by D. J. Molles
He worked his way upright again. His left arm was cradled limply against his body, the strap of his backpack feeling heavier by the second, more like it was made of razor wire now than padded nylon. His right hand still held the pistol. He looked at it, knowing it must be close to empty. He squeezed it between his knees, then pulled the magazine out. It had two rounds left. One more in the chamber.
He thumbed the two rounds out and then dropped the magazine. He fumbled into his pocket for the extra magazine he had with the five rounds in it. It took some maneuvering, but he managed to get the last two 9mm rounds into that magazine, for a total of seven. Plus one. He slammed it into the pistol and took it up again.
He slid along the wall. The passageway seemed dark one second and light the next.
“Stay with it. Stay with it.”
He reached the bodies. The guard with the pistol was breathing out his last breaths. Maybe not even really alive anymore. Just the body trying to fight now. Chemical impulses forcing the muscles to move. His eyes were fixed and vacant-looking, unblinking. Tears were still streaming out of them, though.
Abe used his foot to push the pistol out of the man’s grasp. He was standing in front of the door now. The one that they had been guarding. He summoned up a little strength and tried to make his voice strong, but failed miserably.
“Lucas! Hey! You in there, buddy?”
There was movement from beyond the door. It sounded like a hand slapping the door. The voice that came from the other side almost sounded as bad as Abe did. “Abe? That you?”
He’s alive. He’s alive. That’s good. That’s a start.
Abe was limited to one hand, but the doorknob was a latch, so he just used the muzzle of the pistol to swipe the latch down and push the door inward. He saw a disheveled man with blood and grime covering his face. Short-cropped red hair. Pale, gaunt features. A scraggly, unkempt beard. His partner was crouched on the floor, looking up at him, and for one bad moment it seemed like he was a lame beggar. Abe almost shook his head, certain that there was no way he was going to get them out of there.
Abe stood in the doorway, feeling his knees beginning to shake. The pain was incredible.
“Hey, buddy,” he said around short breaths. “Can you walk?”
Lucas pulled himself quickly to his feet. “Oh, Jesus Christ, Abe!” He reached out to touch Abe’s arm, but Abe moved back out of instinct to protect his already wounded arm. “You’re shot. Are you okay?”
Abe nodded, though he didn’t feel okay at all. “I can make it outta here.”
“Lemme grab that pack.” Lucas peered out of the doorway, assessing the two dead men on the ground. “I’m in better shape than you. I don’t think they spent as much time on me as they did you. You look like shit.”
Abe waved him off. “No. It’s going to hurt like a motherfucker to get it off my arm. Let’s just get outta here.” Abe pointed to the pistol still lying on the ground. “There. That’s for you.”
Lucas scooped it up, transitioning smoothly from cowering prisoner to armed operative. He checked the magazine, then the chamber. He did a quick visual inspection of the two dead bodies and relieved them of their pistol magazines, then took the one guard’s rifle. He had no spare magazines for it, though. But it still had twenty-some-odd rounds in it.
While Lucas worked quickly, Abe leaned against the wall, listening and looking for signs of trouble. He could feel cold sweat breaking out on his brow, and he still couldn’t catch his breath. He was beginning to worry that the angle of the bullet strike had left that little projectile in him somewhere. Maybe had punctured a lung. Maybe that was why he couldn’t breathe.
The only thing that seemed to be working in their favor was the fact that this was apparently some little out-of-the-way Delta compound where the others dared not tread. Detention buildings, according to the one live guard still sitting in Abe’s cell. And maybe there were people in Fort Bragg that didn’t like Carl’s methods of detaining everyone. Maybe that was why he kept it quiet and guarded by so few men. Or perhaps that was just how many men they had to stand guard. He had mentioned that they were the remnants of the Eighty-Second Airborne and Delta. And Fort Bragg would be a big place to keep secure. Maybe there just wasn’t the manpower to have the two detention buildings guarded like a super max prison.
Two per prisoner, Abe thought. Probably would have been sufficient for any other prisoners. But they hadn’t realized who they’d taken captive. Perhaps they’d taken him for some inexperienced officer that had been sitting up in an office during war times, staring at satellite images and telling others what to do.
“You ready?” Lucas had the rifle in his hands, the pistol stuck in the front of his waistband, his pockets laden with extra magazines. He held the rifle one-handed while he sidled over and put Abe’s arm over his shoulder to help support him.
He’s right, Abe thought. They didn’t go after him as hard as they did me.
“Let’s go,” Abe said, and they started moving down the hall toward the door. “I got a truck outside. Hopefully it’s still there. Not surrounded.”
“What if someone pulled the handle and we’re surrounded?”
Abe locked his jaw against the pain. “Then they’re gonna lose a few more guys.”
“Did you get the GPS?”
“Yeah, I got it.”
“You got the ball, then, brother.” They reached the door and Lucas looked sideways at him. “I’m just here to make a hole for you.”
Abe looked at his partner, his only friend through the end of everything he knew, and he felt his throat tighten up. “You should take it. You’re in better shape than I am.”
Lucas shook his head. “With your shoulder busted you won’t even be able to hold the fucking rifle with two hands, bro. You try to hold them off for me, you’re just gonna get yourself killed. I can still move and shoot. I can create a hell of a problem for them. Give you some time.”
“Fuck.” Abe wanted to kick something. “This is only if we’re fucked. It’s a nonissue if we can get to the truck and get out of here.”
“Right.” Lucas unhooked his partner’s arm from around his shoulder. “You ready?”
“Move.”
Lucas pushed open the metal door to the outside. Cold air squeezed in. Bright sunshine again. The sound of engines that hadn’t been there before. The crunch of tires on gravel. They had just enough of an angle to see out the door, beyond where the green-painted pickup truck was sitting, down the gravel drive that led into the woods. And coming their way were two more pickup trucks, their beds bristling with men and weapons.
Lucas shut the door.
Abe felt a horrible, sinking feeling.
Lucas didn’t waste time on sentiments. “Back door. Now. We need to get in the woods.”
Overhead, they heard the roaring of a helicopter.
THREE
CONSEQUENCES
THE FLIGHT FROM CAMP Ryder to Fort Bragg was short. Lee was strapped in with other men carrying rifles and dressed in fatigues. Tomlin was beside him, and on the other side of Tomlin, the sullen man named Carl Gilliard, master sergeant and Delta operator.
When they lifted off, Lee thought it was one of the best things he had felt in a long time—to be aboard a modern piece of military technology. To be ripping over treetops and across roads and small towns that would have taken them hours to clear or circumvent if they were traveling in vehicles.
He might’ve grinned if he hadn’t known who was waiting at the other end of that short flight.
Fucking Abe Darabie. Goddamned backstabber.
The conversation that led to Lee being in the helicopter, roaring toward Fort Bragg, had been short and perfunctory. Tomlin had pulled him up into the office and explained the situation, right there in front of Carl, Staley, Brinly, and Angela. He made no mention of Nate and Devon, and this he seemed to do deliberately. Lee became maddeningly curious about what had happened to them, but all he had was an educated guess: They were hiding
somewhere nearby Fort Bragg, in case all of this went south. Lee had the presence of mind not to mention them if Tomlin didn’t. He figured there was a reason for it.
Tomlin had known Carl Gilliard from their time together in the Seventy-Fifth Ranger Regiment. Tomlin had gone on to Project Hometown, and Carl had gone on to Delta. The two had not crossed paths in the intervening years, save for a few phone calls and e-mails. But apparently their relationship had been close enough that Carl was willing to take a leap of faith and trust Tomlin after he’d captured him at one of the gates at Fort Bragg. Tomlin had convinced him to meet with Lee and the Camp Ryder leadership to talk of joining forces.
Sometime during the flight from Fort Bragg to Camp Ryder, it had become clear that Carl was in possession of two detainees who were either fleeing from Acting President Briggs or acting on his orders. And when Tomlin learned their names, he’d gone wide-eyed and openmouthed. Then they’d arrived at Camp Ryder and all further discussion had to be put on hold.
“Abe Darabie?” Lee had demanded when he’d learned the news in the office. “You have him in custody?”
Carl had nodded. “And a friend of his, Lucas Wright. Mr. Darabie claims the rank of major and Mr. Wright claims the rank of captain. Is this correct, to your knowledge?”
Lee had nodded, bewildered. “How long have you had them?”
“Six days,” Carl said, after a moment’s calculation.
Lee’s decision was almost instantaneous. “You have to take me to him.”
Brinly was the only Marine to accompany them. Staley agreed to remain at Camp Ryder for one more day, but he wanted a liaison to stay in contact with him while Lee was in Fort Bragg sorting things out. Lee had agreed without much debate—Brinly seemed solid, and Lee figured an extra gun couldn’t hurt. It had not escaped him that he knew nothing of Carl Gilliard or the man’s loyalties. He might profess to be opposed to Acting President Briggs, but the truth was usually more complicated, and Lee did not know whether he was wading into a nest of enemies or a possible alliance.
Dawn broke by the time they made their way out of the Camp Ryder building and the helicopter started spooling up. It was full light when they were halfway to Fort Bragg and the copilot reached back into the cabin and tapped Carl on the shoulder. Lee watched the movements, trying not to look suspicious, but not really being able to help himself. He was suspicious of everybody, and he damn well had a right to be.
When the copilot had Carl’s attention, he made a motion that mimed putting a headset on. Carl then grabbed one of the headsets that was hanging just over his shoulder and put them over his ears. He adjusted the microphone so it sat in front of his mouth. Over the thundering rotors and the wash of wind in the open cabin, Lee couldn’t hear what he was saying, but he could see his mouth moving.
Then Carl listened.
He leaned forward, his face becoming stony.
He spoke quickly into the microphone again, this time glancing up at Lee.
Something bad. This is something bad.
Lee’s hand moved to the grip of his rifle. He shifted, tucking his elbows in. He wasn’t sure why he assumed that somebody was planning something treacherous—aside from reoccurring experiences. But if they wanted a goddamned shootout on a helicopter, that was fine. He would punch holes in Carl first, then the pilots. The helicopter would crash and maybe Lee wouldn’t make it out. But then again, maybe he would. He’d survived worse.
Lee stuck his jaw out and held Carl’s gaze, hoping his thoughts came through clearly: Motherfucker, I’ve been shot, stabbed, beaten, bitten, and blown up. What the fuck you think you’re gonna do to me that hasn’t already been done?
But after a moment, Carl snatched the headset off and leaned partially across the cabin, yelling just loud enough for Lee to hear him. “Captain Harden! Our two detainees just busted free. They’re on the run right now. And they’re armed.”
“What?!” Lee’s hand flew to his head. He swore loudly and started thinking fast. He looked at Tomlin briefly, not sure what expression he would find. Tomlin’s face was tight and tense. “Pull your men off of them,” Lee shouted. “Drop me and Tomlin. We know them. We’ll handle it.”
Tomlin shifted uncomfortably.
Carl looked half amused, half irritated. “Not a chance, Captain…”
Lee reached out, wanting to grab Carl by the collar and haul his ass onto the deck of the Black Hawk, but he thought better of it and retracted his hand. “Carl, you don’t understand. I need those men alive.”
Carl considered it coolly for a moment then shrugged. “I’ll put my men on the perimeter. They’re not getting out of Fort Bragg.” He pointed to Lee. “You can go after them, but if they reach that fence, they’re fucking dead. No questions asked.”
Lee nodded. “Fine. That works.”
Carl put the headset back on and began speaking into the microphone more words that Lee couldn’t hear. Lee turned to Tomlin, found his old friend looking at him a little unsurely.
Tomlin raised a single eyebrow. “This personal, or business?”
Lee shook his head. “Everything’s fucking personal at this point, Brian.”
“You gonna kill him?”
“No.” Lee checked his rifle again. “Maybe.”
The Black Hawk banked right, then left, and Lee was looking down at the earth, at rows and rows of pine trees crested in green and below that a never-ending carpet of burgundy needles and pale yellow sand. He could see trails cut through the woods. Some of them were foot trails. Others were for vehicles, and he could clearly see tire treads. Then there was a gravel path and a little compound, tucked back into what looked like hundreds of acres of woods. Two plain, long buildings sat there in the clearing and the helicopter began to slow and to sink toward the ground.
There were men on the ground. Dozens of armed men. Three pickup trucks. One was green and looked as if it had been sitting there for a while, all covered in melting frost. The other two were newer, and they were running, and there were men with rifles in the beds and in the cabs. Most of them wore MultiCam pattern fatigues.
Lee looked at Carl, who pointed to the ground and shouted, “This is you, Captain. Do what you need to do. If you catch either of them alive, bring them back to me.”
The Black Hawk dropped below the trees, then the roofline of the two long buildings, and then it was hovering over the gravel and then touching down. Tomlin slid out first, and Lee followed quickly. Brinly came out with them, and Lee did not object. He felt that Brinly would likely follow their lead. And Lee knew the training that Abe and Lucas had. No matter what shape they were in, they were more dangerous than any of these people realized.
Then why are you going after them with only three guys? Why not just let Carl’s men rake the forest with fire? Why not let the superior force handle this?
Because the superior force probably didn’t know what they were up against, though they probably had a better idea now that Abe and Lucas had managed to get free. And because Lee didn’t necessarily trust Carl, even if Tomlin did. And because Lee wanted a chance to see Abe face to face.
He pictured Abe as he’d last seen him: Dark complected, with a face that could easily switch between somber and cheerful. Always clean shaven. Always neatly put together. A model soldier. You had to be, if you wanted to be of Middle Eastern descent and still do well in the US military, though Abe was born in the US and was more American than a lot of others who served.
Then Lee pictured what that face would look like when he was finished with him. He didn’t intentionally do it, but his mind summoned the images on its own, and now he saw Abe’s face in ruins, flattened in places and swollen in others, blue blood bulging beneath the brown skin and red blood spurting across the face and lips.
Why did you do this? Lee thought to a man that was not there. Why did you force me into this? You did the things you did, and now I have to do the things that I have to do. And everything that came before is reduced to nothing because of this. Because of
you. Because of what you did. This is your fault, Abe. Everything I do to you will be your own fucking fault, you backstabbing piece of shit.
Lee hit the corner of the first building, Tomlin and Brinly close behind. Beyond the building, there was only the pine forests. One of the Delta men was standing at the corner, his rifle at a low ready, peeking out from the corner and into the woods.
“Comin’ up on you,” Lee said quickly.
The man turned and looked at them. His beard was shorter than most of the other guys. He looked younger, too. He had longish hair, held out of his face by a black bandanna. “Who the fuck are you?” he asked.
“Friends of Carl’s,” Lee said shortly. “Where’d the two men go?”
The man with the black bandanna gestured into the pine forest. “One of ’em has a rifle. The other one has a pistol. The one with the pistol is hurt pretty bad.”
Lee grimaced. His concern wasn’t for their well-being. But in addition to the thoughts of vengeance that he could not keep from crawling into his mind, he knew that both Lucas and Abe would have valuable information about Briggs and what his intentions were with Lee and the Camp Ryder Hub. But they had to capture them first, and that was going to be difficult. It was easy to catch a man unawares. It was very difficult to catch him when he knew he was being hunted. And it was even more difficult to interrogate a man with wounds so grievous he knew he was going to die anyway.
Hopefully that’s not the case.
Lee looked around the man and into the pine forest. All seemed still. “How long ago did they hit the woods? How far in are they?”
Before the Delta man could respond there was a burst of automatic fire and the ground to Lee’s right erupted into particles of dirt. A quick follow-up burst skittered across the metal siding of the building and all four men ducked back around the corner.
The Delta man sank onto his haunches. “About that far.”
“Fuck me running,” Lee swore, wiping dirt and sand from his face and neck. He turned partially and looked at Tomlin and Brinly. “You two hold them down here. I’m gonna flank on the left.”