by Ronie Kendig
They’d find safe ground and help soon. She was sure of it. Until then, she’d keep her head down and her hopes up.
“Hey!”
Fekiria collided with Sergeant Brian.
He caught her, his gaze sharp and assessing. “You’re slowing down.”
She blinked. Was she? “I—I was just walking.”
“Where’s the teenager?”
“Sheevah?” Fekiria turned, glanced behind her to where Mitra had joined them. But… Her heart skipped a beat. “Sheevah!” She pushed herself forward just as a shape emerged in the darkening day. “Sheevah,” she breathed. “Thank God!”
Sergeant Brian frowned at her for some reason. He shrugged out of his ruck and dug through it. Rope in hand, he moved toward her.
“What are you doing?”
After tying a knot, he used a metal hook and clamped it onto his tactical belt. He then moved toward her. Leaned in. Wrapped his arms around her waist.
Fekiria stood frozen, awareness flooding her as he worked a knot into the rope, effectively anchoring them together. Next, he tied Sheevah then Mitra—but around her hips to avoid the wound in her side.
“Here.” He removed Aadela and handed her off.
Fekiria held the girl close, not entirely sure how long she would last holding her, but if he felt it was necessary, if he was tired…
He knelt, working the straps on his pack. Sergeant Brian shifted then patted the upper part of his shoulder.
Fekiria wasn’t sure at first but then caught on. She placed Aadela on his back and instructed her to hold on. Then she assisted Sergeant Brian with sliding the rucksack over Aadela so she was sandwiched between his vest and gear. Also, being on his back, he would block her from the wind and elements.
He tightened the strap around his chest and waist. Then angled down a little toward Fekiria. “Is she okay?” he shouted.
She brushed a hand over the little one’s face, barely visible beneath the part of his ruck that shielded her. “Hold on and keep your head down,” Fekiria said, and Aadela nodded. “She’s good.”
The American soldier held out his hand. Without hesitation, she reached for his grasp. Not sure what he intended but willing to do whatever he wanted. She trusted him. Knew he’d get them out of this.
He placed her hand on a strap on his vest, just above his elbow. “Hold on!”
Fekiria curled her aching, raw fingers around the strap, not entirely able to feel it.
“Have the others group up. Stay close.” As he tied a keffiyeh around his neck and face, she gave the orders to the others.
Grouped up, they would not only stay together but block the wind from each other. As they walked, she found she was able to stay up easier. Walk easier. She couldn’t feel her toes still, but she could move.
They walked for a while. She had no guess how long. They were at the mercy of the terrain and the weather. It might have been an hour, or two hours, when she once more collided with Sergeant Brian.
He twisted, not breaking their holding pattern, and tugged the keffiyeh down from his nose. “Stay here.” He motioned to a slightly curved rock. “Stay close and don’t separate. I’m going to find shelter.”
She caught his arm as he freed himself from the metal hook. “Wait!”
Though he’d started away, he gave her a reassuring nod.
Fekiria turned to Sheevah and Mitra, waving them in closer. “Come together.” She guided them against the rock. They squatted in a tight huddle.
“Where did he go?” Sheevah said, her teeth chattering.
“To find shelter.” Fekiria glanced at Mitra’s wound. “How are you doing? Does it hurt?”
Her friend smiled. “I can’t feel it,” she admitted with a shrug.
The wind growled through the space where they waited.
Fekiria stilled, thinking. Waiting. Wishing Sergeant Brian would hurry.
Growling clicked through the rocks, popping.
Another growl.
That isn’t the wind!
A pair of hollow, yellow eyes blinked at them.
BORIS
I’m not the violent type. Not really. I mean, that’s why I prefer my keyboard and monitors from the safety of my home-away-from-home. It’s sterile—in terms of violence—and noncombative.
Okay, if anyone believes that, he’s nuts. I have a small island in the middle of Afghanistan I’d like to sell him.
Are they paying attention? I’m waging a serious war here in a very combative way. A passive-aggressive way, but does the delivery method matter? No. It’s the outcome. The end product. And that’s the utter defeat of the men who are so full of themselves they can’t see it coming.
Yes, I know what they’re thinking—Raptor got my Fly fly.
But that’s where their intelligence ends. Do they seriously think I’d only send one Fly fly? Or that those are my only devices in play? Get real. I’m not that stupid.
Speaking of stupid, these Chinese overlords are pushing some serious buttons. They have been digging in my systems, trying to find me again. Trying to control what I do because they know that if I can get them inside the American establishments, there’s no reason I can’t get in theirs. Especially when I’m continuously transmitting data to them.
Now, these guys aren’t near as fun as the Americans. Remember—they were going all WWE on us. I’ve watched for a while now, but I have yet to see any ninjas.
Maybe that’s the point. One never knows ninjas are there until it’s too late.
And true—they found me once. But if they show up again, I’ve got a few surprises of my own.
So back to the Americans. They’ve taken a beating. Hawk is out there not being quite so hawk-like, dragging his sorry carcass through a blizzard. The guy wouldn’t freeze to death. He’s got too much fire in that gut of his. But I’ve got to hand it to him. I hear he’s dragging two kids and two chicks with him up a mountain in a snowstorm. But I wouldn’t want to be him—because those kids will die.
C’mon. I’m not being mean. It’s just logistics. It’s freezing. It’s snowing. They have little shelter. Doesn’t take long for hypothermia to set in. Frostbite to chew through fingers and toes.
I can’t help but snicker. And he thought watching that female soldier die was bad? Hawk will need serious psychiatric help after this. Of course, that would be necessary only if he survived. Which he won’t.
He’d have a chance if the others weren’t there. But there’s no way in that wintry hell he’s going to make it out alive. That makes me tear up.
Not really.
I mean, I am, after all, the one sending the Chinese in after him. It’s not real difficult to swing a few satellites around and find the nearest shelter—which, sadly for my counterparts, is their southern safe house, their waypoint. And because I need them to believe I’m still on their side—let’s review that I’m only on the side of the money flowing into my accounts—I’ve got to send them the notice because they’ve got that safe house up there, the one they’ve been running half the operations out of. If they don’t bug out now and he shows up…there will be explosions.
And Mr. Special Forces will survive that encounter. It’s what they do. Because the dude is a fighter. He wants to live. The snow, however, has a chance because Hawk will believe himself impervious, and each minute out there will numb him and his body parts to the freezing defeat. But Hawk is a little too egocentric, and having to save the damsel in distress will push him. He doesn’t want another person to die on his watch—yeah, that mess in the village totally did a head job on the guy.
It was a genius move, sending that bogus stand-down order. The dope totally bought it. Just brilliant, playing his own insecurities and weaknesses against him.
So here, with a few keystrokes, my Chinese dictators will have the best intel to attempt yet again to take this team out.
Has anyone besides me noticed how they’re totally like Energizer bunnies, never dying?
Dudes. We need some bodies. The
dictators are going to get peeved. They won’t believe I’m doing my job. And trust me, I am. Day and night.
If I weren’t so committed to seeing this through, I’d declare the pain of killing these guys not worth the effort. Too much work. And each time you punch them down, they snap back up. Like those stupid targets at the county fair.
But the endgame is in play. Their day is coming when they will fall. And stay down.
MITCH
Sergeant Black,” Judge Cartwright said, his nasally voice grating across Mitch’s nerves, “I’m not seeing proof that you are able to take care of these children.”
Heart stalled, Mitch straightened in his chair. “Sir—”
“You’re staying in the Army?”
“My time is up in two years.”
“Two years? What are those kids supposed to do for two years?”
“Sir, I have an arrangement with—”
“Kids don’t need an arrangement. They need a parent! At home, looking out for them.” Cartwright huffed as he shuffled papers on the surface in front of him. “Unless you can prove to me that you will be there for these children, I am inclined to rule against you, Sergeant Black. I’m sorry, but I have enough experience to know how these things go when children do not have consistent supervision, love, and support.”
“Sir, my love and support for my children has never wavered. It never will.”
“Can you leave the Army?”
Mitch blinked. Leave the team? Leave Dean and the others out there…? He swallowed. “I…I’d have to put in for discharge.”
Cartwright grunted. “More red tape, which means more time those kids don’t have a parent at home.”
At the other table sat the Leitners, who had gloated over the last several hours of testimony and witness-calling. They’d berated him. Chided him. And now, Will Leitner lifted his chin with the smug, knowing look of his impending victory.
“Sir, I do everything I know to do. I’m a soldier. I fight for my country, for the freedoms represented here in this courtroom—”
“I know that, son,” Cartwright said, his bushy eyebrows tugging together in a furrow. “But this isn’t about you being a hero. This is about you being a dad.”
“On the contrary, sir. It’s about both. If—”
Cartwright held up a hand. “Enough. Unless you can provide reassurance that you are going to be there, I need to move forward and rule in favor of the Leitners, who can provide a stable, loving home for your son and daughter.”
“Sir.” Mitch’s throat constricted, choking him. “Please.”
“The Leitners showed proof that you’ll be out of country yet again in less than a week. And you’re gone for months.”
“Please. Please don’t do this, Your Honor. There are thousands of troops deployed who cannot predict their schedule, but all the same do not fail to love and provide for their children.”
“But this isn’t about them. It’s about you.”
“Sir,” Mitch bit out, his eyes burning. “Please—”
“I’m sorry, Sergeant Black, I—”
“May I speak, Judge Cartwright?” A lone clear voice shot through the tension.
Mitch glanced over his shoulder and found Sienna standing behind her parents. He frowned at her, but she wasn’t looking at him. She was trained on the judge.
“Miss Leitner, we’ve already heard your testimony.”
“Yes, sir. But I have a question for you, if I may.” Her hands trembled and her chest rose and fell unevenly.
What was she doing?
“You want to question me?” Cartwright asked incredulously, tugging off his glasses.
“Not question you, but may I ask—if Sergeant Black were married, would he be permitted to retain custody of his children?”
Cartwright grunted. “What kind of question is that? Of course he would—there would be a wife to take care of the children.” He slid on his glasses and looked over at Mitch. “But you don’t have a wife hidden somewhere, do you, Sergeant?”
“No, sir.” Mitch frowned again, once again stealing a glance at Sienna.
“Not yet, he doesn’t,” Sienna said firmly. “But he will.”
Mitch scowled now. “What—?”
“Where is he going to get this wife, Miss Leitner? Mail order?”
“He’s going to marry me, sir.”
“What?” Mitch froze. That’s what the other night had been about.
“Look here, young lady.” Cartwright wagged a thick, hairy hand at her. “You will not make a mockery of this courtroom. Marriages of convenience are wrong. And if you’re doing this just to help Mister Black—”
“I’m not, Your Honor. At least, I don’t think I am. Not after the way he kissed me the other night.”
Mitch dropped his gaze, feeling the heat of embarrassment rushing up his neck. He could feel his in-laws staring. Heard them gasping and reprimanding Sienna.
“Is that right, Mister Black? You have feelings for this young woman?”
Mitch had never been one to air his laundry, dirty or otherwise. But the judge demanded an answer. “I do, your honor. It wasn’t intentional. Just…happened.”
“If we marry, Judge Cartwright, will you allow us to keep the kids?”
“Sienna, please,” her father said. “Don’t do anything rash.”
“It’s not rash,” she said, a fiery tone to her words. “I’ve waited two years for him to realize how I felt. He’s just a little slow on the uptake.”
Mitch swallowed a laugh, and it came out a breathy grunt. He shook his head, admiring Sienna. She’d always been a take-charge woman.
She finally met his gaze, and a crimson tinge shaded her cheeks.
Only then did he realize the courtroom had fallen silent. Mitch looked to the judge, who was staring at him, hard. “Well, Mister Black?”
“Sir?”
“Would you marry Miss Leitner?”
“I…” Mitch looked at Sienna. Take her as his wife? He’d had no plans to marry. Put another woman through his deployments and minor PTSD issues. But he’d never dreamed he could win a woman like Sienna. “I probably would, sir.” He saw the faintest glimmer of a smile on Sienna’s face.
“Then get to it.”
Mitch flinched. “Sir? Now?”
CHAPTER 33
Tera Pass, Afghanistan
23 February—2135 Hours
Driving snow and darkness wrapped him in a nightmarish cocoon. Only nine o’clock, but it looked like midnight. Aadela had returned his shoulder lamp, affording Brian illumation as he patted surfaces in his search for indentions that would give them more shelter. Fekiria and the older girls were waiting on him under a small copse. He’d prefer a small cave or an overhang to protect them from the storm. Cold was one thing. Cold and wet an entirely different matter.
He had four girls under his protection. That normally didn’t work out so well. Look at Davis. The captain must be pretty ticked about now that he hadn’t obeyed orders, that he’d gone after the pilot…who was Fekiria.
Fekiria! Of all the women in the world, it had to be her.
Of course it was her. The woman who didn’t want anything to do with him because he’d been born in the wrong country. How twisted was that?
And who cared? It wasn’t like they were going to date or something. Her father would probably behead him. Besides, he’d deliver her back to safe ground, and she’d be all hate and disgust again. Women like her didn’t change.
Heck. Look what it took to affect him—a woman’s death.
Davis had it all—looks, brains, gumption.
Fekiria had that in spades, too. Took a mighty strong woman to go against her family, learn an entirely new vocation. And not just any career, but a pilot. Dude. That was hot.
No. No no no. He wasn’t going there.
His hand slid. Brian pitched forward. What the…? He angled his shoulder lamp to the side. Only snow and…wait. Brian sucked in his gut—which didn’t really help considering he ha
d another body between him and his ruck, which made it impossible to shrink his size to fit through. Around a hairpin juncture. Light probed the black. Darkness bled into deeper, darker darkness.
Poetic. Perfect. In a crouch, he followed the depression. Went back at least eight or ten feet. Got smaller and smaller, but it would work. It’d shield them through the night. He’d given up hours ago on getting down the mountain before nightfall. His only thought had been to keep the women safe.
He reached back toward the little girl. She could stay here, out of the elements. But it’d take him a good fifteen, twenty minutes to get back with the others. That would probably terrify her. After one more once-over to make sure there weren’t any leftover bones from a kill, no bats clinging to the top, and no critters, he pivoted in his crouch.
Behind him came a soft murmur.
He glanced over his shoulder to the little girl. “It will be okay,” he said in Pashto. It was a phrase they’d been taught assisting locals. Brian slid the keffiyeh back up and navigated his way out of the cave again. He back-traced his steps and had just hit the lip of the small rise he’d climbed when a sound stopped him.
Brian crouched again, listening. Was it a shot? A scream?
No. It seemed more…
A moaning sailed through the storm.
Brian froze. “No.”
The sound came again. Followed by a piercing scream.
He threw himself down the embankment, rock and snow avalanching beneath his weight, and the little one screaming in his ear. At the bottom, he hit the ground running, pulling his weapon up. He stayed in his original path but was more concerned about moving fast.
That sound— “Okay, God. Here. I’m praying,” he huffed as he ran. “Don’t let this be what I think it is. Really. Please.”
Wide and flat, the land between the women and the overhang had to be twenty yards long, if not more. He’d deliberately gone away from their path, but now he regretted it. Too far from them. Too far.
A lull in the wind, thanks to the high peaks that overlooked the tract, afforded him a view of the location. Darkness warred with the glare of the white snow. A surprising peek of the moon between the clouds gave Brian the view he needed.