Hannah’s boat was used in the ambush,” the Texan stated. He then turned and began waving in the rest of the team.
As each of the remaining men rose from their hides, Terri was stunned at how close they all were. “How in the hell did you manage to…,” she began, but then dropped the question. “What now?”
“I want to look at that boat,” Bishop replied. “But first, let’s grab some quick chow before we head out.”
Each of the SAINT members took turns at sentry duty while the others gulped down a few bites. Terri welcomed the chance to gather her second wind.
With a nod from the team’s leader, Grim was moving out, soon followed by the rest of guys. It was less than 15 minutes later when the point man radioed that he was looking at the houseboat.
“Seems empty, boss,” Grim reported. “I see zero activity either onboard or in the vicinity.”
“Grim, Butter, form up and give me a 300-meter sweep all around,” Bishop ordered. “Let’s make sure somebody’s not set a mousetrap using a big hunk of tempting boat-cheese. Kevin, find the high ground and give them some cover.”
Bishop then turned to his wife and said, “Read between the lines for me. What was your impression of the two fishermen?”
She had to ponder the question before answering. “They were scared. That’s for sure.”
“Did they steal the fishing equipment?”
“No. Despite the language difference, I’m pretty sure they did not.”
“Movement!” came Kevin’s excited voice over the radio. “I have 8-10 unknowns, armed, bearing 170 degrees from my position. They are headed toward Bishop.”
“Shit!” Bishop barked at his wife. “Move … that way.… Now!”
Terri took a moment to react, quickly scanning the direction her husband was pointing. A second later, they were hustling straight east, away from the shoreline and toward the area where she sensed Grim and Butter had been scouting.
“Give me more, Kevin,” Bishop broadcast as he followed Terri.
“Variety of ages and weapons,” Kevin’s now-calm voice expounded. “One of the two boys who was fishing is with them. Irregular formation. They’re not trying to stalk or hide whatsoever. My call, sir, is that they’re more frightened than aggressive.”
Bishop didn’t respond for a moment, his mind creating a map of everyone’s position and direction of movement. “Grim, prepare to flank them, but do not … repeat … do not engage unless they hit us first.”
“Roger that,” came the ex-contractor’s acknowledgement.
The couple approached a drainage gully that suited Bishop. “This will do,” he motioned Terri to move hastily behind two of the larger rocks scattered throughout the area. “Take cover right there. Get that weapon loaded and charged.”
Bishop watched as his wife went prone behind the two rocks. With a practiced motion, she pulled the M4’s charging handle to chamber a round and then tilted the carbine to make sure the weapon had functioned properly. A flash of pride pulsed through the Texan’s core. She would fight like hell if necessary, and any man would be a fool not to respect her capabilities.
“Okay. Ready. Are we going to have to kill the boy’s uncle?” she asked, glancing up as a shadow of sadness passed behind her eyes.
Bishop frowned, “I sure as hell hope not.” Then with his eyes boring in the direction of the locals, the Texan keyed his mic, “Update, Kevin.”
“They appear to be heading toward the spot where Terri spoke to the boys. No change in posture.”
“Are we sure they’re alone?” Bishop asked.
Kevin’s voice almost sounded like the question was insulting, “I’ve performed two detailed sweeps, sir. No other contacts.”
Bishop took a knee beside his wife, his eyes still scanning in the direction of the threat. “So your two friends ran back to their little town and told everyone that a woman from Texas was down by the lake, asking questions about the ghost boat. Are the pitchforks
As each of the remaining men rose from their hides, Terri was stunned at how close they all were. “How in the hell did you manage to…,” she began, but then dropped the question. “What now?”
“I want to look at that boat,” Bishop replied. “But first, let’s grab some quick chow before we head out.”
Each of the SAINT members took turns at sentry duty while the others gulped down a few bites. Terri welcomed the chance to gather her second wind.
With a nod from the team’s leader, Grim was moving out, soon followed by the rest of guys. It was less than 15 minutes later when the point man radioed that he was looking at the houseboat.
“Seems empty, boss,” Grim reported. “I see zero activity either onboard or in the vicinity.”
“Grim, Butter, form up and give me a 300-meter sweep all around,” Bishop ordered. “Let’s make sure somebody’s not set a mousetrap using a big hunk of tempting boat-cheese. Kevin, find the high ground and give them some cover.”
Bishop then turned to his wife and said, “Read between the lines for me. What was your impression of the two fishermen?”
She had to ponder the question before answering. “They were scared. That’s for sure.”
“Did they steal the fishing equipment?”
“No. Despite the language difference, I’m pretty sure they did not.”
“Movement!” came Kevin’s excited voice over the radio. “I have 8-10 unknowns, armed, bearing 170 degrees from my position. They are headed toward Bishop.”
“Shit!” Bishop barked at his wife. “Move … that way.… Now!”
Terri took a moment to react, quickly scanning the direction her husband was pointing. A second later, they were hustling straight east, away from the shoreline and toward the area where she sensed Grim and Butter had been scouting.
“Give me more, Kevin,” Bishop broadcast as he followed Terri.
“Variety of ages and weapons,” Kevin’s now-calm voice expounded. “One of the two boys who was fishing is with them. Irregular formation. They’re not trying to stalk or hide whatsoever. My call, sir, is that they’re more frightened than aggressive.”
Bishop didn’t respond for a moment, his mind creating a map of everyone’s position and direction of movement. “Grim, prepare to flank them, but do not … repeat … do not engage unless they hit us first.”
“Roger that,” came the ex-contractor’s acknowledgement.
The couple approached a drainage gully that suited Bishop. “This will do,” he motioned Terri to move hastily behind two of the larger rocks scattered throughout the area. “Take cover right there. Get that weapon loaded and charged.”
Bishop watched as his wife went prone behind the two rocks. With a practiced motion, she pulled the M4’s charging handle to chamber a round and then tilted the carbine to make sure the weapon had functioned properly. A flash of pride pulsed through the Texan’s core. She would fight like hell if necessary, and any man would be a fool not to respect her capabilities.
“Okay. Ready. Are we going to have to kill the boy’s uncle?” she asked, glancing up as a shadow of sadness passed behind her eyes.
Bishop frowned, “I sure as hell hope not.” Then with his eyes boring in the direction of the locals, the Texan keyed his mic, “Update, Kevin.”
“They appear to be heading toward the spot where Terri spoke to the boys. No change in posture.”
“Are we sure they’re alone?” Bishop asked.
Kevin’s voice almost sounded like the question was insulting, “I’ve performed two detailed sweeps, sir. No other contacts.”
Bishop took a knee beside his wife, his eyes still scanning in the direction of the threat. “So your two friends ran back to their little town and told everyone that a woman from Texas was down by the lake, asking questions about the ghost boat. Are the pitchforks
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