"That's the one shot the little girl," Johnston told the doctor. "I guess my aim was a little off," he went on, looking down into the open eyes and the grimacing face that let loose another moaning scream. If he'd been a deer or an elk, Johnston would have finished him off with a pistol round in the head or neck, but you weren't supposed to do that with human targets. Die slow, you fuck, he didn't say aloud. It disappointed Johnston that the doctor gave him a pain injection, but physicians were sworn to their duty, as he was to his.
"Pretty low," Chavez said, coming up to the last living terrorist.
"Guess I slapped the trigger a little hard," the rifleman responded.
Chavez looked straight in his eyes. "Yeah, right. Get your gear."
"In a minute." The target's eyes went soft when the drug entered his bloodstream, but the hands still grabbed at the wound, and there was a puddle of blood spreading from under his back. Finally, the eyes looked up at Johnston one last time.
"Good night, Gracie," the rifleman said quietly. Ten seconds later, he was able to turn away and head back to the Dive Bomber to retrieve the rest of his gear.
There were a lot of soiled underpants in the medical office, and a lot of kids still wide-eyed in shock, having lived through a nightmare that all would relive for years to come. The Rainbow troopers fussed over them. One bandaged the only wound, a scratch really, on a young boy.
Centurion de la Cruz was still there, having refused evacuation. The troops in black stripped off their body armor and set it against the wall, and he saw on their uniform jackets the jump wings of paratroopers, American, British, and German, along with the satisfied look of soldiers who'd gotten the job done.
"Who are you?" he asked in Spanish.
"I'm sorry, I can't say," Chavez replied. "But I saw what you did on the videotape. You did well, Sergeant."
"So did you, ah?…"
"Chavez. Domingo Chavez."
"American?"
"Si. "
"The children, were any hurt?"
"Just the one over there."
"And the-criminals?"
"They will break no more laws, amigo. None at all," Team2 Lead told him quietly.
"Bueno. " De la Cruz reached up to take his hand. "It was hard?"
"It is always hard, but we train for the hard things, and my men are-"
"They have the look," de la Cruz agreed.
"So do you." Chavez turned. "Hey, guys, here's the one who took 'em on with a sword."
"Oh, yeah?" Mike Pierce came over. "I finished that one off for you. Balky move, man." Pierce took his hand and shook it. The rest of the troopers did the same.
"I must-I must-" De la Cruz stood and hobbled out the door. He came back in five minutes later, following John Clark, and holding-
"What the hell is that?" Chavez asked.
"The eagle of the legion, VI Legio Victrix, " the centurion told them, holding it in one hand. "The victorious legion. Senor Dennis, con permiso?"
"Yes, Francisco," the park manager said with a serious nod.
"With the respect of my legion, Senor Chavez. Keep this in a place of honor."
Ding took it. The damned thing must have weighed twenty pounds, plated as it was with gold. It would be a fit trophy for the club at Hereford. "We will do that, my friend," he promised the former sergeant, with a look at John Clark.
The stress was bleeding off now, to be followed as usual by elation and fatigue. The troopers looked at the kids they'd saved, still quiet and cowed by the night, but soon to be reunited with their parents. They heard the sound of a bus outside. Steve Lincoln opened the door, and watched the grown-ups leap out of it. He waved them through the door, and the shouts of joy filled the room.
"Time to leave," John said. He, too, walked over to shake hands with de la Cruz as the troops filed out.
Out in the open, Eddie Price had his own drill to complete. His pipe now filled, he took a kitchen match from his pocket and struck it on the stone wall of the medical office, lighting the curved briar pipe for a long, victorious puff as parents pushed in, and others pushed out, holding their children, many weeping at their deliverance.
Colonel Gamelin was standing by the bus and came over. "You are the Legion?" he asked.
Louis Loiselle handled the answer. "In a way, monsieur," he said in French. He looked up to see a surveillance camera painted directly at the door, probably to record the event, the parents filing out with their kids, many pausing to shake hands with the Rainbow troopers. Then Clark led them off, back to the castle, and into the underground. On the way the Guardia Civil cops saluted, the gestures returned by the special-ops troopers.
