Microsoft Word - AlwaysaWarrior

by test

  He went still behind her. She felt the tension radiating from him. Finally his hands left her in a soft lingering caress to her elbow. When she sensed he no longer stood behind her, she ALWAYS A WARRIOR Patricia Bruening

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  turned from the window. She was alone in the room, the door now closed. She curled into a tight ball on the cot, let the tears fall, and sobbed in miserable, aching silence.

  * * * *

  Shouts and pounding footsteps roused her abruptly from a fitful doze. Laurie blinked and bolted upright. Her feet hit the floor with jarring thuds. She lurched off the cot and ran to the window, ignoring minor aches and pains. In the bright morning sun, people with guns ran everywhere, shouting at each other. Laurie scanned what she could see and cringed at the window, trying desperately not to be seen as she anxiously peered between the bars.

  Five old jeeps drove single file between buildings and tents. Whoops and shouts greeted the two military trucks that followed the jeeps. More people poured out of tents and flimsy wooden structures. Most scrambled toward the large building across from her window. Metal scraped metal in an ear-piercing shriek as two huge rolling doors were dragged open. People ran in empty-handed and came back carrying rifles and pistols. Loaded ammunition belts crossed their chests and circled their waists. Laurie’s heart beat in triple time as she took in the rushed, almost frantic spectacle.

  Terrorists of both sexes scrambled with eager shouts into a ragged formation in the center of the compound. The General strode purposefully toward the assembled group and stepped up onto an overturned crate. He raised a hand for attention and the group fell into awed silence. He spoke loudly to his people, who appeared ensnared by his mere presence and his excited speech.

  Laurie had to admire his ability to persuade and rally a crowd but not the man. Hitler had been a charismatic maniac, too.

  The door crashed back against the wall, the explosion of sound reverberating through the room. Laurie whirled and dropped into a defensive crouch. Damien’s bulk filled the doorway.

  She blinked and stared at him. He exuded an air of calm, supreme, confidence. Dangerous, grim excitement glittered in his eyes. She swallowed hard but maintained her defensive posture, eyeing him warily. He carried a rifle, full ammunition belt, and wore his pistol on his hip. He looked so much like a terrorist she trembled at the sight of him.

  “Laurie,” he said urgently.

  She only stared at him. He unsnapped the holster and slid the pistol out of it. He flipped the safety switch off then hesitated. Would he shoot now? No, she told herself. He had promised to take her home. That very personal, though brief, fear must have shown in her eyes. He scowled but only flicked an appraising glance over her. He stalked across the room and stood over her.

  “Get up,” he commanded.

  She was abruptly reminded of that last day of training at his cabin. Of course, his harsh cold demeanor had changed drastically that night when he …. She pushed those memories aside and slowly got to her feet. Her eyes never left him as she tried to gauge his intent. He nodded as though making a decision and handed her the pistol. She took it, tentatively curling her hand around the grip.

  “It’s ready to fire,” he warned. He paused, his expression hard and unyielding. “Shoot to kill.”

  She gulped at the glint of steel in his eyes and nodded, unable to speak. Trying to look deeper, she studied him with a kernel of hope. But the tender love they had shared was gone. Of course, there had only been love on her side. He felt nothing then or now. She faced a professional government trained killer whose goal was to accomplish his mission and survive for the next one. The image terrified her but at the same time inexplicably thrilled her.

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  “What’s going on?” Her voice was a hoarse whisper. She locked her knees to stop them from shaking.

  “Shit’s about to hit the fan,” he growled, low but harsh. “Follow me and keep your head down.”

  He turned to lead the way, clearly expecting her to keep up with him. Terror grabbed her in its icy grip and Laurie stood rooted to the spot. Trembling uncontrollably, she mentally ordered her feet to move but they refused. The room offered a flimsy safety preferable to the certain danger waiting outside.

  Damien turned back and frowned. His single lightening glance raked over her, missing nothing of the terror radiating from her. Muttering curses under his breath, he stalked over and grabbed her hand. She gripped the gun tightly in her other hand until the fierce ache spread from her knuckles to her wrist.

  “Don’t wimp out on me now, honey.” She caught a flicker of understanding in his eyes as he stared hard at her. “Don’t let fear paralyze you.”

  “I—I can’t move,” she stammered past the hard lump of fear in her throat.

  “Yes, you can.” He jerked her toward him.

  Adrenaline surged into her bloodstream and she stumbled through the door after him.

  Once moving she snatched her hand from his. He shot a sharp, fast glance back at her. Terror still churned her stomach but Laurie found herself free of that paralysis. She nodded, indicating she was fine. He focused his attention forward and she followed him to the outer door.

  He stopped so abruptly she plowed into him, gripped his waist to steady herself. He slunk along the wall, pulled her behind him, and peeked around the doorframe. Laurie held her breath until her vision swam. She exhaled slowly, quietly, and her vision cleared. Releasing her hold on his belt, she waited.

  Without looking at her, he spoke over his shoulder. “Keep your eyes on me and when I give the signal, run into that large building. Neal, my second in command, will meet you there.

  He’ll take you to the extraction point.”

  “But you ….”

  His forceful glare stilled her protest. She gulped, nodded slowly, and pressed back against the wall.

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  Chapter Seven

  Time slowed to a crawl as Laurie watched Damien study the fracas outside. She went rigid, forcing herself not to fidget. Minutes dragged. She waited, none to patiently, on the raw edge of her nerves. Suddenly, all hell broke loose. Gunfire erupted from outside the compound.

  Terrorists scattered, dove for cover, and returned fire. Several fell, never to move again. Several soldiers in American uniforms, Laurie assumed they were Americans, slunk around buildings, moving quickly and quietly.

  Laurie jumped and almost lost her grip on the pistol. She flinched at every explosive shot, her ears ringing constantly. Damien moved stealthily out the door, rifle held ready, and darted across the ground. Laurie eased into his vacated spot, watching him as he gained distance from her. He fired the rifle in a sweeping horizontal arc until he reached the cover of a small wooden building. He looked back at her and jerked his thumb toward the large building on her right.

  She nodded and slipped out the door, struggling with the gut-wrenching sensation of abrupt, dangerous exposure. Ducking slightly, pistol pointed ahead of her, she inched slowly along the wall to the corner. Terrorists ran directly across her path. She cringed back and shot Damien a terrified glance. He held the rifle at his waist, pointed toward her destination. His burst of automatic gunfire scattered the terrorists.

  She sucked in a sharp breath, gathered her meager courage, and ran. Terrorists ran like frenzied cockroaches but Damien was no longer visible. He had left his dubious cover. Terrified and worried, she made her way alone toward the double doors directly ahead of her.

  A terrorist charged around the corner and stopped short, his eyes wide with surprise as he gawked at her. His hesitation cost him. Though her hand shook badly, Laurie raised the gun and squeezed the trigger. The shot cracked like thunder in her ears and she winced. But the terrorist dropped like a stone and did not move.

  She ran through the open doors and halted in her tracks, shocked by the arsenal of rifle, ammunition, handguns, and other things she did not recogn
ize. The firefight raged outside but she inadvertently spent precious seconds gaping at the weaponry.

  “My god,” she said softly, tightening her sweaty grip on Damien’s pistol.

  With a violent shake of her head, she dispelled the shock and sped around racks of weapons in the cavernous area. She dashed into a much smaller room, looking for a way out.

  Except for a cot on one end and a fairly sophisticated computer system, the room was empty. She spied the regular size door at the other end of the room but concentrated on the computer, instead.

  Intently studying the screen, she used the mouse to scroll through dates and notes of targets. Recognizing several recent attacks from news stories, she looked ahead and found references to future plans, including potential targets in the United States.

  “Damn,” she muttered, astonished and angry at the same time. What was it about terrorists and little piss-ant countries that made them think they could take on the United States and win? She snatched the diskette out of the drive, spotted two more next to the keyboard, and ALWAYS A WARRIOR Patricia Bruening

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  grabbed them, as well. She quickly scanned the desk but found nothing else of interest. Without a less destructive alternative, she shoved the diskettes into her back pocket.

  The door crashed back against the inner wall. Her head rang but she whirled and pointed the gun at the intruder. He ducked as she pulled the trigger. She missed but the bullet shattered wood at head level.

  “Don’t shoot, Ms. Crawford,” a distinctly American male voice called out calmly.

  Her hand steady as a boulder, she pointed the gun at the door. “Show yourself,” she commanded coldly. The gun did not waver.

  The soldier peeked warily around the doorframe but did not enter. His glance flicked to the splintered wood at his eye level but he made no comment. Laurie took one step back and stared suspiciously at him. He wore an American uniform. Green and black stripes covered his face but there was no mistaking those bright blue eyes. She motioned him forward with a slight flick of the gun barrel. She trusted no one. He hesitated for just a split second then stepped over the threshold, his rifle held ready.

  “Laurie Crawford,” he stated, not seeking confirmation. “I’m Neal Farrell, United States Navy SEALs.”

  Now, Laurie hesitated. Though Damien was not a traitor, he had deceived her, after all.

  Neal lowered his rifle despite her pistol pointed straight at his head. He held out his hand, his bright blue eyes warm and friendly.

  “Come on,” he urged softly. “I’ll get you out of here.”

  She examined him through critical eyes. He was just under Damien’s six feet four inches height, his muscular body tensed for a fight. Warm blue eyes gleamed. He exuded good will and dependability. Trusting him for the moment, she lowered the pistol slightly. She heard his sigh of relief and nearly chuckled at his uncertainty. She put her free hand in his but kept the gun ready.

  He quickly yanked her behind him and looked out the door.

  “When I move, stay behind me and don’t stop,” he whispered over his shoulder.

  He released her hand, aimed his rifle, and fired a sustained automatic burst. Some remaining terrorists scattered under that barrage of gunfire.

  “Stay low,” Neal cautioned then sprinted out of the building.

  After a wild glance around her, Laurie ran after him, barely pausing to snatch up a rifle with a thirty round magazine from a dead terrorist. Flinching at every bullet that whined past her head, she followed Neal’s zigzag course until they reached the far edge of the compound and darted into the surrounding trees.

  Laurie stopped and hid behind a tree, struggling to catch her breath. Her lungs burned from unfamiliar exertion and her legs ached. Her feet throbbed as she stared around the tree trunk into the compound. Neal grabbed her hand but she yanked free and studied the violent pandemonium they had left behind.

  Only when she spotted Damien behind a jeep did she realize she was looking for him. He was engaged in a gun battle with a terrorist behind a truck. She shifted her gaze past him.

  Another terrorist approached, rifle raised. She sucked in a harsh breath and her heart nearly stopped. Damien had lied to her but she would not let him die—not shot in the back by a terrorist coward.

  Behind her, Neal fired several shots at terrorists scrambling between the trees. Laurie dropped the pistol onto the dirt at her feet and raised the unfamiliar rifle. She would forgive him anything if fate would only let her make this shot. She centered the sights on the terrorist behind ALWAYS A WARRIOR Patricia Bruening

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  Damien and pulled the trigger. The blast rang in her abused ears but the terrorist dropped.

  Damien spared a brief glance over his shoulder then returned to his gunfight.

  Keeping the rifle, eyeing Damien intently, she retrieved the pistol and shoved it into the back of her waistband. The terrorist behind the truck staggered back as red spots bloomed on his chest. He toppled backward and lay still. Satisfied, Laurie turned back to Neal, who stared at her in shocked admiration for a second. With a slow incredulous shake of his head, he grabbed her hand and ran, dragging her behind him. Her heart pumped more adrenaline into her blood, her muscles, and her nervous system as she yanked her hand free.

  The battle sounds faded behind her as she neared a clearing big enough to land a helicopter. Laurie started across it, in search of a hiding place, but Neal snagged her wrist and halted her.

  “Rendezvous point,” he explained, showing no signs of physical exertion.

  Dragging air into her burning lungs, Laurie leaned weakly against a tree and waited. Her side hurt like fire from the punishing run. Her legs ached. Her throat felt as though she breathed in razor blades and every breath grated on her ears.

  “Where did you learn to shoot like that?” Neal demanded. Curiosity gleamed in his eyes.

  She shrugged indifferently. “Damien.”

  But her heart broke again as she looked up into the cloudless blue sky. The rhythmic thumping of the rotors whipped the air, and her ears, before the helicopter came into sight over the treetops. She let out a ragged sigh and sagged against the tree. The ordeal was finally over.

  Half a dozen soldiers poured out of the trees to converge on the helicopter. A jeep roared into the clearing and screeched to a halt. She barely heard other jeeps among the trees.

  The helicopter rotors stirred up wind and dirt, stinging her bare skin and nearly deafening her. She started to follow Neal toward the helicopter but recognized Damien in the jeep. Her heart soared before she could prevent it. He was alive! He had survived! He jumped down, dragging a bound and gagged man behind him. He handed the prisoner off to a pair of soldiers.

  Inexplicably desperate to make sure he was unharmed. Laurie changed direction and ran toward him. Just as he turned, she plowed into him and threw her arms around him. He caught her in arms of steel and glared down at her.

  “Get the hell out of here!”

  Machine gun fire erupted from the trees. Damien shoved her to the ground so hard the breath erupted from her lungs. Firing rapidly into the trees, he covered her body with his full weight, squashing her into the dirt. The helicopter rose into the sky and hovered. Damien waved it off and it easily outran the gunfire.

  Silence dropped momentarily around them. Struggling for air, she squirmed under him.

  He was so heavy! He shifted slightly and she nervously met his icy glare.

  “Stay still,” he snarled and slowly rolled off her. “Stay down.”

  She flattened herself on the ground and peered anxiously through overgrown grass and weeds. She found nothing but knew beyond a doubt they were surrounded. A burst of excited foreign words shattered the silence. Laurie cringed and gripped the rifle so tight and hard her hand ached.

  Next to her, Damien put a finger to his lips for silence. He pointed to the trees, then her, then himself. ‘Follow me’. She understood. He slithered along the ground, rifle pointed ahead of
him.

  Laurie shifted the rifle to her shoulders, slipped the pistol from her waistband, and followed Damien so closely she could reach out and grab his foot. Her anxious gaze stayed ALWAYS A WARRIOR Patricia Bruening

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  riveted to the soles of his boots. Rocks and dirt scraped her stomach but she ignored the discomfort. The rifle, banging on her back, became a nuisance but she loathed relinquishing it.

  They slowly made their way into the thicker cover of the woods. Damien stopped behind a tree, rose to his knees, and quickly scanned the area. Laurie sat back against another tree, staring anxiously at him. He looked back at her, his face grim and dirty. Anger blazed in his eyes. She shrugged.

  But she was not as nonchalant or brave as she wanted to appear. Her heart pounded erratically. Sweaty palms made the pistol slippery in her hand. Adrenaline had her tense, wary, almost lightheaded with the impact of heightened senses. Every sound jerked at her nerves. The sun was hard and brittle rather than warm and comforting.

  A sudden rustle of movement snapped her attention to the right. Damien jerked his thumb down. Laurie dropped, hugging dirt. Damien followed suit just as a terrorist stepped around the tree, practically on top of him. All Damien carried was a rifle, useless in close quarters.