Page 49 of Vaquero
“Only if he’s still alive to get pissed.”
Bowing her head, Meg closed her eyes and tuned her ears to the sounds from beyond the fading whump of the helo’s rotors. Only bird calls and monkey chatter. Then—
BOOM!
Finally. Hotrod reacted like she wanted. Two compact assault rifles appeared out of nowhere. Holy shit, were those MK18s, the Navy’s latest answer to close-quarter combat? Why yes, they were. She latched onto the lethal baby he’d handed her. Short commando barrel. No optics, just a smooth unblemished track that proved this weapon was meant for up-close and personal work.
She swallowed hard, not believing her good luck.
Hotrod shoved another bag into her. “Standard ammo won’t work with these rifles. You’ll need this.”
She lifted the flap and peered inside. Sweet! Instead of a bag full of 5.56 cartridges, she was looking at boxes of ammo specifically designed for the assault rifle.
“You ready?” Hotrod asked at the door, a tactical vest dangling off his fingertips. He already wore tactical gear.
“You bet,” she replied as she rested her new baby on the helo seat and shrugged into the armor-plated protective gear. Shouldering both bags, she lifted the submachine gun and nodded. “Let’s roll, bucko.”
Hotrod hit the ground running, but tossed over his shoulder, “Please don’t call me that. One handle’s enough, Patton.”
That made her smile.Patton? Me?“Is that my handle?” she asked, already panting and sweating like a dog as she forced herself to keep up with his long-legged pace.
“You’re bossy enough. Move out!”
