Firepower, John Cutter [best summer reads .txt] 📗

had no intel on. It was equipped with Air-to-Surface Missiles. We took cover but you don’t get much shelter from missiles behind a tree. They let loose with four Tomahawks. I had an RPG-7 — a shoulder-fired missile. We were going to use it on their comm center. I used it on the Blackhawk and it went down. I went to find Chris — he was most the way gone when I found him, about twenty-five meters off. He hadn’t taken a direct hit but… he caught splash damage, lost his right hand and…” Vince cleared his throat. Suddenly his voice was getting hoarse. “…and, uh… received serious internal injuries from shrapnel. I got some morphine into him. We had about a minute to talk. I held him in my arms. Chis knew he was going. He didn’t seem scared. He asked me to come here, to this cabin, do something for him… I said I would… Told me how to find it, asked me to tell you what happened, then he…” He swallowed hard. “Then he passed, Rose.”

She hunched over, silently weeping, biting her lower lip, her eyes squeezed shut. Her drink slopped over, some splashing on the floor, the glass still clenched in her trembling hand.

Acting on instinct, Vince put his drink down and went to sit by Rose, his arm around her shoulders. He let her cry.

After a few minutes she sat up and took a long, ragged breath. She pulled a kerchief from her shirt pocket and wiped her eyes, then reached up and squeezed his hand. “Thank you, Vincent. You go on and… drink your drink. I’m okay.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Vince got up, having to clear his throat again, and returned to the sofa. He took a pull on the whiskey and soda. He didn’t usually drink hard liquor but it went down well right then. “I guess you know how I felt about Chris — I told you in the email. But… I wasn’t making a speech, Rose. I meant it. I’ve never served with a better man. He saved my life in Afghanistan. And he was… he was decent. The local people always liked him. When we were in Syria with Delta Force — he practically adopted a whole family. They were running on foot when the Syrian Army was coming in… He got them food and medicine and transportation. Talked a major into it, face to face. Risked his career to do that.”

She nodded. “That was very Chris.”

“Yes. That was Chris all the way.”

“Where you from, Vincent? Chris must’ve told me, but I haven’t slept much lately.”

“Texas, ma’am. Out west of Amarillo.”

“Chris said your dad was a military man too…”

“Two tours in Vietnam. Some… freelance work. Saved up his money and bought a farm. Him and Mama started a flower farm. For florists. That… and goats. They made it all work together.”

“Flowers and goats? When you said Texas, I was expecting a cattle ranch.”

He noticed her looking at the AR-15. “I guess you’re wondering about me toting the semi-auto rifle out here…”

“I’ve seen people in this part of the country use them to hunt.”

He shook his head. “I don’t hunt unless I’ve got no other way to get something to eat. I took it off some knuckleheads in the Talladega. They tried to roust me.”

“You… took it?”

He shrugged. “They were careless. Yeah. They’re fine. I just disarmed them. Guys in paramilitary togs. Looked like militia. You know ’em?”

She snorted. “You had it right — knuckleheads. Dangerous ones. Germanic Brethren, they call themselves.” She took a long pull at her drink. “You know I’ve got... had… two sons, right?”

“Sure. There’s Bobby, Chris’s younger brother. I saw some pictures. How’s he doing?”

Rose looked into the fire and shook her head. “I really don’t know. He’s… It’s funny you running into the Brethren. He got tangled up with those people. Believed a lot of lies they put on the internet and started hanging out with some men from the Wolf Base and… then he heard they were planning some kind of attack. Right here in the USA. He started doubting them. Realized they were lying when they… well, all the claims they made.” Her eyes were still closed. “And he didn’t want any part of it. Said he was going to resign from it. I told him not to go there again, even for that. But he insisted. He has a friend there he wanted to talk to.” She shook her head. “I haven’t heard from him since.”

She pressed her lips together and stood up, went to refill her drink. “I swear I’m not going to cry again. And I’m not.”

He heard the clink and swish of the drink being made, and then she returned to the settee as Vince asked, “How long’s it been since you heard from Bobby?”

“Six weeks. He’s not answering his phone. Doesn’t respond to texts. None of his friends have heard from him.”

“Did you talk to the police?”

“They just shrugged it off. Said he was an adult and probably went off on his own.”

“Could be he went dark because he was afraid of the militia. Didn’t want you to be involved.”

“Not like him to…” She took a drink, shuddered, and went on. “…to not be in touch at all. I’m so scared they’ve… done something to him. I was so shocked when he got involved with them. We didn’t raise our kids to be racists, Vincent. But see — well, you know his dad was a cop, right?”

“Chris told me his dad was a sheriff’s deputy.”

She nodded. “There are a lot of crazy, heavily armed people up in the southern Appalachians. Since the meth started spreading, and the oxy, they’ve gotten crazier, more dangerous. Roy was shot at three times in five years. Then he was hit, badly wounded. But Roy survived and