RIck, Timoteo encounter Regulare stalker/Sniper
Timoteo sent Alcotan (formerly Rick’s “The African Cur”) off on a cardioid recon 100m ahead of him and Rick. As usual the dog made no sound — no leaf-shake, no shuffle of angels’ feet, no snap-twigs, no breath no cough nor growl. Next they heard screams from a man 50m ahead. Alcotàn had found a sniper behind a log, the one who had been trailing them for weeks now. Alcotàn stands there w his jaw locked on the back of but not piercing the back of the Moors’ neck. Timoteo points to Rick to stay put.
No point in both of us getting shot.
He strides forward, surveys the scene, gestures at dog to back off. Alcotàn stays stock still.
(whispers to dog)
Alcotan, cálmate, mi lobo, cálmate
Timoteo glares at Alcotan who cocks his leg, throws a short stream of piss on El Regulare’s crotch. Steps back sulkily.
Ay Regulare. No está el día mejor para Vd.
The soldier is a Moor, speaks no Spanish. Replies only a grunt. Timoteo kicks him over to his back. Looks at him. Points to the knife on the Nationalist’s belt. Gestures for him to slit his wrists. Leaves the dog on guard. Timoteo walks back to Rick and they carry on down the ridgeline saddle. Dog and El Regulare remain behind.
Everything okay back there?
Happily things are more clear now.
The 2 carry on across the mountain.
Nationalist squad finds dead moor
Ay, dios mio. Que se pasa aqui?
Soldiers see the slit wrists, muddy pawprints all around the site.
Un perro del diablo.