BooksBarbecue
Back The Preserve
Chapters (56)
  1. Front Cover
  2. Half-Title Page
  3. Title Page
  4. Copyright Page
  5. AUTHOR’S NOTE
  6. 1.
  7. 2.
  8. 3.
  9. 4.
  10. 5.
  11. 6.
  12. 7.
  13. 8.
  14. 9.
  15. 10.
  16. 11.
  17. 12.
  18. 13.
  19. 14.
  20. 15.
  21. 16.
  22. 17.
  23. 18.
  24. 19.
  25. 20.
  26. 21.
  27. 22.
  28. 23.
  29. 24.
  30. 25.
  31. 26.
  32. 27.
  33. 28.
  34. 29.
  35. 30.
  36. 31.
  37. 32.
  38. 33.
  39. 34.
  40. 35.
  41. 36.
  42. 37.
  43. 38.
  44. 39.
  45. 40.
  46. 41.
  47. 42.
  48. 43.
  49. 44.
  50. 45.
  51. 46.
  52. 47.
  53. 48.
  54. EPILOGUE
  55. AFTERWORD
  56. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

“Look,” Jock added. “I know you were a deserter. And I don’t care. Plenty good men were. This is your chance to make up for that, too.”

During a break, Lett asked Jock, “Why are you training me? What for?”

Jock started, his head rearing back. It was such a simple question, but Jock eyed Lett as if he’d just landed in a rocket ship. “For any situation we put you in, we will assure that you have a clean head shot,” he sputtered, as if reciting a manual he couldn’t quite recall.

“What’s the situation?”

Jock looked around as if someone had sidled up to listen. “Well, any situation involving security, or surveillance.”

“So, nothing aggressive. Nothing where I was making the first move.”

Jock stared a moment. “A capable sniper,” he recited, “must possess the ability to control varying factors involving trajectory, point of impact, accuracy estimation. You have distance to the target to consider, wind direction and speed, altitude and elevation of both sniper and target and—”

“Stop. You’re saying that I have a lot to worry about?”

Jock nodded. “I guess I am, yes.”

“I noticed you never trained me much on camouflage, or concealment. If I’m going to provide security, surveillance.”

“I can’t speak to that. It’s not my orders.” Jock added, in a whisper, “don’t push me, Lett, all right? I’m just getting my points in.”

“Okay, Jock. Fine. You don’t have to worry about your end.”

Jock hung his head after that, just went through the motions. At the end of that session, Jock told him he was to wait in the camp briefing room.

“What for?” Lett said.

“How should I know?” Jock said, “I’m just—”

“You’re just getting your points in. I know, I know.”

26.

Lett sat alone in the camp briefing room, waiting. He was brought lunch. It was a nice pork chop with a macaroni salad and a side of fresh pineapple. He got coffee and a slice of apple pie. And he waited. The briefing room was just a hut of its own, just bare plywood like a giant chicken coop. He heard something booming outside. He told himself it was just thunder, another afternoon rain front. But soon the room seemed to shrink around him. Then it was massive, the ceiling taller than the sky. Then the metal roof pinged, then pitter-patter, then . . . He wanted to keep moving but he couldn’t leave. His head spun, he squeezed his eyes shut. Now it was rat-a-tat and it turned into the staccato metal punch press of machine guns. He grabbed at the desk. His leg started bouncing. He pushed it down.

He needed his dose. He didn’t have his dose. His bag was in his bungalow.

The door opened. Lansdale strode inside. He was wet on the shoulders and he shook the water out of his thick hair.