of black leather. His usual attire, day in and day out.

I'm keeping this watch if that's cool? Tank asked.

Be my guest, too much flash for me anyhow. Dalton replied as Tank held up a watch of rock solid silver.

Here's your cut, plus a bonus for job well done. Cambria said, laying a stack of credits out in front of Dalton, accompanied by a wind resistant lighter that had been salvaged from the pocket of Walter Jones himself.

May want to quit giving me gifts like this, people are gonna start talking. Dalton replied, winking at the flirtatious Cambria Sims.

I'll leave Trevor's cut on the table. Cambria said.

'Aight. Me and Whiskey are beat, I'm dragging my sorry ass to my rack. Room for two if you change your mind. Dalton said, looking heavily at Cambria with a smile.

Never know, tonight might be the night. she replied with a smile. Of course in the back of his mind he knew it wasn't going to happen, but flirting with a girl who was so perfectly sculpted with genetics seemed to make the trips through space more manageable.

Whiskey was the first one in, immediately jumping onto the foot of the military style bunk.

Dalton sat down several moments later, handing Whiskey a long string of jerky before leaning over to take his boots off. I'm getting too old for this shit. he said under his breath, unlacing his boots a bit before forcing them off. Leaning over to a night table, Dalton picked up a photo taken with Adam Michaels during their first war on Glimmeria.

Dalton was decked out in an old