“Fantastic!” Tim said. He gave Curt a pat on the shoulder before reaching for the radio. He told the other teams that he and Curt were going out to dispose of a couple of targets. He told them not to fire on anything until they heard from him again.

“I don’t want those crazy guys shooting at us,” Tim said. He took the sniper rifle away from Curt, who gave it up without comment. Tim then got out a folding shovel and pick. “Come on,” he said to Curt. “But keep your Glock handy in case you just winged the bastards. We might have to give them a ‘coop de grass’or whatever the saying is.”

Curt stumbled after Tim without saying a word. After the initial euphoria, he was flooded by self-doubt. Now that he’d actually shot someone, he didn’t know how to deal with the idea that he might have killed another human being. The mental fog created by the many beers he’d consumed didn’t help. The fact that Tim was acting as if he’d merely swatted two pesky flies didn’t help, either.

“Come on, soldier!” Tim called over his shoulder when he became aware Curt was lagging behind. Tim had gone ahead with the flashlight, moving over rocky terrain in a slow jog.

Curt pushed himself forward and squared his shoulders. He was embarrassed that Tim might suspect his “candy ass” state of mind.

It took them almost half an hour to find the Mexicans since they had to crisscross the general area a number of times. As Tim’s flashlight beam played over their bodies, he whistled in admiration. “I’m impressed,” he said. “You drilled both of them through the head.”

Curt looked down at the corpses. He’d never seen a dead person before outside of a funeral home. Both bodies had small entrance holes on their foreheads but were missing large chunks of scalp in the back. The ground in the area was sprinkled with bits and pieces of brain. The man in the front still had his hand wrapped around the handle of his suitcase.

“Oh my God!” Curt murmured.

Tim’s head snapped up and he glared at his recruit. “What’s the matter?” he demanded.

“What did I do?”

“You killed a couple of wetback illegal aliens,” Tim snapped. “You did your country a favor.”

“Jesus,” Curt mumbled as he shook his head. The Mexicans’eyes were still open, and they were staring at him. Curt swayed a little on rubbery legs.

Tim reacted swiftly. He stepped over to his partner for the evening and slapped him hard. Tim then swore at the pain and shook his hand as if it were wet.

Curt recoiled and for a moment he saw red. He touched his stinging face, then glanced at his fingers as if he expected to see blood. He glared at Tim.