I know from experience how deadly shots to the stomach can be since that’s where I shot Isabella. Taggert and Lyncoln look at one another and nod. They need to get them out of there. And fast.
Taggert speaks again, “Radio silence for thirty unless fired upon. You boys get out of there. Will call with rendezvous point.”
And then there is more waiting. A half an hour? 30 minutes? Will Chester, whom I am sure I have seen but don’t really know on a first name basis, be okay in a half an hour? That is a long time to wait while you are literally bleeding your guts out. I know radio silence helps them focus and get out of there more safely, but I don’t like it.
Taggert turns to me standing in the doorway. “Two out of three, Ms. Scott. I like that percentage. Even more so because we snagged our old pal Williams at the end there. So two plus a bonus.”
So they killed Williams too? Yikes. “But three injuries.” I then ask what I am most afraid of asking. “Samson?”
“Got into a planned altercation with one of ours and was still fine when we left though will soon be sporting a black eye. Left him two witnesses alive so he will have someone to account for him,” Taggert explains.
Sheesh. How many lives were taken? He says “left two” so heartlessly. Does he realize he is talking about real people, with families? Drifter or not? This right here is why I will never “fit in” with the military. I can’t shut off the emotions behind these actions.
My eyes automatically search and find Lyncoln. He’s talking with someone and pointing to some maps pulled up on a computer screen, I assume figuring out the best exact rendezvous point. When he finishes, he comes over to Taggert and me.
“I’m going with to the rendezvous. Medic team and cover team are loading now. Franz has his hands full,” he informs us.
Taggert nods once in approval.
Then Lyncoln looks to me. I know he is torn. I can see it right on his face. He told me he would stay, but I know he wants to be with his men, especially since some of them got hurt. He isn’t really asking me, but I know he wants me to not resent him for this decision. He’s looking for my approval too.
“Be safe,” I say softly. Do I want him to go? Oh, heck no!! But I know it will kill him to not do anything, so I love him enough to let him go. Will I worry? YES. There is still a lot that could go wrong in the extraction.
Lyncoln just looks at me with his affectionate glare that somehow always tells me I mean the world to him, and then leaves in full protector mode. My assassin.
God, I love that man.
“Would you like some iced tea and something to eat while you wait for the extraction?” Jamie offers, standing next to me as we turn to get nestled back into Taggert’s desk area.
“Sure, thank you.” I smile at him. “I need to pee too. That was intense.”
Jamie cracks up and starts shaking his head. “TMI, Reagan, TMI.”
Knox chips in with, “I’m with you on that though. I need to go check my drawers myself.”
I laugh for the first time today, not expecting Knox, of all people, to say that.
We hurry to empty our bladders and wait out the half an hour in Taggert’s office. Knox and I then pick at our lunch, neither of us really feeling like eating until everything is over. My mind is going crazy with all sorts of worst case scenarios of how the plane or copter or whatever Lyncoln is on, explodes.
Attie soon arrives and she and Knox make small talk with me to help pass the time. I owe them both for not abandoning me today.
“Ten out,” we hear the men on the ground inform the chinook, the very large helicopter looking thing currently carrying my fiancé that will be returning the team home.
Ten minutes. In ten minutes this will all be over.
Thank goodness.
****
The chinook made it out of there, just in the nick of time since they got shot at as they left. Fortunately, they were already in the air and the chinook is like a flying tank, so there were no issues. As soon as they returned to DIA, it was madness. There were whoops and hollers at the same time there were people scurrying around tending to the wounded.
Knox, Attie, and I head down to the medic floor of the receiving deck and see that there were obviously more wounded than just the three men mentioned. They look like they’ve been to war. Most everyone has a bandage of sorts.
I talk to Langly, who is getting his arm wrapped, when I feel a familiar hand on my hip.
I spin and am face to face with Lyncoln. My eyes automatically search him over and find that there’s dried blood on his clothes and forearms.
Holy crap.
I know he isn’t injured, but it’s still sobering. He could have been there today. It very well could have been his blood. I take a deep breath.
“Not mine, sweetheart,” he says softly.
“I know,” I swallow hard.
“Chester is going in for surgery now, lost a lot of blood, but is hanging in,” he informs Langly and I both.
I breathe a sigh of relief for Chester and for Lyncoln. At least Lyncoln didn’t have to watch one of his men die like Attie and I watched Oliver take his last breaths. I don’t wish that upon anyone. Tough isn’t even an adequate word to describe what that is like. You don’t ever forget it, and I venture to say I won’t ever get over it either.
“You okay for a while?” Lyncoln asks me.
“Yeah.”
He moves to kiss my temple. “Okay. I have a debrief to do with the rest of the team and then we can get out of here,” he offers.
“Sounds wonderful.”
The stress of the day is getting to me. It’s not even two in the afternoon, but I feel like it’s four in the morning. I would like nothing more than some hot tea, something chocolate, and snuggling up to my man candy. Buttttt, I might as well make myself useful until then.
I find Attie, who is helping to finish up stitching a gash on a man’s forehead and talk to her for a while, fetching her any supplies she might need. It’s fun seeing her in her element, nurse mode. Knox is over working with a laptop someone snagged since he is kind of a software genius. Neither of them hesitated to roll up their sleeves and help.
As I look around at the hustle and bustle, I wonder what Henry would be doing if he were here. Probably checking up on everyone kind of like what I’m doing. And Marisol? She would probably be dramatic and acting as if each and every team member was her long-lost brother who was injured.
Okay. So she might not be all bad, but I am not about to smoke a peace pipe with her. Or get matching fake eyelashes. Or bestie necklaces.
Hours later, after waiting around for Lyncoln, we leave DIA and finally make it back to Mile High. I’m glad this is over with, utterly relieved. Chester isn’t out of the woods yet, but the blood transfusion that they took on the chinook to the rendezvous point saved his life until they got home to get him into surgery.
This day, this plan, and the last week have all been so stressful. Obviously, the Culling isn’t over yet, but I am looking forward to the next ten days of normalcy. Whatever that means.
Chapter 21
The next morning at 0800 hours we head over to DIA. Yesterday Lyncoln asked if I wanted to tag along for a big meeting with the combat team, including a bruised Grady and both the extraction and command teams. Being snoopy and feeling a sense of responsibility for the mission, I of course want to. All the fancy-pants debriefing is already done so this should be more informational.
We all crowd into a large meeting room. There has to be more than fifty of us in all. Chester is the only one that I can remember from yesterday that’s absent. He is in critical condition, and in a medically induced coma to make sure all his organs are working properly, but otherwise should pull through.
“Ms. Scott,” Taggert greets me.
I take my spot next to Lyncoln and nod to him, waiting for the meeting to begin.
Taggert starts right on time. “So. Red Hawk. In summary, Rivera and Conors were successfully taken out. Willi
ams too, along with countless others during the counterattack. We didn’t get Jones because he wasn’t there at the time, but it was a job well done regardless.”
I fight a shudder at his words “countless others”. So many lives were lost. That’s “well done”?
“Samson is in place and made it out fine as far as we know. Communication with him should continue as soon as he can,” Taggert continues.
“We also learned a great deal about their tactics and technology,” West chimes in. “They still aren’t trained well, just like we thought, which is good news. We were able to surprise them and accomplish what we set out to do rather quickly. No one really knew what to do with us once we got in. Their hesitancy and surprise made our jobs pretty damn easy.”
“So overall, I consider Red Hawk a complete success, pending Chester’s full recovery,” Taggert offers. “And now we have a man on the inside.” He finishes with an exaggerated nod of excitement.
I must have my nose scrunched up in thought because Lyncoln whispers, “What, Regs?”
I shrug. Everyone else in the room is in such a good mood after such a scary mission I don’t want to be a downer.
“Ms. Scott,” Taggert catches us, “Please feel free to speak up. You are part of the reason this mission was so successful and are allowed to insert your opinions wherever.”
I sigh, deciding to just go for it and speak my mind, though I wish it was just Taggert and Lyncoln I was speaking to, not a room full of intimidating military men. “Enough lives were lost yesterday, even if they were drifter lives. Some of those people who died could have been potential allies instead of enemies. But now they will all be enemies. And they will try to retaliate. Maybe not today, but sometime soon. We took the offensive, and now our defense better be really freaking good.”
Lyncoln gives my knee a squeeze under the table and hits me with a look telling me how proud he is.
I continue, “Yes, with Samson and Grady we were given a rare chance to do this, and we of course had to take the risk, but I can’t help thinking it isn’t a matter of if they will strike back, but when, and to what extent.” I pause letting that sink in. “We need to be ready.”
This takes the somewhat cheerful mood of the room down and I squirm with the number of eyes in the room focused on me. I hope Frank did a good job with hair and makeup today. At least I’m wearing my gear so I appear to belong, even if I don’t feel it.
Taggert nods, “Understood, Ms. Scott. I hear you loud and clear. Now more than ever before, we are ready. Being on the defensive is something we are used to and good at. We have even taken extra precautions and deployed trained teams to each township. When they strike, we will be ready. Just like a couple of years ago when they tried to strike DIA.”
This is news to me. I have no idea what he is talking about, but cool.
Becker smiles. “Yeah. Hey Reed, how’d that last one turn out?”
Lyncoln smirks back. “Just fine.”
“For you,” Langly smiles at Lyncoln and some people laugh. “What about for those drifters?”
Lyncoln angles his head slightly, his cocky look. “Not so fine,” he answers honestly, producing more laughter.
Okay, yikes. He led a counterattack on the drifters? Of course he did.
Taggert lets the laughter die down before getting everyone back on task, “And Ms. Scott, I just want to take a moment to say good work with Samson. You got us an in, one we had been looking for, for quite a while.”
“Thanks,” I smile politely but tightly. I just wish he would stop pointing out that I’m here and let me be a fly on the wall.
All I did was save a man I thought was going to die when I went into the interrogation room to save Samson that day. I’d like to think that anyone would do what I did. I just did what I knew in my heart was the right thing to do. It’s as simple as that.
“I’m sure this isn’t the last we will see of you,” Taggert nods.
I give him a hesitant smile. “Oh, I don’t know about that.”
I won’t ever be able to look at a person as a “target” and not a living, breathing human being. Lives lost will never be “collateral”. The military was my niche for a while. Well, interrogations anyway. As that chapter closes, or at least takes an intermission, what am I going to do now?
Samson is gone back to drifter camp and our communication will now be minimal. So where do I fit? What will I do? Why do I feel like an outlier no matter where I go? I am a jack of all trades with seemingly no focal point.
As the meeting ends, Grady and Lyncoln stay back. I stay by Lyncoln’s side unsure whether to leave or not. I make up my mind to leave for Mile High to start getting ready for our interviews, but Grady speaks to me first.
He puts his hands in his pockets knowing to not go anywhere near me with Lyncoln in the room. “Reagan… M-Ms. Scott, I mean,” he stammers the words nervously, “I really am sorry for what happened.” He pauses. “I was supposed to scare you or Elizabeth into quitting the Culling.” He pauses again and shifts on his feet uncomfortably. “I was never going to…” He stops to sigh and look me in the eyes. “I was never going to rape you or anything.”
He sounds sorry anyway. Looking at the man now, you would have no idea he was the same person. I remember the way he spun around and took after me when he pinned me to the ground, and the look in his eyes while he did it. So he might not have meant to give me a black eye, but he still meant to do me harm… in the very least scare me. How much harm? How far would he have gone if Lyncoln wouldn’t have showed up? I’m not sure. Given his recent acting job on Red Hawk, I don’t know if I should believe a word coming out of his mouth.
And he has probation now so it isn’t like he’s going completely free, but it still makes me nervous knowing that he will be around women again. I remember the night of our first ball, from when I first mentally dubbed him “grabby Grady”. I shudder thinking that he ever had his hands anywhere on me, knowing what he later did to me, regardless of his intentions. And thinking of those roaming hands on any woman that doesn’t give him full permission makes me angry. He’s pushy when it comes to women.
“Don’t ever touch a woman like that again,” I say, trying to dial back my anger and failing. He might not be all bad, but what he did still infuriates me. What would he have done to Elizabeth if I wouldn’t have gotten there in time? What would he have really done to me if it weren’t for Lyncoln? “And for the record, anything other than a yes is a no.”
He looks down. Shamed. “Yes, ma’am.”
“You do realize your elbow left a bruise on her face about like the one that you have now?” Lyncoln says and then clenches down hard with his jaw. He doesn’t like to relive that event.
Grady looks up and then back down at his feet again. “Yeah. I mean I didn’t see it, but I could have guessed.” He winces as he finishes.
Lyncoln rests his hand on my hip, I think to keep from decking him. “If you ever touch a woman like that again, you are done. If you ever touch a woman who hasn’t given you full and clear permission, you are done. And if you ever touch my woman again, you are dead.”
“Yes, sir,” Grady responds.
I barely have time to register how sincere he seems before Lyncoln is guiding me by the small of my back out the door and down the hallway. “You okay?” I ask him softly.
He stops us and pulls me into him, right there in the middle of the hallway. He drops his head and his nose slides along my jaw before he whispers in my ear, “I am now.”
****
“Darling, are you ready for tonight’s interview?” Frank claps his hands together excited, looks at me, and then immediately frowns. “You’re tired.”
“I am tired, but the mission is over. I will get more sleep tonight, promise,” I offer with a smile as a peace offering.
I wanted to stick around at DIA a little longer to find out what they are going to do now that we have proof of Hadenfelt’s traitorous activities. I assumed they’d be planning his arre
st right away today, but Taggert said they are going to have an emergency meeting with the cabinet tomorrow morning first thing. They are trying to keep everything hush-hush so that Hadenfelt has no idea its coming. Too much too fast can signal to him something is up.
“Okay. Are you game for all this?” Frank wildly gestures, as usual, but I know he’s referring to getting ready and all the hoopla involved in being a fancy shmancy woman.
I smile. “Actually, today I’m rather looking forward to it. I’m tired of the military stuff right now. Right now, I just want to sit here and let you doll me up. For the first time in my life, I just want to sit here and be a girl.”
Frank actually squeals. “Music to my ears, dear. Music to my ears.”
I laugh at his response, “So what are we wearing tonight?”
He gives me a look that tells me it’s going to be good. “Navy, darling. Yes, that same color as the eyes of that hunky fiancé of yours,” he says, eyebrows bouncing, and I can’t help but laugh and blush.
He thinks of something and his face lights up. “That reminds me, I want to know your thoughts on wedding gowns, styles and such.”
I smile. “I have no idea what I do and don’t like, sorry.” Frank is always thinking four steps ahead.
There is a girl from Omaha who, in junior high, planned out her wedding, including who she would marry, and kept it all in an organized notebook. I was never one of those girls. I have no expectations of what I want in a wedding, just who I want to be married to. I don’t even think it’s really up to me at this point. Being a final three couple, it will be televised, and it will be big.
“That’s why I’m here,” he smiles but then his face drops. “But I should say that if you would like someone else to do your wedding, I get that. Weddings are not my domain.”
The Fracturing: Book 2 (The Culling Series) Page 30