by Kaylea Cross
It was even harder tonight, since this was the first time that military action had been carried out based directly on her intelligence. Through her network she’d received a tip late this morning that The Jackal would be checking on this shipment tonight personally. The source was credible, and she had high hopes that tonight would prove The Jackal’s undoing. They’d also tightened security in an effort to stop or at least isolate the suspected leak.
As she watched the soldiers on screen, her mind flashed to Zaid and the rest of FAST Bravo, who had been sent to check out a different village close to the SF team’s target. They’d texted back and forth since the other night in her office, but hadn’t seen each other since.
It was impossible not to worry about him and the others, especially when she had no information on their op or movements. All day she’d been focused entirely on planning this op, and Commander Taggart was monitoring his team from another room.
No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t stop thinking about Zaid. In a matter of weeks since FAST Bravo had been over here, he had managed to steal his way into her heart. If anyone suspected there was something going on between them, it could be disastrous for her position. She’d done her best to hide her feelings and tried not to pay him more attention than the others when they were in a meeting or briefing, but she wasn’t certain she’d pulled it off.
It was unsettling to feel so intensely about a man when she couldn’t have him. Not for anything more than a short-term fling, anyway. Wondering what he meant by wanting more than sex was driving her crazy, but that was a conversation she wanted to have face-to-face, in private.
Well, you can’t always get what you want.
Yeah. Wasn’t that the truth?
With a mental headshake, she focused back on the screen as the SF team approached the remote village. Everything was so quiet, the team having maintained the element of surprise. The target convoy in the village consisted of seven heavy trucks. Was The Jackal in one of them? Her pulse beat faster.
“Contact, eleven o’clock,” Sergeant Bowen suddenly called out.
Fear slammed into her.
Jaliya gripped the edge of the table harder and stared at the screen, her heart surging with a mixture of alarm and dread as the sharp crack of gunfire filled the audio feed.
The steel door behind her opened quietly. She spared a brief glance over her shoulder to see Taggart step inside before looking back at the screen. The SF team was taking enemy fire from the village.
“Engage all targets!” Bowen yelled over the noise of battle.
The volume of fire increased sharply, a staccato beat that matched the clatter of her heart against her ribs. Her hands turned clammy and cold and she was vaguely aware that she was holding her breath as she watched the footage from Bowen’s helmet cam.
On screen the world tilted and rolled as Bowen hit the ground with a harsh grunt. Jaliya’s stomach clenched.
He didn’t move.
Everyone around her was deathly quiet, only the crack of gunfire filling the room. She stared at the screen, unblinking, horror washing through her.
Get up. Please get up…
“Bowen’s down,” another voice said over the radio.
The army colonel next to her cursed under his breath and shifted restlessly, his eyes glued to the screen.
Through Bowen’s helmet cam, tracer fire arced through the darkness like swarms of lethal fireflies. Satellite imagery on the flat screen mounted on the wall above them showed thermal images of the battlefield, the enemy swarming out of the trucks and houses in the village.
Too many. Far more than they’d anticipated.
Ice shot through her veins as she realized the intel she’d received had been wrong. That the information they’d based this entire operation on had been wrong.
The SF team continued to return fire in the face of the overwhelming enemy force attacking them. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Had thought the intel was reliable after the bad tip she’d gotten last time.
“Fall back,” one of the men ordered sharply.
Jaliya let go of the table edge and straightened, unable to stem the urge to press a trembling hand over her mouth as she watched the tragedy unfold via satellite imagery, helpless to stop it.
Three more SF soldiers fell. Their remaining teammates laid down suppressive fire and rushed in to save them, risking their own lives to pull them out. One fell next to his wounded teammate during the recovery attempt.
Jaliya bit her lips together, horrified.
“Be advised, we’ve got seven wounded, three critical,” a breathless voice reported.
“Jesus Christ,” someone muttered next to her.
It was a bloodbath. And she’d sent them straight into it.
Everything in her wanted to turn and run out the door, flee from this horror and the weight of responsibility crashing down on her. She refused to obey her instinct, made herself stand her ground and watch the carnage she had created unfold in front of her.
Men shouted orders and reported in to the TOC. The soldier handling comms in the room responded at a rapid clip, relaying critical information. “Two medevacs have been dispatched to exfil point delta, ETA thirteen minutes. Gunship en route. Retreat to that position and await—”
“Negative,” one of the soldiers responded, “we don’t have thirteen minutes. Two of our critical are bleeding out.”
Jaliya swallowed convulsively as her stomach twisted. Those men were bleeding out because of her. Dying right there on the screen in front of her.
She couldn’t bear it.
“FAST Bravo’s en route back to base. They’re still close enough to get in there and help,” Taggart said from behind her.
The colonel hesitated for only a split second before waving him forward to set it in motion. Jaliya backed out of his way, cringing inside, alternating between shock and wanting to throw up.
Taggart’s voice registered above the pop of gunfire as the SF team battled to reach the wounded and get behind cover. The minutes ticked by in a surreal haze while she stood there frozen at the back of the room, unable to move, unable to do anything to fix this horrible situation.
After an agonizing wait, a gunship arrived on station and opened fire on the enemy position. Jaliya felt nothing but numbness as the thermal images on screen fell like leaves in a windstorm.
Then SA Hamilton’s familiar voice came over the radio, breaking her out of her trance. “FAST Bravo in position. Moving in now to assist.”
She bit down on the inside of her cheek as the screen split into two feeds, the second showing FAST Bravo moving from a Blackhawk toward the pinned-down SF team. Without knowing who was who, she watched the men who raced for the wounded, knowing one of them was Zaid.
Three Bravo members each stopped next to a wounded man while the rest of their teammates and the gunship kept firing at the scattering enemy. Finally, the medevacs arrived. In the ensuing confusion Jaliya lost track of which unit was which.
But the damage had already been done.
“This is SA Khan.”
Her head snapped toward the radio at the sound of Zaid’s voice.
“All three criticals are onboard the medevacs and en route back to base. Crews have alerted the surgical team to be ready to receive them as soon as they land at Bagram.”
Hearing his voice speak those terrible words made the backs of her eyes burn.
Oh God, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.
Futile, useless words. Weak words that had no place here. Sorry wouldn’t fix anything. Sorry wouldn’t make this okay or absolve her of the guilt slowly crushing her.
She bit down harder on the inside of her cheek and blinked fast, determined not to let a single tear fall. This was on her and she would stand here and watch what she’d caused, listen to each horrible update until every last man had been safely evacuated from the battlefield.
On screen, FAST Bravo and the tattered remnants of the SF team continued to engage what was left of the e
nemy as the Spectre gunship made another pass overhead and fired at one of the trucks that was attempting to flee.
A bright flash lit up the feed as the vehicle exploded. Two men jumped out of it, both on fire, and flailed for a few moments before dropping to the ground.
Jaliya watched it all, unable to feel even a little triumph. She just hoped one of them was The Jackal.
Silence enveloped the room for a few moments, before SA Hamilton spoke again. “Be advised, we’re moving in to secure target.”
Another wave of fear hit her as the men emerged from behind cover and started toward what was left of the convoy. FAST Bravo moved in with the remaining SF soldiers, checking the trucks before entering the tiny village.
David glanced back at her and she yanked her hand away from her mouth, straightening her spine. Whatever happened to her after this, she would take it without flinching.
“All remaining trucks are filled with ammo. We’ve got eight prisoners, five of them with non-life threatening injuries,” Hamilton reported. “Khan’s questioning them now.”
A few minutes later, she got the answer they’d all been waiting for.
“Our HVT’s not here,” Hamilton said. “They’re saying one of the KIAs from the destroyed truck was one of his lieutenants.”
“Copy that,” Taggart told him, his voice filled with frustration. “Sweep the village and report back with an update.” He straightened and moved back from the desk, allowing the others to take over again. When he turned his head to look at her, Jaliya swore she saw condemnation in those turquoise eyes.
She jerked her gaze away and focused on the feed in front of her, feeling small and helpless. It seemed to take forever for the men to sweep the village and take samples of the drugs they found before destroying them and the weapons. This time at least, there were a lot of both.
Except the Jackal hadn’t been there. Even though he’d been directly involved with the shipment.
Jaliya squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. Damn. So close. But the price paid in American blood to find out he wasn’t there would never justify the cost of the op.
People began leaving the room, brushing past her without a word, and she was too afraid to look them in the face. She stayed where she was until every last man on the battlefield was aboard the helicopters and on their way back to base.
David stopped next to her on his way to the door and put a hand on her shoulder. She tensed, barely resisted the urge to wrench away. “We were close,” he murmured, squeezing gently. “Closer than we’ve ever been to him before. That’s something.”
Jaliya didn’t answer. She couldn’t, her throat was too tight.
David released her. “Come on,” he urged, nodding toward the door. “Let’s go get you some tea.”
“No,” she rasped out. “I’m not leaving until I get an update on the wounded.”
He stared at her for a long moment, but when she didn’t budge, patted her on the back once before leaving.
Now it was just her and four men connected to the SF team in the room. “Is there any word on the wounded?” she made herself ask.
The colonel removed his headset slowly and met her gaze. “Yeah. We’re down to just one critical. The two others didn’t survive the flight back to base.”
Jaliya hitched in a breath as pain stabbed through her chest. The floor seemed to tilt beneath her feet for a moment before she turned and shoved the door open, then blindly raced down the brightly-lit hallway.
Chapter Thirteen
Hamilton and Taggart were waiting for him when Zaid stepped out of the O.R. back at Bagram. It had been a long, shitty night, and while he wanted a shower and a hot meal before hitting his bunk, he wanted to see Jaliya more.
If he was right, she’d be blaming herself for what happened, even though it wasn’t her fault, and she hadn’t been the only person involved in the taskforce’s decision to green light the SF team’s op.
“Well?” Taggart said, hands on hips.
Zaid had tended to two of the wounded on the flight back to base, and stayed with them right up until the anesthetist put them under in the operating room. “One will probably lose his lower leg.” He’d done everything he could to stop the soldier from bleeding out during the flight here. But the bullets had shredded the calf and tibia so badly that no orthopedic surgeon would be able to put it back together.
Taggart cursed and shook his head. “And the others?”
“Still in surgery.” He stripped off the bloodstained latex gloves and tossed them into a nearby trashcan, then grabbed a handful of paper towels and started scrubbing at the blood smeared on the front of his uniform. Little good it did him.
“What are their chances?” asked Hamilton.
Giving up on trying to wipe the blood off him, Zaid tossed the paper towels and stripped the fatigue jacket off. “Good. They’re all expected to make a full recovery. We’ll know more in a few hours. Surgeon said he should be done by oh-five-hundred.”
“You go clean up,” Taggart said. “I’ll get an update and pass it on to you if anything happens.”
Zaid inclined his head. “Thanks, I—” He broke off when Jaliya stepped around the corner and paused. Her dark gaze darted between the three of them before settling on him.
She twisted her fingers together, the haunted look on her face twisting his heart. “The third critically wounded. Have you heard anything?”
Ah, shit. Taggart had said she’d been in the TOC the entire time. She’d seen it unfold in real time. He nodded, wishing he could somehow shield her from the truth, or at least soften the blow.
“Is he…”
He really didn’t want to say it in front of Hamilton and Taggart, but he wouldn’t lie to her. “He didn’t make it,” he said gently.
She stared at him for a split second, then her expression turned stricken and she whirled away.
“Jaliya—”
She’d already disappeared around the corner.
“Shit,” he muttered, and started after her.
“Gimme that,” Hamilton said, holding out his hand for Zaid’s bloody uniform jacket. “She doesn’t need to see it.”
Zaid tossed it to him and went after her. She was already halfway across the road when he shoved the front door open. “Jaliya!”
She didn’t stop, didn’t even slow as she held up a hand to ward him off and kept hurrying away.
Dammit. “Jaliya, wait.” He ran faster, barely noticing the cold, his only concern for her.
She broke into a jog and ripped the door open to her temporary quarters. It slammed in his face as he reached it.
Cursing, Zaid wrenched it open. The hallway was empty. She must already be in her room.
He kept his steps quiet as he hurried across the linoleum floor and stopped at the door to her room. He knocked softly. “Jaliya.”
No answer.
“Jaliya.”
“No.”
To hell with that. She was hurting and there was no way he was walking away from her right now, even if his actions confirmed to Taggart and Hamilton that they were together.
Pulling a ballpoint pen from his pocket, he took it apart, then set about picking the lock on her door. Within thirty seconds he had it unlocked and pushed it open.
Jaliya spun away from him to face the far wall, her spine rigid, her long, inky hair spilling down her back in thick waves. Her hijab lay crumpled on the floor next to her bed, and with each choppy intake of breath, her shoulders shook.
Zaid’s heart squeezed. “Hey.”
She didn’t respond, didn’t move as he shut the door and crossed the room, but flinched when he put his hands on her shoulders. “Don’t,” she begged, shrugging away as though she couldn’t bear his touch.
No. No way he’d let her suffer through this alone. He’d vowed not to get involved with anyone, but it was way too late for that now. She needed him, end of story.
“Come here,” he murmured. Ignoring her protests, he spun her around and wrapped
his arms around her, pulling her tight to his chest.
JALIYA’S INITIAL REACTION was to struggle. She started to bring her hands up, ready to shove him away. Zaid just held her tighter, those strong, hard arms banded around her back. And when he slipped one hand into her hair to bring her face against his shoulder, something inside her broke.
She bit her lip as a sob tried to tear free. Instead of pushing away she burrowed closer, reaching around his ribs to grip handfuls of his sand-colored tactical shirt.
“It’s my fault,” she gasped out, speaking the terrible, painful truth aloud.
“No it isn’t.”
“Yes, it is. I sent them out there.”
“A dozen other people signed off on the op too, including their CO. They all knew to expect armed resistance.”
“But I got it wrong.” Her voice was muffled by his chest. “I didn’t realize how outnumbered they’d be.”
“You couldn’t have. No one could have. Shit happens all the time on ops. They were as prepared as they could be, and you gave them the best intel you had available.”
“I got them attacked, and some of them killed. And The Jackal wasn’t even there,” she finished, her voice shredding as she pressed her face against his pec.
She was directly responsible for those men suffering and dying, and it confirmed her worst fear. Her father was right; she didn’t have what it took to do this job, and it had taken losing those men for her to get past her stupid fucking pride and realize it.
“You didn’t get them killed. Every one of those men knew the risks when they went out there tonight. And every single one of them would do it all again tomorrow. It’s their job.” Just like it was his. “They signed up for this. Don’t take their bravery away from them. They died doing what they believed in.”
He laid his cheek on the top of her head, one hand stroking through her hair. She didn’t deserve the comfort or his care, but he didn’t seem to understand that. “We all know the risks and what can happen out there. It could just have easily been my team when we went out to search our target tonight.”
“Oh God, don’t. Don’t say that.” She hugged him closer, unable to bear the thought of him being wounded or killed in the line of duty, much less on an op planned based solely on her intel. “I couldn’t take it if anything happened to you. You hear me?”