Page 37 of Trusting a Warrior

“Copy that,” the reply crackled in his ear. “Decoy ready.”

Trotting after Bosch, Geo muttered into the comms, “Steak dinner says he pancakes your ass.”

“In your dreams. Get ready to pay up, bitch.”

He and the decoy, a white guy named Laz, traded a few more insults before they went silent to let the dog work. The wind buffeted Geo from all sides, and he peered through his NVGs as Bosch, nose to the ground, chased the elusive scent eddies being tossed around like leaves in a river. He winced. Bosch would have to be on his A-game to even locate the decoy, much less get the drop on him.

For his part, it took all Geo’s concentration to dodge the manzanita bushes that seemed to be everywhere.

“Prickly motherfuckers,” he muttered, freeing himself from yet another thorn snagging his uniform sleeve. Ahead, Bosch zig-zagged across the rocky terrain, changing course multiple times until at last he sat down, ears up, and stared off into the distance.

Ha, ha, Laz. You’re toast.

After hissing the “attack” command, Geo followed the dog as he bounded up the side of a small hill. He scanned the area ahead, his NVGs giving him a sight advantage Bosch didn’t have, and...there! Laz was crouching next to a small rocky outcropping, an otherworldly green silhouette in a glowing alien landscape.

“I see him,” Laz murmured in Geo’s ear. “And I’m gonna dodge him, no problem.”

Geo bit back a curse. If Laz could see Bosch heading for him, he’d be able to sidestep his attack. That meant no free steak dinner tonight.

Suddenly Bosch veered from his straight-line trajectory, darted around some scrub brush, and disappeared. Shouting, Laz leapt to his feet, whirling around just in time to catch Bosch’s sixty-five-pound body square in the chest.

“Holy shiiiittt!”

He slammed down on his back in a mighty explosion of dust. Geo ran up to see Bosch clamp hard onto Laz’s bite sleeve and shake him like a rag doll.

Barely able to contain his laughter, Geo gave him the “out” command, and Bosch immediately dropped Laz’s arm. Once he was safely tethered, Geo tossed him a Kong, and Bosch set about happily gnawing on it while Laz sprawled out drunkenly.

“What the fuck was that?” he slurred.

Geo grinned. “A goddamn hair missile, that’s what.”

Laz groaned and sat up to lean against a nearby boulder. “I saw him comin’, clear as day. Still managed to pancake my fuckin’ ass.” He shook his head in grudging admiration. “That’s some dog.”

“He’s the best.” Geo crouched down and patted Bosch’s neck and sides.

As Laz caught his breath, Geo dug Bosch’s water bowl from his pack and gave him a drink. Then they trudged toward the road where a helo would soon pick them up. In fact, Geo could already hear the faint echo of rotor blades off in the distance, the sound of the 160th Special Operations Aviation Regiment conducting their own exercises by flying through mountains and canyons that closely resembled Afghan terrain.

“Those guys are badass,” Laz commented, his head tilted back toward the dark sky. “I’ve seen ’em get so close to a cliff face that I swear sparks were shooting from the rotors, but the pilot acted like, ‘No big.’ Cool as a damn cucumber.”

“They love to make us shit our pants,” Geo agreed. “Pucker factor is real high with those guys.”

“You ever ridden with them on a Little Bird?”

Geo shivered as remembered thrill flowed through him. He’d never felt so alive in his life than when perched on the skids of the two-man helos everyone called Little Birds. Used for urban assaults, they were highly maneuverable, and it was like riding a rollercoaster into battle. “Hell, yeah.”

That led to the two of them comparing war stories, and at one point Laz punched Geo hard on the upper arm. “Man, sounds like you’ve done it all.” His voice was full of admiration. “You ever been shot?”

“No.”

“How’d you go ten years in this job without getting shot?” Laz held up his hands to forestall Geo’s reply, saying, “And don’t give me no bullshit about how you’re just that good.”

Chuckling, Geo shrugged. “Lucky, I guess.”

With a shake of his head, Laz said, “You know that luck’s bound to run out sooner or later. Watch your back, my friend.”

The clatter of rotor blades suddenly grew louder, indicating their ride was here. Once on board, Geo sat tethered with his legs dangling out the open door, his hand twined firmly in Bosch’s harness. On the floor behind him, some PJs shouted back and forth to each other as they treated a realistic training mannequin with an amputated leg. The helo dipped and rolled, simulating evasive maneuvers, while the PJs fought to keep their balance and their hands steady.

Twisting around, Geo watched them start IVs and an airway with unbelievable skill.