“I was just thinking the same about you,” said Kaiden.
“Damn, Kaiden. It’s good to see you again. When was the last time we were together? El Salvador? Syria?”
“Fort Bragg,” smiled Kaiden. “Your court martial.”
“By the way, thanks for that.”
“I’m a fixer,” said Kaiden. “It’s what I do.” She leaned around Marc to look at the other mercenaries, their patience running out. “You don’t exactly fit in with your new friends, but fitting in never interested you.”
“Thanks for the compliment.” He leaned in close to her ear and whispered, “Just between you and me, I don’t think they like me.” Marc saw Tate scowling at him and chuckled. “I know he doesn’t like me.”
“Imagine that,” said Kaiden, unruffled.
“I bet you don’t like me either,” said Marc, opening the space between them.
“Cut me loose,” said Kaiden with an icy smile, “and lets find out.”
Marc laughed and stepped back. “I have a feeling that would be the last mistake I ever made.” He pulled up his shirt exposing his lean, but muscled chest and waist, disfigured by a mangled scar that scrawled across his left side. "I got this from making the mistake of trusting that guy," he said pointing the pistol at Tate. Then he waved the gun up and down the line of prisoners. “Now you got a new bunch of clueless bullet-catchers following you around like baby ducks. Do they know the mistake they’re making?”
Marc raised his voice so the tied captives could hear him. “When I got opened up from a frag, that he LEFT ME!” Marc shouted, flaring with anger, “The mission comes first. Right Jack?” Andy’s flash of anger vanished with disturbing suddenness. He laughed at a joke only he could hear.
Tate’s lips pressed together until they turned white. His eyes couldn’t hide the smoldering anger building inside him. “That’s not what happened, growled Tate.
“Loyalty? Honor? No man left behind?” queried Marc. “I thought it was me. I wasn’t worthy of the revered Jack Tiller.”
Tate glared in silence, his hands balled into fists, turning purple as they strained against the thick nylon cuffs.
“But it’s not just me. Nobody comes before the mission.” Marc stepped up to Tate, nearly nose to nose. “Even when it means leaving his little girl to die.”
Tate's face twisted with rage. With a guttural yell he drove forward slamming his head into Andy’s face. Bone crunched and Marc staggered back, dropping Tate’s pistol and tomahawk, as his eyes rolled up into his head. Blood streamed from his broken nose, and bubbled from his lips.
Everyone stood frozen in astonishment. A couple of mercenaries started towards Tate, but Hall blocked them with his arm. Taking the hint they settled back. Arms resting on his assault rifle, Hall watched the dazed Marc with a hint of amusement.
Tate crashed backwards into the wall, the bands around his wrists snapping under the force, and charged Marc.
Shaking away the star bursts from his vision, Marc had no time to react as Tate hammered his fist into Andy’s gut. Blood and spit sprayed from Marc as he doubled over and sat heavily on the soggy ground.
Tate moved in, but was checked with a warning from Hall. “Let the man get up,” he ordered.
“Hot damn,” wheezed Marc, as he rocked from side to side, trying to breath with aching lungs. “Did I hit a nerve?” He touched his face and grinned as his hand came away covered in blood. Marc sat up, propping himself up with his hands and looked up at the raging Tate.
“Get up!” commanded Tate. In spite of Hall’s casual demeanor, Tate knew the man would shoot him if he tried to attack Marc while he was on the ground, but the anger pumping through him said it would be worth it.
Marc raised his hands as a show of compliance and lifted himself out of the mud. “I get it,” panted Marc. “You don’t want these idiots knowing what you are.”
Tate fired a staggering right cross at Andy’s jaw, but he was ready this time and easily deflected the blow.
“That you’ll bail on them the moment things go bad,” said Marc, as he side stepped and thew a solid punch into Tate’s ribs. With a groan, Tate turned and tried to grab Andy’s arm who slipped out of the grab and landed another punch.
Tate bellowed and came at Marc with a rage his team had never seen before. He swung a balled fists in a whirl of raw emotion, but Marc easily, playfully slipped past the flesh and bone sledgehammers flying at him.
“You got old, Jack,” said Marc landing a painful kick to Tate’s thigh.
His leg collapsed and Tate fell to the mud like a toppled tree. Marc lightly bobbed back and forth, holding his hands in loose fists.
With a burst of energy, Tate came off the chewed up, muddy ground, flailing bone-shattering blows; each one deflected. Tate grunted as Marc him punished with every miss, landing blow after blow until Tate’s face was a battered mess of blood and meat. His breath came in ragged jags as Tate shambled to face Marc, but his left eye was swollen shut and his right blurred with smeared blood, making it impossible to find his target.
“That’s it,” said Hall, having seen enough. “You’re done.”
Tate sunk to his knees then collapsed, face first, into the mud.
Andy’s blood smeared face was a grotesque mask of amusement. “Woooooo! That felt good,” he cheered, bouncing on his feet. “I mean, I must’ve imagined the sweet beat down I’d give you a hundred times, but this, this was better.”
Hall walked over and rolled Tate onto his back, choking on mud as he gasped for air. “You should have let him bleed out on that op,” he said quietly to Tate. “Would have saved me from having to put up with him now.”
“I didn’t leave him,” muttered Tate.
Marc put his hands on his knees, catching his breath, and looked at the angry faces of Tate’s team. “You think I’m the bad guy.” Straightening up, Marc shuffled over and picked up the dropped tomahawk and Colt .45. “You believe he wouldn’t abandon any of you for this mission?”
Suddenly the wide, gapping barrel of Tate’s pistol was pointed at the team. Ear ringing thunder clapped as the big Colt shot out a ball of fire. The sound snapped Tate’s foggy head back into focus and he was on his feet without knowing he’d done it. Hall was running towards the gunfire yelling something amid shouts of fear and anger. A lone scream cut through the chaos.
Hall collided with Marc, ripping the gun from his hand as Tate ran past him to his huddled team. The wall behind them was splattered with blood. Part of Tate wanted to stop, simply wink out of existence before this nightmare went on.
Rosse was knelt over, snarling curses, demanding to be cut loose, calling for his medkit. Everything was a confusion of voices and people, blocking Tate’s view of the body laying on the ground. He grabbed someone’s shoulder, he didn’t know who, and flung them aside. Blood laid on the muddy ground reflecting sunlight with a surrealistic iridescence.
Pushing his way through, Tate’s heart stopped as he looked down into Kaiden’s agonized face. His eyes traveled over her, looking for a wound among splatters of mud.
A meaty hand wrapped around Tate’s wrist and yanked him to his knees. Looking up, Rosses face, inches from Tate's, was yelling something.
“Press here!” barked Rosse. “Hard.”
He pushed Tate’s hand down on Kaiden’s thigh, who lurched up, screaming, clutching at Tate’s hand. Blood seeped between Tate’s dirty fingers, and realizing what Rosse wanted him to do he moved his palm over the wound and pressed down.
Tate didn’t see how Rosse got his medical bag, it just appeared in his hands.
“Get a tourniquet,” yelled Tate.
“Move your hand,” ordered Rosse, ignoring him.
Tate took away his hand and Rosse washed the area with a bottle of water. For the first time Tate could clearly see the wound. Kaiden’s pants had been cut open revealing her thigh. He saw a dark, red hole as wide as his thumb, but it disappeared as blood welled up and spilled out.
Rosse ripped o
pen a foil packet and emptied white powder on the wound. “Hang on,” said Rosse. “You’re gonna feel a lot better in just a sec.” He took out a fat syringe from his bag and pulled off the outer covering then pushed it deep into the wound.
Kaiden cried in agony as hands held her down. Thick, white foam, tinged with pink, fizzed up around the wound as Rosse slowly pulled the syringe out of her leg. Seconds later, Kaiden stoped squirming and her face relaxed as the pain subsided and her breathing slowed to normal.
“I gave her a wound-packing hemostat,” explained Rosse. “It’s got a localized painkiller that’ll last for a while.”
“How bad is it?” asked Tate, his face lined with worry.
“We get her on the Moth and to a real hospital,” said Rosse, “she keeps the leg, but that hemostat’s temporary and we gotta get moving right now. Otherwise, between the blood loss and shock…” Rosse ended there, but his expression told Tate the horrible outcome.
Fury boiled through Tate, driving him to his feet and looking for the target of his vengeance.
Hall had been standing behind him, and wasn’t about to move out of the way. “I know what you’re thinking, brother, but that’s not going to happen.”
Further away, two of the mercs had Marc by the arms, roughly walking him to the edge of the jungle.
“Now you’ll see!” shouted Marc. “He’ll let her die. Mission first, right Tiller?”
Tate briefly looked at the pile of weapons only a few feet away, then back at Marc. Hall followed his glance and stepped up close to Tate.
“Nothing’s changed,” said Hall. “We go our way and you go home.”
Tate gave no sign he’d heard Hall, but kept his eyes locked on Marc.
“Hey,” snapped Hall, moving his face in front of Tate’s. “Are you receiving me? Coming after us is only going to get you and all your people dead. You copy?”
Tate’s focus broke and he looked deflated as his anger left him. “Yeah, I, uh, copy,” he said, meeting Hall’s eyes.
Hall considered Tate for a moment then nodded in approval. “Safe trails,” he said, backing a few steps before turning away and heading after his people.
Tate turned around as several of his team were gently lifting Kaiden out of the mud.
After a quick search of the surrounding homes they found a narrow, wooden bed frame to use as a stretcher.
Carrying Kaiden, the team marched on in silence, heading back to camp. Tate walked behind them, his face a granite mask of hate. The team traded looks, asking unspoken questions about Marc and how much of what he said was true.
Without a word Tate stopped, his eyes fixed on the ground before him.
The rest of the team walked on until Wesson saw Tate just standing there. She called everyone back as Tate took out a map and studied it.
“Uh, Top?” ventured Rosse. “We have ta get Kaiden to a hospital, okay?”
“What’s he doing?” whispered Fulton.
Tate looked between the map and the way they’d come.
“Sergeant Major,” said Wesson, tactfully, “I’d sure like to know what you’re doing.”
“Yer kidding me, right?” said Rosse under his breath. “He’s think’n of going back.”
“Huh?”, said Fulton. “Back? But Kaiden…”
“Quiet down,” ordered Wesson. “Top? We have to get Kaiden to a hospital.”
“Radio!” called Tate.
Fulton, who carried the teams field radio, also carried a corner of Kaiden’s stretcher. Rattled, he didn’t know if he should let go, or pull everyone with him, until Ota walked over and offered to take his place with the stretcher. Grateful, Fulton nodded thanks then trotted to Tate’s side.
Tate pulled the handset from the radio pouch on Fulton’s back and dialed in a frequency.
Rosse, Wesson, Ota and Monkhouse put the stretcher down, under the shade of a cluster of tall trees. Rosse started to march over to Tate, but Wesson stopped him.
“He’s doing it,” groused Rosse. “It’s just like that guy said.”
“Shut up,” barked Wesson. “We don’t know what he’s doing.”
There was a click over the radio and Nathan’s voice came through. “Tate?”
“Yeah,” grunted Tate.
“Something’s wrong,” said Nathan.
“There was another team after Vulcan 4. They got it and Kaiden’s been shot.”
“How did they get it?” asked Nathan.
Tate looked over at Monkhouse, who turned away, feeling miserable. Kaiden’s ashen face was looking up at him and Monkhouse felt a sharp pang of guilt.
“I’m so sorry,’ he said.
She looked puzzled, then a lopsided smile curled the corners of her mouth causing Monkhouse to wonder if she heard him, or if the painkiller was messing with her head.
Monkhouse’s attention was drawn by Tate’s brittle voice as he explained they’d just blown the mission.
“We were ambushed,” admitted Tate.
“Return the favor and get Vulcan 4 back,” said Nathan.
“I have a casualty that requires a hospital.”
“I hate to be the voice of reason, but you’re worried about one person,” said Nathan, “at the risk of thousands.”
Tate gripped the radio wishing he could strangle it. “I’ll get back to you.” He disconnect the transmission without waiting for a reply and stood with his fists on his hips unmindful of the heat and humidity. He angrily slapped hard at something buzzing his ear and missed making his ear ring with pain. He could feel the pressure of anger and frustration straining his self control.
Tate headed for Kaiden, leaving Fulton wondering if he should stay or follow. Everyone found someplace else to be, giving Tate extra space, except Rosse who hardly moved, staring accusingly at Tate.
Kneeling down next to Kaiden, Tate forced himself to look away from the red stained bandage, knowing underneath it was a mangled hole from his own gun. He pushed the thought out of his mind and forced himself to smile at her. “What have I told you about picking up on strange men?”
Kaiden gave an uneven smile and chuckled. “What’s the plan?”
“We need to get you to a hospital,” said Tate.
“You know what I mean.”
Tate’s smile disappeared and he looked over his shoulder, from where they’d come. “That is the plan.”
“Damn right,” mumbled Rosse, who was near enough to eavesdrop while pretending to look at the distant hills.
Kaiden’s eyes wandered for a moment before coming back to Tate. She looked at him, confused, as if she didn’t remember he was there, then her expression lost its softness as her thoughts refocused. “Why are you here?”
Tate shrugged and looked away with a pained expression as he battled with conflicting demons. Each choice was both right and wrong. He felt a tug on his shoulder as Kaiden peeled the unit patch from his sleeve.
Surprised, he looked wondering at her until she faced the patch towards him and tapped her finger under the embroidered words of their motto. Remorseless, Relentless.
It only took an instant for understanding to ignite in Tate’s mind. The tangle of conflicts, demanding his allegiance, were silenced and the weight bearing down on his shoulders slipped away.
He grinned down at her as she offered back his patch. Standing up, he put the patch back on his shoulder and looked around at the expectant faces of his team.
“Monkhouse. Rosse,” said Tate firmly. “Get your gear. Top off your rations from the rest of the team.”
“Whoa, what’s go’n on?” asked Rosse.
“We’re getting the database,” said Tate as he pulled out two pouches of rations from Fulton’s pack. “That’s why we’re here. Wesson? You, Ota, and Fulton are going back to the Moth and fly Kaiden to the nearest base hospital.”
“Yes, Sergeant Major,” said Wesson, pointedly dropping a warning for Rosse to dial it down.
But Rosse wasn’t taking the hint.
“What about my patient?�
�� said Rosse. “Am I just supposed to leave her?”
“Did you stop the bleeding?” asked Tate, not looking up from checking the supplies in his pack.
“Yeah,” said Rosse.
“Did you screw up her bandage?”
“No,” growled Rosse. “I didn’t screw up anything.”
“Then she doesn’t need a medic,” said Tate. He picked up Rosse’s pack and tossed it to him. “I do.”
“So it’s like what that guy said,” said Rosse. “You’re gonna chose the mission over your own…”
“ROSSE!” barked Wesson. She got up in the stocky man’s face, glaring, unblinkingly, in his eyes. “You were given an order. If you have anything else to say besides ‘Yes sergeant major’ you can say it to me.”
The muscles in Rosse’s jaw flexed like he was grinding stone as he stared back. There was nothing in Wesson that said she cared that he was bigger, stronger and had fifty pounds on her and Rosse knew it.
“Yes… sergeant major,” muttered Rosse.
Wesson nodded and left. Without a word, Rosse retrieved his pack and busied himself with checking his supplies.
“Fulton,” called Tate, as he returned to his pack.
Fulton jogged over to him and Tate took out the handset. A moment later Nathan picked up.
“Change of plans?” asked Nathan.
“Change of plans,” said Tate. “We’re going after the satellite, but we might have another problem. I overheard one of the mercs say they were going to uplink Vulcan 4 when they returned to their camp, and transmit everything in the database. By now they’re outside the range of our tracker, which all but guarantees we’ll be too late to stop them. The short version is we’re screwed.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHANGE OF PLANS
“You have more time than you think,” said Nathan.
“That’s what I was thinking,” said Tate, sharply. “Otherwise you’d get to the point instead of dragging this out.”
Grave Mistakes (The Grave Diggers Book 3) Page 13