Field Stripped: 15 Steamy Military Romances

by Marissa Dobson

  "Will it bother you," she whispered, "if I hum? It's like a security blanket to me."

  "Nah," he said. "Feel free. Unless you hear one of us ask for silence."

  Harp, who was in the lead, suddenly called out, "Do or die. This is where we choose the path or go around it."

  Dec signaled a halt and they looked down into the dip in the mountains. The pass snaked like a narrow gauntlet through a cascading series of ever-lowering peaks. On their right, the tallest peaks were bleached by the sun. Closer to the ground, some of the jutting rocks were dark gray in the shadows, tall enough to hide a man, thick enough to block a rifle shot.

  Dec wouldn't need to tell the men to hug the trail on the right, where anyone above them would have a tougher angle for a shot. Still, they'd be like ducks in a shooting gallery. Exposed. Vulnerable.

  "It's a perfect spot for an ambush," Greg pointed out.

  "Yeah," Dec answered morosely. "You have a better alternative?"

  Laila lifted her head. "Who's hunting you? And why?"

  Harp snorted. "Like you don't know. You're the one who set them on us."

  She bolted upright. "What are you talking about?"

  "You haven't forgotten already," he asked in a taunting voice. "You in the tent, screeching like a damn fool of a woman and pointing your finger right at us? How'd you know we were there, anyway?"

  Laila frowned. "You mean the night I escaped from the terrorists?"

  "That very same," Harp assured her.

  She gaped at Harp. "I was trying to distract them. That's all. I had no idea anyone was out there. Trust me, I would have run right to you if I'd known."

  Greg slanted a look at Dec, raising his eyebrows. Dec shrugged. He wasn't a truth-sayer. On the one hand, he'd been surprised that anyone had noticed them lying in wait for their ambush. On the other hand, he couldn't trust Laila.

  He would have to decide about the pass, one way or the other.

  "If Laila's right, then maybe they aren't actively hunting us," he finally said. "But we know they're hunting her."

  Harp rolled his eyes and Dec knew what he didn't say. Either way, as long as they were with Laila, they were marked men. But that was the nature of their business—not only to be in danger, but to actively seek it out. He wouldn't take a risk unnecessarily, but sometimes it was the only option.

  "It's a risk to go through the pass," he said. "No doubt about it. But we don't have two days to spend on foot taking a longer route. I think it's a risk we have to take." He almost told them to be prepared for a firefight, but he didn't need to. They knew it was always possible.

  The other men nodded, and the decision was made.

  Chapter Eleven

  A shot rang out, sounding like the crack of doom in the peaceful morning. A loud volley of shots chased after the first one.

  Laila stopped dead in her tracks. Or would have, except that Declan sprang on top of her and bore her down to the rocky ground. To her surprise, the other men were already lying prone. They must have dropped before the first shot finished booming.

  "3 o'clock," Greg said calmly in a low shout, as he wriggled up the slope on their left. "Directly to our right."

  Laila glanced back across the wide pass they'd been traversing through a low range of craggy mountains. The right side of the range was much taller than the left, with gray buttresses standing straight up in wrinkled folds of stone. Perhaps 500 feet tall, the rough, uneven range offered plenty of concealment opportunities. Even she could see it was a good spot for an ambush.

  A few hundred feet in front of them, the pass opened onto a broad plateau consisting of rocky, beige ground that offered no cover larger than small bunches of some hardy green grass that would barely hide a mouse. On the left side of the pass, where they were pinned down, a shorter group of bony hills thrust out of the plateau.

  To her surprise, Harp, Zack and Greg were already slithering into the rocks on their left, away from the direction from which the shot had come. Declan was still sprawled on top of her, heavy, but purposeful.

  "Listen," he said in her ear. "You're the most visible among us, so do exactly what I say unless you want to experience the feel of a bullet in your flesh."

  "Jerk," she muttered.

  "Save your compliments for later. Right now, I'm going to distract these bozos firing at us while you scramble up this hill, using whatever cover you can find." He pointed to one of the lower crags. "You see that one that looks like it's wearing a top hat?"

  She nodded, her head bumping against his chin.

  "Harp's behind there. You're going to go to him."

  Her mouth dropped open a bit. How did he know where Harp was? But she didn't ask. Dec must be speaking to his guys using their helmet mics.

  "I'm going to create a diversion," Dec said urgently into his mouthpiece. "Zack, I want you and Greg to cover that range across from us, get anything that moves. Harp, Laila is coming to you. Get her the hell out of here."

  Laila opened her mouth. "You can't boss me around—"

  "Move." Dec gave her a little shove. "You don't have a helmet, nor a flak vest. You're just collateral damage waiting to happen." On those words, he was up and running back toward the pass they'd just been ambushed in.

  Collateral damage waiting to happen? Fury bloomed within her for a few minutes until it was forced out by fear as she watched Declan run down toward the guys who were shooting at him. How did he have the nerve to do that? Shots still pinged all around them, and she tried not to think about Dec's words with respect to her flesh. She was afraid, but she was determined not to panic or fall apart.

  She began to crawl uphill, inching over the hard ground, trying to ignore the rocks in her way, feeling all the time that a target was painted on her back. What would it feel like if a bullet tore into her flesh as Dec had so kindly suggested?

  With the first rush of fear behind her—this was certainly the first time she'd ever been shot at—she was able to focus a bit. She realized that Dec's men above her were shooting back furiously now. The sound of gunshots was constant. That made her feel a little better.

  Ha. Her, the pacifist feeling better about gunfire.

  She heaved herself ever upward, ignoring the sharp rocks that bit into her, even through her clothes. She tried to keep her head down, even though every breath she took was laced with dust. She had to lift her head a bit every few minutes to be sure she moved in the right direction.

  Finally, she heard one of the men call out in an urgent, but quiet voice. "To your right, Laila. You have enough cover now to reach Harp."

  She sucked in a shaky breath of gratitude, and turned right, keeping a low group of boulders between her and the pass. Unfortunately, she caught one quick glimpse of Dec, zigging and zagging along the pass like a pinball machine gone amok. How long before his luck ran out?

  An anguished shout sounded from somewhere and she stiffened. That hadn't been Declan had it? She couldn't recognize the voice due to the booming racket of gunshots all around her. But someone had been hit. She was sure of that.

  The niqab got caught on something, halting her, and she yanked on it. It was difficult to move with the garment dragging on every rocky bump along the way.

  Finally, when it felt like she'd been crawling uphill in the sun for days, she saw a patch of tan khaki material, and followed it to where Harp was kneeling on one knee behind a large rock spear. He had his eye up to what she supposed must be the scope on his rifle, and he was shooting across the pass, with deliberation and care.

  "Get behind me," he snapped, "and don't move. You're still a damn good target if you expose yourself."

  "Harp," she said, her heart in her mouth. "I heard—something awful. I think someone was—"

  "Yeah." He squinted into the eyepiece on his rifle again, speaking to her while he continued to shoot. "Someone bought it."

  "What do you mean?" She felt frantic, almost dizzy with fear. She'd never be able to forgive herself if she caused Declan's death. "Where is De
clan?" she cried. "Tell me."

  "You think this is a fuckin' travelogue and I'm the tour guide?" Harp snapped off another volley of gunfire. "Be quiet."

  "He never should have run toward those shooters. It wasn't safe!"

  "No shit." Harp spared a glance down at her. "It was a damn fool thing to do. He did it so you could get up here safely."

  Laila swallowed her retort. She didn't like Harp's hostile tone, but he'd said all along that she would be trouble for them, and she was starting to suspect that he might be right.

  "I'm safe now," she said calmly. "Can't you guys get him up here with us?"

  "We're not safe here," was his unwelcome reply. "We don't know how many goons are over there, nor when they might charge us."

  She stared at him in horror. For some reason, she'd felt protected behind the natural stone barriers of the mountains.

  "If we aren't safe, then Declan certainly is not."

  "No one is safe in a goddamn shooting gallery. Now shut up about Dec."

  She started to rise. "I'm going after him."

  "Jesus Christ." He stopped shooting to look down at her again. "So help me God, if you move again, I'll fucking knock you out." His brown eyes were cold when they met hers. "Don't tempt me."

  She sank back down to the ground. She wasn't positive he'd do it, but she wasn't going to take the chance. The suspicion she already had about these men had been confirmed with this ambush.

  They were not hikers, exploring the wilderness, carrying guns in case of an emergency.

  No, they were some form of trained military men. Watching Harp's calm and methodical use of firepower, she could plainly see he was a skillful and disciplined fighter.

  Suddenly, he grunted, a sound of satisfaction, the first sound he'd made other than scolding her.

  "What happened?" she whispered.

  "Got one." He kept shooting, the clip of bullets running through his gun with a deadly methodical rhythm, spitting out the casings on the other side.

  Had the sound of gunfire from the other side lessened? It hadn't stopped. Maybe she'd just gotten used to the noise.

  She stretched out on the ground, grateful for the safety, even if it was only momentary. The memory of the water she'd drunk before dawn teased her. She was protected from whoever was shooting at them by the rocks, but she wasn't protected from the sun, which beat down on them with more heat with every passing second.

  Her mouth had been filled with dust as she crawled along the ground and, all in all, she'd love some water.

  The sound of firing stopped abruptly.

  Harp continued to stare through his rifle scope. She heard him say something into his helmet mic, but she couldn't catch the words.

  Laila surveyed the pass anxiously. She couldn't see any sign of movement. Where was Dec?

  Chapter Twelve

  "Don't move," Dec growled in Laila's ear. He grabbed his binoculars out of one of his many pockets, shifted around on the ground and carefully quartered the hillside below them.

  "No sign of them," Dec said. He glanced at Harp, who was also peering through binoculars. "Can you see anything?"

  Zack slithered down beside them. "I think there were five or six guys shooting at us."

  "Who the fuck were they?" Dec moved his binoculars so he could look at Zack. "Do you suppose they're the remnants of the guys in the tent last night? There were thirteen then. If the two following Laila are accounted for, that would leave ten. I can't believe the tent fire could have killed four of them."

  "I suppose that group is not the only bunch of tangos out and about, creating havoc," Zack said. "Maybe that's one reason we can't find any civilians."

  Horror crawled over Laila as she listened.

  "We got two of 'em today," Harp pointed out.

  "Three, at least," Dec said. "I got one who'd made it to our side of the pass."

  "I hate like hell not to go after them," Harp complained.

  "They fled up the mountains," Dec. "We'd be downhill from them, a bad position—"

  "But they'll keep doggin' us."

  Declan frowned. "Did anyone see any signs of Behaid?"

  They all shook their heads. "No eye patches," Greg offered."But I can't swear we saw all of them."

  Laila lifted her head. She'd been sitting up with her knees clasped to her chest, her head down to avoid the sun. "If we check the bodies, I could tell you if they were guys who were in the tent last night."

  Dec's gaze snapped to hers. She saw surprise, but also doubt, as if he wouldn't be sure of the truth no matter what she told him. Anger whipsawed through her. Did he really think—?

  She halted that train of thought. Oh yeah, she'd told him she was going to manage a brothel. How could he possibly have any positive thoughts about her?

  "That might be a good idea," Greg said. "It wouldn't take long and we'd have a better idea of who's after us."

  Dec nodded. "Okay. Greg, you come with me and Laila. Harp and Zack can cover us." He glanced at Laila. "I don't suppose you'd consider leaving that damn burka here, in case we have to run for it?"

  She shook her head. "I feel safer in it." She could never tell him the truth. Without the burka, no Arab Muslim would believe she was one of them.

  "Keep your head down," he barked.

  The three of them scrambled down the rocks.

  "One guy is over here." Dec pointed to their right. "Might as well start with him."

  Laila figured that must be the one Dec had killed. She hated to have to look at him, but she stiffened her resolve by remembering the cruel taunts the terrorists had made when she was their prisoner last night. If he was one of them—

  He was.

  She glanced down at the guy with the long black tunic who'd produced the bottle of booze last night. She nodded at Dec.

  "You're sure?"

  "He had liquor," she answered. "I remember, because true believers don't drink alcohol."

  Dec pressed his lips together and she had the feeling he wanted to roll his eyes. But he merely glanced at Greg and said, "We might as well check them all."

  They crossed the pass, climbed through the rocks and scree until they found another guy. He was lying on his back, one arm flung out with his gun just out of reach, as if it had fallen when he was shot.

  Dec squatted down on his haunches to check for a pulse, just as he had with the first body.

  Laila fought back bile as she remembered when she'd seen this thug last. "He killed one of the Kurds," she whispered. She pointed, and was surprised to see her hand was trembling. "That knife on his belt was covered in blood." She swallowed. "I'll never forget it."

  Dec nodded and rose to his feet. "You okay, Laila?" His voice was gruff.

  "Yeah. Let's finish."

  The third body was a young guy. She remembered him by his scruffy beard, which had stood out in a group of full-bearded men.

  "They start young," Dec commented. "Can't be more than a teenager."

  "What'll we do with the bodies," Greg wanted to know.

  Dec shrugged. "Nothing we can do but leave 'em. I covered their faces. But when I think of the thousands of civilians lying dead in these mountains because of guys like these, bringing war where there was peace, I find I don't give a damn."

  "Unfortunately," Greg said, "it looks like we didn't get—"

  Dec glared at him and drew a finger over his throat.

  Greg's gaze skittered over to Laila, as if he'd forgotten that she wasn't allowed to know what they were doing.

  She didn't know, as a matter of fact. But was it possible they were hunting these terrorists? "Hey, guys," she said. "Can we drop the pretense that you're some hikers on walkabout?"

  Dec swung his cold gaze over to her. "The better question would be, what the hell have you brought upon us?"

  "Me? How can you blame me?" Her voice sounded weak and she knew why. It was stretching coincidence to think that these same terrorists who'd captured her once just happened to end up here, lying in wait for so
meone other than her. For some reason, they were obviously hoping to capture her again. They would have done so, too, right here, if she'd been traveling alone. She understood that they wanted to rape her, and that women were few and far between out here. But still—

  "Dec," she said, "they couldn't be so anxious to rape me that they'd risk their lives over it?"

  "Hell no," Zack responded. "They thought you'd be alone and they'd just grab you like a cupcake on a dessert platter. They had no idea we were with you."

  "But now they do," Dec said heavily. "Our invisibility has been well and truly blown."

  Chapter Thirteen

  "What do you mean you don't have her?" Behaid hollered at the two men who'd run up to him, wild-eyed and panting. "Where are Mohammed, Baby-face and Faisal? If they're slaking their lust on her right now, I will have their heads, as Allah is my witness. No one cheats me."

  "No, no," Sayed panted out. "They are dead. Martyrs." Even when he was having trouble breathing, Sayed kept his damn black scarf wrapped around his lower face. Behaid considered it a personal affront that Sayed didn't feel safe in his company.

  "Impossible." Behaid drew hard on a cigarette. "Those damnable Kurds can't be everywhere." He exhaled the dirty smoke from his lungs, adding another thin layer of stain to the black and white scarf wrapped around his head.

  "Not Kurds," the other man, Ahmed, gasped. He fell to the ground, clasping a blood-covered hand to a wound on his arm. "Americans, or Europeans. NATO." Ahmed had curly black hair and a thick beard that was almost as curly. Behaid didn't think good Muslims should have curly hair. Where the fuck had it come from? Some foreign blood. But he needed all the fighters he could find, so he put up with it.

  "Impossible," Behaid snarled again. "Not here in the Sinjar Mountains."

  "I'm telling you," Amed insisted. "They weren't locals."

  "Where the fuck is the woman?" Behaid roared. "I want her!" He took in another drag, sucking it deep into his lungs. Damn. He needed relief.