Page 45 of The Bait

“And?”

“And I wish I could say I did.”

Harry nodded, unsure of what to say. There really wasn’t anything hecouldsay. This was the mental tug of war they played. The separation of guilt, the detachment from humanity to get the job done. “We do what we have to do,” Harry said eventually.

Asher nodded and moved back from the rifle. “What you have to do is set up the 36s and go get into position. We should be expecting company at any time now.”

“I could stay here with you,” he tried. “I don’t like the idea of being separated from you.”

Asher made a face. “Awww, that’s so sweet.” Then he shoved Harry’s shoulder. “And fucking stupid.”

Harry sighed and snatched up the G36. “Fine.”

NINE

Harry tookone of the G36s along with two mag clips and moved around the left of Asher some hundred metres through the thick of trees and forest.

Two vantage points was the smart thing to do, but Harry was loath to be separated from Asher.

It was foolish, and stupid to think Asher couldn’t handle himself. Especially when he was armed with a MAC 50.

But still... Harry was a different soldier now.

He was a different man.

Like when he was in the special forces, when he was a squadron leader, he knew what made tactical sense, but leaving his unit always felt wrong.

Like leaving Asher felt wrong.

Asher was his unit now. His partner.

His entire fucking world.

Having separate vantage points made tactical sense. They would wait until the ZBK men arrived. Then when the final convoy of three vehicles drove in, Asher would take out the front and rear car, leaving the middle carunable to move. The remaining men would then no doubt run out to see what the hell was going on, and Harry would mow them all down.

That was the general plan. Not that these things ever went strictly to plan. These ZBK guys supposedly had training, which was almost laughable, considering they were making themselves sitting ducks in a heavily wooded location with only one entry and exit that was basically only wide enough for one vehicle.

Idiots.

And they were also drug trafficking wannabe terrorists. But mostly they were idiots.

But they were idiots with information.

The first car arrived, three men getting out. Dressed in long blue cargo style pants, black T-shirts, and the same boots as the three now-dead idiots back home. Harry looked through the scope on his rifle and sure enough, one of them had the ZBK tattoo on his biceps. Another one had it on the inside of his forearm like they were some bad-ass boy scouts.

Christ, they were stupid.

They also appeared unarmed.

Idiots, yes. But Harry knew better than to underestimate them.

Harry had no comms with Asher—they couldn’t risk radios being heard or relying on phones in no-service areas—but he knew Asher saw them.

Then a second vehicle arrived, parking alongside the first car, and another three men got out. Dressed the same, same shaved haircuts, same variation of their boy-scout tattoos.

They went into the main cabin and two to the newer outbuilding. Harry had deduced it was a storage shed ofsorts, and when the two men lifted the roller door, he used his scope to see inside.

There was a vehicle inside. An old white Ford F250 and shelves of crates and boxes. The two men came back out laughing, then proceeded to unload some boxes from the cars and carry them into the shed.

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