Page 90 of Bad Rio

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Austin, Texas

Rio Lang, Ben Paxton, and two other ex-military operatives stacked up at the shoot house door in close quarters combat formation. Each was armed with his weapon of choice. Rio took up last position. Paxton took first.

The building, constructed by Paxton’s security business, was two-story, held many rooms, and was equipped with easily moved targets. There were dummies of women holding babies, and cutouts of military-aged men, each designed to engage small combat units moving through.

Recently, Paxton had added holograms of both enemy fighters and innocent bystanders. The eerie images could be shone on walls and appeared quite real. So that the exercise was never the same, the building could be configured in hundreds of permutations. A man undergoing such training would learn when to dial up the violence and, just as important, when to dial it down. He’d hone his skills on high alert, thinking fast, fine-tuning muzzle control and target discrimination. He would take good kill shots, either to center mass or to the head.

For this kind of work, Rio liked the Navy’s version of a MP5 Heckler & Koch submachine gun. His MP5 fired a 9mm Parabellum round in single shot, three-round bursts on full automatic. And it did that at an impressive eight-hundred rounds per minute. The weapon was small, light, and used by antiterrorist forces throughout the world. Extra magazines sat snug in Rio’s canvas vest, just in case the men found any unpleasant surprises inside. No doubt they would. That was the point.

All four men wore combat fatigues, boots, and helmets. Although this was not battle, and the building stood safely on private American soil, Rio was already perspiring. The team-building exercise felt damn good and the anticipation stirred him. He sought eye contact with the two trainees waiting between Paxton and him. He said, “Remember our goals. Move, shoot, communicate.” They both nodded.

How well he recalled the SEAL credo,the more you sweat in training, the less you bleed in combat.It’s why they trained so much and so hard.

On point, Paxton gave the forward wave hand signal. As a coordinated unit, they moved inside. Paxton peeled off left and the next man went right, then the third took a knee, swept the area. Each covered his firing sector for threats. Close behind, Rio slipped in.

Sometime later when they came out the other side, most of their ammo was gone and not a single innocent had been ‘killed.’ High fives and knuckle bumps were exchanged all around, and Ben Paxton faced Rio.

“Glad you decided to join our firm,” he said. “We’ve really been needing a guy with your talents here at our training facilities.”

“Never figured I’d grow up to be an instructor,” Rio said dryly. “Thought I’d always need the excitement of operating in the field. Been thinking about it a lot. Found out, after all, I’m tired of getting shot at. I’m over it.”

Paxton nodded. “Tough guy snake-eaters like you often stay in the game too long. I think your decision to come on board here is sound.” Paxton met his gaze seriously. Asnake-eaterwas slang for Special Forces operators.

“It suits me,” Rio said, realizing he was finally right where he belonged. “I’m enjoying teaching the lads the skills you and I both came by in our SEAL training and in the field.”

“Feels like you’re giving back, eh?” Paxton looked at him shrewdly.

Rio cocked his head. “Yeah. Like that. Guess I don’t need to get my ass shot off any more. Thought I’d still want the rush of action. But...” He gazed off into the distance, and grew pensive. He rubbed his jaw.

Paxton gave him a discerning glance. “What’s going on with you?”

“Huh?”

“Don’t shit me, Lang. Lately, you’re always staring off into space. What’s going on in your pea brain?”

Rio shrugged. “I dunno. Just thinking I should make a trip back up to Montana. See Big Jim and Sarah.”

Paxton propped his hands on his hips. “For how long? Next month we’ve got a new cadre of recruits coming in. You’re needed here.”

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