by Julie Rowe
“We’ll figure something out.”
She snorted in obvious disbelief.
“That’s what puts the special in Special Forces,” he told her.
There was no reply for a couple of seconds, then Grace said very clearly, “Fuck. Off.”
If she could get angry, she really was okay. “How far away is this exit of yours, Smoke?”
“Not sure. Maybe a quarter mile?”
“Any evidence of more traps?”
“No.”
“We weren’t meant to survive,” Grace said softly. “I’m not sure how we did.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Smoke rolled more rocks off Sharp while Grace checked March’s arms, legs and torso for any other injuries. He had a couple of bumps on his head. One had bled quite a bit, and while he wasn’t really as responsive as she’d like, he was coming around.
“Doc?” he said, his voice as wobbly and frail as that of an old, old man.
“Hi there, big guy, how are you feeling?”
“Headache,” he said, confused. “Hurt, everywhere.”
“That’s ’cause you got hit by rocks, everywhere.”
“Rocks?”
“What country are we in, March?”
“Um, the United States.”
“How old are you?”
“Eighteen. Did I get drunk and drive?” He sounded worried. “I wouldn’t do that.” He tried to get up.
“No, no. Lie down, you didn’t drink and drive. We’re in a cave and there was a cave-in.” He was also twenty-six years old, not eighteen. She’d have to watch him close to make sure he didn’t develop a bruise on the inside of his skull to match the ones on the outside of it. It didn’t take much brain swelling to kill a person.
“Oh.” He lapsed into silence. “Where are we?”
“Afghanistan. Do you remember Sharp and Smoke?”
“Yeah, they’re on my team.”
“Hey, buddy,” Sharp said. “Smoke and I are over here.”
March tried to get up, but Grace put her hand on his chest and held him down. Normally she wouldn’t have had the strength or leverage to do it, but right now, as disoriented as he was, she didn’t have to work too hard.
“Sharp is partially buried under rock, and Smoke is digging him out. You just rest until Sharp is free.”
“Okay, Doc. I feel kind of sick anyway.”
“Sick, like vomiting?”
“Yeah.” He closed his eyes and almost immediately dropped into unconsciousness.
“Sharp,” she said, letting all of her concern for March filter into her voice. “I think we need to get March out of here and back to the base as fast as possible.”
“What’s wrong?”
“He’s displaying the signs of a severe concussion. Swelling of the brain. If it gets really bad, it could be enough to kill him.”
“Can you do anything for him now?”
“No. He’s going to need a CT scan and probably surgery.”
“You’re almost out,” Smoke said.
“Be ready to haul ass,” Sharp ordered, sounding like he was gritting his teeth.
“Sharp, are you injured?”
“I don’t know, but my left arm and leg have fallen asleep. It feels like someone is digging a million needles into me.”
“That’s normal after having your circulation cut off for a while. I’d be more worried if you felt nothing.”
He snorted. “No worries here, then.”
As she checked March’s pulse again, Smoke got the last big rock off of Sharp and he pulled himself out from under the rest.
He sat for a second or two, then climbed slowly to his feet, with Smoke lending a hand under Sharp’s arm.
“Broken bones?” she asked him.
He bounced a little on his feet and twisted his wrists around. “Don’t think so. Everything seems to be working properly. More or less.” He bent over and dug through the rock around where he’d been lying.
“What are you looking for?”
“My rifle.” He searched for a moment more, before he yanked it out from the debris. He checked it over. “Doesn’t look too bad.” He turned to Smoke. “Let’s get the hell out of here. Lead the way.”
Smoke picked up his weapon and nudged March with one foot. “Wake up.”
March blinked at him blankly for a moment, then put one hand to his head. “Jesus Christ, who ran me over?”
“A terrorist.” Smoke bent down and helped March to his feet.
He swayed. “Can I kill him?” March asked.
“I wish I could let you,” Sharp said, limping over to look into March’s face. “But General Stone wants to interrogate him.”
“How about I shoot him, just a little?”
“How do you shoot someone a little?” Grace asked, not bothering to hide her irritation with the cavalier attitude these men seemed to have toward killing someone.
“In the foot or arm or somewhere not immediately fatal,” March explained. His voice was slurring like he was drunk, and when Sharp grabbed him north of his elbow and began towing him along behind Smoke who had already started out, he looked even more unstable.
“Lovely.” Grace didn’t bother hiding her sarcasm as she picked up her pack, dusted off her uniform and followed the men. “That sounds so much less bad than just shooting and killing someone.”
“Why are you mad at me?” March wanted to know, a confused expression on his face as he glanced back at her.
“Oh, it’s not just you.” She looked pointedly at the back of Sharp’s head. “I’m mad at a bunch of people.”
“But—”
“March,” Sharp leaned over to say in his friend’s ear. “She’s a woman and a superior officer. Don’t argue.”
“Oh. Right.” He put a hand to his head again. “Shit, my head feels like it’s about to explode.”
Sharp glanced back at her and she gave him a grim look. “We should hurry.”
“Yeah.” Sharp stepped up the pace and no one said anything for several minutes. It wasn’t until Smoke, up ahead, stopped and gave the stop hand signal too.
Sharp left March with her, while he moved ahead to consult with their point man.
“I don’t feel so good, Doc,” March whispered. There was a glistening sheen of sweat on his face. “Was I drinking last night?”
“No, sorry. Can’t blame this on alcohol. It was the rocks.”
“Goddamn rocks should have stayed where they were.”
“I wish the same thing. I really do.”
Sharp came toward them. He leaned in close so they could both hear his barely there voice. “The exit is guarded by at least two men. There may be more.”
“Can you get a signal? Call for help?”
“Smoke is talking to the base now. An extraction team could leave at any time, but there’s nowhere to set down. The terrain is too rough. We’re going to have to travel at least a quarter mile before we get to an area where the bird can land.”
Grace looked pointedly at March. “That’s a long time to be out in the open, and we need to get back to the base. Now would be good.”
Sharp glanced at his buddy and his lips tightened. “Understood.” He met her gaze. “You two stay here and guard our backs.”
March was in no condition to guard anything, but she nodded. She had a Beretta, she could do the guarding.
Sharp stared at her for a moment then muttered, “Fuck it.” He slid a hand behind her head and kissed her. It was quick, hard and thorough. As if he were trying to put a lifetime of need and desire into it. The kiss left no question in her mind that he didn’t like this situation any more than she did.
He let her go with the same smooth speed he’d used t
o kiss her and was gone before she could say or do anything.
“That had better not be a good-bye kiss,” she said to herself under her breath.
She helped March to sit down next to a large boulder. He leaned against it and closed his eyes. “I’m not going to be of much use, Sharp,” he said, his words slurring a bit. “Everything is blurry.”
“He’s gone,” Grace said in a soft tone. “You and me, we’re going to do this together.”
“You’re a pretty good liar, Doc.” March smiled, but it was so sad. “I might be half out of my head, but I’m dying. Those rocks killed me, right?”
“We just have to get you to the base and drill a little hole in your head. Then you’ll be fine.”
He opened his eyes and stared at her. The smile on his face turned genuine. “That’s a pretty fucked-up thing to say.”
She opened her mouth to reply, but he sagged, his eyes closing. She put a hand on his shoulder and shook him. “March?” She did it again, then checked his carotid pulse. It was fast and weaker than she would have liked.
Goddamn it, she wasn’t going to lose another friend, another brother, to these insane people. She didn’t know what she could do exactly to expedite the situation, but she was going to do something.
The familiar weight of her Beretta brought with it a strange sort of calm. A surreal peace the eye of a hurricane brings, though you can see the frenzied conflict all around you, and you know it has the power to kill you.
She checked the magazine. Full. Slid the safety off and walked with soft knees toward daylight.
A metallic pop, followed by a hailstorm of more, had her crouching down and searching for the source. No one was in sight. No echo. Not in the cave. Outside.
The gunfire continued on and off with small bursts every few seconds. Sharp and Smoke might be moving around, trying to pinpoint where the enemy was. Or the enemy might be trying to pinpoint where they were. Either way, this search-and-destroy was taking up too much time.
She eased over to the narrow mouth of the cave. This entrance wasn’t wide, only enough space for a single person to squeeze through sideways. She peered out cautiously, taking her time, letting her gaze check every nook and cranny of the surrounding rocky terrain. No one. Not even her own guys.
She eased out and crouched down to listen.
More gunfire bounced around and she froze in place as it echoed through her brain. Images of the firefight from the IED flashed past and superimposed themselves over her sight.
She wasn’t crouched near the mouth of the cave, but behind the open door of an armored vehicle, the bodies of her nurses beside her on the ground. Her patient yelled for help, but she was immobile, terrified by what she knew was coming.
The boy soldier.
Killing him had injured her in ways she never expected. A constant acid drip of guilt and self-loathing burning a hole in her soul. She was living it again, powerless to stop it, unless she acted first. Her mind recalled the first moment she saw Joseph Cranston, but instead of his young unlined face, she saw his father’s weathered skin and ornery expression.
“You’re going to find the fucker who’s fucking with us and kill him,” he yelled at her, and the mental shout shot adrenaline into her system.
“Yes, sir.”
A pebble bounced off the rocks above her and off her shoulder. She glanced up and didn’t see anything at first. After a moment, she realized that an outcropping about twenty feet above her was too straight. It was a gun muzzle and the shooter was firing every few seconds or so, in bursts echoing weirdly, making them sound like they came from somewhere else.
She knew Sharp’s weapon. She knew Smoke’s too. They looked nothing like the long straight barrel above her.
She had to be sure. She couldn’t kill a man without making certain he was the enemy.
Could she get up there without alerting whoever was firing that weapon?
Grace took a few moments and plotted out the likeliest route up and found there were a couple of options. Neither was easy or safe, but she didn’t have a choice. If she left the shooter up there and he was an extremist, he was just going to shoot her in the back anyway.
Climbing the rocks was harder than she expected. Her boots were fine, it was her hands that needed protection. She picked up several cuts before she arrived at the top of the outcropping. No time to bandage them.
Out came her Beretta again and she advanced on the man lying prone about fifteen feet away. He was focused on shooting at a target below him.
He wore the traditional clothing of an Afghan male, and the skin of his hands was the color of caramelized sugar.
She needed to see his face. Be certain he wasn’t a friend, but foe. “Hey.”
The man turned, looked at her, rolled to his side, lifted his weapon and...
She fired. One to the head. One to the heart. Her feet carried her to him and she checked his carotid pulse. Nothing. She’d killed. Again.
Below her in the valley beneath the outcropping, more gunfire echoed.
The extremist had binoculars. She grabbed them and found Sharp. She couldn’t see Smoke, but that was no surprise. Sharp was probably drawing fire, so Smoke could circle around and attack from the rear.
Sharp was drawing more fire than he knew. There was a group of three men attempting to come at his position from the rear.
The Afghan man’s rifle looked even older than she first thought, but it was firing, so why not use it.
She grabbed the weapon, lay down, checked for ammo and sighted down the scope. It hardly made a difference, but then again, this wasn’t a precision instrument like the weapons Special Forces soldiers use. All she really wanted to do was cause some consternation for the men hunting her man.
If she killed one, well, that would be a bonus.
Right?
This old rifle probably didn’t shoot so straight, so she aimed high, fired and watched through the scope to see the result.
One of the Afghans dropped. The men with him stared at the body and began gesturing. They turned as one to look at her position.
That’s right, assholes. New shooter. New rules.
She had two bullets left. No use saving them. She fired again.
This time her target didn’t drop, but he did stumble and do an awkward crab-crawl until he was behind some shelter. Wounded him maybe.
His friend disappeared too, and Grace gave serious thought to leaving her perch for a less-obvious position. Anyone in the vicinity would be able to see her if they had some half-decent binoculars. Not the like the piece of crap pair the dead man next to her had.
She sighted down the binoculars to see where she could help and watched some rapid movement off to the north. A ferocious volley of gunfire began, then ended after about five seconds.
She saw Smoke’s head pop up, then immediately drop from sight, but he was moving toward Sharp. She scanned the area for any more unfriendlies, but saw nothing.
She eased back from the edge of the outcropping, keeping her new old rifle with her. She fished some more ammunition off the dead man’s belt then headed back down the way she came.
Her hands got cut up a little more.
Grace slid back into the cave and checked on March. He was still unconscious and in the same position as before. His pulse was a little faster and a little weaker, his breathing shallow.
She grit her teeth. He wasn’t going to make it to the base.
For a moment, anger and grief blinded her. So tired of seeing men she liked and respected dying. So tired of all the killing. And for what? Power? Control? Terror?
If she could get her hands on the idiot who’d started all this, she’d show him terror. She’d make sure he knew more about it than anyone should.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Rage gripped Sharp by the throat and threatened to shake him out of his normal calm, professional persona while waiting for his quarry to make a mistake and show himself. Patience had always come easy. Until now. Until Grace decided to do exactly what she’d promised not to do.
It had been impossible to miss. She’d been all too visible standing on the outcropping of stone. He hadn’t seen who she was stalking, but he recognized her body language and movements. They’d come straight out of the how to sneak up on the enemy US Army handbook. She’d fired twice, then someone began shooting the assholes who thought they were sneaking up on him.
There was no way he could let a woman this perfect for him slip out of his life. There had to be a way for them to be together without it destroying their careers.
If they survived this shit, he was going to find it.
A head popped up, the one he’d been waiting for, and he fired. A hit. There was some frantic movement as the last target moved, but he didn’t have a clear shot at this one.
Two shots were fired by someone else from a different direction and the movement stopped.
Smoke’s voice whispered over the radio, “Clear.”
“Return to Beta position,” Sharp said, then started moving himself. He had a doctor to discipline.
On the way back to the cave entrance, he checked on the men Grace had shot. One dead, one wounded. The wounded man lifted his weapon. Sharp shot him before he could fire, but he wasn’t happy about that either. He wanted answers and wouldn’t get any from a corpse.
He arrived at the cave before Smoke. As he slipped inside, he came face-to-face with Grace lowering her Beretta.
Good. At least she’d been prepared to shoot if he hadn’t been friendly.
She ducked her head and walked away, her shoulders hunched like a woman who’d been hit by someone she loved.
Was she hurt?
He lunged after her and pulled her to a stop. “Are you injured?”
Her face was solemn. “Not really.” She glanced into the dark interior of the cave. “March...died.”
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
His anger flared again and he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, wrapping up the rage, frustration and sadness with steel bands of control. He couldn’t afford to let his emotions rule him until they were in a safe place.