Predator If It Bleeds 21

Like the rest of them, Motes wore his pants tucked into his boots, a white undershirt, and suspenders. He held a hatchet in his right hand and a skinning knife in his left. Pope couldn't see his face, but the soldier's head was held high.

His opponent raised its shoulders and flared its mandibles. It wore twin metal claws on each hand. Pope waited for a signal to start, but there was none. The Yautja just charged. Motes stepped his left foot back and waited. His opponent swung both of its arms, but Motes dove under them, bringing his hatchet around and cutting a slice from the Yautja's thigh.

His opponent tumbled. Motes controlled his roll, then rose elegantly to his feet.
Pope felt a surge of elation as his hope for their survival went from nothing to something.
The Yautja got to its feet and spun. Instead of charging this time, it stalked Motes, but the Buffalo Soldier stood his ground. When the Yautja swung at him this time, he backed away, let his opponent miss, then lunged with his knife. The Yautja kicked out with one of its legs, knocking the knife away.

Motes paused to stare at the weapon as it flew through the air and it was his downfall. The Yautja brought its other hand around and swiped away Motes' windpipe. Blood spurted wildly as Motes fell to his knees. The warrior brought a metal-clawed hand down on top of the skull, embedding the claws in the bone. Then it raked its other hand once more against the neck, separating the head from the body. The victorious Yautja turned to its fellow warriors and let out an unearthly shriek as it held its bloody trophy high.

Pope's elation almost died with Motes, but he knew that they had a chance. It was just that Motes had made a deadly mistake.-pg.119-120 chpt.4