Holding Their Own: The Toymaker (22 page)

“So you’re going to help our dad?” Sam asked.

“Maybe. If I can, but no promises. Now I want you two little plane thieves to get your butts back to Camp David before the Colonel has the entire U.S. military out looking for you. The last thing I need right now is to have some jerk trump up charges that we kidnapped you, and given my past experience with being a wanted man, I wouldn’t put it past them.”

Hugs, handshakes, and goodbyes went quickly, Bishop and Terri obviously worried about their friends.

Twenty minutes after the kids had left, the couple were pulling out as well, the truck’s bed filled with hastily gathered belongings.

“I didn’t finish the laundry,” Terri remembered as they turned onto the paved road leading to Alpha. “I guess it’ll still be there when we get back.”

“One can certainly hope not,” Bishop grinned, accelerating the pickup. “Fort Bliss or bust,” he added.

Being back at the base hospital brought back a flood of memories for both Bishop and Terri. They had rushed to Bliss at full speed, the partial information delivered by David and Samantha making the trip seem like they were driving forever.

They passed through the MPs guarding Nick’s ward without incident, walking quickly down the long, sterile hall while glancing at the room numbers. Diana’s voice drifting through the corridor told the couple they were close.

A few moments later, Terri’s smiling face peeked in the door. “Some people will do anything to avoid getting hitched,” she teased, entering the room.

Bishop was right behind her, carrying Hunter on his shoulder.

In a flash, Diana was up and in Terri’s arms, the two women shaking with the release of emotion as both broke down crying. Bishop and Hunter moved to the bedside, the Texan mumbling, “You okay, big guy? You look like shit.”

Nodding, Nick’s gaze centered on Hunter, his eyes growing cloudy with moisture. “Spend all the time you can with him,” the former Special Forces operator whispered. “You never know when they’ll be taken away.”

“What the hell has happened to the Army?” Grim demanded. “Has the whole world lost its fucking honor? We do
not
leave anyone behind. Nowhere, no how, no way. I only asked for a couple of Blackhawks and two rifle squads. Butter and I would have taken care of the rest. And what did I get? First, a nice young LT tried to blow hot air up my skirt, telling me he was confident the authorities would address the matter. Then a captain refused to let me see General Owens personally, informing me that I should use the established chain of command. When I let that little pipsqueak fucker in on the fact that I was no longer a subscriber to Mother Green’s hierarchy, he tried to shoo me away to the Office of Civilian Affairs. And that’s when I finally got pissed.”

Bishop sat across from his friend, expressionless, letting the man rant until he was out of breath. Experience had taught the Texan that might take a while.

Rattling the chains that secured his wrists to the heavy table, Grim continued his tirade. “And now look at me. Chained like a common fucking criminal. I’m telling you, Bishop, somebody from the Alliance council needs to come over to this base and kick some ass.”

Bishop sighed, a smirk forming on his lips. “You put two MPs in the infirmary, Grim. According to the major that let me in here, it took another four men to settle your ass down. You broke three windows, smashed two chairs, and destroyed a bookshelf during the… err… ongoing discussion.”

“And a partridge in a fucking pear tree,” Grim responded, rolling his eyes. “I was a little upset. They wouldn’t let me go back in after Kevin.”

The Texan studied his former teammate, knowing exactly why Grim had reacted with such outrage. The man was convinced he’d messed up and gotten his commander shot up and Kevin captured. With Butter in the hospital, Grim was the last man standing, and the guilt, deserved or imagined, was eating him up inside.

Bishop understood. He’d been there. It was as debilitating as any bullet’s wound, the closest the Texan had ever come to ending his own life.

“A
little
upset? Really?” Bishop replied, shaking his head. “Let’s go through it, Grim. From the top. How did you insert?”

An hour later, Bishop stood and stretched. He stepped to the door, hit the electric buzzer, and asked that the prisoner’s shackles be removed. The MP had strict orders to do as Bishop asked… and instantly produced a key.

“That’s it? I’m free?”

“No,” Bishop responded gently. “It just occurred to me that those chains were unnecessary. Now, keep going, what happened when Butter and you heard the gunfire?”

Grim’s mind returned to the skirmish in New Mexico, the pain leaking from the man’s soul and filling the small room. “When the first shot rang out, I knew instantly where they’d gotten hit. Butter and I were 200 meters beyond that little pasture, waiting on Nick and Kevin to catch up. I even told Butter it was the perfect place for an ambush when we were crossing that same open space.”

“Go on.”

“Well, it was obvious Nick and the kid were in trouble. There was a lot of small arms fire, screaming and shouting. We were tearing ass to get back and help.”

“What kind of terrain were you in?” Bishop asked, already knowing the answer from his interview with Butter, and well aware it was a key point during the encounter.

“Oh, shit, it was nasty stuff. Some sort of vines with briars were just everywhere. Even the trees were a pain in the ass, low branches snagging everything from our hats to our slings. Between tripping on the undergrowth and navigating through the limbs, it seemed like it was taking forever to get back there. It was like one of those nightmares… you know… the ones where the alligator is chasing your ass and you can’t run. Your feet won’t move fast enough.”

Bishop didn’t say anything, waiting on Grim to continue without prompting.

“We hit the edge of the wood line right as the shooting stopped. The grass was chest high there. I could see movement about 50 meters in, but I couldn’t tell what was happening. Butter and I charged in, hoping our guys were still alive.”

Again, Grim’s thoughts drifted from the room, his conscious mind wandering back to that fateful encounter. The rugged, seen-it-all contractor quickly brushed a tear from his cheek. “We slogged through to the location where the fight had occurred. Five of them had Nick down. I thought he was dead. One was going through his pockets, the other trying to wrestle his watch off his wrist. Butter and I tore into their asses…. We hit ’em with everything we had.”

Bishop knew Grim was telling the truth, Butter having already relayed a nearly identical story. The Texan also knew Grim had to get it all off of his chest.

“It was CQB (Close Quarters Battle) out the ass in those weeds. Every combatant had time to fire his weapon about once, and I don’t think any of us hit a damn thing but air. And then it degraded into hand to hand,” the contractor confessed with a low, monotone voice.

“Other than Nick, I’d never, ever, seen a big man move like Butter. He took out three of those fuckers just ‘wham, bam, thank ya, ma’am.’ I know he snapped that one dude’s neck with his bare hands.”

This is where the story finally differed from Butter’s version. According to the team’s newest member, it was Grim who stacked up the corpses at his feet.
It doesn’t matter
, Bishop thought.
At least not right now.

“And where was Kevin?”

“I guess they’d carried him off before we got there. I looked around. All around. Under the bodies… around the weeds… in case he had crawled off. I called out, shouted his name a dozen times. I swear I did! But the kid wasn’t there. During the fight, one of the guys we were taking down had yelled for help. I couldn’t understand the words, but it was pretty clear he was hoping for reinforcements.”

“How long did you look?”

Grim’s answer was full of pain. “Not fucking long enough, that’s for certain.”

“Why did you stop looking?”

“Butter checked Nick’s pulse and found the big man was still pumping blood. We heard horses and other voices getting closer from three different sides. The next thing I know, Butter is lifting Nick onto his shoulders right when bullets start whizzing past our heads. We got the hell out of Dodge City.”

Again, Grim grew quiet, his voice barely audible. “I kept thinking we’d find someplace to take care of Nick’s wounds and then go back for the kid, but those assholes chased us all the way down the mountain. At one point, I had a chance to assess the boss’s status, and I knew right away we had to get him back to Bliss pronto. To be honest, I’m surprised he’s still drawing air.”

“It sounds like you made the right calls, brother,” Bishop said. “I haven’t heard a single thing I would have done differently. So why all the anger and frustration?”

Grim ignored the question, his mind still trying to justify his actions. “You know, I kept thinking about the prisoner we saw at their HQ. Kevin said he thought the guy was a PJ, said the guy was wearing Air Force camo. Anyway, I kept telling myself that they wouldn’t kill Kevin outright. I kept saying that if the enemy had kept the PJ alive, no way would they kill the kid. Do you think that’s true, Bishop?”

The pleading in the man’s voice tugged at Bishop’s heart. “Probably. I would have hoped for the same thing in your shoes.”

“That’s why I want to go back in,” Grim stated, some of his old swagger coming back. “We have to go get that kid. He’s one helluva shot and a good trooper to boot.”

In his pocket, Bishop carried Grim’s release orders, signed by the base commander personally. “I’ll let him go on your recommendation, Bishop,” General Owens had stated. “But if he goes busting up my facility again, I’m going to throw the book at him.”

Bishop studied the man across from him, still undecided if Grim was ready to walk out of jail. “You know it’s not your fault – right?”

“What’s not my fault? What are you talking about?”

“Oh, come on, man. We both know exactly what I’m trying to say. You’ve been blaming yourself for Kevin’s capture all along. But that’s wrong. You made all the right calls, and the shit still hit the fan. Nick doesn’t blame you. I don’t blame you, and Butter doesn’t blame you. And I’ll bet my next paycheck that Kevin doesn’t put it on you either. So why are you still carrying this load of crap on your shoulders?”

Grim started to protest, his finger stabbing in Bishop’s direction. But no words came out. Then he clenched his fists, fury and rage coiling in his arms.

“Because he trusted me!” Grim blurted, eyes watering with emotion. “Because the kid always thought I would be there… and I wasn’t…. I failed him, Bishop. Do you know what it’s like to have someone trust you? Do you know how it feels to let them down? He looked up to me, man.”

Bishop didn’t answer, watching as Grim buried his face in his hands and lost control like a man possessed; gut-wrenching, demonic moans afflicting him until the emotion bled out.

Ten minutes passed, neither of them saying a word while Grim struggled to regain control. Finally, Bishop decided the torrent of feelings had subsided, the worst of it having been expelled from his friend’s soul.

Reaching into his pocket, Bishop produced the orders granting Grim his freedom and dropping all charges. Sliding the documents across the table, Bishop’s voice was stern. “Go home. I want you to eat, bathe, sleep, and then repeat. You’ve not had any shut-eye for over 48 hours. You smell like a pig’s ass. Go back to Alpha and get well. In a few days, I’ll send for you. We’ll get Kevin back, one way or the other. That’s an order.”