Copperheads - 12 Read Free

topic further, Bishop reached for the radio microphone clipped to his shoulder. “Lead to overlord, lead to overlord, we’ve got contact. I repeat, contact. Count 15, no, make that 30 armed men moving on our original route. Do you copy – over?”
    “Copy, lead,” came Grim’s voice, the ex-contractor’s tone making it clear he already smelled a rat. “What’s the call, boss?”
    Winking at Butter, Bishop keyed his mic, “We’re going to have to go around these guys. I need you to set up on the other side of that canyon to cover us. Over.”
    High above their teammates, Grim and Kevin scanned the canyon in question, seeing more pain, sweat, and tears in the rugged rock formations and sheer faces of stone.
    “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