by Ronie Kendig
“About the only thing making me happy is that it’s getting dark.” Leif expelled a thick breath. “Okay, Mercy, monitor radio and satellite traffic from here. Devine, we’ll drop you and Lawe here”—he tapped a spot on the image—“so you can get into position and scout it as we go in. We can’t afford to get into a chokehold out there.” He palmed the table. “We’ll split it into a three-part grid.” If Iskra and Baddar had been here—or even Cell—they could do four and do this a lot faster. “Clear the buildings and scoop around to the back. No one in the middle.” He looked at each member. “Clear?”
Once their affirmations came, Reaper headed to the vehicles and went outside the wire, Culver driving and Leif in the jump seat.
“Crazy to be back out here, huh?” Culver spoke loud enough to be heard.
“That’s a word for it.”
Culver shook his head. “It’s . . . different, ya know? On one hand, coming back is like breathing. You don’t forget. Senses are buzzing. The vigilance returns.” His gaze skidded along the rooftops as they barreled farther from the base. “And the smells. Hot dog, this place can stink when it wants to.”
“O’Neill said things are heating up with Daesh.”
Lawe snorted and called over the drone of the vehicle, “If it ain’t the Taliban, it’s ISIS. If it’s not ISIS, it’s ISIL. If it’s not them, now it’s Daesh or Haqqani. New names, same mess.”
It was true. It seemed like any time things were normalizing—as much as they could in a combat theater—a new threat emerged with the same endgame: kill US-led NATO forces. And now they had another entity to fight, one that couldn’t care less who they slaughtered as long as they won.
“Heard anything from Iskra?” Lawe hollered.
Leif shook his head and peered through the side slat in the armor-plated MRAP. He had no desire to talk about Iskra. Seeing that look in her eyes on the balcony, knowing she wanted the same things—marriage, kids—but was hurt and disappointed because he couldn’t go there. Not yet. Too much risk. And Dru had her searching for the book, which led Leif to one conclusion—he was afraid of what Leif might dig up. That was it, right? Otherwise, he’d send the one person who had more to gain and therefore more motivation to succeed: Leif.
Knowing she was out there, hunting the book, that she’d already been confronted by Veratti . . . it all meant she was in danger. And that wrecked him. What would happen to Taissia if she died? What would happen to him?
Nice thoughts, Runt.
“You and I are dirt when it comes to women, ya know that?” Lawe’s smirk split his thick beard.
Truth. “Comes with the uniform. Like all that facial hair.” Leif studied the road and landscape, glancing at the map on his watch. He eyed the road again. The terrain. The rise in the east. Heat wakes rippling in the late-afternoon sun. “Slow down.”
Culver glanced at him, concern replacing his smile as he lifted his foot from the accelerator. “What?”
“Devine,” Leif hollered over his shoulder, then ordered Culver to stop. “Behind that copse of trees.”
Culver eased the MRAP into a tangle of shrubs and trees that effectively hid them. Saito and Lawe went eyes out while Devine clambered toward the front and shouldered in close.
“Mercy, you seeing anything?” Leif asked over the comms.
“You passed the collapsed structure?”
Leif glanced at Culver, who shrugged and shook his head. “Negative.”
“But . . . how . . .” Mercy muttered. “Satellite shows you did.” She growled. “I think things might be fudged.”
Devine peered out the front. “We’ll drop here,” she suggested. “We can hike up the hill, clear that shrub area, then set up on the overlook. Maybe get vantage on what’s happening in the village.”
Attaching the strap of his M4, Lawe nodded. “Always did love me some Devine intervention.”
“Light and fast,” Leif said. “Eyes out. This could be nothing—”
“Or it might be exactly what has your spidey senses tingling,” Lawe said, heading to the rear door.
They slipped into the night, following a ravine around the back side of the copse. A dried-up creek guided them eastward in a twisting path.
Culver aimed the MRAP back onto the road and let it lumber along.
“Got a problem,” Saito called from the rear. “Signal keeps dropping.”
The words pushed his gaze to the circular village. Dropped comms could be from jamming tech, or they were too far from a tower. Either way, once they were in there, it was trouble.
“Base, this is Reaper Actual, come in.” Leif waited, anticipating there wouldn’t be a response, then keyed his comms again. “Coriolis, what’s your sitrep?” They rolled along the hard-packed road without a response. “Coriolis, this is Actual. Come in. Over.”
When more distance vanished without a response, he eyed Culver.
“Jamming, and I don’t mean with a rock band.”
Which meant someone knew they were coming. Was Brandon’s team okay?
Saito hovered between the front seats. “What’re you thinking? We still going in?”
Squinting, Leif considered their options. With Devine and Lawe on the hill, there was no way to notify them if they retreated. But entering that bottleneck with no obvious or safe exfil . . . He rubbed his jaw.
“They could shove an RPG right up our noses on approach,” Culver offered.
“This thing is a blazing beacon begging for explosives,” Saito said. “With comms down and us just walking in there . . .”
If they ditched the MRAP, they’d have to hoof it. Which meant being exposed and open. But it’d be easier to get out of a city individually than in a big vehicle that screamed I’m an American soldier—shoot me!
“Let’s go to ground.”
***
Once they’d low-crawled up into position and set up, Adam noticed something. “MRAP isn’t moving.” Tracing the anti-mine, anti-IED armored vehicle with the lenses of his nocs, he frowned. No movement. The side windows were no more than slats, so he couldn’t detect shapes in there. Trees and shrubs hid the front end.
Draped in a ghillie with local shrubbery attached to it, Peyton lay atop the hill. She nestled her weapon against her shoulder and peered through the scope, angling slowly in the direction of the others. Seconds fell off the clock. “Not seeing anyone in front. Glass is intact, but no sign of them.”
Adam shifted to key his comms. “Reaper, this is Badge. Come in.” Flattened with elbows propping his torso, he swept the area before repeating the call. “Reaper, what’s your situation? Over.” He tugged out his sat phone and nearly cursed. “No signal.”
“You always have a signal,” Peyton said, her eyes wide. “That’s why you have that phone—so we aren’t hung out to dry.”
“Someone’s jamming us,” he grunted. “Let’s hope Runt figured that out or anticipated trouble in the village. Check it—see what you can find there. I’ll look for Reaper.”
He searched the outlying terrain, searching for the team, for sign of— “Got ’em. Right below us to our six. Looks like Samurai.”
Focused, Peyton used her long-range scope—the same one she’d begrudgingly let him use when they were on the mountain in Burma. The one he’d bought her as a peace offering that had only aroused more anger and irritation.
She adjusted the dials, scanning the village.
He liked this. Always had. It might seem messed up to some guys—in fact, some men at the base had given him grief for being her spotter, since they felt he should be sniping—but he liked it. Liked being with her. Liked being there for her. She was a piece of history and a work of art. Lame saying, but it made her smile. Man, she had a nice smile. Glowing. He’d rather be stuck on a hillside with her in blazing heat than watching a game with the guys at a bar.
What did that mean? That he loved her?
“If you love something,” his gran had always said, “let it go. If it comes back, it’s yours. If it does
n’t, it never was.”
Pete was here. They weren’t on the best of terms, but things had started to shift. Swinging back toward good. Maybe. She tolerated him now, a big leap from a month ago. He considered her beneath the ghillie, memory filling in what the camouflage concealed. The smooth complexion and her full lips, so soft. She knew how to kiss. Would he—
“You’re staring.”
Adam grinned.
“Which means you’re not working,” she chided. “I’m not seeing anyone in the village.” Her movements were graceful, slow, and so perfectly stealthy. Even her calm, sultry voice was stealthy, sneaking under his radar. “Switching to infrared.”
He went back to poring over the terrain to find Reaper. “Spotted another.” It took him a while, but he finally located the others as they regrouped, hoofing it to the village. He relayed their location to Peyton. They weren’t obvious, or he’d have seen them right off the bat from an elevated position, so he wasn’t worried someone on the ground would see the team breaching the village.
Peyton uttered an oath.
Stunned, Adam couldn’t process what had come out of her mouth. Then his pulse spasmed, knowing that if Pete had cursed, it was bad. “What?”
“Unknowns holed up to Reaper’s three o’clock inside gate. There’s easily twenty armed combatants.”
“Brandon’s guys?”
“Not likel—wait.” She went silent for a minute. “I think our objectives are alive, but not in control,” she hissed. “Reaper’s walking into a trap.”
CHAPTER 22
JALALABAD, AFGHANISTAN
Shoulder to the wall of the main structure that formed the village gate, Leif tucked his head and listened behind him as Saito and Culver brought up the rear. A soft thump on his shoulder indicated their readiness. He did a look-see, then rounded the corner and rushed to the next one. Slammed up against the plaster, he waited for the guys. The fortress-like village was ominous through his NVGs. In the center, vehicles were parked around what looked like a once-thriving well. But no people. No lights. Quiet.
Too quiet.
After the next tap, Leif hustled right and slid along the back of the square hut that formed the main gate. At the corner, he slithered into the dark shadows that separated the hut from a larger, multistoried building. He pressed his shoulder to the wall, probing for signs of life. Glanced back to signal his team.
Green flared in his goggles, startling him. He froze. What was that?
It repeated. Glared in his sight. It was a lot like the infrared they used to paint a target—not visible to the naked eye but noticeable to someone wearing NVGs. It repeated, flashing—a pattern.
He grinned. Almost laughed. These fighters wanted to silence communications, but they didn’t realize who they were trying to cut off. He swung his gaze to the overlook and through his NVGs saw the infrared beam streaking down the hill. Devine intervention.
His pulse jacked at what she relayed using Morse code. Twelve guns. Four civilians. 0300. To his three o’clock. Mentally, he tracked that with what he knew of the village layout. He gave Devine a nod, indicating he’d received her message, then shared the intel to Culver and Saito. He swiveled and went to a knee, drawing in the dirt to update their plan.
The crunch of steps in the street stilled him. Leif snapped up his weapon and motioned the others back. Cheek to the stock, he focused on the gap between two buildings, anticipating a confrontation. He strained to hear past his drumming pulse to figure out how many were inbound. Did they know Reaper was in the fortress?
He only detected one set of steps. Hurrying. Sneaking. This guy was probably a lookout, which meant if he didn’t return, the combatants would know they had company. As the footfalls drew closer, Leif slid his M4 aside and unholstered his suppressed SIG P226. Unless someone was following this guy, neutralizing him was unlikely to be heard, but still a last resort.
Leif crouched in the darkness.
The man blurred into sight, rushing toward the front building where they’d come in. Leif eased farther into the alley, burying himself in shadows but keeping eyes on the target. Watching down the line of his SIG, he saw the guy peer around the corner, then glance over his shoulder toward wherever his buddies were holed up. He reeled about and started back.
Sensing the approach, Leif held steady. If the lookout entered this alley, he’d go down. Fast steps came . . . and went. The shadows were too heavy to see his face.
After switching to his M4, Leif peered through his scope to get a line on which door the guy opened. A face peeked out before the door closed—and somehow the guy looked right at Leif. His eyes widened.
Leif fired, clipping his shoulder.
The guy stumbled backward, leaving a clear bead on another man.
Leif eased back the trigger again. When a barrage of shots vomited from the doors and windows of the hideout, he sprinted to a vehicle and took cover. Checked the windows—curtained. They hadn’t boarded them up.
Relocated to the middle of the village, Culver and Saito had engaged the fighters but kept their fire controlled to avoid harming Brandon and his unit.
Leif hustled a wide circle around the fountain and came up on the opposite side, sliding from one structure to another. Sticking close to the wall, he kept his head on a swivel. The next building was the hideout. Shots volleyed, pinging off the vehicles where Saito and Culver were keeping them distracted. Leif snatched two flashbangs and pulled the pins. He tossed one through the curtained window and rolled the other at the door near the shooters.
Fire streaked across his bicep. He bit off a curse and yanked back, turning away in anticipation of the bright detonation. He closed his eyes and opened his mouth.
Light exploded. Smoke plumed and billowed on the hot breeze.
Ignoring the sticky warmth on his arm, Leif jerked around, throwing himself forward. Sighted the window. The curtain fluttered and gave him a view inside. Two men with weapons slumped against the wall, clutching their faces and coughing, disoriented, trying to see through the haze.
With that split-second recon, Leif lined up the shot and fired. Two short controlled bursts.
Shouts and screams echoed in the night.
Culver and Saito targeted those stumbling out of the house, coughing and shooting indiscriminately. They fired and took down the combatants, then scurried into position on the opposite side of the door. They nodded, and Leif barged in.
Shots went wild.
Leif snapped right and fired. Dropped a man. The crack of weapons’ fire outside rattled the air as Culver neutralized the last two. “Clear,” Leif called and waited for the same from Saito and Culver.
“They’re down,” Saito said. “Two wounded but alive. The others are gone.”
“Who’s Brandon?” Leif assessed the four soldiers against a wall and one on the floor.
A wiry guy cough-grunted and lifted an arm. “Here,” he said, then pointed to the soldier next to him. “He needs a medic.”
“Medic!” Leif called Saito over, who knelt at the injured man’s side and shouldered out of his ruck.
“You. It was you they were waiting for!” Brandon accused. “Why? Who are you? What did they want you for?”
“They wanted us dead?” Leif said, unsettled at the proclamation. Why would these terrorists be waiting for him? How could they even know Reaper was coming?
“Hey.” Culver nodded to something in the corner and hurried to it, flipping a switch.
Crackling erupted in Leif’s ear—the base, Devine, a chopper. Relief hit him.
“—ound. Repeat, helo is inbound!” Mercy’s voice sailed into his ear.
“Understood,” Leif replied. He turned to Brandon and indicated the dead terrorists. “Why’d they take you hostage? How they’d know . . . ?”
“Have no idea, but it wasn’t random. They knew our names.” Brandon saw Leif didn’t like the answer and shrugged. “They just came in, guns blazing, and rounded us all up. Spoke a language I don’t know.”
“Shoved us all in here and took our weapons and comms,” Brandon said. “Said if we talked, we died.”
“Half look local,” Culver said as he finished checking the dead. He thumbed the courtyard, where a steady thunder vibrated the ground. “Chopper.”
“Chief, your arm.” Saito pointed to Leif’s bicep.
“Just a graze.”
“Very big graze.”
“I’m fine.” Leif considered Brandon with narrowed eyes. “Who’s Cyrus Block?”
Fiery hatred spewed through Brandon’s expression. “Over there, dead,” he growled.
Stadium-bright light exploded through the center of the fortress as the chopper descended. Dust whipped up, peppering them even in the relative safety of the house.
“Can you walk?” Leif asked Brandon, who nodded. Leif extended his hand and helped Brandon to his feet, steadying him. Two Pararescuemen took over with the more heavily injured man, Saito giving an account of his vitals and situation, as well as what measures he’d taken in prepping the soldier. On board the helo, Leif wasn’t surprised to find Devine and Lawe had already been retrieved.
Back at the base, they were met by O’Neill and several officers, all demanding to know what had happened. They spent the better half of an hour breaking down events, actions taken, and justifications.
When the brass left, O’Neill glowered at Leif. “I told you I didn’t need trouble.”
“And I didn’t need to get shot,” he countered. “If you don’t mind, I’m heading to the infirmary to talk with Brandon.”
After a wary, confused glance at Reaper, the major nodded. “I have heat to douse after this fiasco anyway.”
Reaper crossed to the medical hub, where they entered the urgent care area. They made quick work of locating Brandon on a gurney, shirtless and freshly bandaged.
“Thanks for the extraction,” Brandon said with a lopsided grin. “Who the heck are you guys? You nailed that infiltration.”