It was long straight and hard
"You can't hit him from here." Pat's whispered estimate welled up as an implication from the deep spring of a lifelong intimacy with the shooter.
He focused the 40x Leitz binoculars on the desert ridge top glowing an amber hue of caliche and brittle dried grasses.
The sun was setting in golden amber folds across the land. Pat started to move. Removing one hand from the rifle, Tom placed it on Pat's shoulder.
He made a downward motion with his hand signaling Pat to remain in place.
There were two more small firefights before they crossed the Cameroon border. They drove to a Cameroun airbase where there was a small U.S. Special Operations outpost"
"I need a little help, please." Tom was slow leaving his position. Handler reached up placing one hand on Tom's arm and the other on his chest behind his body armor to help.
When he removed his hand, it was covered with blood. "You've been hit. Why the hell didn't you say something."
"Because I thought you would slow down." Tom laid down on the ground. "Help me to a bunk and get this shit off." "How bad is it?" Handler was scurrying around getting help
"You are one tough son-of-a-bitch." Handler was shaking his head as the Special Operations team hopped into action to save one of their own.