Road Test David Wickenhauser (the top 100 crime novels of all time .TXT) 📖

Hugh offered virtually no target to the remaining gunman, so he was in a good position to wait the guy out. All he needed was for the guy to become impatient and to make a move to reveal himself.

Because of the shooting, the forest had become dead silent, with only a bare whisper of sound from the slight breeze on the leaves of the trees.

Hugh knew the flanker hadn’t moved from his position, and he was confident he would hear him if he tried to retreat or advance. The flanker had Hugh in the same situation as well. So, for now, it was a stalemate. Hugh knew the first one to make a mistake would be the one to die.

The minutes dragged on. He was certain the flanker was still there. Hugh patted Buck on the head and neck, reassuring him all would be well. He took a drink from his canteen, and moistened Buck’s muzzle.

Hugh doubted his opponent had brought water with him in his rush from their camp, and he also knew from experience that combat puts an awful thirst on a guy. All the more to Hugh’s advantage.

Finally, Hugh’s patience and super-concentrated listening paid off, and he heard the faint sound of the beeps a cell phone makes when someone is punching in numbers to try to dial a call.

“Big mistake,” Hugh whispered to Buck. “Always deselect cell phone tones while in combat.”

Hugh peered with his rifle scope just above the rim of the depression, and with the faint beeping sound to guide him, scoped the forest. Peering into thick leaves, when his crosshairs landed on the swarthy skin tone exposed in the triangle between the man’s chin and the top button of his shirt Hugh squeezed off three quick shots.

Hugh waited several minutes, listening intently for the sound of any further activity beyond his hide. When all was quiet he stood up, then allowed Buck to stand up as well.

Hugh walked over to the flanker’s position. One shot had caught the man right above the top shirt button, right where the scope’s cross hairs were, and the two succeeding shots had walked up, hitting the man just under his chin and then dead center in his forehead as he fell backward after the first shot.

Next, Hugh found the two guys who had tried to rush him. Two center-mass shots. Two instantly stopped hearts.

Then Hugh found the bandana guy. The bandana had taken a direct hit, dead center, punching a fatal hole just above the guy’s sternum. Bandana guy was wearing a camo suit, and Hugh was amazed at the stupidity of wearing a red bandana like a “shoot at me” target.

“I’m sorry guys. I really am,” Hugh said. “I didn’t want to have to do that. But, you left me no choice.”

He checked to make sure Buck was OK. Then he put a halter on him, and tied the lead rope to a stout root of the upturned tree. He didn’t want Buck wandering around in case the growers had set more booby traps.

Carefully, Hugh retraced the steps taken by his attackers hoping to find their camp and the marijuana grow field. He was extra cautious about any further booby traps. Most of the booby traps he had encountered in Iraq were of the urban and roadside IED variety, but he had gotten exposed to the more traditional types during SERE school.

Just ahead, on the edge of a clearing under a protective canopy of trees, he saw a camp with camouflaged tents, a cooking area and all the accouterments for a semi-permanent stay for hirelings to watch the crop as it grew. An old logging road led away from the camp, obviously the ingress and egress for the workers and supplies and, at the end of the season, for the harvested marijuana crop to be carried away.

The marijuana grew tall among the trees, encompassing about an acre in the forest.

He found a first aid kit – these guys think of everything – and dressed his wound with disinfectant and a gauze pad.

Hugh marked the location on his phone’s GPS app, which he could do without cell phone service. He’d call in the location as soon as he got on the other side of the ridge so DEA could come and eradicate the crop. This was fall season, so the marijuana was at its prime, probably millions and millions worth that would shortly be going up in smoke.

He went back to Buck, and headed straight for the ranch house. He’d had enough of his quiet, relaxing time in the woods.

Chapter Forty-Seven

As he approached close to the ranch house that evening Hugh could hear somebody yell out, “Here comes Hugh!”

Because everybody was assembled for dinner they were all at the house, and they came trooping down the stairs to greet him.

“You’re back early this time,” Mary said. “Did you miss us too much?”

When Hugh got closer, Hugh Senior was the first to spot the bloody bullet graze on Buck’s shoulder.

“Somebody have an accident? What happened?” he asked.

“Something like that,” Hugh replied, and gingerly stepped down from the saddle.

That’s when Jenny spotted the slash in Hugh’s pants leg high up on his inner thigh, and the bloody stain on his pants where blood had seeped from underneath his impromptu bandage.

“Oh, Lord, what happened?” she said, looking like she was going to cry.

“We had a little disagreement with some cartel guys,” Hugh explained in his usual understated way. “They got some shots off. We got hit. My shots were better.”

Roly had walked around Buck to examine him closely.

“Did you know about this, bud?” he asked Hugh. He pointed where a bullet was embedded in a thick part of the saddle’s cantle.

“For crying out loud. No,” Hugh