In the same instant, she saw Roc freeze. And then he turned, roaring, “Get down!”
Sam hesitated fractionally. And then, everything changed to a slow-motion film before her eyes. She heard another sharp, echoing sound originating from that eastern suburb, but saw nothing, no shooter. As the retort split the air around them, Roc instantly cringed, whirled toward it, and was locking and loading his rifle as he lunged for the ground. His face was harsh, his eyes slits. As Sam heard him yell at them to get down, she saw terror in his eyes—for her and Lin.
Only split seconds had past, but those moments seemed strung out endlessly. Somewhere in time, Sam started to throw herself toward the earth, too.
It was then she felt a hot, stinging sensation in her upper left arm. As she fell belly first on the chewed-up ground, her hands covering her head, she heard the sharp, resounding crack, crack, crack as Roc fired toward where the shots had originated.
An instant later, Sam’s face was pushed into the ground as Roc leaped over her, kneeling in front of her to protect her. She noted the smell of the earth as she tried to breathe through flaring nostrils.
More gunfire erupted, coming from that same direction.
Oh, God… Sam tried to nestle even closer to the ground. She wanted to disappear into it! Hearing the throaty, barking reports of other M-16s in action, Sam shut her eyes tightly. Fear shot through her.
Suddenly, the earth near her erupted in geysers. She lifted her head, amazed. What was doing that?
“Get up, Sam! Lin! Run toward the center!” Roc roared at them. He remained on his belly, his legs spread, firing rapidly toward the shooter hidden among the houses. It was one of the Diablos, he had no doubt. The sniper had them nailed down, and if Sam and Lin stayed, they’d be killed.
“Run!” he yelled at them, lifting his head from his rifle scope momentarily. It was then he saw Sam’s arm. Eyes wide, he stared at her light blue, long-sleeved blouse, the entire left side of which was soaked in bright red blood. Sam didn’t seem to realize it as she quickly scrambled to her feet and took off running with Lin, but she’d been hit. Oh, God…no…
Rage surged through him. Roc had to stay where he was, for the shooter was returning fire. Once again the ground around him spat upward in geysers, bullets biting angrily into the soil near where he lay. He knew he was a target. Repeatedly, with cool precision, he fired round after round. Roc wanted the sniper to zero in on him, not the two women escaping across the field to safety.
Controlling his breathing, he focused his rage. Sam was hit. How bad? Oh, God, how bad? She seemed oblivious to it. Probably in shock. She’s too scared to even know she got hit.
Roc’s mind churned like a rapidly firing machine gun. In seconds he was on the radio with his team, ordering them to flank the position. Instantly, he saw marines running east, toward where the shooter was hiding. At the same time, he ordered Quinn to get the medical team together in the center of the field, and to call in a Huey. They had casualties. They would have to get out of here and back to HQ as quickly as possible.
Having no idea how badly Sam was wounded, Roc didn’t want to take any chances. This morning, before they’d left, Morgan had managed to get them a Huey helicopter on standby for emergencies. Roc thanked the man for his foresight.
Trying to focus on the sniper, Roc ran through his first clip of ammo. With quick precision, he grabbed another from his belt by rolling over on his side and jerking it out of his pocket. In seconds, he’d rammed the clip into his rifle and returned to a prone position. More geysers shot up around him. That was good.
Sweat ran down his temples. Blinking rapidly, Roc kept slowly panning the scope of his rifle right to left in order to try and find the son of a bitch.
There! Roc held his breath. He saw his men hightailing it to the right. Seeing the flash of sunlight on a rifle barrel, the figure of a man peeking around the edge of one of the walls left standing on a house, Roc grinned.
“You’re gonna die, you bastard,” he rasped, and pulled the trigger. His rifle bucked against his shoulder. Satisfaction soared through him. He saw the man fly backward, the rifle flipping up and out of his hands.
Good! Instantly, Roc was on his feet and running, heading directly for that area. Sprinting hard, he reached the house before his team arrived. He could hear the wail of frightened children nearby. On guard, his weapon raised, he moved along the side of the house where the sniper had been crouching. Roc took no chances, because he could have wounded the enemy, not killed him outright. The thug could be waiting with a pistol in hand to kill him or whoever was stupid enough to come around the corner of the house too quickly.
Breathing through his mouth to keep silent, Roc crouched down and crept along the perimeter. He heard adult voices nearby, urgently trying to shush the crying children, though he was unable to see them. Kneeling down, only two feet from the corner where the sniper had been, Roc saw the rifle. It was an
M-16, military issue. Recalling that the Diablos had, early on, killed two marine helicopter pilots and stolen the entire cargo out of the bird, he knew that this must be one of the slain marines’ rifles.
Gripping his weapon, Roc listened for any movement from the enemy. Then, taking a deep breath, he swung around the corner, his rifle raised.
His breath exploded from his body and relief shot through him as he came out of his crouched, ready position. A man, in his thirties, lay dead—sprawled out on the yellow grass, his arms flung above his head. The bullet had got him in the head.
No satisfaction flowed through Roc as he quickly made sure there were no other weapons on the man. Killing a human being always twisted his gut.
His team came jogging tensely around the corner. Straightening up, Roc shifted his rifle to his left hand.
“Sergeant, frisk this son of a bitch and see if you can find any papers, any ID on him.” As Roc stepped away, he saw the frightened faces of a few people peeking out of nearby windows.
“The rest of you stay on guard,” he ordered them tightly. “I’ll go inside this other house and see if these civilians know anything.”
“Yes, sir,” Buck said, kneeling over the body.
Roc’s mind gyrated. His heart slammed into his ribs as he walked up to the house, which was partially destroyed. Sam. Was she okay? Breathing hard, sweat running down his face and his rib cage, Roc put in a call to Grayson.
“Red Badger two, do you read? This is Red Badger one. Over.” Roc clicked off the button on his shoulder unit and waited impatiently.
“Badger two here. Over.”
“Give me a report on Dr. Andrews. She was hit. What’s her condition? Over.” Waiting for news made Roc’s gut tighten painfully. As he walked up to the door, an older man—in his fifties, with graying hair—opened it. He looked frightened and relieved.
“Any more of them around?” Roc demanded.
“I don’t know, sir…. Thank God you got him. He was stealing our food, sir….” The man closed his eyes and sagged against the doorjamb.
“Red Badger One, Dr. Andrews has an upper arm wound. Her people are taking care of her right now. The bird is on the way.”
“Red Badger Two, is she all right?” Roc couldn’t help the strain he heard in his own voice.
“Roger, I think so. I’m talking to Dr. Andrews right now and she says to tell you it’s only a flesh wound. She says there’s a lot of blood, but it’s only a crease, and for you not to be worried. Over.”
Relief shuddered through him. Roc compressed his mouth. He looked up at the man, whose face was white with terror as he stared past him toward the Diablo gang member lying ten feet away. “That’s good to hear.”
“The bird is coming in now, Red Badger One. Do you want me to board the medical team and wait for you?”
“Negative, Red Badger Two. I want you to get the doctor to HQ for treatment immediately. Send the entire medical team back. Then come here with your squad. Over.”
“Roger. The bird is coming in now…. Over and
out.”
Roc could hear the heavy whapping sounds of a Huey as it approached, landing a half mile away. His gaze cut to his men, who were going through every pocket of the Diablo sniper. Turning, he looked up at the older man.
“Tell me what else you saw,” Roc demanded.
“Sir, he was alone as far as we could tell. He had one of the children as hostage earlier. He put a gun to her head and said if we didn’t give him all the food and water we had, he was going to kill her.”
“That pistol?” he demanded, holding it up for the man to see.
“Y-yes, that one.” The man visibly tried to collect himself. “Thank you…so much! We thought we were alone. We didn’t know you’d arrived.”
Nodding, Roc noticed a stuffed pillowcase lying alongside the wall. “Is that your food, sir?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Go get it,” he ordered.
The man managed a tight, grateful smile and hurried off to retrieve the goods.
Turning, Roc saw Lieutenant Grayson and his squad approaching at a fast trot, and he heard the Huey taking off. From this angle, he could see the dark green bird as it gained altitude. Swallowing hard, he tried to gather himself emotionally. Sam had been hit, but it was only a flesh wound. She’d know. She wouldn’t lie to him, would she? To stop him from worrying? Roc closed his eyes for a moment, and all he could see was her entire upper arm bathed in bright red blood. She’d acted as if she wasn’t even aware of being wounded. He knew flesh wounds could bleed like a stuck hog. They could appear a lot worse than they really were. God, he hoped that was the case.
Opening his eyes, he saw Quinn rushing up to him, his face tense and sweaty.
The first thing the lieutenant said was, “Sir, Dr. Andrews said for you not to worry, that she was fine. She said to tell you it’s only a scratch.” He managed a slight smile. “She asked that you come and see her when we get back to HQ.”
Nodding, Roc rubbed his jaw. A wild range of feelings reeled through him, some of relief, others worry. And some…some were feelings so raw and beautiful that they staggered him, took his voice away for a second before he could respond to Quinn’s words.
“Thanks, Lieutenant Grayson. I’ll do that.” Roc searched the marine’s glistening features. “Are you sure she’s okay?”
Grayson nodded. “She said you’d question me about that. Yes, sir, she’s fine, Captain. I promise. I’m not a trained paramedic like you, but I saw Nurse Lin cut off the doctor’s sleeve and wash away the blood. The bullet creased her upper arm, is all, from what I could tell. It didn’t go into the muscle, just grazed the skin, is all.”
More relief zigzagged through Roc. He gripped his rifle more tightly for a moment. “Very good, Lieutenant. Thanks…” And he began to give orders for the rest of the marines to disperse and begin a block-by-block search for other Diablos in the area. He knew from previous reports that they usually worked in teams of two. There might very well be another one around, and if there was, he wanted the bastard.
As he carried out his duties, Roc’s heart centered on Sam. Right now, the last place he wanted to be was here, but he knew his responsibility was to the people, to protect them. It would be hours before he could get back to HQ and see Sam. God help him, the only place he wanted to be right now was at her side, holding her, keeping her safe. He knew Sam would be terribly shaken by this event. No one ever thought about getting hit by a bullet, even people in the military. Roc knew it was going to shatter Sam emotionally. She was a casualty now. And she knew some human being hated her enough to try and kill her on sight.
Roc wanted to be at her side to hold her, to comfort her, to let her talk it out. He wanted to let her know he was there for her.
Chapter 13
February 6: 1800
Anxiety ate at Roc as he off-loaded his men from the Huey near sunset. Kerry Chelton was standing just outside the range of the marine helicopter’s whirling blades, her hands raised to protect her eyes from the swirling, billowing clouds of yellow dust kicked up into the air. She was standing with her feet planted well apart to take the buffeting wind from the blades. Grimly, Roc ran at a crouch until he was well beyond the reach of the spinning blades, then headed directly for her.
His men hurriedly caught up with him. When Sergeant Simmons came alongside, Roc shouted above the whining engine, “Buck, get the men settled in for the night.”
“Yes, sir!” Simmons raised his hand and the men immediately peeled off and trotted toward the tent city in the distance.
Behind him, the Huey took off again, heading back to the same area to pick up the rest of the marines waiting on the field. Pinning his gaze on Kerry, Roc stepped up to her.
“Quinn’s comin’ in on the second flight,” he told her, noting the worry in her eyes.
Dropping her hands from her face, Kerry nodded. “I know the chopper isn’t big enough to carry you all back here in one load. Thanks for letting me know, Roc.”
He turned and fell in step with her. There was still anxiety in her face. “What’s up?” It wasn’t like Kerry to meet him at the chopper pad.
“It’s Sam,” she admitted. “I’m worried about her, Roc.”
Alarm gutted him. He slowed momentarily. “Is she all right? I thought she had only a flesh wound.”
Raising her hand, Kerry smiled sadly. “Oh, she’s fine that way. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. No, she’s okay. I got her into the tub in the washroom tent to take a long, hot soak, I washed her hair and then bundled her off to her tent to lie down and rest.”
“Then what’s wrong?” Roc tightened his grip on the M-16 he carried in his left hand. The day was dying, the western horizon a blood-red ribbon. It had been a bloody day in many ways.
“Well,” Kerry hedged, giving him a sad look, “you and I are law enforcement and military. And I’m sure you can remember the first time you saw combat?”
“Yeah,” he answered gruffly, “in Somalia. It sucked.”
“And I got my hands bloodied in south Los Angeles in a shootout with gang members a couple of years ago,” Kerry related quietly. “Do you remember how you felt after that first time, Roc? Seeing death? Seeing people you cared for hurt or killed?”
Shrugging, he said, “Yeah, I was an emotional mess for a couple days after that. It’s called shock, Kerry.”
She grinned and nodded. “Yes, but it’s more than shock. Have you ever been wounded?”
He shook his head. “No, but I know you have.”
Touching her leg, which was still healing from a bullet she’d taken during an earlier confrontation with Diablo, Kerry nodded. “Yes, and that’s why I wanted to talk with you, Roc. Being in law enforcement and the military, we have to entertain the possibility that someday maybe, we’ll be shot at, even hit. Right?”
“Right.”
“But even when it happens, I can tell you, you aren’t prepared for it.” She managed a weak smile. Pushing her fingers through her hair, she continued, “If it weren’t for Quinn being at my side, holding me, just letting me talk and cry, I think I’d still be a wreck from that experience. He made the difference.”
“I suspected you two had a personal relationship going.” Roc gave her an understanding smile. He saw Kerry’s eyes beam with undisguised happiness.
“We’re in love, Roc. We try to keep that a secret, but I see it didn’t slip past you.” Her mouth twitched with humor.
“It’s the way I catch you looking at one another sometimes, when you don’t think anyone else is watching.”
Grinning, Kerry reached out and touched his right arm. “You’re a good man, Roc. I knew that the first time I spotted you. You have a good heart.”
“Okay, so where are you going with all this praise and insight?” he teased.
“It’s about Sam. She’s wounded emotionally from this experience, Roc. She needs someone…. I tried to get her to open up to me, but she won’t do it. She’s hiding behind that intellectual doctor’s facade, but I know she’s not
as confident as she’s pretending to be. I’ve been shot. I know how it feels. I know how I felt inside. I was a mess. I was hemorrhaging emotionally, even though no one else saw it or knew it.”
“Except Quinn.”
“Yes. Because he loved me, he saw it.”
Grimly, Roc halted in front of HQ. There was so much to do! But his heart—his whole focus, if he was honest—was pinned on Sam, not his work.
“I’ll call Morgan Trayhern and give him a verbal report,” he said, talking more to himself than to Kerry. “I’m supposed to write up a report and send it, but that can wait.”
“And you’ll go see Sam? Right away, then?”
Hearing the concern in Kerry’s voice, Roc nodded. “Yeah, I will, but I don’t know how much good I can do, Kerry.”
She laughed softly. “Oh, I think a lot more than either of you realize right now, Roc.” Gripping his hand, she squeezed it briefly. “Thanks…”
February 6: 1930
When Roc called to her, Sam jumped. She had been sitting on her bed, staring at the comb in her hands. Her hair was damp, snarled and tangled from being washed. To her consternation, she found it almost impossible to lift her arm and maneuver the comb through the knotted strands. The pain was too great.
Getting to her feet, which were bare and cold on the plyboard floor, she called, “Come in….” She pulled the fleecy U.S. Navy blue robe, which was two sizes too large for her and hung to her ankles, around herself. Her heart picked up in beat as her gaze fastened on the opening and she saw Roc step through the flap. He was here. And he was safe.
Standing there, Sam felt a wave of emotions beginning to engulf her. She had been so worried about Roc out there after she’d left. Worse, she’d learned on the flight back to HQ that he and his team had met more resistance from the Diablos, that a firefight had broken out in earnest. She had sat there fighting back tears of helplessness in that helicopter, her arms around her waist, staring down at the deck, wondering if he was going to be killed as Brad had been.
As Roc stepped into the tent now, her heart flew open. Sam stood there absorbing his scowling, worried face, which was dirty and stained with dried sweat. He turned and shut the flaps.
Protecting His Own Page 15