“David is out there with Nathan,” said Keira. “I don’t know what they’re doing.”
“Damn it, I knew your husband would get him killed,” said Alison, raising her head to see.
“Careful,” said Keira, her warning emphasized by an overhead crack that caused them both to duck.
“Where is he?” asked Alison, lifting her head again. “There!”
Keira pulled herself high enough to see two figures emerge from the smoke. Quinn had a hand on Nathan’s vest, pulling him toward their ditch. They ran a few feet before Quinn stumbled backward into Nathan, stopping their momentum. Her husband grabbed Quinn under the armpits, keeping him upright and tugging the Marine slowly toward Keira and Alison.
Without thinking, Keira started to pull herself out of the trench, but Alison yanked her back.
“Stay with Owen,” said Alison, scrambling over the broken chunks of highway.
Keira launched forward, angry with Alison for stopping her, oblivious to the woman’s gesture. By the time Keira reached the edge, Quinn’s wife had traveled most of the distance to their husbands. Alison had just extended a hand to help Nathan when a dark softball-size hole punched squarely through her back, tossing her forward like a rag doll. Her body skidded across broken asphalt face-first, grinding to a lifeless halt several feet past Nathan.
Nathan dropped to a knee, still holding on to Quinn. Her husband contemplated Alison’s body for a moment, before standing up and continuing to pull a staggering Quinn toward the ditch. Keira glanced down at Owen, who looked up at her.
“Stay here no matter what happens!” she yelled.
As soon as he nodded, she sprang out of the gulley, hell-bent on making sure nobody else died tonight. She reached Quinn and pulled one of his arms around her shoulder. Nathan adjusted his grip, and they ran with Quinn for the longest few seconds of her life before piling into a ditch. Keira slammed the front of her helmet against a protruding chunk of road, the impact jerking her head backward, and everything went dark—but she was still conscious.
“I can’t see!” she screamed. “I can’t see!”
Keira tried to stand, but a strong pair of hands held her down.
“Stay down!” said Nathan, working on her helmet.
The sheer darkness yielded to a shadowy, monochromatic, deep-orange glow that outlined the uneven edges of their refuge.
“Your night vision is busted,” said Nathan.
“We have to get Alison,” she said desperately.
“Our only job is to protect Owen.”
She started to crawl toward her son, who crouched at the end of the twisted gulley, looking like he might risk a peek over the lip of the asphalt.
“Stay down, Owen!” she yelled, as a gloved hand grabbed her arm.
“Where’s Alison?” groaned Quinn.
Keira didn’t know what to say, or how to say it. Even under the brutally matter-of-fact circumstances of combat, she had no idea how to tell Quinn that his wife had been killed. She stared at the barely discernible silhouette of his face.
“She’s gone, David,” said Nathan, crouching next to them. “She ran out to help. She’s gone.”
Quinn struggled to stand.
“Hold him down!” said Nathan, wrestling to keep Quinn in place.
Keira took an elbow to the face but kept struggling to hold Quinn down as bullets struck the warped edges of the trench.
“David!” she screamed at him. “She’s gone.”
Quinn released a broken, animal howl, thrashing against them, and then finally sagged to rest at the bottom of the ditch.
Footsteps crunched on the broken ground of the trench behind them, causing her husband to spin with his rifle. The outline of a combat helmet was superimposed against the yellow-orange glow of the vehicle burning behind the overturned AL-TAC.
“Watch where you’re pointing that,” hissed Sergeant Graves, pushing past Nathan. “Captain. We’re in a bad way back here. I can’t hear you on the squad radio.”
Nathan began to speak for Quinn, but the Marine spoke for himself, his voice ravaged. “I took a hit out there. Couldn’t hear you after that,” he said, trying to get up. “Help me grab Alison.”
Sergeant Graves put a hand on each of Quinn’s shoulders and held him down, kneeling in front of him.
“Alison is dead. She died very bravely—and very instantly,” said Graves. “I need you focused here, sir. Staff Sergeant Cantrell’s team popped their last smoke, and they’re starting to take hits. Raider One-One reports possible enemy reinforcements. Parachutists.”
“What?” asked Quinn. “Parachutists?”
“That’s what they’re fuckin’ saying. I just got the report. They landed close,” said Graves, flinching from a nearby bullet impact. “Those fifty-cals are doing some damage. We need to find another position or we won’t be around by the time Yuma puts a bird in the air.”
“This is it,” said Quinn. “Without smoke, we can’t leave the highway.”
“Then I guess we make the best of it,” said Graves. “I need you back at the vehicle, Captain. The M240 doesn’t shoot by itself—and I think these two can hold the northern flank.”
“I’m coming,” said Quinn, turning his head in Alison’s direction.
“David,” said Keira, grabbing him by the elbow. “Don’t.”
“We’ll get her later,” he whispered, rubbing his face. “If there is a later.”
Keira and Nathan crawled several feet to the end of the ditch, sandwiching Owen in between them as a burst of gunfire swept across them.
“Daddy’s back, sweetie,” she said. “We’re both back.”
“Where’s Alison?” asked Owen, trying to raise his head to look.
Keira forcefully held him in place. “I want you hugging the bottom of this ditch.”
Nathan crouched next to them. “She’s not coming back, Owen. Listen to your mother.”
“She left her phone behind,” said Owen.
“What do you mean?” asked Keira.
Owen twisted between them, opening his hand. “She dropped this when she left.”
“Can I see it, buddy?” asked Nathan, taking it after he nodded.
Keira couldn’t see the device very well in the dark-orange light, but she knew it was something she’d never seen before. It appeared half as wide as a typical mobile device.
“What is that?” she said.
“I have no idea,” said Nathan, pressing a few of the buttons.
The device’s screen activated, glowing dark green. A compact, backlit keyboard illuminated below the screen.
“I told you she had a phone,” said Keira.
“This isn’t a phone. It looks like military-grade equipment,” he said, touching the stubby, foldable antenna. “Satellite communications.”
A text message scrolled across the screen.
Friendly units on the ground south of interstate. Assembling for attack. Advise captain.
“What is this?” asked Keira.
“I don’t know,” said Nathan, typing with his thumbs.
“What are you doing?” she asked, reading the screen as he typed.
Alison KIA. Who is this?
A few seconds passed before a response appeared.
Identify yourself. Nathan started to type.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” said Keira. “We don’t know who that is.”
“Only one way to find out,” he said, pressing “Send.”
Nathan Fisher. Who is this?
The answer arrived instantly.
CLM. Get this to Captain Quinn ASAP.
“How is that possible?” asked Keira.
“I’m not sure,” said Nathan. “But I need to find Quinn right away.”
CHAPTER 80
Back in the AL-TAC, Quinn took the radio handset from Sergeant Graves and stared at it, still in a daze from witnessing Alison’s lifeless body sprawled on the highway during their scramble to the vehicle.
“Captain!�
� said Graves. “Talk to One-One! They’re getting panicky!”
Quinn nodded, slipping the handset under his helmet and pushing it against his ear.
“Raider One-One, this is Raider Actual. Send your report again. What are you seeing?”
A panicky voice filled his ear. “Didn’t Graves tell you? I got a platoon-size group moving toward the hill from the south. They dropped in about a kilometer back.”
“Dropped in? By parachute?” asked Quinn, convinced Graves had misheard the radio transmission.
“Yes! By parachute! I already passed this information. They glided in out of nowhere using square rigs. Never saw them until they started hitting the ground.”
Quinn did the math. They couldn’t hold on against a reinforced enemy. His Marines were pinned down from multiple directions, unable to put their weapons to effective use without sustaining casualties. Nathan’s wild card, surprising the enemy as they advanced from their hiding places in the median, had bought them a little more time, but the writing had always been on the wall. Now it flashed bright neon. They would all die here when this new paratrooper platoon arrived. There was no question in his mind about that. The quick reaction force from Yuma would find nothing but death here.
“Raider One-One,” said Quinn. “I’m ordering you to head southwest. Use the vehicle to cover your withdrawal and get into the hills. Get as far away as possible. They won’t have time to pursue you.”
“Captain, we’re not going anywhere. We can still put some fire down on these fuckers.”
“Who am I talking to?”
“Corporal Cerda.”
“Cerda, are you the senior Marine present at your position?”
“Affirmative. Lieutenant Karr and Staff Sergeant Jax were killed in the last attempt to move our position forward.”
“Then it is your responsibility to see that the Marines under your charge survive this. You’re too far away to make a difference here. I need you to make a difference there. You have to clear the area. Yuma’s quick-reaction force is still twenty minutes out. I’m giving you a direct order to withdraw,” said Quinn. “Someone has to survive this.”
He heard an excited voice in the background through the handset.
“Corporal Cerda. Did you copy my last?” asked Quinn.
“Captain. I need to confirm something. Stand by,” said Cerda.
What the hell? This isn’t a committee decision. The level of gunfire outside the AL-TAC intensified, immediately followed by a maelstrom of metallic clangs against the armored hull of their makeshift command center. This might be the end. Quinn poked his head out the door above him—coming face-to-face with Nathan Fisher. Without thinking, he let go of the handset and grabbed Nathan’s vest at the front collar and pulled him headfirst through the door. Nathan bounced off the turret-harness mechanism and landed on his back against the broken driver’s-side window.
Quinn kneeled next to him. “Are you out of your mind?” he yelled. “You’re supposed to stay with your family!”
“You need to see this,” groaned Nathan, digging through one of his cargo pockets.
He didn’t have time for this. Quinn turned and searched for the radio handset, finding it in Sergeant Graves’s hand.
“Quinn!” Nathan barked. “Alison had some kind of satellite communications device. You have to read this.”
Quinn took the radio handset from Graves and looked down at Nathan, who held a familiar device in his hand. It resembled the plain-text, secure satellite communications devices they’d distributed to informants in Afghanistan. Why would Alison have one of these?
“I think she left this with my son on purpose,” said Nathan, stretching his arm further. “They’re here.”
“Who’s here?” muttered Quinn, hesitating to take the satellite communicator.
“California Liberation Movement,” said Nathan. “I think Alison was working with them.”
Quinn grabbed the device, activating the screen and reading the first few lines on the screen. Jesus. How did Alison get caught up in this? He scrolled through several more lines, then looked at Nathan. “Are you absolutely positive this is Alison’s?”
“Owen said she left it behind, when she—” Nathan didn’t continue.
Quinn nodded slowly, raising the radio handset to his ear. “Cerda. Are you still there?”
“Affirmative. Did you copy my last?” asked Cerda. “You dropped out on me, sir.”
“Negative. Send it again.”
“The platoon halted about a hundred yards from the hill,” said Cerda. “I think they left a few behind to cover their approach, but I can’t find them.”
“Copy your last,” said Quinn. “Disregard my previous order. I want you to stay in place. I think these are friendlies. Stay frosty until we know for sure.”
He gave the handset to Graves. “Only one way to find out.”
Quinn held the device in both hands and started typing.
CHAPTER 81
Kline placed his rifle sight’s two-hundred-yard reticle mark at the left edge of the pavement hunk and began to apply pressure to the trigger, waiting for a hint of movement before firing. There it was. The powerful SCAR-H battle rifle kicked into his shoulder, knocking the sight picture askew. He didn’t need to see the impact to know that his bullet had found its target. The Marines below fired fully automatic bursts to cover the withdrawal of their downed comrade.
That was the fourth hit his team had registered in the past two minutes. This would be over shortly, despite the unfortunate setback in the median. Without looking, he issued a hand signal to the assault-team leader twenty yards away. His signal redeployed them along the crest of the hill directly east, where they would pour concentrated gunfire into the Marines from a new angle. He decided against using them in a direct-action attack after his median team was annihilated. They’d lost enough tactical team operators tonight. He’d send them down when the odds were squarely stacked in their favor.
“Sierra-One,” said Kline, designating the message for his sniper squad. “Alpha-Three is moving into position farther east. Look for Marines repositioning when they open fire.”
A few seconds passed before he received a response. “This is Sierra One-Three. Copy.”
“This is Sierra One-Five,” he heard, followed by silence.
What the hell was wrong with their gear now? This was supposed to be top-of-the-line, battle-tested gear.
“Sierra One-Five, this is Kline,” he said. “Say again, over.”
“This is Sierra One-Three,” said a panicked voice. “One-Five is down. I think a few of the Marines got behind us.”
“Negative,” barked Kline. “We’ve been watching them from the start.”
“I’m taking suppressed fire from—”
While Kline waited for the sniper to finish the report, gunfire rippled across the hillside directly east. Damn it. He hadn’t given the order yet. When he looked east along the hill, he saw Alpha Three firing south—in the wrong direction.
“Alpha Three, check your fire. Disregard Sierra One-Three’s report. Concentrate your fire on the highway.”
“Negative! Negative! This is Trenker. I’m taking effective fire from the south. I can’t see it,” said the team leader, who was crouched next to a small boulder on the south face of the hill.
While Kline watched, the sand exploded around the smooth rock, enveloping the operative. When the fine cloud dissipated a few seconds later, the team leader lay on his back, trying to push his way behind the boulder. A burst of gunfire stitched the sand, catching the operative across the chest. Shit.
Kline reacted instinctively, launching his body across the crest of the hill and rolling several feet down the northern face. At least he knew what he was up against on this side. He came up from the roll with his rifle pointing toward the Marines below. Flashes erupted from the highway, the bullets not far behind.
CHAPTER 82
From his position on the northern ridgeline, Leeds peered beyond th
e highway, momentarily forgetting about the convoy. He couldn’t be sure what was happening to the south. None of the reports made sense, and Kline had stopped transmitting. His operatives situated in the low hills south of the interstate had straddled the crest of the hill, firing in both directions to little effect. A few had tumbled down the north face. The Marines had finally put the M240 into action, firing at Kline’s operatives from a protected position on the opposite side of the overturned AL-TAC. Snipers on Leeds’s hill didn’t have a visual on the machine gun.
“Vega. What’s happening over there?” asked Leeds.
He’d sent the Night Raven toward Kline’s position as soon as Alpha Three confirmed an enemy attack from the south.
“Thermals show eighteen heat signatures moving up the southern face of the hill in three groups of six,” said Vega. “I have an undetermined number of snipers hidden about two hundred yards due south of the hill. I don’t know how they got this close without being detected.”
“How many men do we have alive on that hill? Can you find Kline?”
“It’s hard to differentiate. They’re all on the ground.”
“Just try! Look for muzzle flashes. Movement. I need to know if this is over.”
“Stand by,” said Vega.
Stand by? This could be over before he finishes counting. Shit! Leeds glanced at the four-wheel drive, custom-built Sportsmobile van at the bottom of the hill behind him, wondering how long it would take for him to boogie down the uneven hillside. He was a good two hundred yards from the van and the rest of the assault group’s desert-capable vehicles.
Vega’s voice crackled over the radio. “I see four active shooters in a consolidated position to the east. Possibly the remains of Alpha-Three. I can’t identify Kline,” said Vega. “Hold on—shit! I have a group of hostiles cresting the western side of the hill.”
Fractured State (Fractured State Series Book 1) Page 33