Hemingway - Zoe Dawson Page 0,84
the still air. Night was approaching, and that was the best-case scenario. SEALs worked in the dark and the water, so they were right at home. “Dragon, Pitbull, Max, overwatch. Keep an eye on those bastards.”
“I can fix it. Give me some time.”
The jungle’s chirping, tweeting, cheeping, cawing and shrieking, loud and piercing, all mixed into a cacophony.
“We’re running out of time.”
Dodger nodded and disappeared into the thick brush; minutes passed as colorful toucans croaked in nearby trees, their beautiful blue and yellow feathers flashing through the leaves.
“They’re coming up fast, LT. You want us to engage?” Max said.
“No, not until they fire on us. Orders. Dodger’s solving the problem.”
“Oh, God, we’re in trouble now,” Max muttered.
“Cut the chatter,” Fast Lane ordered. “Saint, get on the horn and get us some back up. This mission just got noisy.”
“Copy that.” Saint turned to his equipment and worked at reaching their base.
Fast Lane caught 2-Stroke’s vest. “Keep an eye on the kid,” he ordered, then looked at Hemingway. “You do exactly as I say.”
“Yes, sir.”
2-Stroke laughed softly. “Don’t call him, sir. It might go to his head.”
“Don’t make me laugh, you bastard,” Fast Lane said, fighting a grin. “Where the hell is Dodger. I’ll eat his fucking liver.”
“Here,” he called from the waist deep water as it swirled around him, sweat dripping down his green and black face, painted for camouflage, his jungle hat pulled low over his eyes. Hemingway’s jaw dropped, and Fast Lane’s frustration was nothing but a low, feral rumble.
Fast Lane finally found his voice. “That’s a rowboat! How far do you think we’re gonna get in a fucking rowboat!” A family of large otters out in the center of the river chattered as if agreeing with their LT.
“Hey, after BUD/S, I could paddle in my sleep,” Hemingway said, giving Dodger a sympathetic look. No one wanted to disappoint Fast Lane…ever…never ever.
“Jesus, are we SEALs or fishermen!”
“Actually, SEALs are kinda fishermen,” 2-Stroke said.
“Do you want his liver with onions or mushrooms?” Hemingway asked.
2-Stroke nudged Hemingway with a grin. “Good one.”
“Base is sending a fully loaded boat team. ETA fifteen minutes,” Saint said.
Fast Lane nodded at Saint, giving Hemingway a quick grin. “Both,” he growled.
“Did you say rowboat?” Mad Max asked comically through the comm.
“Shut up. I’m thinking.” He stood there for a moment. “Wait, we can’t fit all of us in that boat.”
“I know. Some of us are going to have to use fins and push it,” Dodger said, wincing as a scarlet macaw launched from the trees overhead and flew away down the river.
“Max, Dragon, Pitbull. Get back here,” Fast Lane ordered.
As soon as they came through the heavy brush behind them, Dragon watching their back, Max said, “Holy shit! He did say rowboat. What the fuck, Dodger?”
“I’m not a miracle worker. I can’t make a fully working Zodiac out of thin air. I missed that class at BUD/S.” He paused and contemplated for a moment, then said, “Although, if I had some tires and wires, I might be able to rig something up.”
“Way to go, MacGyver,” Pitbull said.
“Screw the rowboat. It was a…good try. We’re swimming out of here. Gear up.”
“You got it, LT.” Max eyed the water.
“We’ve got no choice. Sink that Zodiac and get rid of the boat. Let’s go!”
Hemingway started changing his gear out for his Draeger and fins. He looked over at Dodger, who had set the boat adrift and waded to shore. “What are we looking at in the water?” Hemingway asked.
“Piranha, caiman, anaconda and possibly bull sharks,” Dodger said.
“Aren’t bull sharks one of the most aggressive animals on earth?” 2-Stroke asked.
Hemingway grinned and said, “Nope. That would be Navy SEALs.”
They chuckled. “You think the fucking new guy has it right?” Pitbull asked.
“I don’t want to go mano e mano against a shark, but he better keep his distance. Can’t you do some of that shark whispering, Pitbull?” Saint asked.
“Hey, that only works on Great Whites,” he said with a smirk.
“We won’t bother them until they bother us,” Fast Lane said.
Dodger reached over to a stack of bananas that had fallen from a nearby tree and snapped one free. Digging in his pack, he pulled out a small packet, tore it open, and squeezed peanut butter onto the banana. Dodger was something else. Not only had he been through some of the toughest military training with being first a Royal Marine, then through their extra-elite black ops force, the Special Boat Service, but he came to America and did it all over