Page 85 of Vaquero
Chapter Thirty-Four
Silently, Julio climbed into the Blackhawk and flipped off the single overhead light while Walker made himself useful. Since Julio hadn’t disarmed him, Walker had already handed Julio’s pistol back. He didn’t need it, not since he still carried two SIG pistols, a seven-inch blade sheathed on the holster low on his right thigh, along with a compact Ruger with a laser-scope on that same holster.
The man had transformed from an anxious fugitive from justice, into a skilled and lethal operator. He’d pulled a modified, bolt-action SOCOM MK-13 rifle out of an overhead compartment. With practiced ease, he checked the chamber, popped the tremendous scope cover, and said, “I don’t suppose you kept your lazy ass busy while I was out cold.”
“Had to do something, Sleeping Beauty,” Julio replied evenly, pocketing two more mags for his Beretta. A flare gun in case Trevor finally showed. An Ontario MK 3, six-inch, stainless steel blade, aka Navy SEAL standard issue knife. “Couldn’t take a nap. You snore like a pig.”
Walker ignored the dig as he handed another SOCOM MK-13 rifle to Julio. “Don’t suppose that something included fireworks.”
Without making eye contact, Julio accepted the heavy sniper rifle with a shrug. “I thought our visitors would deserve a warm welcome,” he said as he checked the weapon’s chamber, sighted the scope to make sure its laser was active, then slung its strap over one shoulder. This weapon was similar to the rifle Chris Kyle had used, minus a few modifications. It would do.
Still digging for something far back in the overhead compartment, Walker muttered, “I’ll take the north end of this sandbox. You didn’t set any explosives there, did you?”
“Not yet, but take cover behind the tree. It’s skinny but so are you. It’ll work while I draw the Dolls in. Hope you aren’t squeamish about shooting women.” Julio slapped a full mag into the pistol that would go into his left holster. Later. For now it rested in his right gloved palm.
“Not if they’re shooting at me.” Walker jerked a tightly-packed black backpack out of the compartment. “Or if they’re decked out in suicide vests. Always hated bitches who hide behind kids.”
“Or when they rigged their babies with explosives.” At the angst that reality recalled, Julio turned to face his friend. “Be safe. America needs men like you.”
That earned him a grunt. By then, both men were geared up and ready. Walker slung the backpack over one shoulder and reached out a hand. “Been good working with you, Juarez.”
That sounded a lot like goodbye. Julio took hold of Walker, but instead of shaking his gloved hand, he jerked Walker into a man-hug and slapped his back. “I meant what I said,amigo. America needs you. Don’t let her down, and don’t give up just because of a few assholes. We’ll fight to the death for this plutonium now, then we’ll fight harder to clear your name.”
Walker didn’t reply. Just grunted again as if nothing could save him. The political war he’d been caught up in had worn him down. Julio worried Walker might use this confrontation to do something stupid. Like die. Which made Walker the same as him the day he’d been willing to walk into the Pacific to please his dead wife. It made him stupid, but Julio understood. A man often did stupid things when faced with no reason to live. No way forward. Nothing but fighting a corrupt military system ahead.
Back then Julio had been as low as he’d ever been. He’d honestly believed he had nothing to live for. Somewhere in his mind he’d thought death by drowning would’ve pleased Bianca. She’d finally be happy with him. But in truth, Bianca had never loved him or Tomas as much as she’d loved herself. Julio knew it now that he’d met Meg.
Like sweet Dom, Meg had rescued him, a man who’d seen war and the world and who should not have needed rescuing. A man who should’ve known better. Unlike Bianca, who’d had everything handed to her throughout her life, Meg had less than nothing the day she’d marched into OZ Metallurgy Mining, Inc., to get her kids back. Yet she’d gone despite a serious impairment. She’d risked her life to save theirs, and she’d done the impossible. She’d spat in Orlando Zapata’s ugly face, and she’d saved her children.
Meg Duncan was simply, utterly, the epitome of love. Because love, true, pure love, put others first and kept people alive. It reached out with sacrifice, and it pulled the lost and lonely wanderer away from the mesmerizing edge of self-destruction by serving them, instead of denigrating them. It made excuses for their sins and weaknesses, their failures. It offered hope instead of demanding compliance. Instead of demanding anything. All love wanted was what was best for others. It encouraged, not disparaged. It made little boys smile and grown men beat their chests and growl back at the heartless world, “I’m still here! And I will win! Not you!”
So, Julio didn’t release Walker’s hand when Walker shoved away from the personal contact like most guys. They were both wearing gloves. They were both hardened warriors who would soon take lives in the name of their country. But first and foremost, they were brothers.
“I will not let you die,” Julio said, his grip firm and unyielding. Not willing to let Walker just pass through his life like a ship with no anchor. “Brothers fight for each other, and I promise. I will fight for you.”
Walker finally lifted his chin and stared back. Better yet, he blinked. “I believe you,” he replied, his voice strong and convincingly hard.
For the first time, Julio was peering into ice-blue eyes tinged with the bleak shadow of men who fully believed they were alone in the world. Who’d seen too much, done too much, and yet who still had a war to fight. To win. But Julio also saw the lie lurking there. Walker wasn’t fooling him.
“I cannot save you if you won’t accept my help,amigo.”
Walker gave him his chin and broke contact. “I don’t need saving, Juarez. Let’s get this done, then you can psycho-analyze me all you fuckin’ want on our way back to the carrier, or wherever the hell we’re going.” Reaching back into that overhead, he pulled out a couple NVGs. Night vision goggles. “Here. You’ll need one of these.”
But they were too late. A bullet splattered against the bullet-proof window, spider-webbing the clear shield. Walker jerked the opposite door open and was gone without another word. Julio secured the night vision goggles on his forehead, then unsnapped Hazelton’s harness and let her drop to the floor. The dose of Special K in those hypos had obviously been intended to subdue a heavier man instead of a conniving, willowy woman. She’d be safer on the floor.
Sliding the door facing the direction of the gunshot open, Julio dropped to one knee, and activated the NVGs. Even the smallest hint of warm bodies now turned lime-green. The surf was dotted with blobs of lime-green, a dozen or so creeping on their hands and knees toward the Blackhawk like sneaky ninjas. All were armed with rifles or spear guns on their backs. All were also in black diving suits, their diving masks on top of their heads, and crouched low, as if they thought they were invisible.
Not anymore.
Tucking the sniper rifle into his shoulder, Julio laid down a burst of suppressive fire between him and the beach to cover Walker’s retreat. The night was dark, but the three closest ninjas went down. The rest were now lime-green tinted zombies, still crawling forward but on their bellies now. Ducked behind the helo’s open side door for cover, he watched for the length of a heartbeat as answering gunfire peppered the helo. Luckily, Blackhawks were armor-plated, bottom and sides. Doors too.
“Put your weapons down!” Julio yelled once the thunderous assault ended.
A harsh but definitely feminine voice came back to him. “Do you think we’re stupid?”
Well, yeah. That had crossed his mind. Had to be the Dolls. Definite Russian accent. Definite alpha-bitch attitude.
Again, he twisted his upper torso into view and peppered the sand and surf, fully aware that the door at his rear was still open and unguarded. But trusting Walker to have his back. That was what brothers did.
