The other woman, the aide to the senator, looked to him for direction. Talk about a lemming, she’d definitely follow him off a cliff.
Their job was to rescue the senator, but really, was this bright bulb worth it? He took a deep yoga breath, but before he could say something, Darius spoke up.
“Sir, you now have firsthand accounts of what this was like, even without notes and video, imagine what people will say when you go back and tell your story. You will be a hero.”
Clint was pretty sure he threw up a little bit in his mouth.
“You’re right,” the senator said. “Tell the man we’ll give him everything.”
Clint looked at his watch. They now had fifteen minutes before the trucks with the RPGs would be to Idlib, it would take much more than a minute to make it to the city square.
Darius repeated the Senator’s words to the Kurdish rebel. Rebin pleaded with his father to listen to his friend. Slowly, Rebin’s father released the senator, but he kept his pistol trained on him. The senator and his aide emptied their pockets and the aide scrambled through her purse and pulled out two notepads and two phones and handed them to the man.
The rebel barked out orders to his wife as he started to pat down the senator. Rebin’s mother patted down the reporter and the aide, as one of the other rebels tipped over their purses onto the floor to look for any other recording devices or notes. When the aide was found with a tape recorder, the young man slapped her across the face.
Clint, Mason, and Darius rushed into the small house and raised their guns.
“Enough,” Mason shouted in Arabic. “You have everything now. We will be out of Idlib in less than an hour.
“How do we know we can trust you? Once you were on our side. Not now.”
“I know that we have four Hayat Tahrir al-Sham tanks on the way here,” Clint said. “We had a drone do a flyover. They’ll be here in less than an hour and twenty minutes, but what’s worse—two trucks with RPGs mounted to them will probably be in the city square in less than ten minutes. You’ve got to make yourself scarce.”
It was a long tense moment as the man considered Clint’s words. Then he shoved the senator at Mason. “Take him.”
Darius grabbed the woman who had been hit and put his arm around her shoulders.
“We’ve got to leave,” Mason said in English. “Now.”
The reporter was the first one out the door.
Clint followed closely behind her. Mason had the senator by his arm and pulled him out of the small house. None of them wanted to stay a second longer than they had to.
Clint had to hand it to the aide; she didn’t make a peep, and her face was swelling. Dare was whispering to her. He was good at that shit. Right now, Clint just wanted to make it to the evac point and get everyone out of there. Something was off about this mission. He had to make sure his team stayed safe.
Clint led the way back to the square following the trail he’d left. People got out of the way when they saw the American soldiers. Even better, the civilians kept up with Clint’s pace.
“Guys, we have a problem,” Drake said through their headsets. “Chatter coming in that the bad guys’ trucks have made it to the city. They’re saying they’ll be at the square in minutes. Head straight to the helicopter rendezvous point. We’ll meet you there.”
Clint thought about Drake having to wrangle the three others by himself. “Have Jack and Finn made it to your location?”
“We were slowed down by some insurgents,” Finn answered. “By the time Drake reaches the edge of the square, we’ll be there to help.”
“Got it.” Clint breathed out a breath of frustration. Not good enough. They were at the entrance of the town square, opposite the apartment building to Drake. “You guys go to the west,” he said, pointing to his right.
“Meanwhile, I’m—” Clint started. Darius nodded, so did Mason. Clint grinned. He hadn’t needed to even tell him his plan, they both just knew.
Darius locked arms with the reporter. “Come with me, ma’am.”
Clint began shouldering his way through the throng of people as he made his way to the opposite side of the square toward Drake and the three other civilians. “Drake, I’ll be there in just a minute.”
“Gotcha.”
4
Even over the cacophony of vehicles, people, babies, and young children crying and adults yelling, Clint still heard the distinctive rumble of armed vehicles entering the square.
“Drake, we’re going to have to be quick. Trucks have arrived.”
“Fuck, man, I see them. I’m bringing the people down to the square pronto.”
Clint was too busy pushing himself through the mass of people to respond.
“We’ll cover you when you get to the far west edge of the square,” Finn said. He sounded out of breath. What in the hell happened when they had gone down the other avenue?
“We’ve got them, don’t worry,” Clint assured him. He arrived at the bottom of the apartment building as Drake was helping down the female aide. The male aide, Devon something-or-other was looking antsy.
“Where’s the senator? Why isn’t he with you?”
Clint saw that he had his cell phone trained on Clint’s face. He slapped it out of his hand, watching with great satisfaction as it shattered on a cement block. Devon yelped in outrage. “What the fuck man? I’m going to report you!”
“Try it,” Drake and Clint said in unison. This time Clint knew that he was the scary one, because the little shit was looking at him like he might just piss his pants.
“You didn’t tell me where the senator is.”
“Darwin, I don’t owe you any answers. Now do I have to search you for any other recording devices?” Shit-for-brains shook his head as he looked down at the rubble. Clint shoved him at Drake and did a fast pat-down. Yep, he was just like the senator he served. He found another cellphone in his breast pocket.
“Allow me,” Drake said as he held out his hand. “I’m the one who was too stupid to search him.” Clint handed the phone to Drake and he then threw it to the ground, then stomped on it with his boot. No way was that ever going to work again. Still…
Clint picked up both phones and picked out the SIM cards and crushed those just to ensure that no recordings would be passed along. That was the last thing he and the other SEALs would need. They’d had that happen to them once, and to this day the consequences still made Clint shudder.
Drake turned to the cameraman. “Clint, he hasn’t turned that camera on or pointed it at us since we got here. He’s Associated Press, he knows the rules.”
Clint stared at the reporter. Who immediately started speaking as he pulled out his film. “Here, have it all. I’m sick of the senator and his whole bullshit plan. I want you to feel good that I haven’t filmed you.”
Clint took the film, put it into his backpack, and then did a quick pat-down of the reporter. He was good.
Drake questioned the female aide, checked her purse, and determined she was good to go.
“Let’s move.” Clint grabbed Delwood’s arm in a tight grip and headed west. They stayed close to the buildings, which was a little less jammed with people.
“Y’all, the trucks are advancing to the clock in the center of the square. They’re doing a three-sixty with the guns. Stay low,” Jack advised.
Clint pulled the weasel into a duckwalk. He didn’t need to turn around to know that Drake was doing the same with the others. It was going to slow them down, but it would ultimately save their lives. They went a quarter of a kilometer when Drake told him to hold up. He looked back and saw the woman on her knees. “I can’t go anymore. My legs can’t go on. I need to stand up.”
“You can’t, ma’am,” Drake told her. “We’ll be targeted. You have to stay low.”
“I can’t.” Her face was red, and Clint could see her legs trembling as she was kneeling.
“Leave her behind,” the snot-nosed aide sneered. “I’m not dying because her fat ass can’t
keep up.”
“Nobody gets left behind.” Drake bared his teeth. He turned back to the woman. “I’m going to help you. You need to trust me.” Drake put his arm around her waist and had her do the same to him. “Let me take your weight. You’ve got this.”
“You, me, and the reporter need to get out of here quicker,” the asshole aide said to Clint. “We’ll leave them behind.”
“You’re doing what I tell you to do. I’m in charge.” Drakes’ voice was deadly.
“I’m just—”
“One more word out of you, and I’m dragging you into the middle of the square with a bullseye on your forehead. You’ll just be one sad casualty in all of this. Got it?” Drake snarled.
“You do that and it’s murder, plain and simple,” the dweeb cried.
“Like I care. You just suggested the same thing for her, now didn’t you? So shut the hell up so I can save all of you.”
“But…”
“I’ll throw you in front of those trucks, is that what you want? They would love to take you hostage. You wouldn’t last two days.” Drake’s smile was scary.
Deadwood gulped. “I’ll do what you say.” Finally, he got it.
“Drake, you go first, this guy and I will follow.”
Drake moved forward with the injured woman and the reporter moved in behind him. Clint nudged the mouthpiece in front of him then took the rear position. With every step he took, he swore the rumble of the trucks got louder. He kept looking over his shoulder, but there was no sign of them.
Quit with the overactive imagination. Got it?
“We’re almost at the public park, halfway to the rendezvous point. We’re calling in the helicopter,” Mason informed his team.
Clint knew that the trek was nearly three kilometers west from Clock Square to the rendezvous point. “Made good time, Lieutenant,” he complimented.
“How far are you?”
“We’re still another fifty meters before we’ll be out of the square,” Clint responded.
“Hurry your asses up,” Mason’s words were clipped.
“We are hurrying.” Drake’s words were grim.
“Where are you? We’re at the west entrance to the square. Do you need help?” Finn asked.
“Stay there, give us two minutes, and we’ll be with you,” Clint said.
As soon as he stopped talking, Clint heard the ominous rumble of the trucks. He turned around, his rifle at the ready. Squinting, he saw the tip of the guns on the truck.
Fuck me.
They weren’t grenade launchers, they were Vulcan anti-aircraft guns. Those things could tear you up. They were good at blowing off the top of a building.
“Jack, Finn. The trucks are armed with anti-aircraft guns.”
He could almost hear everybody wincing over his receiver.
“Did you see them, or have they started to blow things up?” Mason sounded so tense and tight he could probably turn coal into diamonds between his butt cheeks.
“Just saw the top of the gun. None of the Hayat Tahrir al-Sham have spotted us…yet.”
“And before you ask, we’re going as fast as we can,” Drake spoke up.
“You go on ahead,” Clint told Drake. “I’m going to get closer to the trucks and make sure they don’t point anything your way.”
“Negative,” Mason spit out. “You stay with Drake and the civilians.”
“And let them be sitting ducks? That’s just plain stupid. I’m just going to get a little closer to them. If they start sniffing toward Drake’s band of merry men, then I’ll create a diversion. But you know me, I’m not going to put myself in harm’s way. Lydia would stomp all over my ass.”
That got a short laugh out of Mason, longer laughs from the others. “Fine, Clint, I trust your judgment. Do what you need to do, just don’t get your ass shot.”
“Roger that.”
He turned to Dipshit. “You’re following Drake and making yourself useful. If you leave his side, you’re going to get lost and there’s a good chance you’re going to end up dead. Ultimately, it’s your call. We get paid if we bring home five people or six people.”
The young man glared at Clint.
Bring it on, little buddy.
The kid must have seen Clint’s determination. He nodded. “I’ll stay with them.” His voice was still snotty and sullen.
Who in the hell raised him? Wolves?
Clint gave Drake a chin tilt then headed toward the trucks. This time he didn’t push his way through the crowd; instead, he melted into it. He twisted and turned so that there was no disruption amongst the flow of people, leaving nothing that would show the Hayat Tahrir al-Sham that there was an anomaly in the crowd.
When he got close enough to see the actual soldiers on the truck, Clint looked around for a reason to pause. He saw a woman whose wheelbarrow had tipped over and all of her belongings had spilled onto the cobblestones. She had one baby crying in her arms and two youngsters toddling beside her.
He offered to help her, and she smiled gratefully. She seemed awfully young to have three children. Clint wondered if she was already a widow. As he helped to re-load the wheelbarrow, he counted how many men were on which truck. There wasn’t one piece of good news. The anti-aircraft guns were well-manned; as a matter of fact, men were hanging off every available spot on the trucks. Clint was surprised they weren’t going into the crowd to strike even more terror amongst the people.
When Clint was done helping the young mother, he offered to push the wheelbarrow and stayed bent low over it. He would have held one of the toddlers, but if he were spotted and had to run in an instant, he didn’t want the child to possibly get hurt.
The mother continued to thank him as he maneuvered the wheelbarrow at a slow pace back east toward the clock tower, which allowed the trucks to come parallel with them. That’s when he saw it. There was a great deal of chatter going on in the first truck, then he saw them lowering the gun. Clint couldn’t figure out where they were aiming, but it was toward the area where he had left Drake and the others. He turned his radio to a different channel in hopes of hearing any kind of chatter from the trucks.
As he continued his slow pace, he listened intently.
There it was. They were looking for the American officials too. Somebody had tipped them off that they were in the square somewhere. Clint saw five men jump off the sides of the trucks and start shoving their way through the scared crowd. Their brand of questioning was brutal. People were getting beaten and pistol-whipped, didn’t matter if they were man or woman. Clint moved the little family he was with in the opposite direction and then told them to huddle under the little outcropping of a storefront.
“Wait here until the Syrian soldiers have left the square. Then you’ll be safe,” he told the mother. She gave a scared nod, and he left her.
He felt fear as he saw the trucks aim for the street that would eventually take his team to Hwy 60 that would lead them to the Public Park and beyond that to the rendezvous point.
“The trucks are heading your way, they’re taking the east street out of the square that’ll then take them to Hwy 60. I’m going to divert them.”
“No, you’re not,” Mason ordered. “Unless you’ve thought of something that you can live through, you’re commanded to stand down.”
There were twelve Hayat Tahrir al-Sham soldiers, two trucks, and two anti-aircraft guns all headed after his team and the civilians. There was only one thing that Clint could think of that might, just might, divert them and keep his happy ass alive. It was worth a shot.
“Mase, it goes against my personal beliefs to commit suicide, so this has a good shot of me changing their direction, while staying alive. It’s a twofer.”
“I’ve met up with Jack and Finn. Tell me your twofer so I can help,” Drake demanded. “I’ve already started back into the square, so don’t fucking argue with me.”
Clint was already running toward the first apartment building that he had set up a command post. “Head t
o the apartment building where we met. I’ll be jumping over to it.”
“What the fuck do you mean, jumping over to it? What the fuck are you doing, Archer?”
Clint didn’t bother answering Drake. He kept his body as low as possible and kept the speed on so he could get to the apartment building and make his way to the top. Then he would start making a ruckus. Anything to get the terrorists’ attention and truck guns pointed his way, and away from his team.
Clint raced inside the bombed-out building and was making his way from the second to the third floor, intent on getting to the roof. That was when the entire building started to shudder with incoming fire from the big anti-aircraft artillery. Luckily, the stairwell was deep enough in the building that besides the shaking he was just getting dust falling on him, no bullets were making it through to him.
“Clint, are you in the building next door?” Drake asked. “Or do they just have shitty aim?”
“I got what I wanted. Now they’re pointed in the wrong direction. Now I just have to hop over to the neighbors without being seen, and I’m Scott free.”
“Well don’t go up to the roof, because then you’re toast.”
“Thanks for pointing out the obvious.” The dust was coming down thicker. Had they already blown through the front wall of the building?
Clint stopped on the fourth floor, not bothering to head to the roof—that was just a quick way to get dead. He ran down one of the building’s corridors and pushed open a door that had an apartment that would have a window facing the building Drake was in.
Once he was inside the empty apartment, he broke the glass and was staring down at the roof where Drake was standing.
“Hiya,” Drake said over their comm system. “Fancy meeting you here.”
“Can the bullshit. Can Clint make the jump?” Mason demanded to know.
“Sure, he can,” Drake answered easily. But when Drake met Clint’s eyes, they knew it wasn’t going to be easy. The window started a half meter off the ground, so Clint would have to clear that before spanning the distance between the apartments and landing on the nearby rooftop.
Since they were on the backside, they were away from the street and the bullets from the guns, but that was the only thing they had going for them.
Her Unbroken Seal: A Navy Seal Romance Page 3