Copperheads

by Joe Nobody

  “What the hell is he trying to do to us?” Grim complained, wiping a sleeve’s worth of perspiration from his forehead. “If he wants us dead, why not just sink a bullet in our heads and get it over with? I think that sadistic bastard is enjoying our slow, agonizing demise.”

  Kevin didn’t respond at first, still riding a wave of joy over the doctor’s approving his return to the team. He knew exactly what Bishop was doing and didn’t blame the SAINT leader. “He’s just making sure we’re ready to go back to work, Grim. That’s all.”

  “Grim? Did you faint?” Bishop’s voice taunted over the airwaves. “Hello? Overlord? Did you two decide to take your toys and go home? Or do I need to call in a medevac copter?”

  “We’re scouting the new route,” Grim hissed into the radio. “Trying to estimate the impact to our timeline, over.”

  “You’ve got 20 minutes,” Bishop’s command-like voice boomed through the speaker.

  Grim’s eyes grew large at the deadline, his gaze returning across the treacherous terrain before settling on Kevin. “Are you shitting me? I couldn’t cross that deathtrap in 20 minutes before my leg got shot to hell. He is trying to kill us!”

  “We better get moving,” Kevin urged, rising from their hide and hefting his sniper rifle and pack.

  “I think we need to inform that crazy son bitch that he’s suffering from heat exhaustion and that we need at least an hour!”

  Kevin pivoted and shrugged, “Up to you. But… do you really want him telling my dad that we’re not able to return to duty?”

  The grizzled, old veteran had to think about that. Finally shaking his head in disgust, he keyed the mic, “Roger that, lead. We’ll be ready.”

  Traversing the rocky, downhill terrain with over 50 pounds of gear stressed their muscles unlike any gym workout or weight routine. Grim felt like his knees were rusty joints, screeching the protest of pain with every step. His calves cramped up, his lungs burned from the high altitude and lack of oxygen. Still, they kept moving, climbing, scrambling, and pressing the limits. While he would never admit it, deep down inside he knew Bishop was right. Their lives depended on each other, the four-man team only as strong as its weakest member. He was determined not to be the link of the chain that failed.

  Finally, they reached the bottom of the canyon, both men drenched in sweat, both gasping like marathon runners at the finish line. Kevin checked his watch, “We’ve got eight minutes to get up the other side and find a good spot.”

  Glancing at the steep wall to be negotiated, Grim began having second thoughts. Maybe it’s time to hang up this rifle and let them put me out to pasture, he considered. I’m too old for this shit. It’s taking me longer and longer to recover. Maybe the wife is right. Maybe it’s time.

  The fact that Kevin, 20 years his junior, seemed to be suffering just as badly did little to console the old warrior. His injuries were twice as bad as mine, he thought. Besides, there is no age discrimination on the teams. Either I can do this job or not. Period. End of story. I can’t keep up, and I will get one of these guys killed if I pretend otherwise.

  Just as Grim was reaching for the mic to report he couldn’t achieve the objective, the packed earth of an animal trail caught his eye.

  He followed the path with a steady gaze, a knowing smile crossing his face as he realized Bishop hadn’t seen it from across the canyon. “Well lookie there,” he whispered to Kevin while indicating the path frequented by local white tailed deer. “Let’s take the easy route.”

  The youngest member hesitated, knowing that Bishop had ordered them to cross as a test. Grim detected Kevin’s pause. “Sometimes it’s not how strong you are but how smart you are. Sometimes experience will save your ass when muscles won’t.” Noting his partner’s persistent hesitation, he continued his sales pitch, “Besides, trail hikes can represent their own set of dangers. Come on, and I’ll regale you with stories about how I wrestled a bear on the Appalachian Trail when I was just a lad.”

  A full minute before the deadline, Grim keyed his mic. “In position, sir. Your new route is clear of tangos.”

  Down in the valley, Bishop heard Grim’s report and flashed Butter a look of surprise. “No fucking way,” he mumbled, turning to glance toward where his men should be. Sure enough, Grim stood from behind a thicket of brush, his arm waving in wide strokes. He then flipped his boss a one-fingered salute.

  The Texan was partially mystified, mostly pleased. He had no idea how Grim had pulled off what was surely a minor miracle, but in reality, he didn’t care. What really mattered was that his team was back together, and that gave Bishop a feeling of satisfaction he hadn’t experienced in months.

  Just as the SAINT leader was reaching for his mic to give Grim a rough time about sprouting wings and flying across the canyon, the thump-thump-thump of a helicopter echoed through the valley. Nick’s voice in his earpiece soon followed. “SAINT One, SAINT One, this is Honcho. Do you copy?”

  “Did you decide to deliver a picnic lunch, boss?” Bishop responded. “Butter is dying for some fried chicken and potato salad.”

  Nick, however, wasn’t in a joking mood. “Get your people together, Bishop. There’s been an incident.”

  Frowning, the Texan turned to Butter and halfheartedly mocked his friend, “Well, of course, there has been an incident. We wouldn’t want to take a few days to rest and recover, now would we?”

  Butter shook his head and then seemed inspired. Fanning his nose, the young man teased, “Mr. Bishop, I hope they at least let you take a shower before we deploy, sir.”

  Taken aback by the kid’s attempt at banter, Bishop scanned his teammate up and down for a moment. Butter, having ventured onto an unfamiliar limb, suddenly looked unsure and guilty.

  Bishop started laughing, “You’ve been hanging around Terri too much.”

  “Go on, show Aunt Diana what a big boy you are,” Terri cooed to Hunter, trying to coax the child away from the couch that supported his wobbly legs. “Come on,” coached the proud mother, holding out her arms a short distance away. “You can do it.”

  Hunter’s face lit in a broad grin, his glowing eyes traveling between his mom and Diana to make sure he was the center of attention. It soon became clear, however, that he wasn’t going to let loose of the sofa, no matter how appealing his mother’s promised embrace.

  “Come on,” Terri continued, waving her outstretched hands in welcome. “Take that step, big fella. Just one step.”

  Taking a deep breath, Hunter lifted his leg, but then a look of pained confusion painted across his face. He decided to plop down instead.

  “Oh, no,” Diana snickered. “Maybe next time.”

  “Dang it,” Terri chuckled, “I wanted him to take that first step before Bishop and the guys left. Dad needs to be here for that.”

  Diana bent and scooped Hunter from the floor much to the child’s delight. Bouncing him on her hip, she said, “I wanted to be in on the big event, too. I thought for sure he’d do it for his favorite auntie.”

  Terri began packing the diaper bag while the Alliance’s top official entertained and snuggled with the cackling babe. “He’s such a happy boy,” Diana noted.

  “Bishop spoils him rotten when he’s home,” Terri confessed with a sigh. “Then all of a sudden my hero-of-a-husband is off on some grand adventure, and I’m left with a kiddo who thinks I should spend every waking moment playing and attending to him.”

  “Why don’t you leave him here with me and go along with Bishop on this trip? I could use the distraction, and other than this brewing international incident, there’s not a lot going on right now.”

  Terri momentarily brightened at the idea of a mom’s day out, but then flashed a coy smile at her friend. “You’re just wanting me to go along because the Colonel is pissed about his food convoy getting torched.”

  Feigning innocence, Diana countered, “What? Nooo. Not me. I was just thinking my friend could use a break from her routine. Besides, this mission isn’t dangerous. Ni
ck wouldn’t be sending Bishop’s team down south if it weren’t for your husband’s relationship with the President of those United States. Leave Hunter here with me for a few days and go with Bishop…. Get out of the house … change up your day a little.”

  Terri was still skeptical, “Uh-huh. The fact that my husband doesn’t have a diplomatic bone in his body wouldn’t have anything to do with your offer – would it?”

  A tinge of guilt colored the Alliance leader’s expression. “Well … err … maybe a little. I would feel a whole lot better about the situation if you were going along.”

  Before Terri could respond, the door to Diana’s office opened in a rush, Nick and Bishop barging in, serious business on their minds. Both of the men pulled up short when they spotted Terri and Hunter.

  “Hiya, big guy!” Bishop greeted his son, moving to take the little one from Diana. “How’s my best buddy doing this morning?”

  Hunter, obviously thrilled to see his primary playmate, reached for his father’s embrace while screaming, “Daddy!”

  “Diana wants me to tag along with your SAINT team, Bishop. She’s worried that Washington is going to try and put the blame for the massacre on the Alliance,” Terri casually announced.

  “That’s one hell of an idea,” Nick interjected before Bishop could respond. “Sheriff Watts has at least 20 deputies down there right now, so it’s probably one of the safest places in the entire territory.”

  Bishop stopped flying his Hunter-airplane, much to the dismay of the tot. The Texan became serious in an instant, “Terri, how many times do we have to go over this? New Mexico and the Toymaker were an exception. I thought we agreed not to endanger our son anymore?”

  “Oh, I’m going to babysit Hunter,” Diana chimed in. “You and Terri can go check out the convoy and make nice with the U.S. representative for a few days. After that, why don’t you take a little time together and enjoy Lake Amistad? I’m sure there’s at least one functioning boat left. I’ll even requisition some gasoline.”

  “It would be a chance for some alone time,” Terri added, seductively moving to hook arms with her husband and flashing a sultry look.

  Bishop’s eyes moved from each of his friends and then landed on his wife. “I can see that I’m a victim of a conspiracy here,” he mumbled. “Not only am I hopelessly outnumbered, but you’re using intimacy as a weapon of mass destruction. What possible choice do I really have? I guess Terri’s going along on this trip.”

  Diana and Nick exchanged knowing looks, and then the Alliance’s top elected official reached for Hunter. “I’m going to spoil you rotten, little man. I know where the best ice cream is in all of Alpha, and we’re going to put a serious dent in their inventory.”

  “Be careful there, lady,” Bishop teased. “That’s my son you’re now in charge of.”

  Nick grunted, “I’ll say the same to you, sir. Be careful, my friend. That’s my son you’re now in charge of.”

  Chapter 2

  Bishop could see whiffs of smoke from a considerable distance as the Blackhawk began a gradual descent toward the scene of the massacre. It wasn’t long before the scope of the tragedy came into focus.

  The lake laid to the west, an impressive reservoir commanding over 800 miles of shoreline. Bishop remembered reading that it was the fourth largest body of water in all of Texas.

  To the east flowed the Rio Grande, a narrow stream compared to the mass of the basin. Separating the two was a roadway with waterfront on one side and farmland on the other. The dam, along with its spill gates, rested in the middle. Just on the Texas side of the river, the blackened, charred remains of several trucks spoiled the otherwise picturesque view.

  “Wow,” the Texan mouthed, turning to give Terri a look of wonderment. “That was a serious ass ambush if I’ve ever seen one.”

  “That’s going to take weeks to clean up,” she shouted over the helicopter’s roar. “Those poor truck drivers never had a chance.”

  The bird landed next to what had been the old U.S. Border Patrol station, a choking cloud of South Texas dust rising into the air. Grim and Kevin exited first, habit prompting both men to take up defensive positions. Bishop hopped out next, followed by Butter who helped Miss Terri out of the chopper.

  “Suck up,” Bishop sneered as the big kid passed.

  As quickly as possible, all of them moved away from the whirlybird and the fog of sand and grit being catapulted skyward. At the edge of clear air stood Sheriff Watts, complete with mirrored sunglasses and Smokey the Bear hat.

  The lawman was all business, “If you’ll come this way, I’ll brief you on what we know and what we suspect.”

  As the group trudged toward the bridge, Bishop pulled Butter aside. “I have a special job for you. I want you to guard Terri like a hawk. You are now her personal bodyguard. Anything happens to her, and you and I will have an unpleasant encounter. Is that clear?”

  “Yes, sir. You know I’d die for Miss Terri, sir,” Butter guaranteed.

  “I’m probably being paranoid, big guy, but somebody shot up this caravan and did a damn fine job of it at that. Stick to that woman like glue, and keep your eyes open. If something even looks slightly out of place, I want her out of here. Immediately. Without delay. Post haste.”

  “With two of us watching out for her, she’ll be fine,” the team member whispered. Bishop observed as Butter hustled to catch up with his wife while she strolled along with Watts.

  As the entourage approached the bridge, a single man appeared from the wreckage and waved to Watts. “That would be one Mr. McCarthy,” the sheriff announced. “He works for Washington and was the individual who commissioned these food trucks.”

  Deputies were crawling all over the area, most of the law enforcement personnel concentrating along both sides of the road. “We’re searching for any evidence that would explain where the bushwhackers were hiding,” Watts explained. “The trucks … or what is left of them, have already been processed.”

  “And?” Bishop inquired.

  “We know that a variety of weapons were used in the ambush. We’ve found at least five different calibers, most of them sizable. From what we can tell, there were approximately 20 shooters. We have no idea how they got to the bridge or how they left though.”

  “Maybe by boat?” Terri asked, glancing at the water.

  “Could be, ma’am. At this point, your guess is as good as mine.”

  Bishop pointed toward the massive, yellow earthmover, “Where did that come from?”

  “We believe it was hotwired and driven here from just outside Del Rio. The Alliance was in the early stages of trying to repair the dam’s hydroelectric generators that were damaged during the collapse. A lot of silting has occurred in front of the intake, and the engineers were drawing up plans to redirect the flow and sent in huge machines like that to clean up the mess.”

  “Had the project started?” Bishop asked.

  “No, sir,” replied the officer. “This area is still a bit unsettled. We’re making inroads into reestablishing the rule of law, but our progress has been slow along the river.”

  “Why?” Terri asked, now intrigued.

  Watts paused, wanting to pick his words carefully. “This area was being pulled apart at the seams before the collapse, ma’am. We had pronounced racial and cultural tensions. Not to mention the cartels creating havoc just on the other side of the river and their determination to smuggle drugs and people into the States. A huge economic divide between the populations of the two countries made a definitive border a necessity. You know, I think whoever said, ‘Good fences make good neighbors,’ surely had the southern Texas boundary in mind,” the sheriff paused as he continued. “But then, the border kind of evaporated, and the various factions hereabouts determined to tear each other to shreds.”

  Bishop’s first reaction to the lawman’s words was to tighten the grip on his carbine. Then, glancing at his wife with concern for her safety, he inquired, “Has order been reestablished, Sheriff?
”

  “Mostly, yes. We’ve had a few corruption issues with some of the leadership, and from what I’m told by the locals, there has been a lot of cross-border activity originating from both sides. The big shots in Alpha informed me a few days ago that the Eastern Rio Grande Valley will be one of the last areas of Texas to be fully reintegrated, mainly because there’s hardly anybody left alive down here.”

  McCarthy arrived just then, prompting Terri to put on her diplomatic hat after handshakes and introductions had been accomplished. “Sir, I can’t express the Alliance’s sadness and regret over this incident. I know I speak for everyone in Alpha when I say that we are all deeply troubled by this tragedy and want to assure you and the President that our government is doing everything in its power to find the criminals who perpetrated this atrocity and bring them to justice.”

  It became immediately obvious that the man representing the interests of the United States wasn’t a happy camper. “Thank you for those words, ma’am, but I’m only interested in results.” He then turned to Sheriff Watts and barked, “Are any of these new arrivals the forensic specialists my government requested?”

  Bishop didn’t like the man’s attitude nor the fact that he had dismissed Terri’s words without even a polite consideration. Still, the Texan checked his reaction. Mr. McCarthy’s last few days surely had been a nightmare.

  Watts seemed to have had his fill of the man as well. “No, sir, these people are not law enforcement. As I explained before, sir, the Alliance doesn’t have any forensic specialists available, and even if we did, this really isn’t the type of crime scene where those skills could be utilized.”

  “So why are they here, Sheriff?”

  “I’ve pulled in deputies from over 50 miles away, Mr. McCarthy. Even at that, if the vigilantes who executed this ambush return, my people aren’t equipped to handle a para-military force of any size. The Alliance mobilizes SAINT teams for situations like this.”

  McCarthy’s voice became louder as he mounted his tirade. “I can’t believe that in all of Texas there isn’t a qualified CSI team. I feel like this incident isn’t a high priority for your government.”