Kill or Capture (Brannigan's Blackhearts Book 7) by Peter Nealen

Author:Peter Nealen [Nealen, Peter]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-09-23T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 15

The ridgeline provided little to no cover, so the backup OP turned out to be a slightly shallow depression just short of the crest, about a klick to the northwest of where the last of the tattered white smoke was still dispersing.

The Blackhearts gathered in a rough perimeter, getting down in the prone behind their rucks, rifles propped on the packs. Bianco and Curtis were set up on opposite ends of the vaguely elliptical perimeter, their MAG-58s pointed up and down the crest of the ridge.

Flanagan was next to Curtis, and spared a glance at the shorter man. Curtis was sweating and breathing hard; he was strong, but the mountains weren’t his natural environment, and the movement was clearly kicking his ass.

“What’s the matter, Kevin?” he said softly. “You should be right at home. All this barren desert shit is just like Vegas.”

“Fuck you, Joe,” Curtis replied. “I live in a civilized city, at a civilized altitude. I’m not like you barbarian mountain goats.”

Flanagan just smiled slightly behind his beard. He’d been a bit worried about his friend; ever since he’d pulled him out of his apartment, sloppy drunk and despondent, Curtis had lacked a bit of his usual spark. As aggravating as Flanagan often found the smaller man, his irrepressible energy and big mouth were part of his personality. When Kevin Curtis went quiet, it was a cause for concern.

“Whatever you need to tell yourself,” Flanagan said. “Truth is, all that city living’s just made you soft. Like I warned you it would.”

“Soft?!” Curtis spluttered. “Soft?! I’d like to see you haul this fucking 240 up that mountainside with your skinny ass, Joseph!” Flanagan found it even more entertaining that Curtis was still being quiet in his indignation; their conversation couldn’t be heard past about an arm’s length away.

“It’s a MAG-58, not a 240, Kevin,” he said. “I’d think ‘Mr. Machinegun’ would know that.”

Curtis turned to stare at him, his eyes wide and his mouth set in a scowl, the whites of his eyes standing out in his dark face. “Really? You’re going to nitpick me on nomenclature?”

“Well, kinda seemed like you lost your mojo,” Flanagan said, turning his gaze back on the ridgeline ahead of them. “Figured I needed to start picking up the slack. Which is bullshit, by the way.”

Curtis was at a momentary loss for words. “Oh, hell no! I do not lose my mojo, Joseph!” he hissed. “The nerve!”

“Face it, Kevin,” Flanagan said. “Sanda’s got you moping like a teenager.” He squinted toward the cleft where he and Gomez had had their firefight. “I did warn you.”

Curtis muttered something, almost too quietly for Flanagan to hear. But it sounded something like, “Never thought I’d see the day.”

“What?” Flanagan asked. “Never thought you’d see the day that I was right? Kevin, I’ve been warning you about being a dumbass for years.”

“Never thought that Mopey Joe would be right about a woman,” Curtis muttered. “Next thing you know, he’s gonna be getting all sophisticated, moving somewhere civilized, becoming a real ladies’ man.

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