Hogs #4:Snake Eaters Read Online Free PDF Page A

about three miles away. “We leave the FAV here so it can’t be seen. Remember where this is — there’s a radio and weapons if you need them.”
    “You got a little ol’ M-16 in there I can borrow?”
    “Sorry, sir, but the idea here is not to do anything that’s going to attract attention, if you know what I mean. The idea is just to watch what’s going on, not to start firing willy-nilly. No offense.”
    Coors obviously meant to offend him, but A-Bomb let it pass. He’d dealt with this sort of prejudice before. People assumed that because you were a Hog pilot you liked to blow things up, and because you liked to blow things up you wouldn’t exercise proper judgment when a fat target presented itself. You’d just go blasting away and worry about the consequences later.
    Which was true enough, now that A-Bomb thought about it.
    The sergeant took a large rucksack from the FAV and began trudging along the top of the wadi in the direction of the road. About three hundred yards from the FAV, Coors stopped in front of a group of small boulders.
    A-Bomb stooped down, trying to find an opening in the dirt. He had to hand it to the commandos— this hide was even better than the last one. It was completely invisible, even up close.
    “I give up,” he said, straightening. “Where is it?”
    “Where’s what?”
    “The hide.”
    “Right here,” said Coors with a grin. He dropped the rucksack and pulled a small folding shovel from the side. “Have fun,” he said, handing it to A-Bomb. “I’ll be back in a half-hour.”
    “Hold on, Beerman,” said A-Bomb. He grabbed the trooper by the arm and spun him back as he started away. “What’s with the truck?”
    “Truck?”
    “A hundred yards past that bend,” A-Bomb said, pointing. “Down the dip in the road. See the edge of the roof?”
    Coors couldn’t see the roof, but his whole manner changed instantly from sardonic to professional. He dropped to his knees, removing his Steiner field glasses from the rucksack. A-Bomb squatted next to him, waiting while the sergeant adjusted the glasses and scanned back and forth. Finally the pilot leaned over and helped aim the glasses into the right spot.
    “Fuck, how did you see that?” asked Coors finally. “That’s three miles away.”
    “Two point seven,” said A-Bomb. “If we go up a little further, we can get a better view.”
    Without answering, the sergeant began to trot to his right, his head ducked slightly to keep his profile relatively low. He stopped about fifty yards away, with a much better angle.
    “Tanker truck,” said the trooper. “Shit. Not moving.”
    “Yeah. You mind if I take a look?” asked A-Bomb.
    The sergeant hesitated for a second, then handed him the glasses. A-Bomb stood slowly. The sun was behind him, which silhouetted him but prevented any chance glare. The flash of light was likely to be more noticeable, especially given the harshness of the unobstructed sun.
    “Doesn’t seem to be anybody in the cab,” said A-Bomb. “You got the hill right behind him. Maybe he’s taking a leak.”
    “Long leak,” grumbled Coors.
    “You can flank him from that hill.”
    Coors tugged his pant leg. “Sit down and let me think about this a minute.”
    While the sergeant was thinking, A-Bomb unholstered his pistol. The Colt 1911 Government Model had come from a factory stock maybe thirty or forty years before. Its gizzards had been completely replaced, and it had a beavertail grip safety courtesy of a South Carolina gunsmith A-Bomb had met while waiting at a Mickey D’s a few years back. Ordinarily, A-Bomb did his own work, but you could always trust someone who supersized his fries.
    “Okay,” said the sergeant, picking up his submachine-gun. “I’m going to double-back a hundred yards or so, then cross the road. I’ll come up that rise behind him where I can get a better view.”
    “And what am I doing?”
    “You’re going for help if I get in trouble.”
    A-Bomb figured there was