Page 53 of Vaquero
Chapter Twenty-One
Julio pulled Meg up into the highest branches with him, and into their sniper hide. Which was nice, since climbing trees was officially off her list of talents. With every step up, it took longer to balance. Several times, her left foot slipped because she couldn’t tell if it was, in fact, where she meant it to be. Her leg was numb from the knee down. She’d overworked it.
But the way up was hard on Julio, too. He never complained but she could read the signs. By the time they were high enough up in the tree, he was drenched in sweat. His black shirt had to be holding in heat. He’d undone several buttons, but she wished he’d strip it off to cool himself.
Water was in short supply. Yet he’d been smart enough to accept her extra bottle when she gave it to him. If anything, she was one big fat liability, and she knew it. But she could still shoot, and she still had her weapon. Thank God, Pepe was safe. That and finding Julio, buoyed her flagging spirits. She couldn’t wait to tell Marta and Craig, the kids, Fernando and Joseph about Pepe and Julio.
Once she straddled the thick branch overlooking the gravel pit, she hurriedly opened both gear bags and spread out the remaining ammo and magazines she’d hauled up top with her, laying them out on the wide surface of the branch. She needed everything within reach for easy access.
Julio handed the half-empty bottle back.
“Keep it. I’ve still got some left in mine.”
“Muchas gracias,” he murmured.
She hated that she couldn’t help him more, and that she was the reason for his depleted condition. But despite his injuries, Julio was still busy pulling the heavier crates of launchers and rockets up into the tree. Firing a couple rockets in the right direction could end this war before it started. That’d be nice.
But it could also get Meg and her buddies killed. Once a rocket launched, it waved the same red flag as a bullet when fired. Both led straight back to the point of origination, and the person who'd fired them instantly became a target. These trees weren’t made of stone, and this was no castle. There was no moat full of alligators to keep bad guys away. It would only take one shot to give their location away and hellfire would rain down on them.
But this foolhardy plan was never about living forever, only about buying time so Charlie and Hazelton could safely disarm those nukes. Charlie always bragged he was living on borrowed time. He had to know fireworks were about to go off over his head, maybe through it. That was the luck of a covert operator.
Her gaze automatically zeroed on Julio. She’d wrapped his injured thigh and bicep as much as she could, given their dire, less-than-sanitary circumstance. Both still needed a thorough cleansing, stitches for sure. Yet he acted like he felt no pain. As if he were numb. Maybe he was.
It amazed her to know that he lived with this level of stress in his job. Like a man with a death wish, he’d intentionally put himself in harm’s way. She’d seen him do it. He’d walked straight into that confrontation with Oz’s soldiers, didn’t even hesitate. Not once. He’d spat in Death’s red-as-sin, bloodshot eye, and he did stuff like this for his country and humanity. For her and her kids. For people he didn’t even know. But why?
What made men like him who they were? For that matter, how had he become a man of honor, valiant and self-sacrificing, in this infatuated, entitled, bombastic, selfie-world where others whined that their cushy life in Mommy’s basement wasn’t fair? That someone else should pay the college debt they’d signed up for. That hospitals and colleges, healthcare and education, should be free, free, free for everyone. That working for a living and making something of yourself was soooooo hard.
Well, duh. Big babies.
She’d worked with men like Julio all of her career, and they never ceased to amaze her. There were still patriots and heroes in the world. One only had to stand up, grow a pair, and be counted with them.
At last, he balanced the crates he’d just pulled up, between two broad, sturdy branches at his left. Deftly, he reached into one crate and withdrew six launchers. Six warheads came next.
“These are for you,” he said, quietly handing them over. “Load the launchers now. You won’t have time to reload after you fire your first shot. Make every strike count. Discard the expended launchers quickly. Don’t fall out of the tree.”
“Got it,” she assured him.
Hotrod had set up his sniper hide in the neighboring tree. Despite the heavy growth of large, leathery leaves, Meg had only to look to her right to see that he’d also spread an extensive arsenal on the broad branch he straddled. Another crate of launchers and one of warheads rested at his back.
It was nearly time to strike. Hotrod had just touched base with Charlie. Hazelton had deactivated one of the missiles. Two to go. Meg hoped for a miracle.
The plan was simple: surprise whichever dirtbag showed first. Fire three rockets at the same time into the advancing soldiers. Create chaos. Aim to kill. Destroy all armored vehicles. End enough enemy combatants to slow the flow. Give Hazelton as much time as possible to disarm the ICBMs. Then drop to the ground and run like hell to the stand of trees nearer the trail that led into the pit. While Charlie and Hazelton had been working steadfastly below, Julio and Hotrod had stored more LAWs, weapons, and ammo in those trees. That was where they’d make their last stand.
Meg had no illusions. Men would die here today. Maybe women, too. This was their Alamo, their last stand. If they did nothing more than save the United States from an unprovoked nuclear attack, so be it. At least her kids were safe. Hopefully, American kids would be just as safe by the time this was over.
She shook her head, fighting off the dread that scuttled up her spine like a swarm of spiders every time she let herself think too long or too hard. She was a liability. Her fingers felt stiff as she fastened the strap that held her to the tree, then loaded the launchers into the bag at her feet where she could easily reach it. She had no business thinking she was Wonder Woman.
“Anything can happen,” Julio murmured, his forehead glistening with sweat, his dark eyes bright and wise.
She nodded, but she also knew statistics. The odds of them surviving this confrontation were damned near nil. Whoever this usurper of Oz’s mighty kingdom was, he had a large army and a lot of nerve. Plus, he now had something to fight for. Acquiring those ICBMs was enough reason to start a war. If he returned with tanks and cannons, they were done for.
Three against an army of hundreds was, at best, a foolish plan to even pray for. Make that, two men and half a woman. Yet there they were, Julio, her, and Hotrod, prepared to do the impossible. Meg prayed with every breath she had for strength to endure, to not fall out of this tree. That her aim would be true. That the tingling sensation in her fingertips would go away.
Uncapping her bottle of water, she took a quick sip, then tucked it back into her empty bag. Despite the oppressive humidity caught between these closely intertwined branches and the tree’s thick leaves, her mouth was bone dry.
She licked her lips. “I know, Julio, but just in case something hap—”
His index finger came up to his lips and his head canted, demanding silence. “Don’t jinx us before we start. I’ve been in worse situations. Trust me, Meg, and have faith in yourself.”
