Read Online Tiger the Lurp Dog: A Novel by Kenn Miller - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kenn Miller
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Wolverine, insisted on following the trail and searching along the stream, and Mopar was determined to do a knock-up, top-notch job of it. He dodged the low branches and droopy, leafy boughs that overhung the trail and slipped side-way between the vines, keeping out of the elephant-ear plants that clogged the surface of the trail. Thirty meters on, he found an abandoned sleeping position a few meters off the trail.
Gonzales photographed the sleeping position, but it was old and filling up with new plant life, and Wolverine shook his head when Marvel offered to call it in. When Gonzales was finished photographing the site, Mopar led out again, wondering how in the hell the gooks would choose to sleep down here with the most voracious leeches. Ten meters on from the sleeping position, just off the trail and between it and the stream, Mopar found a patch of ground that showed signs of recent digging. He signaled a halt, and Wolverine came up to see what he’d found. It was a relatively recent cache.
Marvel tossed his wire over a branch and called in the cache’s location while Mopar and Gonzales stepped back to provide security. When Marvel had finished his report Wolverine took the headset from him, muffled it with his towel and Lurp hat, appended the phrase “Beans on the fire” to Marvel’s report, and handed the headset back to him with a mischievous smile.
There was nothing about beans in the codebook.
Marvel raised his eyebrows quizzically, and Wolverine motioned for him to leave the wire hung and step closer to the cache. After lowering his rucksack carefully to the jungle floor, Wolverine squatted next to the cache and began to dig with his knife and canteen cup. He made a pile of twigs and fallen leaves, then another pile of dark, moist soil. He dug for more than an hour. The sweat poured down his face and washed away the protective coat of camouflage paint and insect repellent that would have discouraged the mosquitoes that swarmed there along the stream. When he finally struck wood and turned to flash Marvel a toothless grin, his cheeks were streaked with green and gray, and his lips were puffy with insect bites.
For the first time on the mission, Wolverine relaxed his noise discipline.
“Give me a hand here, Kim,” he whispered. “Help me clear off this lid and open it, and I’ll show you a trick I learned in SOG.”
Marvel almost ripped the wire from his radio in his rush to kneel next to Wolverine. Farley had never had any new tricks to teach—but then he’d never worked for MACV-SOG.
It took another ten minutes for Wolverine and Marvel to pry the lid off the wooden crate Wolverine had uncovered. Mopar and Gonzales were both getting bored, glancing over their shoulders from time to time to see what was going on. Finally Wolverine and Marvel got the crate open and stepped back to allow Mopar and Gonzales a look.
There were four AK-47 assault rifles in the case, plus two nine-mil pistols and four cardboard boxes of ammo for the AKs. The rifles were still packed in Cosmoline, and the pistols were wrapped in soft, oily cloths. Wolverine reported the contents of the cache, and once more said something about beans on the fire. He knelt down to rummage in his rucksack and came up with a jungle blanket, a couple of Lurp rations, and a collapsible canteen of water. He put these aside, then smiling broadly, reached in with both hands this time and came up with three ammo boxes that looked exactly like those in the cache.
“Bolo beans,” he whispered. He held one of the boxes up for everybody to see. “They’ve got a triple charge. Charley busts one of these caps, he’s gonna get the bolt of his own weapon blown back through his chest.”
Sometimes it was better to break noise discipline than to write on the pad. The very existence of bolo beans was highly classified, and Wolverine didn’t want to risk carrying a written explanation around with him. It was one thing to get killed with a few boxes of
Gonzales photographed the sleeping position, but it was old and filling up with new plant life, and Wolverine shook his head when Marvel offered to call it in. When Gonzales was finished photographing the site, Mopar led out again, wondering how in the hell the gooks would choose to sleep down here with the most voracious leeches. Ten meters on from the sleeping position, just off the trail and between it and the stream, Mopar found a patch of ground that showed signs of recent digging. He signaled a halt, and Wolverine came up to see what he’d found. It was a relatively recent cache.
Marvel tossed his wire over a branch and called in the cache’s location while Mopar and Gonzales stepped back to provide security. When Marvel had finished his report Wolverine took the headset from him, muffled it with his towel and Lurp hat, appended the phrase “Beans on the fire” to Marvel’s report, and handed the headset back to him with a mischievous smile.
There was nothing about beans in the codebook.
Marvel raised his eyebrows quizzically, and Wolverine motioned for him to leave the wire hung and step closer to the cache. After lowering his rucksack carefully to the jungle floor, Wolverine squatted next to the cache and began to dig with his knife and canteen cup. He made a pile of twigs and fallen leaves, then another pile of dark, moist soil. He dug for more than an hour. The sweat poured down his face and washed away the protective coat of camouflage paint and insect repellent that would have discouraged the mosquitoes that swarmed there along the stream. When he finally struck wood and turned to flash Marvel a toothless grin, his cheeks were streaked with green and gray, and his lips were puffy with insect bites.
For the first time on the mission, Wolverine relaxed his noise discipline.
“Give me a hand here, Kim,” he whispered. “Help me clear off this lid and open it, and I’ll show you a trick I learned in SOG.”
Marvel almost ripped the wire from his radio in his rush to kneel next to Wolverine. Farley had never had any new tricks to teach—but then he’d never worked for MACV-SOG.
It took another ten minutes for Wolverine and Marvel to pry the lid off the wooden crate Wolverine had uncovered. Mopar and Gonzales were both getting bored, glancing over their shoulders from time to time to see what was going on. Finally Wolverine and Marvel got the crate open and stepped back to allow Mopar and Gonzales a look.
There were four AK-47 assault rifles in the case, plus two nine-mil pistols and four cardboard boxes of ammo for the AKs. The rifles were still packed in Cosmoline, and the pistols were wrapped in soft, oily cloths. Wolverine reported the contents of the cache, and once more said something about beans on the fire. He knelt down to rummage in his rucksack and came up with a jungle blanket, a couple of Lurp rations, and a collapsible canteen of water. He put these aside, then smiling broadly, reached in with both hands this time and came up with three ammo boxes that looked exactly like those in the cache.
“Bolo beans,” he whispered. He held one of the boxes up for everybody to see. “They’ve got a triple charge. Charley busts one of these caps, he’s gonna get the bolt of his own weapon blown back through his chest.”
Sometimes it was better to break noise discipline than to write on the pad. The very existence of bolo beans was highly classified, and Wolverine didn’t want to risk carrying a written explanation around with him. It was one thing to get killed with a few boxes of
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