Lighter Shade of Brown (Urban Fiction) BWHM

Chapter 19

For a moment he'd thought he'd been made, but by the grace of something more powerful than himself, the vato lowered his weapon. Not wasting time pondering why, C's pulled his nine with the attached silencer, aimed the barrel at dudes head, in time with the next crack of thunder, he fired. Hombre's knees buckled, right before he fell backwards onto the dirt. Hurrying forward, he quickly dragged the body off the path, and left it in the brush not far from where it fell.

"Good," Ortiz's voice crashed into to his ear drum. "You're clear for the next seventy-five to hundred feet. A couple of the guns in your area heard Ernesto take down a fool, in his position and they went to go investigate."

C's growled through clenched teeth. Dumb motherfucker. Why the hell had he even bothered to bring Nest's dense ass into this. "Am I needed over their way?" He asked, halting his procession.

"Naw," Ortiz answered. "Juan's on it. Just keep moving for now. I'll let you know when shit becomes hostile."

"Bet." Skirting the dirt path, C's remained in the forest's bushes and underbrush to take advantage of the cover that it provided, while the damn earbud continued cracking like a mug in his ear, as different directions were given to other vatos in his squad. He switched on his selective hearing and split his focus to listening out for Ortiz's voice and maneuvering over tree roots that had begun to break the surface of the ground, while also defending himself against thin swinging, switch like, branches covered in sticker burrs. And with all of the artillery he carried it only made it that much more difficult for him to move like he wanted. Cursing silently under his breath, he swiped away a thorny tree limb that tore at his ski mask, as he slowly proceeded to his jump off point.

Without having to drop another body, C's made it to the clearing in the woods where the run-down trap house barely stood. A measured smile inched across his face, as he tugged the night goggles from his head, no longer needing them, seeing as the whole yard was bathed in the light from the security spot lights bolted at each corner of the shack. Jack motherfucking pot. Now if they could take out the five hombres toting M60 machine guns, patrolling the yard, the house was theirs.

"Ortiz," C's whispered into the tiny microphone that hung off the wire connected to his earbud. "I'm in position. What everybody else looking like?" Instantly, all but one team sounded off about their status and location. C's gritted his back teeth in frustration. Why the fuck hadn't Juan and Ernesto sounded off? "What the hell is Ernesto and Juan's position?"

"We're in position C's," Juan answered in a strained voice. "Nest's ass almost got clipped, and I took one in the side, before I could bring the bastardo down."

"Aw damn, Juan. You cool?" C's asked in a pissed off whisper.

"Yeah, folk. I took it in the vest, hurt like a bitch, too. But shit still gravy, though," Juan answered in a low thready tone. "I'm ready to move whenever you are."

"Then let's do this so we can get our asses out of these janky woods," C's said, ignoring the gnawing feeling in his gut that was telling him to turn his squad around and get back to the rides. Mentally, shaking off the heavy oppression of dread, he continued to direct the scene. "Okay y'all, we gotta do this shit fast. Before the reinforcements in the house have a chance to recover, this entire yard needs to have been laid the fuck down, ya dig?" Agreement rushed back at him over the line in spades.

"C's. The birds are out of the trees, and I'm coming up on you from behind, so hold your fire," Ortiz's voice warned from the earbud.

"Roger that," He confirmed, never taking his eyes off the bored aimless movement of the vatos in the yard. "Everybody else pick a target in the yard and sound off when your bird has landed." A second later, Ortiz crept up beside him. Giving him a sideways glance he asked. "How these woods lookin?"