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“Three boats. Two flank. One rear.”
I fight the instinct to cringe.
Yeah, this pistol isn’t exactly going to keep up with semiautomatic rifles.
“Got range?”
There’s a short delay attached to an unexpected jerk of the watercraft. “Yeah. Cap was cat napping with an AR-15.”
“Toss it.”
“Roger.”
From my low squatted position, I swiftly scramble towards the front of the ship where Blu’s steering, barely avoiding being clipped in the arm and – thanks to my bare feet slipping on freshly splashed water – the leg as well. Despite not proclaiming my arrival or even nonverbally signaling it, my partner senses my presence, momentarily abandons his enclosed post, and tosses the firearm down just in time for me to unload a shot that saves his ass. The aggressor stumbles a bit into the man driving their vehicle creating a perfect situation to eliminate them back-to-back. Seconds after they’ve hit the deck, I fire a couple bullets into their engine to minimize the possible damage from a boat collision.
Blu takes a sharp veer to assist in reducing the impact and in doing so provides me with a great angle to remove the problems that are a little too close on our ass. Two kill shots to the driver are followed by one to the passenger and another to their engine to ensure it becomes dead in the water too.
Progressing to the other side of the ship is suddenly stopped by the vehicle that was previously flanking us deciding to shift tactics instead. They begin a zig zag pattern that’s tied to aimless firing, a technique I understand yet personally don’t use because I loathe wasting ammo. Instead of playing the game of tag, you fire, I smoothly barricade myself behind the outdoor bar and patiently wait for a pause that will have to come.
See, that’s the other issue with that method.
You’re gonna have to stop and reload much sooner than I am, and when you dothatwill be my window to terminate you as a threat. The concept that the best way to destroy an enemy is to do everything first so they don’t get the drop on you is outdated and idiotic and one that tends to cause more causalities than victories.
Broken glass continuously rains down in front of me, creating a shimmery waterfall that collects into a pool of sharp remnants I know are going to be a bitch to step through barefoot. Shots discharged too wide on each end of the area indicate that they’re unsure of exactly where I slipped off to and the rev of an engine approaching informs me that the combatant not driving is most likely going to try to board the ship for a more direct attack.
The sudden pause in gunfire is my irrefutable cue to carefully lean around the edge of the bar, ignore the small discomfort from the sharp pieces piercing my suit, and aim at the intruder about to transfer himself from his boat to ours. Waiting until he’s midmotion between watercrafts to squeeze the trigger not only disposes of him in the deep blue but his weapon too, leaving the wheelman hastily scrambling to driveandfind something to defend himself with. His indecisiveness ultimately makes him and the boat easy targets, targets that only require one shot each to takeout.
My attention remains laser focused on the area I just secured during my announcement into my earpiece. “Clear.”
There’s a pause barely worth noting before my partner echoes the statement, “Clear.”
The word allows me to lower the firearm, yet my gaze sweeps the seemingly vacant area once more. “Open blue?”
“Roger.”
“How open we talkin’?” Light chuckles are sprinkled between questions. “You on two shots of Wilcox, which is just enough for you to fess up about the weird shit your woman is into-”
“It’s not that weird to wear a bumble bee costume as lingerie.”
“Or you on night two of the Beers & Babes Beach Bash bawlin’ in the shower about the beagle puppy you never got for your sixth birthday?”
“See, that’s why I don’t like listening to country music. Makes a man get in touch with his inner Oprah side and no one fucking needs that.”
More chortles are attached to my counter, “Pretty sure youdefinitelyneed that.”
“Yeah, ‘cause I’m the only one on this fucking boat with some scripted for Bravo bullshit.”
I helplessly laugh even louder.
He’s not wrong.
I have definitely been through some made-for or adapted-for television type of shit. Like have already contacted me and my ma and my dad as well as stepmom for rights to my story level of fucked up trauma to triumph. Truth is, I don’t use what I’ve been through for profit the way most could or would or do. I let it lead me to a life ofhelping. It just so happens that nowadayshelpingis accompanied by a much higher price tag than it used to be when Uncle Sam was signing the check.
There’s still levity in my tone when I repeat the question, “How open, Blu?”
“Enough.”
Approval of the answer is met by a nod and a crafty contorting of my frame in hopes of minimizing the amount of glass I make contact with. Returning below deck to where our target is stationed is accomplished next. I get him secured in the bathroom – away from the corpses – rest my weapon within reach beside the door and distract him with the Play-Doh I keep on hand for every mission.
