by Al Pessin
Bridget was both disarmed and infuriated.
“Look at that,” she said. To the far left, they saw a man running. He wasn’t dressed like a fighter, but he seemed to have come from the camp. He was tall, wearing a white tunic and skullcap. He was fleeing the fight.
Bridget grabbed the radio Carter had given her and pushed the Transmit key. “Bulldog, you have a man escaping out the north side.” She adjusted the squelch to minimize the static.
It took Carter a few seconds to answer. “We’re pinned down. Can’t help. If it’s your man, he should head for the choppers. Let me know if that happens.”
“Roger,” Bridget replied. She put down the radio and stared at the runner. “That’s not Faraz. Too tall, moving too slowly, not coming to us.”
“So what if one jihadi gets away? Eye on the ball, Bridge.”
“Al-Souri’s tall. Could be dressed that way. This guy’s moving slower than a young man would. We’re gonna lose sight of him in those trees in a second.”
“Bridget . . .” Will gave his voice an upward inflection, implying a warning not to get any ideas.
She ignored him.
Bridget picked up the M4, jumped down from the chopper, and took off running to intercept the mystery man. She bent at the waist to make a smaller target, but as her angle took her closer to the camp, she drew fire from one of the SUVs.
She dove to the ground, twisted her body so she faced the battle, and found the guy who was shooting at her. Bridget fired a burst, forcing him to take cover behind the vehicles.
But the shooter and another man emerged and fired back.
Bridget had no cover. She buried her face in the ground, trying to show the shooters the smallest target possible. With luck, they weren’t good enough to hit her at that range.
Another burst of gunfire came from a different direction. Bridget turned her head enough to see that Will and one of the chopper guys were targeting the men who were shooting at her. They were too far for high-percentage shots, but close enough to make the men take cover.
Bridget lifted her torso into prone firing position. When one of the terrorists peeked out from behind the SUV, she took aim and fired. He fell backward. She had a split second to take pride in her shooting skills before his comrade stepped out and fired a furious barrage, trying to sweep both Bridget’s and Will’s position.
That was a mistake.
As Bridget moved to press her body to the ground again, she saw Will cut the man down. Nothing like having a SEAL for cover fire.
Their corner of the battle went quiet. They seemed to have accomplished what Will had wanted to do—providing rear cover for Carter’s team and eliminating the threat from one vehicle.
But that hadn’t been Bridget’s goal. She wanted to stop that runner. She looked toward his last location just in time to see him disappear into the trees.
“Bridget,” Will shouted.
She saw him gesturing for her to come back to the chopper. She scanned the battle. As far as she could tell, there was no one left in the SUV to threaten her. Bridget stood and bolted for the woods.
“Bridget!” Will screamed it this time, but she didn’t look back.
* * *
Will jumped out of the helicopter onto the ground. He collapsed in pain, holding his leg.
“You okay, sir?” asked a chopper crewman.
“Yes, damn it. I’m okay.” Will stood and leaned on the aircraft. He watched Bridget run a zigzag course toward the trees.
Then he heard a single rifle shot, and he saw her fall.
Will moved by instinct, but he only got one step before he had to admit he’d never make it in the middle of a gunfight. He lunged back into the chopper for the radio. “Holloway, this is Jackson. Davenport is down, northwest of your position. She went after the escapee.”
“Damn. What the hell is the problem with you people and orders?”
“I tried to stop her.”
“Okay, you stay there. I mean it, or I will shoot you myself.”
“Roger that, but hurry.”
* * *
Carter and his team were still taking fire from inside the camp. They had some cover in their small, improvised bunker of debris, but they couldn’t stay there.
“We gotta break out,” Carter said.
“Right. RPG?” Castillo asked.
“Big risk for our agent, but yeah, we can’t sit here.”
“On it.” Castillo loaded another grenade and set his feet, ready to stand and shoot.
“You gonna fire that thing?” Carter asked.
“You gonna lay down some cover?”
Carter raised his rifle above the debris and let loose a fusillade of automatic fire into the camp. Two of his men did the same, forcing the terrorists to stop shooting and dive for cover.
Castillo stood to fire his RPG, but a short burst came from his left. He and his weapon fell hard onto Carter.
“Casty! Goddamn it!” Carter twisted out from under Castillo.
He saw his eyes first, staring at the sky. Then Carter saw the line of impact marks on Castillo’s body armor. That would have hurt but not killed him. One bullet got his exposed shoulder, which was bleeding onto the ground. Also not a big deal. The last bullet in the trail was the fatal one. It hit his neck and came out the other side, creating a stomach-turning maw of flesh.
“Oh, Casty, man.” Carter bent over him, ready to rip off his body armor and start first aid. But he could see it was no use. Half of Castillo’s neck was gone. His body was limp.
Carter’s formidable frame sagged. He reached over and closed Castillo’s eyes. The other men watched, their looks blending fear and shock. But there was no time to mourn. They were under fire, and Carter had a dozen other men to worry about.
Carter turned to his team. “Hit that shooter.” He gestured in the direction of whoever had killed Castillo. The men laid down covering fire. Carter grabbed Castillo’s weapon and rose up onto his knees.
“Cease firing,” he ordered.
When the gunfire stopped, the shooter poked his head out to find a new target. Carter’s grenade devastated the man’s hiding place.
Carter took cover again and listened. There was no more shooting from inside the camp. Maybe they were all dead. Or maybe they were regrouping. The only way to find out was to advance and clear the area.
Carter turned to the next most senior man on the team. “Ferguson, you’re in charge. Secure the camp. Link up with Team Two. Find our man.” He looked down at his dead friend. “Take care of Casty and meet me back at the choppers.”
“Roger that, chief.”
“I gotta run a rescue.” Carter assessed his team. “Barrett, Lesher, with me. Ferguson, you’ve got the rest.”
Carter led the two men back to the gap in the wall. To his left, he saw that Team Two was still engaged with the terrorists who had gone in their direction.
He keyed his radio. “Team Two, report.”
“Taking fire, but we got this,” came the reply.
“Roger.”
Carter led Barrett and Lesher to the northwest. Twenty seconds later, he saw Bridget lying on the ground. Not moving.
He ran directly to her. She was facedown, hands on her head in a protective position, one knee raised to waist level. Her right side was soaked with blood.
“Bridget!” Carter shouted.
“Yeah,” she grunted. “I’m hit. Stomach, below the armor.”
“Don’t move.”
Carter’s men took up positions to protect them, but too late. A hail of gunfire came in. Carter grunted and fell on top of Bridget. Lesher and Barrett returned fire.
“You hit, boss?” Lesher asked.
“On the armor,” Carter said. “Damn, that hurts.” He rolled over. “You okay, Bridget?”
“Yeah.” Her voice was weak.
“There he is,” Barrett shouted, gesturing with his rifle.
Carter rolled over into firing position, facing back toward the camp.
&nb
sp; “Next to that piece of wall,” Barrett said, pointing.
“Got him,” Carter said. They both took aim and fired short bursts. The man fell. They waited. There was another burst of gunfire from inside the camp. “That’s Ferguson doing his job. Keep your eyes open.”
Carter moved back to Bridget. He ripped the side of her shirt where the bullet had made a small entry wound, which was oozing blood. He rolled her onto her good side, and she cried out in pain. He tore at the Velcro strips of Bridget’s bulletproof vest and laid it open.
The exit wound was uglier. The high-powered 7.62-millimeter round from the AK blew out a significant chunk of Bridget’s skin. The good news was that the wound was close to her side. The bullet had spent only a split second inside her, and if it had hit anything important, she probably wouldn’t be talking to him.
Carter pulled a package of quick-clotting gauze from a pouch on his belt and ripped it open. “This is gonna hurt.” He pressed the clotting agent into the exit hole.
Bridget suppressed a scream. “Damn it.”
“Gotta do it.” He pressed more gauze inside, took out a large bandage, and covered it. He eased her over onto her back.
Carter looked up to see his second team advancing on the camp, keeping the few remaining terrorists busy while he worked.
“They okay?” Bridget asked.
“They’re securing the camp.”
“You find my agent?”
“No, not yet. I have a man down.”
“Oh, Jesus. Who?”
“Castillo.”
“Oh, Carter. I’m so sorry.”
“Yeah, me, too. I worked with him for a long time.”
Carter took another pack out of his pouch. “Gauze for the front now.”
Bridget gritted her teeth. Carter pushed a wad of gauze into the wound. Bridget stifled another scream and squeezed Carter’s arm. “Oh, sweet Jesus.” She dug her nails into his bicep.
Carter reached into the medical bag again and took out an injection pen.
“No, I don’t want that shit,” Bridget said, gasping for air.
“You need it.”
“Carter—”
“Stop arguing!” His anger flared. “This is my show now. That wound will hurt even more when we move you.” He used his teeth to pull the cover off the needle and delivered ten milligrams of morphine through her pants leg into her left thigh. Then he recapped the pen and dropped it onto the ground.
“Ouch. Damn. You done?” Bridget was sweating and still panting.
“Yeah, for now. You’ll be all right.” Carter wiped her forehead with his hand. “Bleeding’s under control. Seems like a pretty lucky spot for an abdominal wound. What the hell were you doing?”
“Going after that runner. I think it was al-Souri, top of our terrorist list. But Carter, you’ve got to find my agent.”
Chapter Fifty
Faraz saw al-Souri run, too.
After the vehicles left, the back of the camp was deserted. He moved carefully, making sure no one stayed behind who could kill him. Faraz needed to live long enough to pass his intel to someone who could do something about it.
He saw the twin gun battles, one on each side of the gate. He could have reached Carter’s group, but they’d have probably shot him on sight. So he turned into the alley behind the tents. He came within sight of the rear door of the headquarters just as al-Souri came out. Faraz ducked for cover. When he emerged, the Qomandan was gone, and the camp’s side gate was open.
Faraz moved as quickly as he dared to the opening. He looked outside and scanned left and right with his rifle. He caught a glimpse of al-Souri disappearing into the trees in the distance.
Damn. He was not going to let the man get away again. Even if Faraz’s intel stopped this attack, al-Souri would regroup and hit them again.
But Faraz couldn’t take a direct route to intercept him, either. He’d be exposed to fire from both the Americans and the jihadis.
Faraz went east to enter the wooded area away from the battle. The setting sun cast a long shadow in front of him. He would have to circle around and catch al-Souri on the road. The Qomandan undoubtedly had plenty of “friends” who would take the risk of hiding him in return for a substantial reward, or in return for not being killed.
Faraz’s injuries slowed him down, but he had to reach al-Souri before he got to someplace he could hide.
* * *
Carter was still kneeling over Bridget, putting pressure on her wound with his right hand. He saw her eyes go wide as she looked at something over his shoulder.
He turned to see Will hobbling toward them, his cane in his left hand and his rifle in his right.
“Damn it, man!” Carter said.
Will ignored him, falling to his knees on the other side of Bridget. “You okay?”
“I’ll live, but you should have stayed at the chopper.”
“I couldn’t leave you out here. Shooting stopped, so I came.”
Carter turned to look back toward the camp. Jackson was right. The men of Team Two were heading for the gate. They had won their battle against the terrorists who came out of the camp to confront them and were joining up with Ferguson’s group inside.
“Sir,” Lesher said. He pointed with his rifle to a figure running toward the trees.
Bridget twisted her body to see and grunted in pain. “What is it?”
“Another runner,” Carter said.
“Could be your man,” Will said.
“What?” Carter was skeptical.
“Why do you say that?” Bridget asked.
“I met the guy, remember? I mean, this was just a quick look from, what, a hundred meters, but yeah, could have been him.”
Carter was not convinced. “Why would he run? Why wouldn’t he come to us?”
“Chasing al-Souri,” Bridget said. “Makes sense.”
Carter looked toward the camp again. There was a short burst of gunfire. He keyed his radio. “Ferguson, report.”
“Linked up with Team Two. Still clearing the camp, but we appear to be secure.”
“Any sign of the man we came to get?”
“Negative.”
“Keep looking, and commence intel gathering. Grab everything you can, but quickly. When possible, send two men to my location for wounded evac to chopper. Davenport and Jackson go out ASAP. Second bird and rest of the men wait for me. Copy?”
“Gotcha, Bulldog.”
Carter turned to his team. “Barrett, wrap this.” Carter removed his hand from Bridget’s side. It still let out a trickle of blood, but nothing compared to before. “And top it off with more clotting stuff, front and rear.”
“Yes, sir.”
“We should get her out of here,” Will said. “Abdominal wound. Standard protocol.”
“We will, as soon as I have men to take her. She’s stable for now.”
“Listen, Holloway—”
“I am in command of this mission, and I will have these men restrain you if I have to.”
“It’s all right, Will,” Bridget said.
“No, it’s not.”
“The mission is . . .” Bridget’s head rolled to the side. A second later, she seemed to revive. “The mission is the priority,” she said. Her words were starting to slur.
“This is not a committee meeting,” Carter said. “We will get Bridget out as soon as the area is secure. Meanwhile, I will take these two men and go after the runners. And you, Commander Jackson, will stay here to protect Bridget in case there are any jihadis on the loose.” He looked from Will to Bridget, then back to Will. “There will not be a vote on this. The men will help you get her back to the chopper ASAP. Or I can cuff you, and I’ll have to leave an extra man here.”
“All right, all right,” Will said. “I’ll watch Bridget. You do what you have to do.”
“Commander, I’ll ask for your word that you won’t follow us,” Carter said, looking him in the eye, appealing to his integrity as an officer and his loyalty to his girl
friend, or whatever she was. “I don’t need an injured man lost somewhere in Syria.”
Will glared at him. “I said all right.” He checked his weapon and took up a firing stance on his right knee, which took most of the weight off his bad leg.
Barrett was tying off the bandage. “You should be okay for a while, ma’am.”
“Thanks.” Bridget’s voice was soft. The morphine seemed to be hitting her.
Carter touched her arm. “We’ll get you some real medical attention as soon as we can. Barrett, Lesher, let’s go. Jackson, remember your promise. And when Ferguson gets here, he’s in charge. We have protocols. Don’t mess us up.”
Will nodded.
Carter and his two men took off at a run for the woods.
* * *
Bridget lay on her back and watched Will scan the area for hostiles, training his rifle back and forth across the area between their spot and the camp, then turning to check his rear. She had never seen him in SEAL mode before.
The sun had set, and she felt cold. Bridget shifted her position, moving closer to him. The air smelled like men, gunpowder, and blood. Her blood.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Bridget said, her voice still weak.
“A few minutes ago, you didn’t seem so glad to see me. Before that, you were ready to have me busted.”
“I didn’t say I was glad you left the chopper against orders. I only said I’m glad you’re here.”
Will gestured toward the injector still lying next to Bridget. “You sure it’s not the morphine talking?”
Bridget sighed. “No. It’s not.” It was hard getting through to him when he couldn’t look at her. His eyes stayed focused on the battlefield.
She felt dizzy again, but it passed. Bridget swallowed. Her throat was dry, but she knew she shouldn’t have any water until a doctor said she could. She struggled to talk, reached out to touch his good leg. “Listen to what I’m saying, Will. I’m glad you’re here.”
Will waited a moment, then stole a quick look at her. “Thanks for saying that. I wasn’t going to let you come out here on your own.” He paused. “Sorry I’ve been such a jerk. It’s just—”