Al Seriq’s twelve-foot concrete walls were topped with guard towers at each corner. Desert surrounded three sides. The gate was four inches of solid iron. Impenetrable even with a 50-caliber. It was a terrorist’s dream and a siege team’s nightmare.
Their saving grace was the river, which ran straight up to the southern edge of the compound, with vegetation growing thick along the banks. That was all the concealment Hunter’s men needed to make a successful breach.
“Careful, Top, he’s turning,” Jared said. Hunter continued forward, slow and steady, until he halted directly beside the east tower. He took a deep breath and rolled to his back. A blanket of stars spread out over the night sky, but he barely even noticed their beauty. His focus was on the tower. Watching. Waiting.
His muscles drew tense and ready. His heart rate slowed.
“Go.” Jared’s voice came through. Hunter didn’t hesitate. He threw his grappling hook; the metal chinked quietly into the concrete. He ascended the rope, ignoring the stench of the rotting bodies, and pulled himself over the wall, landing in a crouch on the balls of his feet. The oblivious guard took another drag off his cigarette, and Hunter snapped his neck.
The night remained quiet, the only sounds the cadence of water and the whirring of insects. Ranger signaled him from the west tower. Phase One was complete.
As Hunter looked out across the empty courtyard, a chill of unease slipped icy fingers down his neck. Nothing moved. It was too silent.
Jared cleared the tower and donned the fallen guard’s jacket and hat, resuming position for the dead man.
“Clear.” All his men were in position now. Hunter peeked over the edge, surveying the compound below.
“Hold.” Hunter issued the command.
“What’s wrong, Top?” Shane asked.
“Too quiet. Something’s wrong.” Most of Al Seriq’s followers were fanatically loyal, to the point of suicide, and those who weren’t, were loyal for fear of death. Hunter poured over the satellite images in his mind. There were always roving patrols. Always.
Unless this was a trap, and Al Seriq knew they were coming. “Jared and Hoyt, take watch. I’m going to radio in to command. Something doesn’t feel right.”
Normally he wouldn’t pay any more attention to his feelings than he would a gnat hovering over his plate, but his instincts were screaming. And they had saved his ass more times than any CIA intel.
Hunter dropped to the tower floor and pulled out his radio. “Apache Main, this is Mary. Over.”
“Mary, this is Apache. Over.” The rough and unfamiliar voice that came through the comm only intensified the trickle of unease inside Hunter.
“Where’s the Wolf?” Captain Grey should have been on the other end of the line.
“The Wolf is in the woods. This is the Cottage. Over.” Shit. Captain Grey would be absent for only two reasons: a major screw-up or death. Something was definitely off.
“The Shepherds aren’t at home. I repeat, the Shepherds aren’t at home.” Hunter controlled his breathing, fighting to keep his mind clear and focused.
“Copy, Mary. Stand by.”
Hunter rose to his knees and surveyed the courtyard with his night vision goggles. No movement. Everything about this place looked normal, but his gut screamed ambush.
“Mary, this is the Cottage. What is your recommendation?”
“My recommendation is to abort the mission until we have further intel.” Hunter leaned his forehead against the radio. He knew command would ignore his advice, just like he knew his men would be the ones to pay for their decision.
“Stand by.” The radio clicked off. Static sounded through Hunter’s earpiece, replaced by Ranger’s voice, “Top, you know they ain’t gonna call it off.” Ranger didn’t possess the ability to turn off his mouth.
“Ranger, you know, Dad gave me a good piece of advice when I was young.”
“Yeah, what’s that?”
“Shut the hell up.” Hunter looked again. Still no movement.
The radio crackled back to life. “Mary, this is the Cottage.”
“Go ahead.”
“We need you to bring the Little Lamb home if it’s on site.”
“Roger.” Shit. Hunter dropped his head and took a deep breath, ignoring the vice tightening around his chest. He took a quick exhale to release it. They were going into a potential massacre, but then again, Task Force Scorpion didn’t get called in for pansy-ass missions.
“You get that, team?” Hunter asked. They had all heard his communication with headquarters over the remote mic system.
“Roger. We’re with you, Top.”
Really, he couldn’t blame HQ for asking them to continue. This was the first time they had come anywhere close to having solid intel on this terrorist fucker. And it might be the last. Two months ago, Al Seriq and his men had begun committing mass genocide on the Pashtuns. So far only a few pictures had made it out of the Indus Valley Desert, but they had been gruesome, even for him.
Corpse after corpse. People. Animals. Nothing and no one had been spared. And the bodies hanging from the walls of the compound…
No. They couldn’t call their mission off. Not now. “It’s a go. Follow the plan. But be on alert; I don’t like the feel of this.”
Hunter descended the primitive wooden ladder to the bottom of the compound and took off running before his feet had a chance to sink into the sand. Ranger and Shane followed, each backing into the first outbuilding, weapons raised.
The compound was built like a bull’s eye target. Single-story dwellings ringed the concrete wall, and the ISA leaders and their families were housed in the two-story bunker that sat in the center. That bull’s eye was their target.
Hunter peered around the corner, down an opening between two of the squat buildings. The pathway was dark and empty. Hunter lifted his hand, motioning his men, and they moved forward in a crouched run. Cleared the next path. Crossed to the central compound and ducked down next to the entry.
Hunter checked the door, found it unlocked, and moved to breach. The wood door swung open soundlessly, so he moved in, gun raised. The dark room swallowed all the light from the moon, but the people littering the floor were clearly visible through their NVGs. And clearly dead.
Unease returned full force, and a cold sweat broke across Hunter’s brow. He ignored it, determined to get this mission finished and get the hell out. Anxiety was a luxury he couldn’t afford to entertain.
He signaled to the others to follow him and they moved silently to the staircase along the west wall and eased up the stairs, emerging in a short hallway lined with five closed doors.
They moved with the efficiency of a machine, clearing the rooms in order. Hunter and his men regrouped in the hallway and moved to the second to last door. Hunter led, Ranger following close behind. Men lay scattered on pallets on the floor, some at odd angles.
“Why would Seriq kill his own men?” Ranger knelt down and prodded the nearest form with his weapon.
“Fuck if I know, but I’m getting the itch.” The itch that some bad shit was about to go down. Hunter kept watch from the doorway.
“Shit, this isn’t good.”
“Fall back. Now. We need to evacuate.” Hunter’s nerves were on full alert.
“But what if Al Seriq’s in the last room?” Shane crept to the door at the end of the hall before Hunter could stop him.
Hunter’s radar blasted to full alert, blaring in his ears. “Shane, fall back. Now.”
But it was too late.
Shane opened the door, his rifle raised. Hunter ran to back him up, weapon at the ready, and came to a stop in the doorway. A mutilated man sat tied to a chair, the light of a single bulb illuminating what was left of him.
“Oh shit, I’m gonna puke.” Shane coughed and covered his mouth with his arm.
“Can you ID him?” Ranger approached the room.
“With what?”
Hunter inched forward, realization dawning fast and hard. The blac
k bag pulled down over the corpse’s head was tied off at the throat with barbed wire. Dried blood had tracked uneven paths down his naked shoulders, but not enough to camouflage the word carved into his chest. Traitor.
His intestines spilled into his lap below the word. But his eyes weren’t focused on the inside-out guts so much as the black ring on the corpse’s right hand. A ring Hunter had seen on a hand lifting a beer, casting a fishing rod back home, training for combat.
Ice-cold rage unleashed inside Hunter, but he held still, welcoming the beast inside him.
“It’s Mr. J. Fall back. Fall back. It’s a trap.” Their CIA contact, the only person to ever get inside Al Seriq’s circle, was dead.
Hunter ran down the hall, his feet fueled by adrenaline and anger. He took a breath and released it, forcing the raw emotions out with it. Now wasn’t the time for grief. He had to get his men out of the compound, fast.
They pounded down the stairs, not bothering to keep quiet now, jumped over the bodies on the first floor, and backed up to the front door. A bullet slammed into the doorframe a couple of inches from Hunter’s face. “Shit!”
“Top, we got a shit-storm stirring. This situation is about to get FUBAR on our asses if y’all don’t get the hell out,” Hoyt said, his voice urgent.
“How many combatants you counting?”
“Fifteen. More coming. Got five behind the building. Ten in front. We can take out some from the towers, maybe provide some distraction.”
“Okay. On your signal.” Hunter nodded to Ranger and Shane across the doorway. A few seconds later, the compound rang with the sound of bullets sinking into flesh, followed by screams.
“Top, more coming. Y’all gotta get out now.” The sound of more gunfire punctuated Jared’s voice.
Shane eased his head up over the open window and jerked back down in time to avoid a bullet. “Damn, I’m tired of getting shot at.”
Hunter forced himself to focus. They had plenty of ammunition, but they were running out of time to get out of the middle compound. “Shane, can you get eyes on the house to the right?”
“Hell, yes.”
“Ranger, house on the left?”
“Got it.”
“Hoyt, Jared, clear a path up the middle. We’re coming out—going left.”
“Roger.”
Hunter threw his M-18 grenade through the open door, and within seconds, violet smoke filled the area, concealing their movements.
Hunter radioed to their over-watch in the towers. “Moving.”
Hunter and his team rushed through the door and headed left, picking off targets as the opportunity arose. Combatants swarmed from the surrounding buildings like ants. Gunfire erupted like a Chinese fireworks show. The sharp gunshots transformed into sick thumps as the bullets sank into flesh.
The tat-tat-tat of an AK registered right before searing pain drilled into Hunter’s thigh. “Argh.” Hunter hit the sand only a foot from the cover of the nearest house and grabbed his leg, blood soaking his hands.
Shane dragged him the rest of the way to the compound wall before stopping to inspect the wound. “Through and through.” Without missing a beat, he ripped open Hunter’s first-aid pouch and applied a pressure dressing.
Fuck.
Ranger backed towards them, providing cover fire. Militants continued to swarm the compound, seeming to come from every direction.
“Top, you gotta move now. I see headlights on the horizon, maybe a click out.” Jared said.
“Team two, we need early evac. Extraction point A. Will be coming in hot,” Hoyt said.
“Roger.”
Someone set them up. Hunter’s hands shook. Pain screamed through his leg. Blood had already saturated his BDUs. Breathe. Think. Hunter forced his body to go still.
“You okay?” Ranger pulled him back from the brink. Focus on the mission. Get my team out.
“You think some puny bullet is gonna stop me? Remember Sudan?” Hunter forced laughter into his voice.
“Why you gotta bring up Africa?” Ranger asked, clearly offended.
“You think I’m going to let you forget that?” Hunter knew Ranger was trying to distract him from the pain, and he appreciated the effort.
“Are we gonna sit around reminiscing or are we going to get the fuck out of here?” Shane cut through their conversation.
Ranger pulled Hunter’s arm over his shoulders and got him to his feet. Hunter gritted his teeth as the pain shot through him. “Dammit.”
“I thought you said Africa was worse,” Ranger said.
“You know I’m full of shit.”
Men shouted behind them. They didn’t have more than ten seconds to get to the west tower or they’d all be dead. “Ranger, drop me. Get out of here, now.”
“Hell no. Shane, cover me. I’m gonna get Hunter up that ladder.”
“Roger.”
Ranger pushed Hunter above him, giving him no chance to argue, while Shane stayed at the ready, gun in hand. He had fired off two more shots by the time Ranger called down for him to follow.
Hoyt helped lift Hunter into the tower. “Come on, Top, I’ll carry your fat ass down.”
“Better watch it, he’s pretty sensitive about his weight,” Ranger said.
“Move.” Hunter dropped to the floor, his bad leg taking the brunt. His vision darkened for a minute. Warm blood trickled down his calf and into his boot.
“Shane, get your ass up here,” Ranger yelled again over the gunfire. The shots grew louder. Ranger fired his weapon in short bursts to provide cover for their friend.
Someone screamed. Hunter heard a thump.
“Shane!” Ranger shouted over the gunfire and yelling.
“He’s not moving.” Jared’s harsh voice ripped through the com, along with more gunshots. We gotta evac.
“Ranger, get the fuck out of there now or we’re all dead.” Hunter said. Ranger just continued firing.
Hoyt helped Hunter over the wall, his leg useless. Hunter grabbed the rope and dove, his body swinging wildly from side-to-side as he descended the rope, ignoring his burning palms. He slammed into a corpse on the way down and found himself face-to-face with a once beautiful young woman, her eyes frozen in horror. His stomach knotted, and he froze for a moment, lost in a haze of pain and rage.
“We gotta go, Top.” Hoyt was right above him, waiting on him to move.
Hunter slid the rest of the way down, pulling his bad leg back at the last minute so he fell on his good side. A second later Hoyt was beside him, scooping a shoulder beneath his arm and dragging him toward the river.
Hunter looked back once to see Jared and Ranger bringing up the rear.
There was no sign of Shane.
They dove into the river and swam with the current, back to their meeting point. Hunter half-swam, half-floated, drifting in and out of consciousness, his body cold from too much blood loss. He vaguely heard the roar of an approaching boat.
“Shit. What happened?” Riser, TF-S’s medical staff sergeant, hooked his arms under Hunter and drug him into the boat.
“Trap. Mr. J is dead.” Hunter coughed, the cold metal floor of the boat stealing what little warmth remained in his body.
“I’m with you,” Ranger shouted over the roar of the engine. Though his vision had gone hazy, Hunter’s leg seared with pain as Ranger tied a belt around his thigh and applied a new field dressing to the wound.
Hoyt leaned over him, the worried look on his face stark enough to penetrate his fuzzy vision.
“Shane?” Hunter got his lips to move, his voice thin.
Hoyt shook his head. The sky faded, and the roar of the motor grew distant. Just before he blacked out, an image of laughing blue eyes and long, blonde hair flashed through his mind.
Then nothing.
2
Evangeline Videl placed her hands on the large hand-carved meeting table and stood. She met every gaze in the room. She didn’t blink. She didn’t cringe. She didn’t back down. As a member of the Mississippi Revol
utionary Group, MRG, she knew she couldn’t show weakness. After all, the citizens depended on them for protection from the corrupt local government and money-under-the-table law enforcement. “My vote is no.”
Lee Brown, Sherriff of Mercy and all around douche bag, stood at the other end of the heavy wood table. “You’d be stupid not to take this deal. He’s offering more cash than your little group can make in a year.”
Evie eyed the man who’d taken her father’s place as sheriff with disgust. Her father, Tom Videl, would never have done business with criminals. Then again, if her father were still alive, Evie wouldn’t be involved with a semi-illegal revolutionary group. “I don’t care how much money that bastard is paying.”
Dale Hendricks, a long-standing MRG member, coughed. “If we don’t accept this deal, the money will go to the Lobellos.”
The Lobellos were one step down from a cartel, but no less deadly.
Evie’s open palms clenched into fists and she straightened. Do business with her abusive ex-fiancé or give up more territory to trash… Decisions, decisions. But as much as she wanted to tell Dale to shut his trap, she couldn’t. She wasn’t president. “We don’t need Marcus. My cousins…”
“Have been promising a deal for six months and have yet to deliver.” Dale finished the sentence for her. Evie clenched her jaw tight enough to crack a tooth.
It was true, her cousins, Greer and Rayland Wilde, had yet to deliver the goods. But she’d be damned if she or any member of her group got tied up with Marcus Carvant. “This group has never dealt in drugs. Ever. His money is blood money. And everyone at this table knows that anyone who does business with him ends up dead.”
Dale held her gaze, unflinching. Uncaring. Challenging her barely-held position of control. Willing to deal with the devil even if it meant selling what little soul he still possessed.
Evie’s grandfather, C.W., founding member of the MRG sat to her left. At seventy years old, the Cajun mountain man was no sweet and coddling Grandpa. He’d taught her to shoot to kill, a skill he’d learned in Vietnam. His black eyes narrowed behind the glasses riding low on his nose. “I side with my granddaughter.”
Redemption River Page 2