“You two stay here with the package. I’ll take care of this so we don’t get turned into Swiss cheese as we hop in the chopper,” Fenton said as he pulled out his gun and headed deeper into the woods and around the men who were trying to kill them.
He felt that uneasy sensation in his gut. Where years ago, and during most of his military life, he’d felt solid and hardened inside. More recently he’d been feeling unsure. That bit of fear or uncertainty could get him or his brothers killed. Maybe taking on less of these gun-for-hire jobs was coming soon. Perhaps total retirement.
He ducked down as he heard voices. A foreign language, but still a dialect he understood. It seemed they’d received an order to kill Mr. Smith. Things just changed rather quickly thanks to Fenton and his brothers.
He adjusted his position and proceeded to approach. That feeling bothered him even more. He saw the men moving closer to Mr. Smith, Ford, and Flynn. They were outnumbered.
Fenton pulled out a grenade. This would do the trick and then some.
He pulled the pin and tossed the grenade then covered his head as he hid behind the tree.
The explosion rocked the general area and a cloud of smoke erupted to the sky.
He turned to head back to his friends when the sound of gunfire then bullets barely missing his flesh fell upon him.
He saw the culprit immediately, locked eyes with the guy, and fired his weapon.
Fenton killed him before the guy had the opportunity to fire back.
He quickly headed toward Ford and Flynn, who now had Smith standing as the helicopter lowered down to pick them up. The wind was blowing from the helicopter rotors, the sound loud, and nothing could be heard until Ford gave him a hand to help him jump into the helicopter.
“The grenade was really fucking necessary with us this close, too?” Ford asked as he gave Fenton a hand.
“Yes, sir. I thought you’d like to get back to the estate and tell Grey and Fisher all about the exciting journey we went on this weekend.”
Ford shook his head and slapped Fenton on the shoulder as Flynn helped Mr. Smith get into the helicopter.
“Hey, we didn’t get killed, so I will be telling Fisher and Grey all about the job they missed.”
“Yeah, and maybe even add a bit more action in the story just to get under their skin,” Flynn added.
“Just another day’s work, gentlemen,” Ford said to them, but Fenton felt different. He felt like he didn’t want to do shit like this anymore. The smell of gun powder, death, and the risk to his life was no longer giving him the adrenaline rush it once had. He liked the ranch, the estate, and all it had to offer. It helped him to live with his demons and fears from the past. He was a hardened man, a lost soul. He had his team. Deputy Grey Moore, who’d found a second calling in the local Sheriff’s department in Pearl. Then there was Fisher Lent, a Texas Ranger who loved his job. Their commander, Ford Montgomery, was the one who still enjoyed organizing and strategically planning these missions when they came up. Then of course there was Flynn O’Connor, a martial artist and weapon connoisseur, who had a passion for photography that helped him deal with his emotions and past.
Fenton had shit. He hunted. He was a tracker for hire, a survivalist, and a man who felt out of place in most everywhere but surrounded by his team.
He didn’t trust anyone but his four buddies. Everyone else, he cautiously appraised.
He really didn’t want to do this shit anymore. He was getting tired of it. The fear, the adrenaline rush, the not knowing if he would live or die, or who would come out on top, him or the bad guys trying to stop him from completing his mission. He was tired of getting fucked over by the government, dealing with drug lords, corrupt officials and any other asshole with deep pockets that thought they could hire Fenton and the team to do their dirty work.
He didn’t want the dangerous missions anymore. Tracking and rescuing people who were lost was one thing, but getting shot at? That was no longer an adrenaline rush he craved. Now, when he looked into a man’s eyes before he killed that man in order to survive, he felt guilty, unsettled, and hollow inside. It was time to stop before he wound up dead.
The thought didn’t bother him as much as he thought it would. Who would miss him? Who would care if he died on the field of battle? Especially now, since he basically did dangerous shit like this for kicks and giggles. And of course, money?
“Hey, what’s with you?” Ford asked him.
He glanced at his commander and then at Flynn, who looked just plain relieved to be heading out of the danger zone.
“I think this is the last mission of this kind I want to be part of.”
Ford kept the same expression but squinted slightly.
“You? Really?”
Fenton nodded then pulled the material of his military jacket out so Ford could see the hole from the bullet that could have hit his flesh and even killed him if it were a half inch to the left.
“I’m done. No more missions like this,” Fenton confessed.
“I agree with Fenton. I’ve had it, too. I’m just not feeling it anymore. It feels wrong, and like I’m just asking to die out there in some foreign country for nothing really worth dying for,” Flynn added.