Blood & Tacos #1 by Johnny Shaw, Matthew Funk, Gary Phillips, Christopher Blair, Cameron Ashley
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to shrug it off and started circling his finger around the green patch, the target, on the map.
"Once we make it through the draw," Jasper said, "they'll have pickets around the main site."
"And, we can guess," Vaquero said, rocking on his snakeskin boot heels, "a house where they're holding Alexandra and your families."
"Right." Jasper couldn't smile at that. "We just slip in through the pickets, then make contact at the back of the house."
"Easy as that." Vaquero's tone was flat as a folded flag.
"Easy as that." Jasper said.
"I know we're putting our lives in your hands. Like I said, it's how it's always been. We'll see you soon." Professor keyed off the radio and turned to the stares of his men.
"Got the uniforms?" Professor Colonel asked Jasper, sending him rummaging in his Confederate-colored rucksack.
"How'd you get those anyway, Jasper?" Vaquero slipped off his jacket.
"I'm a person who knows people." Jasper snapped on a grin. "Besides, since the war, this stuff's just been collecting mold down inMississippi. Easiest thing in the world to pinch a few for the price of a case of beer."
"Let's suit up and hit it," Professor said.
Jasper was first to put his fist out. His voice had a heavy sobriety to it for once. It didn't weigh down his smile. "Intensity Level Bravo."
Professor nodded and held his knuckles to Jasper's. "All the way."
The others joined, completing the circle of fists. "All the way."
As countless times before, they broke ranks, suited up and marched into the woods as though they belonged to them.
Captain Teague turned from watching General Parkinson burn the ledgers in the trashcan. He stared at the mellow spill of Ozark forest out the bay window of his three-story lodge. Past the reflection of his glower, one eye slashed by a long-scar fromHanoishrapnel, the sight of mist-ringed trees rolling down the mountain soothed the disgust rising in him.
These dense and gauzy forests were a familiar sight. Teague chose this place as his hideaway after the war because of that familiarity. Their resemblance to the Central Highlands ofVietnammade living inAmericafeel less like being on an alien planet.
"Rotten cocksuckers," General Parkinson said, inspiring a nervous glance from the three MPs clutching M-16s by the study's doorways. "Can't even clean up a simple mess."
The sight of burning records brought a different familiar feeling to Teague. He kept it to himself. Telling Parkinson of how he'd watched Dial Soapers—rear echelon officers—burn records of the Tiger Teams at 5 th Special Forces Command beforeSaigon fell would be wasted on the general.
"I told you they'd be a hard target," Teague said, still standing sentinel at the window.
"Your team was supposed to be harder still," Parkinson snarled at him, dumping more files stuffed with Cartel payments and cocaine distributors' names into the trashcan blaze. "Fight fire with fire, right? You were supposed to beAmerica's best."
"We are," Teague said. His shoulders couldn't get any straighter. "But so are Tiger Team Bravo."
Parkinson scraped ash from his hands onto his dress greens. Gave Teague his worst Fort Bragg scowl. "I'd hoped the millions of dollars your Tiger Team Delta is tasked to protect were incentive enough to prevail."
"Millions in drug money."
"Don't play the innocent." Parkinson wadded his swollen features into red contempt. "Whether it was heroin from the Golden Triangle inLaosor coke fromColombia, black ops cash has to come from somewhere. Nothing changes."
"No," Teague said, turning from the window. "Nothing does."
Teague's radio buzzed. He answered it.
He listened, Parkinson staring fixedly at him. "That was Tomahawk," he told Parkinson. "They caught Tiger Team Bravo just outside the rear perimeter, trying to slip through disguised as Guardsmen. He's bringing them in"
"That's more like it." Parkinson shoved the grill of medals on his chest out to match his grin. "We'll get them to tell us where the Cartel records
"Once we make it through the draw," Jasper said, "they'll have pickets around the main site."
"And, we can guess," Vaquero said, rocking on his snakeskin boot heels, "a house where they're holding Alexandra and your families."
"Right." Jasper couldn't smile at that. "We just slip in through the pickets, then make contact at the back of the house."
"Easy as that." Vaquero's tone was flat as a folded flag.
"Easy as that." Jasper said.
"I know we're putting our lives in your hands. Like I said, it's how it's always been. We'll see you soon." Professor keyed off the radio and turned to the stares of his men.
"Got the uniforms?" Professor Colonel asked Jasper, sending him rummaging in his Confederate-colored rucksack.
"How'd you get those anyway, Jasper?" Vaquero slipped off his jacket.
"I'm a person who knows people." Jasper snapped on a grin. "Besides, since the war, this stuff's just been collecting mold down inMississippi. Easiest thing in the world to pinch a few for the price of a case of beer."
"Let's suit up and hit it," Professor said.
Jasper was first to put his fist out. His voice had a heavy sobriety to it for once. It didn't weigh down his smile. "Intensity Level Bravo."
Professor nodded and held his knuckles to Jasper's. "All the way."
The others joined, completing the circle of fists. "All the way."
As countless times before, they broke ranks, suited up and marched into the woods as though they belonged to them.
Captain Teague turned from watching General Parkinson burn the ledgers in the trashcan. He stared at the mellow spill of Ozark forest out the bay window of his three-story lodge. Past the reflection of his glower, one eye slashed by a long-scar fromHanoishrapnel, the sight of mist-ringed trees rolling down the mountain soothed the disgust rising in him.
These dense and gauzy forests were a familiar sight. Teague chose this place as his hideaway after the war because of that familiarity. Their resemblance to the Central Highlands ofVietnammade living inAmericafeel less like being on an alien planet.
"Rotten cocksuckers," General Parkinson said, inspiring a nervous glance from the three MPs clutching M-16s by the study's doorways. "Can't even clean up a simple mess."
The sight of burning records brought a different familiar feeling to Teague. He kept it to himself. Telling Parkinson of how he'd watched Dial Soapers—rear echelon officers—burn records of the Tiger Teams at 5 th Special Forces Command beforeSaigon fell would be wasted on the general.
"I told you they'd be a hard target," Teague said, still standing sentinel at the window.
"Your team was supposed to be harder still," Parkinson snarled at him, dumping more files stuffed with Cartel payments and cocaine distributors' names into the trashcan blaze. "Fight fire with fire, right? You were supposed to beAmerica's best."
"We are," Teague said. His shoulders couldn't get any straighter. "But so are Tiger Team Bravo."
Parkinson scraped ash from his hands onto his dress greens. Gave Teague his worst Fort Bragg scowl. "I'd hoped the millions of dollars your Tiger Team Delta is tasked to protect were incentive enough to prevail."
"Millions in drug money."
"Don't play the innocent." Parkinson wadded his swollen features into red contempt. "Whether it was heroin from the Golden Triangle inLaosor coke fromColombia, black ops cash has to come from somewhere. Nothing changes."
"No," Teague said, turning from the window. "Nothing does."
Teague's radio buzzed. He answered it.
He listened, Parkinson staring fixedly at him. "That was Tomahawk," he told Parkinson. "They caught Tiger Team Bravo just outside the rear perimeter, trying to slip through disguised as Guardsmen. He's bringing them in"
"That's more like it." Parkinson shoved the grill of medals on his chest out to match his grin. "We'll get them to tell us where the Cartel records
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