Loving Leisl (Special Forces: Operation Alpha) (Green Beret Book 2)

by Michele E. Gwynn

  Hollywood glanced at him. Doc’s face was tight, his eyes focused straight ahead. A clear change from the usual easy-going man he knew Doc to be. “Doesn’t sound like nothing.”

  “Shut up, Hank.” Doc tuned him out, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other.

  The hot sun beat down on their necks for the next hour and a half. They all felt the change in temperature begin to drop as the sun set. The cooler air was welcome. The gathering darkness helped conceal their approach. Outlaw’s hand went up clenched into a fist and everyone stopped.

  “This is it,” he whispered low.

  Ahead, about fifty yards, was a small circle of stone huts. Doc counted seven clustered with an eighth off by itself maybe thirty-five yards east.

  Nate pointed up. “Ghost, Skyscraper, climb up to that outcropping and see if you can locate one with a red stone.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Doc, Hollywood, stay with me. We’ll take cover behind these trees.” He nodded towards a copse of fig trees. “Radio frequency three, boys,” said Outlaw, holding up his two-way radio.

  “Roger that, Captain.” Ghost and Skyscraper took off, running low and climbing up the side of the mountain in a zig-zag pattern, taking cover behind boulders and bushes alike until they reached the rock ledge.

  Ghost lifted the thermal binoculars hanging around his neck to his eyes, scanning the group of huts below while Skyscraper did the same—with the sight of his high-powered M4 assault rifle.

  The final rays of the sun faded fast, but that didn’t matter. The night vision on the thermal binoculars made objects clear as day. Ghost moved from right to left sweeping each hut searching for one out-of-place red rock in the wall face. He found none such in the cluster and aimed the lenses at the last hut east of the cluster. There, above the door just under the eave of the roofline was a dark red rock. He held steady, seeking heat signatures and found none inside that building. Sweeping back to the cluster, he found five men. Two inside the hut at nine o’clock from his position and three moving around inside the hut located at two o’clock. He relayed that information to Outlaw.

  “And what about the road. Anything yet? Over.”

  Ghost scanned the length of the dirt road coming into the tiny village from the northwest. The binoculars had a range of up to five miles. A cloud of dust and two pairs of headlights indicated the SUVs caught on satellite earlier were almost there.”

  “That’s affirmative, Six,” said Ghost, referring to the leader of their team by his mission codename. In battle, team commanders were called ‘Six’ to confuse the enemy should they be listening. “The enemy is about twenty minutes out. Over.”

  “Stay put. Assess the new arrivals. Report back when you have their information and then we’ll make our plan. Six out,” Outlaw ordered.

  “Roger that.” Ghost quit the walkie talkie and lifted the thermal binoculars once again training them on the village below and zooming out to include the incoming caravan of two SUVs. They waited, silent and still.

  Doc kept his eyes peeled, M4 at the ready. Watching the road, he wondered what Leisl was doing. She went on duty at 1600, that much he knew, but after that, he didn’t know much else. As a medic, he was familiar with what an R.N. did, but that wasn’t the information he needed. What he wanted to know is what she thought about while she worked. What were her interests? Did she like to read? Listen to music? He knew she liked dogs. And he knew she was sick. She’d said so when talking to the dog, although she wasn’t aware he knew. He still didn’t know what she meant by that but if it was causing her to be sent back to the states, it wasn’t good. He’d tried calling his dad before leaving, but couldn’t get through. Instead, he’d fired off an email from the Colonel’s assistant’s office, with the Colonel’s permission. It would be relayed through a scrambler to Jack Gordon’s ISP. His dad would know what to do, he was sure. He hoped so, anyhow. He’d never failed in any mission he set out on and didn’t intend to start now. There had to be a way.

  Headlights pierced the darkness as the sound of engines grew louder.

  Two SUVs arrived, driving into the center of the seven huts. One stopped and the other continued on to the hut set outside of the circle.

  One by one, night vision goggles came down over their eyes. For the team, the darkness lit up once again clear as day. Two men came out of the hut located at nine o’clock. One was short and stocky, the other, tall and thin. Both were clean-shaven, an unusual state for Muslim extremists. Al-Qaeda was thick in this border area and wanted nothing more than to remove all westerners and their influence from the Middle East. They met three men exiting the parked SUV. These characters wore the full beards recognizable in ISIS members, as expected from the brief intelligence they’d received. ISIS had a strong foothold in Iraq and Syria. Their presence in Kuwait raised questions.

  “What the hell are ISIS assholes doing on the Kuwait/Saudi border with Al-Qaeda?” Doc asked.

  Outlaw grunted. “Trying to get their bomb-maker into Saudi no doubt. But what’s Al-Qaeda getting out of it?”

  “This isn’t good,” said Hollywood. “These two factions don’t agree with one another. Hell, that would be like Taliban working with ISIS. Political ideologies and religious ones never mix. They hate each other.”

  “Exactly.” Outlaw pressed the button on his two-way. “What’s the 4-1-1 on the second SUV? Over.”

  Ghost’s voice came over the line. “Three people exiting the vehicle. You won’t believe it, but one is a woman. Hands shackled behind her back. She’s a captive. Two pricks manhandling her into the hut. Over.”

  “Sonofabitch,” said Outlaw. He looked at Doc. “Either we got some wrong information, or we have a secondary situation with this mission. Whatever the case, we can’t leave the woman in their custody.” He clicked the two-way button again. “De Oppresso Liber, boys.”

  Each man nodded. Doc whispered, “Green Beret motto. Liberate the oppressed.”

  “Hoorah, motherfuckers,” whispered Hollywood.

  “Hoorah,” answered Ghost over the line.

  Thinking fast, a plan was made. “It’s ten against five, gentlemen.”

  “Good odds,” said Doc.

  “We need to capture the new arrivals and keep them alive until we determine which one is the chemist.” Outlaw drew a map in the dirt with his finger. On the two-way, he asked, “Ghost, where did the new arrivals go? Which huts?”

  “The two with the woman are inside red rock hut. No,” he paused. “Hold on. The two new arrivals and the woman are coming back out now. They’re headed to the cluster.”

  Outlaw, Doc, and Hollywood waited. The three people in question came into view from their vantage point. They marched the woman to the hut at four o’clock. It was the one closest to them. The woman stumbled once, falling to her knees. One of the two ISIS toadies hauled her up by her elbow eliciting a cry of pain from the woman. The word, “eajluu,” (Hurry!) reached their ears as the terrorist pushed the woman repeatedly. He shoved her through the door of the hut and yanked it closed, locking it. They turned, making their way to the hut at two o’clock. The three men inside stepped out. Greetings were exchanged and then the two men were shown to the hut at one o’clock where the rest of their group was already ensconced. The men at hut nine went back inside while the men from hut two, all three of them returned to theirs. One remained outside smoking a cigarette watching the road. He pulled a chair forward from the wall and sat down.

  “I guess he has first shift pulling guard duty,” said Hollywood.

  Outlaw spoke low into his two-way. “Return to rendezvous.”

  Ghost replied, “Roger that.”

  They waited until Ghost and Skyscraper rejoined the group and then, “Okay, men. We wait until after midnight. When the targets are asleep, we take out huts two and nine. The Al-Qaeda are non-essential. Ghost, you and I will tuck them in tight with grenades inside their front doors. There’s nowhere for them to run. No back doors or windows to jump out of. Skyscraper and Hollywood, you
take hut one, Doc, you get inside four and get that woman out. Ghost and I will come in behind Skyscraper and Hollywood. Non-lethal injuries only, gentlemen. We need to find the chemist. Everyone got it?”

  “Yes, sir.” Skyscraper grinned. “Let’s put a hurt on these mofos.”

  Doc slapped Skyscraper on the shoulder. “You know it, son. Now we wait.”

  Chapter 8

  Leisl entered Eastwood’s room. He was propped up on pillows reading a Lonesome Dove novel, a pair of wire-rimmed reading glasses halfway down his nose . He lowered the book, glancing up.

  “Time for your meds,” she said, carrying in the plastic cup containing two pills. One, an antibiotic, and the other, for pain.

  “Eight o’clock sharp.” Eastwood reached out, taking the cup and tossing the pills into his mouth.

  Leisl handed him the water bottle from his bedside table and watched as he swallowed the pills down. “How are you feeling?”

  He looked at the petite redhead. She appeared pale, tired, but in all, a very pretty woman he decided.

  “A little sore, but okay. They got me up earlier and let me walk around a bit. Hurt like hell, but I made it from my bed to the door and back. Had to walk bow-legged the whole way, though,” he joked, pointing at the inordinate amount of gauze packed around his groin.

  A tight smile pulled at her lips. “Did they change your bandages? Lay back and let’s have a look,” she said, reaching for the cover thrown over his lower body.

  Eastwood’s hand came down fast, clutching the material. “No!” he said, then, clearing his throat and softening his tone. “It’s okay. Angie did that already. Everything’s good.”

  An auburn eyebrow shot up. “Sergeant, I’ve seen testicles before. There’s no need to be shy. I assisted in your surgery, remember?” She reached again for the cover, and again, Eastwood stopped her, pulling away and appearing for all the world like a prudish old maid.

  “I’m aware of that, ma’am, but with all due respect, you’re not seeing them again.” The look he gave her was stern and clearly said the matter was settled.

  Frustrated, her nostrils flared. “What has gotten into you? I’m a nurse, Sergeant Tyler, not some stranger trying to get a look at your junk.”

  Eastwood reached up, stroking the days growth of beard. It was coming out red, a contrast from his dark blond hair. “You’re Doc’s girl. There’s a line we don’t cross with each other’s women. It was an emergency when I arrived, but everything’s fine now, and you’re Doc’s girl,” he repeated. “So there’ll be no peep shows between you and me. Angie handled it. I don’t need a bandage change until tomorrow. That’s the end of it.”

  Leisl’s jaw dropped. Her brow creased in consternation as his words echoed inside her mind. Doc’s girl? Shaking her head, she said, “What in the world are you talking about? I’m nobody’s girl. I’m a grown woman, for God’s sake, not some man’s property! Just what century do you think we’re living in? Where did you get such a hair-brained idea in the first place?”

  A smile crept across Eastwood’s lips. “Damn, he sure picked a feisty one. And here I thought you were so quiet.” He laughed. “Ole Doc’s in for some unexpected shit for sure.”

  “This is not funny, Sergeant. I asked you a question. Please be so kind as to answer it.” She stood, hands on hips, tapping her booted foot.

  “You asked a lot of questions, actually, but I’m guessing you want an answer to the last one. I was warned off by Doc himself. Told me not to shake my mangoes at you, to be precise,” he chuckled. “But I have to say, what’s really amusing is that you don’t seem to be in the know. I figured you two already had something going on, but from the look on your face, that’s not the case at all, is it?” he paused, hand mid-stroke on his whiskers, considering. “Oh my damn, this is a new one.” He laughed out loud, then grew serious. “Don’t you like him?”

  Leisl was getting angrier by the minute, but Eastwood’s last question threw her for a loop. “I…well, yeah, I like him, I guess. He was kind to me. Nice to my dog, but there isn’t anything going on between me and Jason.”

  Eastwood threw back his head and hooted. “Jason, she calls him! Ha! On a first name basis, but nothing going on, she says! This is rich.” He wiped his eyes, still chuckling. “Doc’s caught for sure this time. I can’t wait to give him shit about this.”

  “There is something seriously wrong with you Spec Ops types.”

  “It’s called confidence, sweetheart,” he said.

  “It’s called cockiness, Sergeant, and it’s annoying as hell.” She turned to leave, stopping at the door. “I’m your nurse until midnight. If you need anything, ring the damned call bell.”

  Eastwood watched her go, grinning ear to ear. Shaking his head, he picked up his book. “Guess there’ll be another wedding soon.”

  An hour passed and Leisl still hadn’t cooled off. She didn’t like having her authority as a nurse dismissed out of hand like that, and worse, she did not appreciate Jason telling her patient that she somehow belonged to him making her job impossible. The more she thought about it, the more pissed off she became. Finally, she whipped out her cellular and looked through her phone for his number. It was the first time she’d bothered to check since this morning when he’d snuck it into her contact list. There he was, staring back at her, Jason G.

  “Cocky asshole,” she whispered. The interaction with Eastwood revealed a different side of Jason than the sweet, funny man who’d shared dinner with her and had been kind to Pooch. Pooch liked him, but didn’t all dogs stick together?

  She didn’t know. Having so little experience with men left her unprepared for someone like Jason Gordon. Cocky didn’t begin to describe him. More like Neanderthal after this nonsense. Confidence, Eastwood had called it. Maybe it was, she thought. Being in Special Forces did take an inordinate amount of cocksureness or else how could they possibly survive doing what they do? Jason was out on a mission somewhere now, could be in the middle of a dangerous situation for all she knew. Might even be hurt, or worse…No! She wouldn’t think such a negative thought. She might be pissed at him, but she didn’t wish him harm, at least, not from anyone else. From herself, however, that was now open for debate. The man needed to be taken down a peg.

  Some of the fire in her blood cooled leaving behind smoldering embers of annoyance. She began writing a text, then erased it. Thinking long and hard she typed, Hope you’re okay. We need to talk.

  She didn’t expect an immediate answer and did not receive one. With no way to resolve the anger she was feeling, the lame text would have to do for now.

  Leisl worked on patient charts, fuming. That was how Major Ross found her.

  “Having a good evening?” he asked. “Say, I’ve got an update on your transfer. There’s an excellent oncologist at Walter Reed Medical Center in D.C. He’s a friend of mine from med school. Dr. Hal Drake. I talked to him this afternoon and he can take your case. I’ve sent over your information. Just waiting on Command to make your travel and lodging arrangements. Should have an answer in a day or two. They have a residence center for soldiers so no worries on where you’ll stay. Medical staff visits you there and can help you with whatever you need. Great program.”

  She nodded, eyes forward on the computer screen. “Okay.”

  “You alright? Ringing in the ears again?” Major Ross walked around the counter.

  Leisl looked up. “No more than usual, but not right now. I’m fine.”

  He looked at her closely. She’d become paler than usual, but that could be general fatigue resulting from the new medication to control her hand tremors. He pulled out his pen light, leaning down to check her eyes. Flashing the light into first one and then the other, he reached for her hand and placed two fingers on her wrist, checking her pulse. “Everything seems fine, but you look tired, Craig. Have you eaten dinner?”

  “Not yet, no. I have a tray in the break room.”

  “Go eat. That’s an order. I’ll stay here until you get back.
You have thirty minutes so make them count. Eat it all, too. Don’t just push your food around the plate.” Major Ross stood over her, one graying eyebrow raised.

  He looked and sounded like every sitcom dad she’d seen on television. She wondered if her father would’ve been like Major Ross had he lived. She liked to think so because Major Ross cared about the people he worked with and he talked about his family all the time. It was clear he loved his wife, Roberta, and his twins, Ben and Denise.

  “If it’s an order then—”

  “It is. Go! Now.” He pointed, face stern, but there was a twinkle in his blue-gray eyes.

  “Yes, sir.” She stood, pausing to salute.

  “Yeah, yeah,” he said, returning the gesture in a half-hearted manner. “You know you don’t have to do that all the damned time, Craig. Informal situations like this, don’t worry about it.”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” She moved around him, leaving the desk.

  “Just Major is fine too. Go, before I change my mind.”

  Chapter 9

  Doc waited from his post outside hut four for the signal. The eerie silence of the night split as first one explosion immediately followed by another assaulted his ears in a cacophony of sound. The grenades lobbed inside huts nine and two by Outlaw and Ghost sent the Al-Qaeda members to their maker. Shots rang out from the direction of hut one as Doc kicked down the door of hut four. Inside, it was pitch black and oddly quiet. Suddenly, something small and furious launched itself at him screaming like a banshee.

  “Goddamn it,” he yelled, dropping his M4 down to his side and wrapping both arms around the vicious hell-cat hissing and spitting at him while desperately raking its nails across his cheek before seeking his eyes. “Stop! I’m here to rescue you!”

  As fast as the attack began, the she-devil in his arms stopped. “You speak English?”