Page 36
Story: Bullets and Dandelions
“Rodriquez and Johnson, I want you to get behind him and let me know how many grenades he has,” Stone said.
“Yes, sir.” They moved off.
Stone pulled his Steiner M750rc binoculars from his backpack. “Let get his attention.”
“Permission to terminate?” Please say yes.
General Grandville bellowed, “Absolutely not. The CIA wants him alive. Take out the militant holding the grenade launcher.”
“Yes, sir.” I sighted in on an Arabic male wearing a camouflage uniform.
“26 inches square to the right of the rock,” Sergeant Stone advised.
“Copy.” I adjusted the scope. “Range?”
“1,522 yards dial 9.75 MOA,” Stone replied.
“Copy.” I tweaked the scope. “Wind?”
“Dial in left 2 MOA.”
I put the crosshairs on the militant’s head as he raised the grenades launcher. “Ready to fire.”
Stone’s sat phone beeped. “Shit! They have a crate of grenades.”
“Take him out,” General Masters ordered.
I fired.
As the militant fell backward, the grenade launcher fired. The rocket propelled grenade shot straight up and blew. The concussion knocked Roberts on his butt. Flaming debris rained down on him, setting his hair on fire.
I grinned. “The idiot was using one of those crappy Russian AGS-17 launchers.”
Boom! Boom! Boom! Kaboom!The ground shook beneath our feet as the crate of grenades blew.
Fragmented remnants of the grenades fell from the sky, starting small fires.
“Do you think he’s dead?”
Stone hit a button on his sat phone. A few seconds later, he barked, “Update. Gotcha. We’re coming.” His mouth a hard line, he advised, “Roberts is still alive, and he is high tailing it toward a helicopter. Stay on my six.”
“Yes, sir.” With his longer legs, Stone quickly pulled ahead of me.
Gunfire erupted ahead of us.
Stone dropped to the sand and opened fire.
I crawled up beside him and raised Berta. Bodies littered the sand. Roberts jumped in an old Huey. As the chopper rose into the air, the tail gunner turned the M60 machine gun on Rodriquez and Johnson.
They hit the dirt.
Oh, hell no. I sighted in on the gunner and squeezed the trigger.
The tail gunner tumbled from the Huey and swung wildly from his safety harness.
I targeted the helicopter again, but it was out of range. “Damn.”
“We’ll find him, Tess, you have my word on that,” Stone said somberly.
“Yes, sir.” They moved off.
Stone pulled his Steiner M750rc binoculars from his backpack. “Let get his attention.”
“Permission to terminate?” Please say yes.
General Grandville bellowed, “Absolutely not. The CIA wants him alive. Take out the militant holding the grenade launcher.”
“Yes, sir.” I sighted in on an Arabic male wearing a camouflage uniform.
“26 inches square to the right of the rock,” Sergeant Stone advised.
“Copy.” I adjusted the scope. “Range?”
“1,522 yards dial 9.75 MOA,” Stone replied.
“Copy.” I tweaked the scope. “Wind?”
“Dial in left 2 MOA.”
I put the crosshairs on the militant’s head as he raised the grenades launcher. “Ready to fire.”
Stone’s sat phone beeped. “Shit! They have a crate of grenades.”
“Take him out,” General Masters ordered.
I fired.
As the militant fell backward, the grenade launcher fired. The rocket propelled grenade shot straight up and blew. The concussion knocked Roberts on his butt. Flaming debris rained down on him, setting his hair on fire.
I grinned. “The idiot was using one of those crappy Russian AGS-17 launchers.”
Boom! Boom! Boom! Kaboom!The ground shook beneath our feet as the crate of grenades blew.
Fragmented remnants of the grenades fell from the sky, starting small fires.
“Do you think he’s dead?”
Stone hit a button on his sat phone. A few seconds later, he barked, “Update. Gotcha. We’re coming.” His mouth a hard line, he advised, “Roberts is still alive, and he is high tailing it toward a helicopter. Stay on my six.”
“Yes, sir.” With his longer legs, Stone quickly pulled ahead of me.
Gunfire erupted ahead of us.
Stone dropped to the sand and opened fire.
I crawled up beside him and raised Berta. Bodies littered the sand. Roberts jumped in an old Huey. As the chopper rose into the air, the tail gunner turned the M60 machine gun on Rodriquez and Johnson.
They hit the dirt.
Oh, hell no. I sighted in on the gunner and squeezed the trigger.
The tail gunner tumbled from the Huey and swung wildly from his safety harness.
I targeted the helicopter again, but it was out of range. “Damn.”
“We’ll find him, Tess, you have my word on that,” Stone said somberly.
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