(no subject)
The game path might have been the only option, but it was proving to be a bad one. Cliffs bordered the trail on either side, penning them in. Preacher was still on point, with Patterson and Adams following. The Rangers had proved themselves more than competent so far, though Voodoo supposed that was a given.
After a few minutes, Preacher held up a hand. Voodoo crept closer, his pistol up.
“Whatcha got, Preacher?”
Preacher didn’t respond, instead walking over to a half-buried black object. He picked it up and dusted it off.
“It’s a plate,” Preacher said.
“Let me see.” Preacher handed it over, and Voodoo turned it over in his hands. Bullet holes pocked the plate’s surface, making it read STRI CE DLE WITH CARE.
“It’s Rabbit’s,” Voodoo said, feeling the bullet holes. “Mother’s a medium.”
“Shit,” Patterson muttered.
“No, this is good. AQ would’ve kept it as a souvenir. They tossed ‘em. They’re alive.”
“And close,” Preacher added, taking a knee and feeling the edges of a series of bootprints. “These tracks are fresh. Three hours old, max. From a Team boot, too. One of them was limping. The other was real close to him, maybe helping him stay upright.”
“Shit,” Voodoo said. “Can you tell who was who?”
“They’re not that fresh. Edges’ve melted some, but the limper looks like a size twelve. Helper’s a nine.”
“Rabbit’s fucked up, then. Any blood?”
“No. Doesn’t rule out internal injuries. Rules in leg fractures.”
“Let’s hope not. A fracture’d fuck ‘em over real quick here. Where were they headed?”
Preacher stood up. “Northeast,” he said, pointing. “Through the ravine. Might be headed for the canyon.”
“We took some fire from there when the helos were winding their way around the mountain,” Patterson said.
“No shit,” Voodoo said. “How heavy?”
“Sounded like a squad plus change with a Dishka.”
“Christ. Okay, let’s go. Wedge up, but keep it loose.”
Preacher blinked. “Our vests won’t stop a Dishka round.”
“Mother and Rabbit are over there, Preacher. There’s only one path through, so far as I can see, and that’s the one we’re on.” He thumbed the pistol’s magazine release, then, satisfied it was full, reloaded it.
“So if you’ve got an idea on how to bypass that machine gun with hundred-foot cliffs on either side of us and no climbing gear, I’d love to hear it.”
Preacher pursed his lips, then readied his carbine. “Ready.”
“Okay. I got point. Specialist, bring up the rear. Let’s move.”
After a few minutes, Preacher held up a hand. Voodoo crept closer, his pistol up.
“Whatcha got, Preacher?”
Preacher didn’t respond, instead walking over to a half-buried black object. He picked it up and dusted it off.
“It’s a plate,” Preacher said.
“Let me see.” Preacher handed it over, and Voodoo turned it over in his hands. Bullet holes pocked the plate’s surface, making it read STRI CE DLE WITH CARE.
“It’s Rabbit’s,” Voodoo said, feeling the bullet holes. “Mother’s a medium.”
“Shit,” Patterson muttered.
“No, this is good. AQ would’ve kept it as a souvenir. They tossed ‘em. They’re alive.”
“And close,” Preacher added, taking a knee and feeling the edges of a series of bootprints. “These tracks are fresh. Three hours old, max. From a Team boot, too. One of them was limping. The other was real close to him, maybe helping him stay upright.”
“Shit,” Voodoo said. “Can you tell who was who?”
“They’re not that fresh. Edges’ve melted some, but the limper looks like a size twelve. Helper’s a nine.”
“Rabbit’s fucked up, then. Any blood?”
“No. Doesn’t rule out internal injuries. Rules in leg fractures.”
“Let’s hope not. A fracture’d fuck ‘em over real quick here. Where were they headed?”
Preacher stood up. “Northeast,” he said, pointing. “Through the ravine. Might be headed for the canyon.”
“We took some fire from there when the helos were winding their way around the mountain,” Patterson said.
“No shit,” Voodoo said. “How heavy?”
“Sounded like a squad plus change with a Dishka.”
“Christ. Okay, let’s go. Wedge up, but keep it loose.”
Preacher blinked. “Our vests won’t stop a Dishka round.”
“Mother and Rabbit are over there, Preacher. There’s only one path through, so far as I can see, and that’s the one we’re on.” He thumbed the pistol’s magazine release, then, satisfied it was full, reloaded it.
“So if you’ve got an idea on how to bypass that machine gun with hundred-foot cliffs on either side of us and no climbing gear, I’d love to hear it.”
Preacher pursed his lips, then readied his carbine. “Ready.”
“Okay. I got point. Specialist, bring up the rear. Let’s move.”