Keeping a Warrior

by Melanie Hansen

  “Not now?”

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  He swallowed hard. “Because I’ve come to realize how blind I’d been to how far we’d grown apart over the years. How little we had in common as adults.”

  She nodded at him encouragingly, and as always with her, Rhys let the verbal vomit spew. “After I joined the Air Force and was gone so much, it was super easy to pretend everything was great, you know? I’d come home, there’d be lots of sex, good times with friends, just the—the newness of it all over again. By the time the cracks started showing, it’d be time for me to leave again.”

  “But you asked her to marry you.” Devon’s tone wasn’t accusatory, just genuinely curious. “In a big production, I’ve heard.”

  At the thought of that oh-so-public boneheaded proposal, Rhys buried his face in her hair. “Desperation,” he admitted quietly. “I could feel her slipping away, feel us slipping away. Being with her is all I’ve ever known, Devon, and she’s always needed me so damn much. Getting married wasn’t the answer, and I knew that, but I still put her on the spot so bad, oh my God. In front of my entire goddamn platoon. What could she say but yes?”

  Embarrassment and anguish fought for dominance, clogging his throat, but Devon soothed him with a kiss. “I think we’ve all been there. Trying to hang on to something that’s over, or trying to force it into one certain shape when it’s clearly another.”

  Like us. Like me dreaming about a life with you.

  Suddenly he could picture it so clearly—skydiving together on their downtime, working out, hiking, learning to ride motorcycles, surfing; a whole lifetime of fun, and adventure, and service with this beautiful, fearless woman who’d snuck her way into his soul when he wasn’t looking.

  You’re going to leave me. You have to, because you have so much to offer the Army, the world, the women in places like this who need a strong advocate. How can I possibly tie you down?

  “Well, I’ve definitely learned from my mistakes,” he murmured, sweeping her into a dramatic dip to hide how his heart ached. “And I don’t want to waste another minute dwelling on the past when I could be making love to you.”

  Pulling her upright and into his arms, he kissed her, Devon’s mouth soft, welcoming.

  “Mmm.” She nipped his lower lip gently. “You taste so good.”

  A sudden knock on the door made them spring apart. Shane stuck his head in. “Sorry, guys, but El-Tee just called an op brief. We’re rolling.”

  “Ah, shit.” Rhys reluctantly let her go as she stepped back and trailed her fingers along his arm.

  “Later,” she promised.

  And then she was gone.

  “Okay, people, listen up.” Bradley’s voice was tight with adrenaline when they were all finally gathered in the TOC. “A Ranger unit has asked for our help with a high-value target in an enemy village.”

  A ripple of excitement went through everyone assembled, and Rhys’s eyes met Devon’s.

  Let’s do this.

  * * *

  Devon opened her equipment locker and stood with her hands on her hips, getting into the mission mindset before starting to methodically lay out everything she needed.

  Ballistic vest, Kevlar helmet and night-vision goggles. M4 with extra magazines. In one chest pocket of her uniform blouse, she stuffed a wad of cash that she’d use to barter her way to freedom if she was ever captured. In the other chest pocket, she stashed a blowout kit, which consisted of a tourniquet and some Kerlix dressings, blood-absorbing gauze that’d buy a gunshot victim time until the medic—Rhys—could get there.

  She stuck her nine-millimeter pistol into the holster on her hip, along with even more magazines, wrapped her trusty shemagh around her neck, and lastly grabbed a handful of candy from a large bag and slipped it into the cargo pocket of her pants. Treats for the kids.

  When guys started emerging from their rooms, bristling with gear, Devon followed them outside the wire to the large clearing they’d use as a helicopter landing zone.

  “Comms check.”

  They gathered in a circle, and Smudge took them through their radio frequencies. There’d be one freq for talking with the command center, and one for intra-squad communication. Devon touched her “bone phone,” the conduction headphone that rested behind her ear. She also wore a throat mic, and she murmured “CST, receiving loud and clear” when it was her turn.

  All that was left was to wait for the helo.

  Some of the guys turned away to take one last piss break. Rhys stood a little ways apart, fingers linked behind his head.

  What was he thinking about? Everyone had their own little pre-mission rituals. She’d seen a couple of guys stuff rosary beads in their pockets, and she knew of one dude who carried a tiny, folded-up American flag in between the chest plates of his ballistic vest.

  Rhys caught her looking and wandered over. “Hey. Anything on your mind?”

  She shrugged. “A little nervous.” The admission slipped out before she could stop it, but Rhys only gave a commiserating chuckle.

  “Me, too. Fast roping isn’t my favorite.”

  Devon winced. This wasn’t a stealth mission, where they’d land some distance away and patrol in. No, this was a full-bore, balls-to-the-wall assault, where they’d fly straight to the “X”—the target—and slide down ropes from the hovering helo.

  The sound of rotor blades, and the Black Hawk landed nearby in a huge cloud of dust and flying rock. The platoon broke into a trot as soon as the doors slid open.

  Wedging herself toward the rear, Devon hooked in while the rest of the team piled in after her.

  Shuddering, the Black Hawk rose into the air, the nose dipping to gain altitude and speed. The doors were left open, and guys perched on the edge, legs dangling into the void. As they flew, Devon blanked her mind of everything but getting out of that helicopter onto the ground safely.

  When the five-minute call came, Devon’s heart skipped a beat and then started to race. Her palms grew slick inside her heavy roping gloves, and she flexed her fingers, welcoming the burst of adrenaline. The world around her narrowed, taking on a crisp clarity that heightened all of her senses.

  “Two minutes!”

  The guys in the doorway helped the crew chief bolt a large steel bar into place. The rope was uncoiled and hooked on, then given a few firm tugs. The first guy leaned out, ready...

  “Go!”

  He disappeared, followed in quick succession by the others. Not twenty seconds later, it was Devon’s turn. Praying, she grasped the thick rope and leapt out of the helo. Rotor wash buffeted her, the dust kicked up by the hovering bird swirling in front of her NVGs like the worst sort of blizzard.

  The ground she was hurtling toward was totally obscured by the brownout. She was going to slam into it, and one or both legs would snap like matchsticks. Panic welled up in Devon’s throat as she searched desperately for a landmark, something—anything—to orient herself.

  There! A glimpse of the hard-packed, rocky earth. Devon tightened her core and bent her knees, the ground rising up to meet her in a furious rush.

  She made a perfect landing. Her gloves still smoking from the friction of the rope, Devon slung her M4 up to pull security. The assaulters were already swarming the target village, and Devon had barely caught her breath when she heard the call echoing in her bone phone.

  “CST!”

  “On my way!”

  Rhys beckoned to her from in front of a stone house with a goat pen. “Women and children are in here. Call if you need me.”

  He jogged away as Devon strode into the small house. It was modest, with a low ceiling and a dirt floor. A group of women and girls clutching babies sat on a mound of rugs and stared at her with wide, terrified eyes.

  She paused in the middle of taking off her helmet. There was something off here. The women were sitting very still, as if afraid of disturbing something. Devon’s hair stood on end, and her skin prickled.

  Her instincts
screaming to act natural, Devon said in Pashto, “No men will approach you. You’re safe.” Instead of calming the women, their looks turned pleading, and they still didn’t say a word.

  Devon’s eyes darted around the small house. It was one room, simply furnished with some crude furniture and throw rugs. No place for anyone to hide, unless...

  All the blood drained from her face when the truth hit her. The mound of rugs the women were sitting on. She caught the attention of one of the little girls and used her fingers to mime someone walking before stroking her chin to indicate a long beard. Then she pointed at the rugs.

  Is there a man under there?

  Slowly, the little girl nodded. She brought one hand up and pointed her index finger at Devon, the thumb cocked up. A gun. A man with a gun.

  Devon was alone with an armed man and surrounded by women and babies.

  In a split second her mind raced through several scenarios. Have the women dive away while she shot through the rug? No. The Rules of Engagement wouldn’t permit her to shoot without verification that he was a threat. The women’s word wasn’t enough.

  Call to him to come out? If he did have a gun, he’d come out firing, and at the very least some of the innocent people in the house would be killed. The man knew the Rangers and SEALs had come for him. He’d be desperate, with nothing to lose.

  Fear raced through her as time slowed down. She didn’t want to die here, and she didn’t want any of these women and children to die here. Her first act had to be to get these people out of harm’s way.

  She put her finger to her lips in the universal sign for shhh. In her halting Pashto, she said, striving to keep her voice calm and friendly, “I must search you. Please send the children to me.”

  One little girl got up from the rug and ran to her. Instead of searching her, Devon shoved her toward the door. Another child. Then another. Throughout, Devon kept chattering in a mix of English and Pashto to cover up any noise.

  “After I search, you sit back down,” she kept saying in a desperate attempt to make the hidden man think everything was normal, that she didn’t suspect. One by one she got the children out, the older ones carrying the babies. Then a couple of the younger women.

  How long will he keep buying this?

  With only two women remaining, Devon eased her pistol out of the holster and thumbed off the safety. On mission their guns were all carried in condition one, meaning there was a round already in the chamber; no need to noisily rack the slide.

  She got into a shooting stance, gun trained on the rug. Despite the adrenaline burning in her veins, her aim was steady. She put her finger on the trigger, then nodded for the next woman to get up. As she did, the rug bucked when the man underneath surged to his feet. Screaming, the remaining women dove for the floor.

  An AK-47 chattered, the first shots whipping past Devon with loud snaps.

  Respiratory pause. Center mass. Shoot.

  With no hesitation, Devon squeezed the trigger in rapid succession. As the bullets slammed into him, the man didn’t flail around like in the movies, he just dropped like a stone, legs still tangled in the rug.

  In two long strides, Devon reached his side and kicked the gun away, then backed up against the wall and raised her hands, knowing what would happen next.

  “Stay down!” she yelled to the women. “Don’t move!”

  The room exploded with SEALs. They swarmed in, weapons up, taking in the situation at a glance. Devon stayed still while Matt, his gun trained on the man, nudged him over with his foot. He flopped on his back, boneless, arms akimbo.

  “He’s dead. Clear.”

  Muzzles dropped toward the floor, but safeties were still off, fingers resting on trigger guards. Devon didn’t move as Matt took a knee and searched the man with brisk efficiency. He tossed aside several items, including a cell phone.

  Rhys strode toward Devon.

  “Are you hurt?” he demanded, waiting while she safed and holstered her pistol before reaching out to run his hands over her shoulders and along her arms, searching for wounds.

  “I don’t know,” she answered honestly. She felt no pain, but that didn’t mean anything. Shock and adrenaline would mask it, and she could be bleeding out and not know it.

  Grimly, Rhys conducted a cursory examination, feeling along her sides, her back. When he was satisfied, he stepped back. “No injuries.” He blew out a breath, his voice tight with anger as he said, “Jesus Christ. We sent you right into the shit. Alone.”

  The SEALs had ushered the women safely out and were already conducting SSE, sensitive site exploitation, collecting intel. Shane withdrew a small digital camera from his pocket and began to take pictures of the dead man from every angle.

  “Is it him?” Devon whispered. “The bomb maker?”

  Without a word, Shane pulled a laminated card from a different pocket and handed it to her. She took it, gazing into a hard face, a pair of dark eyes brimming with hatred, then down at the man on the floor, that same face now slack in death.

  Kill or capture. I killed him.

  The first tremors went through her. Matt sent her a sharp-eyed glance. “It was him or you. Remember that.”

  His voice sounded like it was underwater.

  Oh, my fucking God, I killed someone. I killed a human being.

  Had there been any other choice? Could she have shot him in the leg, the arm?

  She forced herself to look again at the image of his hate-filled face. If he could have, that human being would’ve killed her, her teammates, the women and children if they’d gotten in the way. He’d blown up Marines by building IEDs. He’d sent out suicide bombers.

  Now he won’t kill anyone else. Ever. Because of me.

  A strange mix of exhilaration and remorse churned in Devon’s gut. She clapped her hand to her mouth to suppress whatever was welling in her throat, but it escaped anyway, a high-pitched sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

  What the hell is wrong with me?

  “Take her out,” someone snapped, but Rhys already had his arm around her shoulders and was leading her to the door.

  Once outside Devon put her back to the wall of the house and slid to sitting. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her whole body trembling. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

  Rhys crouched next to her. “Are you kidding? You’ve just been through hell. No reason to be sorry.” He looked like he wanted to take her in his arms, but he didn’t. “You going to be okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  The last thing she wanted to do was make one of these guys have to babysit her. She shoved down the nausea.

  “Where are the women?” she asked, proud that her voice was calm and steady.

  Rhys pointed toward one side of the courtyard, and then he stood and hauled her to her feet.

  As Devon approached the women, she kept her expression calm, open and friendly, not sure how they’d receive her after the burst of violence they’d been subjected to.

  To her surprise they clung to her, gathering around her fearfully as the SEALs and Rangers worked the scene.

  Devon kept up a steady chatter, and handed out candy. At one point a Ranger walked by, shouting something to his buddy across the way. The little girl sitting next to Devon squeaked and buried her face in her mother’s lap.

  “It’s okay,” Devon said softly. “They won’t hurt you.”

  The little girl wouldn’t look up, and suddenly Devon saw her teammates as these people did—men who didn’t even look human. The night-vision goggles they wore made them appear otherworldly, alien. They were bristling with weapons, and spoke loudly in a language the women and children couldn’t understand.

  Sometimes they didn’t treat them very well, as she’d heard from the village women that afternoon, about how the bored and restless men had amused themselves by shooting feral cats and terrifying everyone in the vicinity. They’d roughed up “suspicious” males while looking for Taliban sympathizers, seeming to take great pleasure i
n cowing innocent people.

  It was awful, and appalling, and if Devon’s presence now provided even the slightest bit of comfort, she’d consider it a job well done.

  At last the team seemed to be wrapping things up, and Devon closed her eyes as they carried the dead bomb-maker out of the house and laid him by the side of the road just beyond the perimeter of the village.

  Rhys approached, but kept a respectful distance from the group of women as Devon said her goodbyes. When she joined him, he said, “Extraction landing zone’s about three miles west. You okay?”

  “Yes.”

  The SEALs and Rangers spread out along the rocky trail as they hiked in the direction of the LZ, Devon’s vigilance at an all-time high. The surrounding forest was dark, forbidding, and—Devon was sure—full of eyes. She could feel them on her, feel their hatred, and she waited for the attack, for the hollow snap of bullets...

  It didn’t come. At the LZ, everyone took a knee, scanning the perimeter. Not long until the beat of rotor blades, and the first helo landed to whisk the Rangers away. Another short wait, and then it was their turn.

  At the outpost, Bradley hurried from the tactical operations center to meet them, having followed the mission in real-time on the drone feed. “Get your after-action reports filed,” he said, “then we’ll meet at 1300.”

  Devon glanced at her watch. It was four in the morning, and they had until one p.m. to file their reports and grab a few hours’ sleep. Rhys appeared at her side. “If you want to downstage your gear and work on your AAR at my place, just come over, okay?” He squeezed her shoulder once and left her alone.

  In her tiny room, Devon carefully hung up her equipment and then methodically took apart and cleaned her pistol. The smell of cordite was strong, her magazine half-empty.

  The look of surprise on his face when I shot him. He didn’t expect the woman to go down fighting.

  When she unbuttoned her uniform blouse, a tear in the sleeve caught her eye. It hadn’t been there before, and a chill slithered through her when she saw the char marks on the fabric. It’d been a bullet that’d missed her by mere inches, so close it’d tugged on her sleeve.