TITLE: The Sergeant's Second Shot
Come on, Lord, I’m due a friggin’ break here.
Sergeant First Class Mack Hanlon drew his eye back from the rifle’s scope and angled his head just far enough to investigate what had captured the attention of the armed cartel guards in his sights.
Crap! Why couldn’t it be a tapir or a jaguar or any of the other dangerous freakin’ animals inhabiting the Amazon rain forest? No. Instead, two more humans armed with automatic weapons moved into view. The muscles in his arms tightened as he put his eye back to the scope. He kept his rifle’s sight centered on the group congregated only thirty yards from his team’s position hidden amidst the vegetation. The two men they first spotted halted rather than continue in his direction. He’d take that as an answered prayer.
Four sentries meant his team was closer than the three kilometers they’d estimated from the underground drug lab where Herrera processed his coca. Way closer. Guess we’re not on a giant snipe hunt after all. And now … now if the guards stayed where they were, the team should be fine.
While the team members were camouflaged by their uniforms and face paint, it wouldn’t be enough if any of the guards strolled in their direction. That would really screw the pooch.