Burning BridgesA Bobbie Bridger Novel
Heath Stallcup
Contents
Author’s Note
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
From the desk of Heath Stallcup
About the Author
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Burned Bridges
©2020 Heath Stallcup
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living, dead, or otherwise, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or unauthorized use of the material or artwork contained herein is prohibited without the express written permission of the author or Devil Dog Publishing.
Printed in the U.S.A.
Editor Sheila Shedd
Cover Artist Jeffrey Kosh
Created with Vellum
For my cousin Denise “Deputy Burress,” who thought Bridger sounded hot and needed his own stories. And my other cousin, Terri, who urged me to make it a series.
I hope I do your faith justice.
Author’s Note
I’m so hesitant to continue these stories of Bobby Bridger. While I love the character and think that there’s unlimited untapped potential, I still question my ability to pen anything that is outside of horror.
I loved who he was in Whispers, and I enjoyed playing him with and against my gun-toting buddies in Flags, but to break him out into this world? I suppose time (and the reviews) will tell.
Welcome to the world of subterfuge, politics and covert operations.
Prologue
“Every time a major leader, head, chieftain, of any sort of transnational criminal organization—but perhaps especially, violent narco-trafficking organizations—gets taken out of the game...there is a vacuum that’s created, and nature abhors a vacuum.” —Peter Vincent, US Justice Department liaison to the US embassy, Colombia, 2006-09, as told to Business Insider.
Medellin, Colombia, 1998
The flimsy wooden door of the adobe brick house flew open and bounced off the exterior wall as Lisa Vasquez hit the ground and rolled. She quickly came to her feet and keyed her coms, “We’re blown!”
Bullets whizzed past her or erupted into the ground along her path as she darted behind ancient farm equipment and scattered drums. “Bravo! Bravo! I need exfil! NOW!”
She pulled the Beretta 9MM from her thigh holster and chambered a round as the shooting died down and the men following her reloaded. Lisa popped up from behind the barrels and leveled the front sight on the lead man. She planted two quick rounds to his chest before pointing the front blade at the next man.
The three men still standing jumped to the side and rolled in the dirt, hoping to evade her shots, and she followed each with the barrel of her weapon. “Condor, do you copy?” she yelled over the bark of the pistol. “I need exfil, NOW!”
“Chopper en route, Sparrow. Backup is on the way.”
“They’d better hurry!” She fired two more rounds at her pursuers then ducked behind the barrels again. She patted her thighs and pulled one of her spare magazines. Gripping it tightly, she held the pistol over the edge of the barrels and fired blindly.
“Three mikes.” Gregg Soares’ voice sounded tinny over the coms and she risked a quick look. “You might want to find cover, Sparrow.”
“Ya think?” she yelled as more rounds thumped against the metal barriers. “Alert Mario. He may be walking into a trap.”
“Done and done, Sparrow.” Gregg’s voice took on an edge as he continued, “Be advised that Bridger and Mauk are with him.”
Lisa ground her teeth as she slammed the fresh magazine into the grip of the pistol. “Dammit.” She popped up from her cover and took quick aim as bullets whizzed by her head. She dropped one more of the men and the remaining two quickly turned and ran back for cover behind the main building.
She stood and stared at their retreating forms. “Yeah, you better run, you sons of—”
The smoke trail that remained overheard was the only visible evidence of the ordinance fired at the building. Lisa was knocked back by the concussion and couldn’t hear the chopper blades as the craft set down just south of her position.
She moaned as she came to her feet and shook her head, hoping to put the marbles back into their proper place. The ground around her became shadowed and she turned to look up as DJ White extended a hand. “I hear you need a lift?”
She gripped his arm and quickly pulled herself up. “We need to stop Mario.”
DJ practically dragged her back to the chopper and held the forward cabin door open as she crawled inside. She quickly donned her headset and keyed the coms. “We have to stop Mario now. He’s headed into a trap.”
Rob Wilcott gave her an award winning smile. “Gregg’s on it.” He turned his head and watched as DJ clipped the tether to his waist before they lifted off.
“Bertha is manned.” DJ slapped the side of the 35MM door mounted machine gun. “Take us in.”
Rob tilted the yoke and the craft seemed to slide down the face of the mountain, engine revving as the rotary wing craft descended over the dense vegetation.
“Get us there in one piece, Wolly.” Lisa yelled as she gripped the “oh shit” handle.
“Time is of the essence, darlin’.” Rob shot her a toothy grin. “If we’re gonna pull Mario’s fat from the fire, we need to hustle.”
Lisa adjusted the radio and called Gregg. “Please tell me you got through.”
Gregg’s voice sounded hurried as he replied. “I did, but it may be too little, too late.” She felt her heart drop when he came back. “They’re under fire.”
“Tell him we’re on the way!” DJ yelled as he charged Bertha.
“We’re en route!” Lisa yelled over the
