Tommy leapt up from the ground only to have a solid and powerful knee meet his nose from Ulysses Morse, who'd sailed 20 feet from where he too had fallen. Within a heartbeat, Morse was on him. His powerful legs wrapped around Tommy's torso, and his fists abused Tommy's face with brutal lefts and rights. Morse was strong, not as strong as Tommy, but strong enough to cause great pain with each blow. And such blows added up.

Reaching up and grabbing an ear, Tommy pulled the old man's head closer and dug his teeth into Ulysses' nose. The old man howled in delight, and as Tommy bit down he managed to spin and launch both he and Morse into the air.

Somehow, the agile old man managed to shake loose and, in an instant, dropped the 80 or so feet to the ground. Miraculously, the scoundrel immediately rebounded and, still hooting and screaming in glee, shot back into the air and drove his shoulder into Tommy's stomach, wrapping the younger-looking man in a bear hug and beginning to gouge and tear at his eyes and ears.

This airborne wrestling went on for many minutes, with Morse occasionally throwing a vicious kick to the groin or punch to the kidneys. Neither man managed to give the other any significant injuries, but Ulysses knew that even Gifted fighters had weak spots—these were invariably the same as the average fighter—and soon snaked his way around to Tommy's back. He attempted to put the younger-looking man in a chokehold.

Tommy had had enough.

He twisted midair until he was heavenward and drove toward the ground with all the speed he could generate. Morse let out a huge howl when they hit the ground with Tommy on top of him, and a string of expletives exploded from the mercenary's mouth. This time, Tommy grabbed the old felon from the top, straddled him, and began pounding him with all his might, with a flurry of lefts and rights to the face and head.

After several minutes of this barrage, Morse laughed, spat blood in his face, and somehow managed to get both feet free and push Tommy away with a titanic thrust. Before Tommy knew it, he'd been hurled several hundred feet in the air, once again the target of the base anti-aircraft guns.

He was incredulous. The old man was made of leather and rubber and seemed to enjoy getting pounded by Tommy as much as Tommy enjoyed dishing it out.

Tommy dropped beneath the anti-aircraft fire and, hovering at about 90 feet, scanned the area for Morse or any of his comrades. Below, he could see an armored body in the area where he'd last seen Seven and Four. From the size, it appeared to be the lifeless remains of Four. There was no sign of Morse, nor of Six or Seven, but a heavily breathing figure Tommy presumed to be Sam was crouched out of sight in a cinderblock building about 50 yards away.

He continued to scan and to watch as he too caught his breath. By some miracle, his jeans had remained on his body, and, out of the blue, the ping of an incoming text-message sounded. Without thinking, Tommy pulled out the phone. It was Rhonda. "Who the hell is Mindy?" was all it read. He tucked his phone away.

Oh, shit ....

Ulysses couldn't fly, but his leaping ability was prodigious. From behind him, Tommy sensed a rapidly advancing presence and, turning about, saw Ulysses hurtling toward him, his arms and legs pumping, his mouth set in an ecstatic rictus, and his eyes burning with some unspeakable fire. The crazy man must have leapt from several hundred yards away.

Tommy had no time to ponder but caught the flying and laughing madman, spun him in one quick turn, and fired him into the ground. Shooting down, Tommy slammed feet-first into the now supine mercenary. His heavily armored opponent merely let out a huge, "Oof." And before Tommy could press his attack, a powerful arm swept his feet from under him, and the cackling old man was on top of him again, gouging, biting, kicking, and punching.

The two wrestled on the ground in that way for some time, first one and then the other taking the higher ground. Time and again Morse went for the eyes, the ears, the groin, and the neck. Suddenly Morse twisted, managed to get himself underneath Tommy with his feet on the ground, and before the younger-looking man realized what was happening, Morse launched them both high into the air.

They were soon taking anti-aircraft fire, and Morse, as nimble as a goat, twisted Tommy about so he faced south. Something huge and fast shot past them, glancing off Tommy's previously injured shoulder. The speed of the projectile was incredible, and Tommy's right arm went numb.

He kicked away from his grinning opponent and shot beneath 100 feet. From the corner of his eye, he saw Morse hit the ground, bounce and then duck and dodge between buildings in a series of runs and jumps that made him look like nothing so much as an enormous black flea.

Whatever had struck Tommy had come from the same direction as the earlier projectile. With Ulysses still in view, Tommy popped up and cast a quick glance in that direction. He saw what looked like a long, thick beam that was fitted on the near end with large electrical cables. The weapon pivoted quickly in his direction. Fascinated, Tommy waited too long before ducking back below. The weapon discharged with little noise, but its projectile came with such speed that he scarcely avoided it.

What the fuck?

He had no idea what the weapon was, but cursed himself for his carelessness and for losing track of Morse in his excitement. Casting about for his opponent and rubbing his numb and throbbing shoulder, he realized Ulysses had coordinated his attack with the gunners of the bizarre weapon. But he abandoned the notion of going to destroy the device as quickly as he had formulated it. Morse was the priority. Sam and the abductees were still on the ground, and though the fight had moved away from the medical center, it would not be out of character for Morse to return there to take hostages.

However, the strange weapon kept Tommy below 100 feet, well within the range from which Morse could stage another lightning attack to drive Tommy again into the weapon's range. Ulysses' speed and agility were phenomenal, even by the standards of people like them. Tommy began circling toward the medical center, hoping he might draw out the old rogue from wherever he lay in ambush.

Oddly, his plan worked.

When Tommy was about 200 yards from the medical center, something large and black shot up from the ground to his right and rear. Morse was going for his injured side, hoping to blindside him in doing so. For any other target, that strategy would have been sound, but in that short span of time Tommy's injured shoulder had begun to heal.

Spinning, Tommy caught Morse's attack and hurled the old fiend in the same direction the grey-haired maniac was already travelling. The old man sailed high into the air. The anti-aircraft guns were automated and highly accurate, but Tommy doubted the mystery weapon could easily hit a moving target, so he followed Morse into the sky.

Once parallel with the evil old man, Tommy had a moment of inspiration and grabbed the still howling scoundrel and spun him again. Both men were at nearly a thousand feet, and Tommy hurled Ulysses as hard as he could directly at the mystery weapon, before shooting to the ground and flying at grass-top level as fast as he was able toward the odd-looking gun.

Ulysses was just coming to his feet when Tommy snatched up the strange-looking weapon and, using it as an awkward ball bat, struck Morse as hard as he was able, sending the old mercenary skipping, skimming, and skittering across the ground several hundred yards into the desert.

Tossing the now broken weapon aside and ignoring its crew, Tommy hurled himself at Ulysses with all his speed, catching him in the midsection and flinging him even farther across the waste.

The old man's laughter had stopped by that point. Tommy again hurled himself into Morse, this time seizing him and carrying him yet again skyward. To his surprise, the old man was winded and wheezing but still had the same piss and vinegar. He began cussing and howling at Tommy while attempting to snake his way around the younger-looking man's grip and seize him in a headlock or throw another thumb into his eye.

Tommy marveled.

The old man hardly had said a word since the fight began that wasn't a curse or a vulgarity, yet the mercenary clearly loved a good fight. Finding his wind, the old bastard again howled and yelped in glee. For his part, Tommy enjoyed the sensation of venting his pent-up anger at the man, but simply didn't know how he was going to kill the old goat.

He abandoned his first notion, which was to throw the old man down onto the stone and asphalt roads of The Farm. Instead, he gripped the old rascal hard around the body and flew at all speed straight into the ground in the center of the Farm. At the last minute, Tommy released his grip on the mercenary and drove, feet first, into him at the moment of impact.

The reaction was just another "Oof "from Morse.

But the older-looking man sprung to his feet a tad more slowly after this assault. The two threw themselves at one another and again engaged in the basest form of biting, scratching, kicking, and gouging as they brutally wrestled on the ground. Tommy even tried to smother the old devil several times, but was never able to hold a grip long enough.

Time and again the venting and fuming Tommy was able to stave off Morse's chokes and headlocks. Time and again Tommy was unable to pin the wily old fighter to the ground or to otherwise get him in his grip.

The old man was incredibly quick and virtually unbreakable, but over the many minutes they tussled Tommy felt the older-looking man slow ever so slightly. Ulysses didn't have Tommy's unearthly healing ability, and his strength was beginning to flag, though almost imperceptibly.

It was then that Tommy had another inspiration.

Tatia Krivov. He finally had learned the name of his powerful Russian adversary from the old monster Aaronov. At least the man had done that miniscule goodness in life. Tommy remembered the hold in which she'd had him, the complex clench that likely would've ended his life had he not miraculously slipped away. With Morse tiring, Tommy would use the same hold to put an end to the old reprobate. He knew he'd only have one chance. Morse was too good of a fighter to give him a second.

Out of the blue, Tommy thrust up a knee and tossed Morse a dozen feet into the air. The grey-haired man laughed at what appeared a feeble attempt to throw him off, but Tommy shot up and grabbed the mercenary by the right ankle. Before Morse could do anything, Tommy began pounding him like a rag doll against the asphalt road. Such abuse wouldn't kill Morse, but Tommy hoped it would slow him further and disorient him, even if just slightly.

It worked.

Morse's attempts to kick away from Tommy's grasp grew weak and ineffectual, and after about 30 minutes of such savage pummeling, Tommy tossed his opponent in the air, grabbed him in the Russian's chokehold from the rear, and wrapped his legs around Morse, digging his heels into the mercenary's groin. The two men fell to the ground.

With all his might, Tommy pulled back and lifted his hips. The modern armor Morse wore was vastly more flexible than the clunky armor of the Soviets. This worked to Tommy's advantage. Morse's armor flexed and proved no impediment to the hold Tommy had on his adversary. Tommy continued to strain with all his might. In turn, Morse coiled and twisted, he threw elbow after elbow into Tommy's torso and ribs, and he pulled with all his might against his younger-looking adversary.

All to no effect. Tommy simply was too strong, his hold too firm, and his opponent too weakened by the constant battle.

With a mighty hoot, Ulysses Morse bellowed a powerful, "That's the spirit, son!" before twisting and gurgling. Nearly two minutes later, Morse's spine snapped, his muscles went slack, and Tommy reached up and twisted the old scoundrel's neck until it broke.