The Edge of Trust: Team Edge by K. T. Bryan Read Free Book Online Page A

poppers or any other sort of let’s-blow-our-rivals-to-hell-and-back bullshit.  Drug runners tended to be nasty that way.  One simple oversight on Hutch’s part and they’d all be rock’n with Elvis. 
    Dillon wasn’t in a particularly rock’n mood.
    He retraced his steps, turning his men back about five hundred meters.  Kneeling, he scanned the muggy, green horizon and wiped the sweat off his forehead.  It would be dark soon, and in another three hours they could finally make their hit.  Keeping his voice pitched low, he asked, “Everybody good?” 
    Jarred Wesley, also known as Wolf, grinned.  “The humidity’s a real joy, sir.  Thermonuclear.”
    “That’s because you’re from Vegas, you tumbleweed.”  Chase, a preacher’s kid from Tampa, lived for sweat and swamp.  Wolf punched him hard on the arm.
    Ryan Monolito swatted at something buzzing around his face.  “Awesome, sir.  Love these bugs.”
    Shane Bentley, who could blow a hole through a dime from nearly a mile away, caressed his M86 sniper rifle and said in a loud whisper, “If you’ll hold still long enough, Lito, I could get a lock on the little bastard.”
    “Little my ass.  The mosquitoes here could carry a tank.”
    “Sea and air, liberty and freedom.  No one said anything about spending days on end in a friggin’ jungle with coca plants taller than I am.” Doug Jenkins was one of the original valley dudes, hailing straight from the concrete jungles of Los Angeles and in Dillon’s opinion, the best in the teams with explosives.  “Whoever said ‘no terrain is too tough’ has never been in this shithole.” 
    Nick Farrel, the team medic, smacked Doug upside the head.  “You’d rather be in Iraq?  Afghanistan maybe?”
    “Hell, yeah.  I can breathe in the desert.  It’s what you might call arid .”
    “And come home with ten pounds of sand in your lungs?  Screw that noise.”
    “Hey, at least I’d have some IED’s to play with.  I’d show those insurgent bastards what a real platter charge feels like.”
    As his men BS’d some of their tension away, Dillon hid a smile.  Homeland Security would have Doug’s balls if they knew what kind of crazy shit he built ‘for fun’. 
    Nick caught Dillon’s eye with a raised brow and a hopeful gleam.  Dillon rolled his eyes and nodded.  “Just keep it down.  I’ll stand look-out until Hutch gets back.”
    Nick grinned.  “Time for a little 4077.”
    In twice the speed of light, his entire team, minus Hutch, plopped in a circle, wearing full combat gear and expectant faces.  Dillon suppressed a grin. 
    Doug asked, “Season, episode, or character?”
    Episode got the majority and Nick started.  “In the episode where Hawkeye places an order for ribs, what does he forget to order?”
    Chase blurted, “Uh, ribs?”
    Lito snorted and shoved Chase.  “Too easy.  He forgot the coleslaw.” 
    Nick rang an air bell.  “Ding, ding.  Coleslaw is correct.  Your turn.” 
    Shane said, “I swear, Lito, if you ask what M*A*S*H stands for one more time, I’m going to shoot your right nut off.”
    Lito covered his crotch.  “Whatever would I tell the ladies?”
    “That you’re a moron?” 
    Lito leaned back on an elbow with a sigh.  “Fine.  If you get this one, you can shoot both my nuts off.”  That not only got everyone’s attention but they all looked a little too happily expectant.  “Man, you guys are heartless.  Okay.  My question is, what was Klinger’s real name?”
    Shane scoped up.  “Jamie Farr.  Man, stand up, your balls are headed for Brazil.”
    “Bzz, wrong.  Anyone else?”
    They all looked at each other, perplexed.
    Lito grinned.  “Jamie Farr was born Jameel Farrah.  Feel free to take a knee and kiss my royal balls.”
    “My ass.”
    “Bullshit.”
    “Where’d you come up with that crap?”
    Dillon turned from where he stood and cleared his throat.  “Pucker up, guys.  Lito’s right.  He also played a sheik