by Beth Sadler
A Man For Triena
By
Beth Sadler
Copyright Beth Sadler 2013
This book is written in Australian English.
Cover copyright Beth Sadler 2013
Prologue
Jethro James swiped irritably at the sticky trail of mingled blood and sweat that was running down his face and dripping into his rust coloured beard. The filthy, bloody state of his uniform sleeve bore witness to how many times he had already gone through this motion. Damn it, the last thing he needed right now was gummed–up eyes.
Sight cleared, he returned to staring intently down the scope of his rifle, trying to get a fix on just how many Taliban he had on his tail. The blood running down his face was the result of the last barrage of shots they had sent his way. The firing had come from behind the rocks to his right, chipping shards of rock into his shallow cave and peppering his head and face with their sharp edges.
The cave wasn’t much more than a shallow depression in the ground with the cliff behind him but, he was grateful for any respite at this stage of the operation. An overhang of rock had been providing him with some welcome shade from the merciless sun that burned down on this desolate landscape. Afghanistan mountain country was anything but friendly.
Three days ago he’d led the five man Australian SAS patrol into enemy territory with complete confidence. He’d done it dozens of times in the past, and had always been able to drift through the mountains like a shadow on the land; collecting intelligence as he went. This time their presence had been marked. Now, three of his men were dead, in an ambush so sudden and well planned that betrayal of their mission had to be behind it.
Incursion into Taliban territory always carried a high risk; however, betrayal was an unnecessary added risk, and left a cold knot of fury in his stomach. It would stay there until he found the one responsible or he took it to his grave with him. Obviously, an informant on the base had seen the midnight departure of the patrol and had locked onto the helicopter’s bearings. One call and the trap had been sprung.
Three of his men had been cut down by automatic fire thirty minutes into the recon mission. Jethro had knocked the man nearest to him behind an outcrop of rock when the firing started, not in time to save him from a bullet to the thigh but, at least he wasn’t cut in half like the other poor devils. Jethro followed him over in a rolling dive and returned deadly fire of his own, holding them off long enough to slap a tourniquet and field dressing on Sam’s leg.
For the last three days he’d played cat and mouse with his attackers, constantly moving position but, always heading back towards the pick-up zone with Sam slung over his broad shoulders. Now it looked like the game was nearly over, they had run out of time. Reinforcements had arrived for the Taliban, surrounding them on three sides. It wouldn’t be long now before they closed in and finished him off.
Jethro once more squinted down the scope of his rifle, checking on his enemy’s movements. A stray beam of sunlight struggled through the late afternoon clouds, bathing the dusty red dirt valley between Jethro’s position and his attackers in golden light. Damn, this country was beautiful but, he’d had enough of it. This was supposed to have been his last mission before he rotated home to an instructor’s position. Ah well, he’d never thought he was the type to ride a desk anyway, probably would have bored him to death.
A painfully suppressed groan, sounded from nearby. “You make a run for it JJ, I’m done for, but there’s no need for you to die with me,” grunted Sam as he slowly recovered consciousness, he’d been drifting in and out for the last three hours as he got weaker. Jethro glanced down at the man who had guarded his back on too many occasions to count—no better warrior existed as far as he was concerned.
“Shut up, Sam, we’ll get out of this mess as soon as it gets dark enough to move.” Jethro answered with grim determination.
“You know the Taliban are only waiting for dark to close in on us J.J. You’ve picked off enough of their men to make them wary and keep them at bay until now but, I know we’ve got less than an hour left before they attack in force from all sides. Get going man. Prop me up against the rocks and I’ll hold them off while you get away.” Sam grunted with pain as he tried to swing his body into a firing position.
Fresh blood welled up from his thigh wound, running down his leg and puddling in the red dirt at his feet. The flies loved this sign of fresh food, swarming in a black cloud to covering his leg in a foul, living bandage.
“Damn it, Sam, hold still. I’m not going anywhere without you so you may as well rest up for the next fight.”
Jethro felt a spurt of renewed determination. He didn’t know how but, he sure as hell was going to do his best to get them out of this mess. He wanted the informant back at camp to quail in his boots when he saw Jethro had made it back and was gunning for the traitor in camp.
The shadows lengthened as the two warriors settled in to face their final battle, in a red dirt valley, thousands of miles from home.