outboard engine.
As soon as they were far enough away they wouldn’t be seen, they blackened their faces, strapped on black vest armor, pulled camouflage slouch hats down over their eyes and retrieved their weapons.
A few minutes later, the boat slipped quietly into the channel leading into Bushytail Bayou, wider here than it would be farther along the route.
Reaching into his pocket, Ben pulled out an LED flashlight, clicked it off and on a couple of times to test its strength. “If we time it right, the moon will be up when we come out. Should be all we need, but you never know.”
They rode along in silence but for the roar of the engine, top speed seven miles an hour. But as the channel narrowed and started making turns, Ben slowed the motor to a soft purr. A faint sound began to reach him, a muffled jingle coming from the seat in front of him. He slowed the boat even more. “You got change in your pockets?”
Ty shook his head. “Dog tags. Sorry, I’m a getting a little rusty.” He took them off over his head, wrapped them in a handkerchief and stuffed them into his pants pocket. “I like to have them with me on a mission, just in case.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not letting your ass get killed, so you don’t need to worry about it.”
In the dappled sunlight beneath the overhanging trees, Ty’s teeth flashed white against his blackened face. “That’s good to know.”
Ben watched the way Brodie picked up the AR, holding it as if it were an extension of his arm. He remembered the look in his eyes. “Force Recon, right?”
Ty didn’t answer right away, which was an answer in itself. Clearly this wasn’t something that was common knowledge. “It was a while back.”
“Why’d you leave?”
“My time was up. I just... I wanted to see a different side of life. You?”
“Mission went south. Injury drove me out. I never would have left the teams if things had turned out different. I’m okay with it now.”
“Me, too.”
They didn’t say more, just rode in silence through the murky tangle. The channel continued to narrow, clogged with lily pads and downed trees. Jagged, moss-draped branches thrust viciously into the air. They passed wild-eyed egrets and a haughty blue heron standing on one foot in the boggy water a few feet off to the right. The birds took flight as the boat moved past.
Peering through a dense wall of willows, Ben watched for the orange tape he had left to mark the way. He spotted a tiny bit of color, stayed to the right. He had memorized how far it was to the next fork in the channel, the next turn and the next, until they reached their destination. Still, spotting the markers was reassuring.
“Cottonmouth,” Ty said, pointing at a big, pattern-backed brown snake draped over a branch just off to their left. “I got bit when I was a kid. Damn near died. I hate the bastards.”
“Snakes and gators. I’m not fond of either.”
They fell silent again as the boat turned down a nearly impenetrable waterway, and Ben cut the engine. From here on in, they would use the oars in the bottom of the boat to push themselves along, dodging dead trees and rotting vegetation.
Talking ended. They both knew they were getting close enough that if someone was out in the bayou, any sound they made could be deadly. From now on they worked with hand signals only.
More time passed, the boat gliding silently through a tangle of cypress, the water dark and muddy. Ben signaled to Brodie, pointed up ahead, used the oar to drive the boat beneath a drooping willow into a cluster of branches and cattails, hiding it from view. Over to the right, the compound came into view, nine wooden cabins scattered around an open area surrounded on three sides by twelve-foot fences.
Behind the cover of branches and leaves, both men took out their binoculars and scanned the area. Through the dusky early-evening light, Ben spotted Troy and Aggie, working in the vegetable garden. A younger, thinner version of Troy was talking to another man, laughing at something he said.
He heard the sound of gunfire and swung the glasses in that direction. The range he had spotted yesterday was off to the left, out of sight from their current position. He counted shots, figured four or five were men at shooting practice.
Brodie touched Ben’s sleeve, signaled and pointed. He’d spotted Sam about three o’clock.