Chapter 16 A Hill To Die On #3
A few minutes later, I'm gasping and sweating as Nico bellies down on the ridge crest with his rifle.
Silas goes prone beside him and sets up a weird-looking scope-thing, and the two men mutter to each other.
They're speaking English, but it's gibberish to me—windage, drop, this many meters, stuff like that.
Silas glances at me. "Your job is to make sure no one sneaks up on us. Pugli is a crafty, sneaky motherfucker. We know this is a trap, but we don't know what's gonna happen when we spring it. So just be ready for anything and keep your eyes peeled."
"I hate that phrase," I mutter. "How does one peel their eyes? And why does that mean 'keep a sharp lookout?"
Silas frowns, thinking. "Huh. Never thought about that. I dunno, to be honest."
"It matters not," Nico says. "Focus. Brys, just keep watch in all directions. If you see anything amiss whatsoever, speak up immediately. It does not do to underestimate our enemy."
There's a distant report of a gunshot, then.
"Who fired?" Silas demands. "Report in."
"That was from inside the plant," Nico answers. "Assault teams, hold position."
I'm in a position to see shapes moving through the grass—dark figures in waist-high grass. At Nico's command, every figure vanishes, dropping to their bellies a few hundred yards away from the target.
There's another gunshot report, carried with a faint rolling echo over the hills.
"What do you want to bet those shots are the work of Boss, somehow?" Silas mutters to Nico.
"I am not a betting man," Nico answers, "But I suspect you are correct."
“He is exactly that infuriating, so I'm with the two of you," I say.
Silas cuts a glare at me, as if I'd denigrated his mother.
I can only laugh. "You guys are sure protective of someone you've never laid eyes on."
Nico sighs. "You act as if that is the strangest thing you've ever heard."
"It is!" I answer. "You didn't even know his real name until a few days ago, you said. Yet he's responsible for your lives? It's weird!"
Silas frowns at me. "You need to stop making so much sense. It's confusing me."
I snort at that. "Sorry, no can do." I point at the target. "Now focus on your little scope thingy.”
"It's a spotter's scope," Silas says. "It's for—"
"I don't care," I say—well, snap. "Just get to work. Whatever is going on down there is the distraction we need."
"Yes, ma'am," Silas growls. "Not one, not two, but three hard-ass bitches giving us orders."
"Excuse me?" I snap. "Bitches?"
"He means it as a compliment," Nico cuts in.
"Do I, though?" Silas mutters, just loud enough for me to hear.
"If you value your testicles,” I mutter back, “then yes, you do."
The shapes in the grass have continued moving, creeping through the waving stalks from two directions. Nico presses a finger to his ear—listening to the voice in his earpiece, I assume.
"Movement spotted," Silas growls. "Doors are opening."
"Down, down, down," Nico snaps. “Tangos are moving. Hold position."
Again, the shapes in the grass drop. Nicolae's entire body language shifts, tension dropping away from his shoulders as he exhales slowly, nuzzling his eyes to the scope, adjusting his grip on the weapon, and wriggling his body into a better position.
"Two spotted," he mutters. "Dragging a deceased third …yes, I have eyes on Jakob. He is bound to a chair in the middle of the space. Pugli is near him…No, I have a narrow field of vision. The door is only open a few feet." He listens. "I should be able to, yes. Give me a second. Silas, range?"
"Eight hundred and…twenty-three meters," Silas answers, and then gives another number—windage; and another—drop. I don't know what any of that means.
Nico adjusts something on his scope as Silas reads off the data, and then mutters again. "Ready. On your mark." I watch him curl his finger around the trigger.
"Mark."
CRACK!
"One away."
The report jolts me, a sharp boom that rolls across the landscape like thunder; a figure standing just outside the plant jerks backward and topples over.
CRACK! Another report from Nico's rifle.
"Shit. Miss," Silas mutters. "He moved." Then, louder, intense. "He's on the move! Running!"
There's another boom, but this one doesn't sound like a gunshot, although I'm far from an expert.
"Ohhhh…fuck me!” Silas snarls. "He hit a mine! Fuck me, he's in pieces. Jesus."
"All hold!" Nico shouts into his microphone. "The field is mined. Hold, hold, hold! Repeat, the field is mined."
"There's the twist," Silas says to Nico. "You know there was one coming."
"How—" I swallow hard over my tightening throat. “Now what? If the field has mines in it and his own goons don't know where they are, then how are our guys supposed to get closer?"
"Exactly the problem," Silas answers without looking at me.
"We have no idea how many mines there are or where they are.
It's a miracle none of our people stepped on one.
But they have to stay where they are or risk ending up in pieces like that poor bastard.
" He chuckles—it's a dark sound. "I mean fuck, the dude’s legs went one way and his upper half another. "
"Thanks for that vivid description, Silas," I murmur.
"Welcome," he answers.
That's when an overlapping barrage of gunfire erupts from the plant, answered by our guys in the grass.
The only problem is that the bad guys have cover, and ours do not.
And just like that, things have gotten seriously complicated.