The Patrol returned to the field after making their report. They had declined the R&R entitled them; they had a vendetta to seek. Quills, Ringo’s wife, had a hard set to her hazel eyes. “Don’t worry,” her beau assured her. “We’ll string those sum’bitchin’ whoresons so high God’ll hafta’ look up at ‘em.”
“We need a plan, though,” Edge observed.
“How’s this for a plan,” Jehzi replied. “We find the little bastards, we cut out their guts, and use ‘em for saddlebags.”
“Just keep your rifle ready and go back to your bottle, hear?”
Jehzi glared for a moment, shrugged, and did as he suggested.
“I’ve got an idea,” Quills said softly. “Start off by tailin’ ‘em. Let ‘em now ye’re there, jus’ the two of ya, jus’ a watchin’. Stick to ‘em close as shit on a pig. Let ‘em stew, and jus’ when they can’t take it no more, Ringo and I hit ‘em like God’s own vengeance. They’ll be so busy watchin’ you, they won’t never think ‘bout ussen.”

Ringo lit up a cigarette and took a slow drag.
“This is why I love her,” he smiled.