Course of Action: Out of Harm's WayAny Time, Any Place

by Lindsay McKenna

  Travis sighed and quirked his mouth. “Either that or sell her as a sex slave.”

  “That, too,” Lieutenant Scofield said.

  Which was why she had to be rescued, Travis thought.

  “Any idea who’s got her?”

  “Roger. Hill tribe members, from what we can ascertain.”

  Great, the hill tribe with Khogani leading it was constantly making war against the Shinwari. Both claimed the Khyber Pass area. And that was the only route between Afghanistan and Pakistan.

  “Roger that.” Travis sighed. “That means I’m probably going to give away my hide, LT.”

  “Yes, it does.”

  “If I can spring her loose from those bastards, I’m on my own. There’s Taliban crawling all over this area. You won’t be able to get a Night Stalker helo down here to pick us up. I’m going to have to gun and run with her until I can get out of this immediate area.”

  “Understood.”

  “Keep me updated on their progress and location.” To Travis, this was looking like a FUBAR of the finest kind. There were thousands of Taliban and Al-Qaeda crisscrossing this border area. It was a hotbed of activity and one couldn’t just drop a helo into it because the enemy would see it, fire on it and, most likely, destroy it. No, if he could rescue this damned bull-headed Texas brat, it meant being on the run for days, possibly, before an extrication mission could be called to get them out of this area.

  “Roger that, Raven Actual. Out.”

  Travis put the sat phone down on his rucksack, scowling into the total darkness. There were thousands of caves all around this area. The Taliban used them regularly to hide from drone eyes and from the deadly Apache helicopters that stalked them.

  He pulled the cover off his watch and saw that it was midnight. Rubbing his bearded jaw, he thought about the possibilities. He had to act fast. Once again, he examined the live video feed of the Taliban fleeing with the kidnapped woman. They were moving at a steady trot and it was clear to him someone had night vision goggles or they wouldn’t be able to ride through the darkness.

  His thoughts turned to his buddies from back home. He and five others from Rush Springs, Texas, had been on the football team that captured the state championship. They called themselves the Sidewinders, striking like a rattler and beating more powerful teams. All six of them had a sidewinder tattooed around their right biceps. And during those four years, they were like football gods to their small Texas town in the panhandle.

  Shortly after graduation, they all went into the military. And it didn’t surprise Travis that all six of them went into black ops. He grinned a little, thinking about Duke Carmichael, one of the Sidewinders. If he’d gotten this plate of hot potatoes, his good friend, who was a combat controller in the Air Force, would probably die laughing. Of course, Duke had been a real favorite among the girls at the high school, and he had a hell of a reputation for bedding as many as he could. Given that a woman was involved in this op, Duke would leap at the chance to rescue her.

  Only problem was, he’d seen Duke at Bagram when he was finishing up an assignment with another SEAL team. Duke had been shot in the thigh and was headed for Germany on a C-5 to get patched up. His friend would be out of commission for a while, but knowing Duke, who was not one to sit around, he’d find a way to stir up trouble.

  Travis missed the other Sidewinders. They did stay in touch, occasionally crossing one another’s paths in the black ops world. When they did, a cold beer at a bar was the standard celebration, filling in the blanks of what was going on in their lives. The last he’d heard from Duke was that he was bored out of his skull while healing up stateside.

  Travis put the happy thoughts away and began to gather all his equipment and store it in the sixty-five-pound ruck he’d wear on his back. Normally, he was a very patient person, which was part of the sniper personality, but he wasn’t going to leave this hide until he was sure that group of riders would pass his way. He’d worked too hard, for nearly a week, finding this spot and creating a place where he’d not be detected.

  If the group continued to come in his direction, he was most likely going to have to leave his hide, move lower on the slope and hope like hell he’d intersect them. If that group rode a mile away from him, he wouldn’t be able to stop them. And she’d be plunged into a void more terrifying than any nightmare. Damned stubborn woman.

  He’d grown up on a West Texas ranch and knew all about Texas fillies who were unlike most other women. This Madison gal was a horsewoman. And she obviously didn’t follow orders, traipsing off on her own. That was good and bad news. If he got a shot at the Taliban riders, he’d have to hope she’d keep her head about her. He had to take the enemy down in swift succession. What he didn’t need was some wimpy woman who couldn’t think coolly in a crisis. All the Texas women he’d known growing up were solid and not given to hysteria when the chips were down.

  Travis scowled. At twenty-seven, he’d been married and divorced. Thank God, no kids came out of it. And his job as a SEAL had definitely put his marriage in the hurt locker. Marrying Isabella Winborne had been a lifelong dream for Travis. They’d grown up in Rush Springs and had been high school sweethearts. Travis had stupidly made the mistake of promising Isabella he’d marry her. He’d joined the SEALs at eighteen, and he’d waited until twenty-one to make good on that promise.

  Isabella came from a very rich Texas family and her parents didn’t want her marrying him because he came from a middle-class Texas ranching family. But like any Texas woman, Isabella was headstrong and fought her family. Snorting softly, Travis remembered their divorce when he was twenty-four. It was messy. There’d been a lot of hard feelings in Rush Springs. His parents had had to deal with the fallout. Travis had been overseas and missed it. Until he’d gone home.

  Yeah, he knew about strong-willed Texas women, for damn sure. Pulling out his Sig Sauer 9 mm pistol, he put a bullet in the chamber. His mind lingered on that bad patch in his life. He’d loved Isabella, but his life as a SEAL had interfered and the marriage had dissolved over time like a ticking time bomb. Isabella wasn’t prepared for the months he’d be away. There was a ninety-percent divorce rate among the SEALs and she’d been a casualty of it, and so had he. Travis swore that, from that moment on, he was not going to fall in love again. At least, not while in the SEALs.

  Now it appeared he’d gotten entangled with another headstrong Texas woman: Madison Duncan. He felt bad for her because he knew this particular enemy hated American women on a par with American men. She would not be treated well and that ate at him. Rape came to mind and he tried to ignore the possibility. They could beat her to death, as well. He hoped she had strong Texas genes because she would need them to survive this. If she survived it at all.

  Travis could imagine that SEAL HQ at Bagram was going nuts at this point since Madison’s rescue had fallen on their shoulders. Yeah, they were black ops, but he wondered about the political fallout on this escapade. If the SEALs didn’t get this done right, their name would be tarnished in the American press and the world. Not something that the admiral running the SEALs wanted, Travis was sure. And everything was landing on his shoulders. With the lack of intel, he had to rely on her being from Texas and assume she’d be tough enough to deal with the situation.

  His mind skipped like a rock over a pond’s surface. He knew the cave system in this area like the back of his own hand. He’d spent three deployments here along the border. That was the good news. There were some caves and systems he knew intimately. The Taliban favored certain caves, but he’d done his homework over the years, finding others where he could hide and not be discovered. Those caves were around and they’d most likely take advantage of them. If he could rescue her. If she lived. If she wasn’t injured. If she was ambulatory. Pushing his fingers through his longish black hair, his eyes narrowing, Travis knew he needed some luck. Would he get it?

  * * *

  Madison didn’t know how long she’d been on the trotting horse. Blinded by t
he hood, her arms and shoulders now numb, she tried to remain on board the animal. There was never any talking among her kidnappers. They just relentlessly pushed their horses. She could smell the sweat on her own horse. It was stumbling regularly, which meant it was tired and needed to rest. She had tried to push the rag out of her mouth, but couldn’t. Dying of thirst, her face swollen and her nose still leaking blood every now and again, she felt bruised everywhere.

  Anguished, Madison knew she’d screwed up royally. She should have listened to the Marine captain. Why, oh why, did she let her curiosity get the best of her? She’d been so excited about seeing Afghan horses. She worried about her mother and father. By now, they probably knew she’d been captured. God, she was causing them so much worry and grief. Wanting to be a good representative of the United States, Madison had jumped into this with both feet. Her father felt she could do it. Her mother, Tess, a large-animal vet, had doubts. She worried about Madison being in a country at war.

  Misery overwhelmed her. She had no idea what was going to happen to her. Her father always called her a “risk taker.” Yeah, she was, but this time, she’d gone too far.

  The horses slowed. Finally, they stopped. Relief flooded her body. Her legs were raw and she could feel her ankles were numb where they’d tied her. The rope was beneath the belly of the horse, and if she fell off, she’d be killed by the horse’s back hooves striking her body and head.

  She heard men’s voices speaking in a language she thought was Pashto. Someone untied one ankle. She was yanked roughly off the horse. Madison was allowed to fall to the ground. Her legs collapsed beneath her. Her head struck the ground, dazing her. She was yanked upright, the hood torn off. Blinking, her hair a tangled and unruly mess around her face, she realized it was still night. A man leaned over and untied her mouth. She spat out the rag.

  Her arms were numb. She’d felt blood earlier, warm and leaking down her long fingers. Now she felt nothing. Her shoulders ached and burned as she watched her captors lead the horses over to a small pool of water at the bottom of a large, rocky canyon. The quarter moon gave her just enough light to see what was going on.

  One man, his eyes black and glittering, came over and untied her hands. He stood with his rifle and threw a bottle of water into her lap.

  Madison reached out for the water. Her fingers were numb. Fire shot through her shoulders as she moved toward that precious bottle of water. Closing her eyes, she gritted her teeth and then forced her unfeeling fingers around the bottle. It took a minute to unscrew the lid but when the water flowed into her mouth, Madison groaned. She gulped down the water, feeling lightheaded and weak. When she finished it, the man threw her another bottle. She drank three of them before she was sated. Her stomach growled. The last time she’d eaten was at noon. She looked up at the soldier. Cringing inwardly, she noticed the raw hatred in his eyes as he glared down at her.

  Madison looked past him and saw all six horses drinking deeply at the pool. Their bodies gleamed with sweat. They’d been pushed hard. As she scanned the area, Madison thought they were in a canyon from what she could make out in the deep shadows. Could she escape? Oh, God, if only she could! Everywhere she looked, it was desolate and desert. Craning her neck, she looked at the group of men standing, their heads together, talking quietly. What were they going to do with her? Where were they taking her?

  Her hands began to wake up. She could feel blood coming back into them, the pain almost unbearable. Pushing the hair off her face, she felt close to tears. What had she done? How was she going to get out of this? As she looked up at the soldier guarding her, Madison felt the crushing answer. She wasn’t getting out of this alive. She didn’t know the area. She had no water and no food. These men knew this land because they lived here. Once again, she could only feel dread for what would happen to her. Her one stupid, childish and selfish mistake had landed her here. Tears burned in her eyes and she shut them. Madison didn’t want them to see her cry and she sucked it up, burying it deep within her.

  “Get up!”

  Madison snapped her head up. Another man in dark clothing stood, his hands on his hips, glaring at her. “Y-you speak English?” she rasped, her voice hoarse.

  “Get up!” He gestured sharply to her.

  Madison stood on wobbling legs. She saw the expression in the leader’s face, behind the black beard hanging halfway down his narrow chest. He turned and said something to the soldier. They both looked at her.

  Suddenly, Madison felt like raw meat for sale, and it scared the bejesus out of her. Were they going to rape her? Oh, God...

  “Move!” the man barked, gesturing for her to walk to where the horses stood.

  Instantly, Madison moved. Relief shot through her. They weren’t going to rape her. No...no, not that. Dazed, weak from not eating, she was pushed toward the horse she’d been on before. In minutes, her hands were bound behind her once more. Groaning, the pain hot and burning across her shoulders, she was forced back onto the horse. They dragged the rope beneath the horse’s belly and again her ankles were bound. They placed the hood back over her head. The men mounted and the soldier who had guarded her tied the reins of her horse to the back of his saddle. They kicked the animals, moving out at a fast trot.

  Madison found it tough to ride in this position. She compressed her lips, looking around but seeing nothing. From earlier, she knew they were moving out of the canyon and back on to the desert floor. Up ahead, huge mountains rose to her right. Where were they taking her? Her mind cartwheeled with terror. Wasn’t anyone going to try to rescue her? Did the Marines even know she was gone? When she didn’t show up at dinner, surely they’d realized something was wrong.

  Tears began to leak down her drawn cheeks. Madison was alone. No one knew where she was or what had happened to her. With one stupid decision, her life, as she knew it, was over.

  Chapter 2

  Travis hissed a curse as he saw six riders coming right around the slope of a mountain. It was barely dawn, grayness tinging the mountain peaks above him. He used the Nightforce scope on his sniper rifle and counted five Taliban riders guarding someone in the center. That had to be Madison Duncan, but he couldn’t positively identify her with a black hood over her head. His eyes narrowed as he watched the horses moving at a swift trot. They were only three miles from the border. He spoke into his radio transmitter.

  “Raven Main, Raven Actual. I have the package in my sights.”

  “Roger. You are authorized to take action.”

  Dammit, this was not going to be easy. Travis moved his scope, checking out the ground between him and the enemy. The Taliban were smart in remaining near the slopes. There was one piece of flat and open land where he could take his shots. Already, he had two more mags of three bullets each beside his left hand. He had to take out five men.

  His lips lifted away from his teeth as the group turned in his direction. The woman’s horse had its reins tied to the back of a Taliban soldier’s saddle. That was not good. The possibility of the horse bolting, frightened and wild-eyed, as he started taking his shots, was very real. And with Madison Duncan helpless, there was no way she could jump off even if she wanted to. He saw the rope beneath the horse’s belly, saw her ankles tied to each end of it. Sonofabitch. Travis quickly painted a verbal picture for his master chief.

  His heart slowed down because he willed it. Snipers could control their bodies like no one else could. His finger brushed the two-pound trigger on the Win Mag he had shoved against his right shoulder and pressed tight to his cheek. This didn’t look good for the American woman. There was a good possibility that when he shot the rider and he fell off, the horse would leap and run away.

  His only recourse was to put a bullet in the head of the fleeing horse to drop it. And when it collapsed, Madison’s horse would more than likely plough into it. The belly rope around her ankles would stop her from being hurled over its head. Madison had no way to safely dismount and would very likely be crushed beneath that thousand-pound horse
she rode. These were problems Travis had not expected. No one had. It put her at real risk.

  His mind moved at the speed of light. There was little wind this time of morning, which was a plus. The light was getting brighter, and he could now see the group clearly through his sights. Which one to take out first, second, third? He tried to guess what the soldiers would do once they saw one of their friends lifted out of the saddle and punched six feet backward, dead before he hit the ground. The bullets were supersonic, moving faster than the speed of sound. The boom of the Win Mag would follow. That gave Travis time to pump more bullets into the targets before he had to drop the empty mag and slap another one into his rifle. By then, all bets were off. It would come down to the element of surprise and him shooting fast enough so that none of the soldiers could shoot Madison Duncan, once they knew they were under attack. And shoot her they would.

  His other concern was that his Win Mag did not have a muzzle suppressor. If one of the soldiers saw the flash of his rifle being fired, they would target him. Travis had no problem with that, but he worried more that the soldiers would scatter to minimize the chances of the rest of them being killed.

  This wasn’t going to be easy at all. He’d hoped they’d tie her hands in front of her. Hoped they wouldn’t have put a bag over her head. For a moment, he wondered how much pain she was in, knowing she’d been captured ten hours earlier. She was probably frightened out of her skull. If she got injured, there was no medevac flying in to take her out. It was simply too dangerous for a helo and its four-person crew to come anywhere near this area right now. So it all fell on Travis’s shoulders.

  He watched the group move straight toward him. They would be across the half mile of open, flat ground shortly. It would be there that he’d take them down.

  Travis was under cover five hundred feet above them, well hidden in the scree, lying prone on his belly. He kept his ruck beside him. His heartbeat slowed even more. His first target would be the rider who had Madison Duncan’s horse in tow. Watching the Taliban spread out more, he smiled a little. These would be one-thousand-yard shots, easy enough to accomplish with the Win Mag. Travis set the dials on the rifle and settled in. There was a point where a person’s breath stopped. It was called the still point, a magical half second lull between the inhale and the exhale. And that was the point where a sniper would shoot.