Search and Destroy Read Free

thought from his mind. This was time to relax, no muss, no fuss. Some quality rest and relaxation with his older brother. He smiled as he caught the smell of fried potatoes on the night air, and returned to the Winnebago to look for them.
    Clay was already busy in the kitchen area as Danny entered. He looked oddly at home surrounded by the beech panelling and the brass swan-shaped cupboard handles. A single photograph was fixed to the side of one of the cupboards: a woman, caught mid-turn. Her smile was spontaneous and her brown eyes crinkled at the edges with undisguised mischief. Danny watched as Clay paused, eyes on the picture. He touched a finger to her nose as he often did when reminiscing, a delicate gesture for a man topping six foot.
    A Jace Everett CD was playing but not at the ear-wrecking decibel level that Danny usually had to endure. He didn’t mind country music but enjoyed a variety of styles, unlike his brother. At least Jace was modern country with a rock-guitar twang to it.
    “Need a hand with anything?”
    “Nah, I’ve got it covered,” replied Clay brandishing a spatula coated with some dark and sticky sauce. Danny knew better than to question his culinary skills. “Wanna beer?”
    “Sounds good.”
    Clay pointed to the curved refrigerator door. Danny pulled it open and lifted out two chilled Coronas. A sheen of condensation coated the glass. “Got any lime?”
    Clay clicked his tongue.
    “I guess we can rough it.”
    “Yeah, they made you tough in the British Army, all right,” laughed Clay.
    “Hey, I once went two weeks without toilet paper.” Danny winked and took a long pull on the beer.
    “Did you get a Scouts badge for that?”
    “What, the chapped-arse merit badge? No, I never did.”
    “Harsh.”
    “Indeed…”
    Ten minutes later Danny accepted a plateful of steaming food. Both men moved to the dining area at the rear of the RV and chewed through two of the best rib-eye steaks money could buy. With thick-sliced potatoes and fried eggs on the side, the meal was simple but perfectly cooked.
    “You could make a fortune selling these,” said Danny between bites. He wiped Budweiser barbecue sauce from his chin. He saw Clay’s eyes flick to the photograph. His voice dropped.
    “I hardly cooked anything while Diana was alive.”
    Danny smiled in sympathy. “I don’t think she married you on the promise of your short-order cooking skills.”
    “I guess not.”
    Danny raised his beer. “To fallen friends and lost loved ones.”
    “Ay-men to that.”
    The brothers lapsed into an easy silence as another track began. The country guitar twanged a sorrowful melody.
    “Got any Duran Duran?”
    Clay scowled. “I’d rather stick cactus spines in my ears than listen to that noise.”
    Danny started to sing. “Her name is Rio and she dances on the sand…”
    “Please stop.”
    “Just like that river twisting through that dusty land…”
    “I can see I’m going to have to put a bullet in you to shut you up.”
    Danny paused. “You can’t shoot for shit. I’m surprised the Rangers ever let you near a rifle.”
    Clay narrowed his eyes, sighting along two fingers. “At this range even I couldn’t miss.”
    “Ah, you Yanks are all the same; spray and pray. You couldn’t hit a bull’s arse with a blunderbuss.” Danny knew the mock insult of calling a Texan a Yankee would do the trick of lightening Clay’s sombre mood.
    “And you Brits are so stiff-assed that you don’t need a gun. Just shove a round up there and let one off.”
    Both brothers grinned. It was a routine that never seemed to get old. They clinked their bottles together in mutual respect.
    Danny turned in his seat, favouring his right hip. The web of recent scar tissue on his left side was still tender.

3
    Andrea stood at the edge of the outlook, taking in the view. The evening air smelled and tasted so different from the city air back in London. So clear, fresh and somehow raw. And it was so quiet. No blaring