The Walt Longmire Mystery Series Boxed Set Volumes 1-4 Read Online Free PDF

pin, Purple Heart, Army Distinguished Service Cross, Vietnamese Cross of Gallantry, and assorted campaign medals. There were also black-and-white photographs of Henry with his infantry platoon leaders, and one with his friend and team member Lo Chi, whom he had brought back and relocated in Los Angeles. There was even a picture of Henry and me, wearing the two ugliest Hawaiian shirts in Saigon, on a three-day leave in 1968. “You see all that stuff on the wall? He was trained in the war to be the gravest irritation to all those around him. There is no way a common soldier, such as myself, could possibly compete with a hand-picked, combat-hardened pain in the ass like him.” Few people knew the shadowy history of the Special Operations Group that had operated out of Laos, but the numbers said it all: For every American Special Forces soldier that was lost, the North Vietnamese lost between 100 and 150 troops. The Bear had been a part of one of the most effective killing machines on either side of the war.
    Henry’s face pushed up and curved to the side as the weight of his head held steady in the palm of his supporting hand. “Common soldier? The closest he came to any real fighting was when he agreed to meet me for a three-day in Saigon.” Under his breath he continued, but I’m pretty sure I was the only one that heard it, “Except for Tet . . .”
    I left Henry to leverage Roger into doing some free electrical consulting work and turned my attention back to Vonnie. She was staring into the glass eyes of one of the mounted antelope behind the bar. “Pretty animals.” Her eyes remained steady on the pronghorn. “Do you think they feel pain like we do?”
    “Nope.”
    She turned to look at me, seemingly irritated. “Really?”
    “Really.”
    She stayed with me for a second, and then, fading into disappointment, glanced at her wine glass. “So, you don’t think they feel pain.”
    “No, I said I don’t think they feel pain like us.”
    “Oh.” The smile slowly returned. “For a minute there I thought you had become a jerk.”
    “No, a blacksmith’s son.”
    She continued to smile and then nodded. “You used to come out to our place with your father . . . Lloyd.”
    I watched her. “Nobody remembers his name.”
    “I think my mother had a little crush on him.”
    “Just another Longmire, plying his wiles. When I was real little, I used to make the shoeing rounds with him. It looked painful to me, so I asked him.”
    “What did he say?”
    “Pop used to speak in biblical terms, but what he said was that the brutes of the field don’t feel pain like humans. That that’s the price we pay for thinking.”
    She took another sip of her wine. “Comforting to know that we’re the species that feels the most pain.”
    I half-closed an eye and looked at her for a second. “Is that East Coast sarcasm I’m hearing?”
    “No, that’s East Coast self-pity.”
    “Oh.” I was getting in way over my head. I can do the bull about as well as it can be done, but that edgy buzz-talk makes me weary in a heartbeat. I try and keep up, but after a while I start to drag.
    She placed a hand on mine, and I think it was the hottest hand I had ever felt. “Walter, are you all right?”
    It always started like this, a touch and a kind word. I used to feel heat behind my eyes and a shortness of breath, but now I just feel the emptiness. The fuses of desire are blown black windows, and I’m gone with no pennies to save me. “Oh, you mean you really want to talk?”
    Her eyes were so sad, so honest. “Yeah, I figured since we didn’t have anything else to do.”
    So I leaned in and told her the truth. “I just . . . I’m just numb most of the time.”
    She blinked. “Me too.”
    I felt like one of those guys in the movies, there in the foxhole asking how much ammo your buddy’s got. I got two more clips, how ’bout you? “I know the things I’m supposed to do, but I just don’t seem to have the energy. I mean,