Authors: Holly Hart
S
he tries again
, her mouth forming an ‘O’.
Soldier, she's trying to say soldier.
I
slowly and
deliberately shake my head. No, I'm pretty sure it's not a soldier. Not an American one at any rate – and that's even more terrifying. But I can see what she's about to do, even before she does it. I'll see that moment in my head a hundred times, maybe a thousand times, maybe every night when my head hits the pillow for the rest of my life, however long – or short – that might be.
"
H
elp
," she says, the sound choking out of her mouth.
"
H
elp
."
C
hapter Fifteen - Mike
G
oddamn
, my leg hurts. I can walk on it again without much problem, especially when it's strapped up as tightly as it is right now, but that doesn't mean it's enjoyable. In fact, I'd go as far as to say it fucking hurts.
S
till
, there are only two things I really care about on this base, and since Jake's right here by my side, I'm heading to make sure the other one's okay.
K
atie
.
I
f anything's
happened to her, I don't know what I'll do. Other than Jake, she's been the only thing keeping me sane over the past couple of weeks. After Tommy – my breath catches, even the memory of what I've lost is hard to take – after Tommy, she is the only other human I've trusted in a long time. And now I know she’s bearing my child, the instincts to protect her, to save her, have been ramped up in my brain – some age old evolutionary circuit driving me to protect my cubs.
I
console
myself with the thought that it's pretty unlikely that whoever's attacking the base has made it behind the defenses – the turrets, ditches and fences that make up the perimeter of this enormous base. And hell, even if they have, what are the chances that they'll have navigated to Katie's hut out of all the other hundreds, maybe even thousands of identicle plywood buildings.
N
ot high
.
T
hat's
what I'm telling myself, anyway. But I'm not sure if I believe it, not really, because the further I get away from my own hut, the more I'm beginning to realize that the sound of gunfire's coming from the general direction of hers.
I
break into a run – well
, not really a run, but the best approximation that I can manage.
I
t's not
the pain that's stopping me, that I can deal with, it’s that my muscles won't do what I'm asking them to. I grunt with exertion, but don't stop barreling forward, using my walking stick as a third leg, and making use of my not inconsiderable upper body strength to push me onwards.
J
ake's loping
along a couple of yards ahead of me, with an easy gait that makes me want to curse him. The sound of gunfire's growing louder, and the growing sense of dread in my stomach is coagulating along with it, because I know for sure now that we're heading directly towards the section of the base where Katie lives.
I
can hear
engines springing to life around me, scattered shouts of men startled out of their sleep and probably searching with crusty eyes for their rifles and body armor. I know that's what I'd be doing if I was on duty. In the distance, I hear a radio squawk something unintelligible, and then another, and then it sounds like I'm in the middle of some kind of communications battle as radios in tents and huts all around me go off at once.
T
hat confirms it
. Whoever they are, they must have made it through the base's defenses.
S
hit
.
I
turn
a corner and look up at one of the hastily scrawled street signs, probably erected by annoyed or lost residents, rather than anyone in command, judging by the disorganized state of them. I'm close. I hear something, a cracking sound, and then see a puff of dust as a bullet pings off a nearby wall.
"
J
ake
, heel," I call to the obedient dog. The last thing I need is something happening to him as well. True to form, he quickly paces his way back to me, and we crouch with our backs against the wall, making ourselves small. I'm not armed, and I know how reckless this is, but we're only a hundred yards or so away from Katie's hut. And apparently, also a hundred yards or so away from the gunmen.
"
S
ir
!"
I
look
around for the source of the noise and noticed a scared looking private with the straps of his body armor hanging loosely off him, like he's run straight here from his bunk bed. In fact, he probably has.
"
I
t's sergeant
, kid," I say, "how you doing?"
"
I
'm okay
, si–, I mean, sergeant."
"
W
here's
the rest of your squad, private?" I call back, as quietly as possible. I'm pretty sure the gunmen know where we are, but I don't want to give them any more hints, if I possibly can avoid it. He seems to realize what I'm doing.
"
L
ost ‘em
, sergeant. It's dark, and we weren't really told where to go," he whispers back helplessly.
"
G
ot a sidearm
?" I hiss back urgently. I feel kind of naked without some kind of weapon, and while a handgun won't do much, especially as the enemy definitely has rifles with them, it's better than nothing. I hope.
H
e nods
.
"
T
oss it over here
. Safety on," I emphasize, because he looks pretty green and the last thing I need is for an accidental discharge to end up in my other leg. When he looks pretty unsure about whether to toss it over, I do my best to reassure him. "Don't worry, if I lose it – I'll pay for it."
H
e smiles
and unholsters his weapon, quickly checking the magazine is full before limbering up to chuck it over to me. He's definitely a rookie, because if I was his sergeant, and I'd seen him do that, he'd get a clip around the ear at the very least. The gun should be fully loaded at all times, unless you're either firing it or cleaning it. Still, neither the time nor the place to call him up on that one…
H
e tosses
, I catch.
"
G
ood lad
," I grunt, the effort of tensing up my core muscles to receive the loaded weapon having the unfortunate side effect of sending a jolt of pain through my injured leg. "Now, I want you to lay down some covering fire. Okay?"
H
e nods
and nervously fingers his trigger.
"
B
ut we've got
civilians around here," I say, looking around – acutely aware of the depression I’d sink into if a stray round ended up so much as scratching Katie. I'm pretty sure, if Katie's living here, then this is also the area where the rest of the base's contractors will have been housed. Most of them are probably cooks, cleaners and builders – only here for a good paycheck. "I need you to just fire down into the sand, got it? The last thing we need is anything to ricochet and kill someone…"
H
e gulps
, but nods his assent.
M
y brain chooses
now to ask me what the hell I'm doing. I'm not exactly a cripple, but my leg sure as hell isn't working like it should, and if the boy next to me is any guide, the good guys will turn up any time now.
B
ut then again
, if the boy next to me is any guide, whoever turns up isn't exactly going to be the cream of the crop. The best of the best tend not to be left on the base; the real killers are usually out there in the field. It's the paper pushers, rookies and guys, well, guys like me – walking wounded, who get left behind. Would I trust this guy to save Katie's life?
P
robably not
.
S
o
, it's up to me. I check the magazine, sliding it out and counting every round. Fifteen. "You got a spare?" I ask, holding up the weapon. He shakes his head. Dammit. I'm going to have to make them count.
"
W
hat's your name
, private?" I ask, trying to reassure the kid. I need him calm – the last thing I want is his adrenaline to be pumping and heart rate soaring while he's supposed to be covering me. I don't need to be shot at from both sides.
"
J
im
," he says, voice quavering. "You?"
"
M
ike
," I say, keeping my voice firm. "You don’t need to worry about anything when you’re with me, kid," I say to calm him down. I’m Delta." Long experience has taught me that your average army grunt has a special belief that special forces can do no wrong, and I use it to my advantage. "Tell you what, Jim, on three – yeah?"
H
e nods
, looking suitably in awe.
"
O
kay then
. Remember, shoot at the ground, near them if you can, but don't take any risks. I just need you to keep their heads down. Ready?"
N
o reaction
. I'm going to take that as a yes. "Good. Three. Two…"
"
O
ne
."
T
urns out he was listening
. He starts firing shots in groups of three, and immediately there's returning fire, but not for long, because whoever's on the other end of Jim's rifle has clearly decided to duck.
"
C
ome on
, Jake, let's go," I signal, patting him on his coat. He's dusty, and I make a mental note to give him a bath when we get back. Funny what your mind starts thinking about in stressful situations. His ears are peeled back, and he keeps low to the ground, like he's stalking his prey, just the way he was trained. In a way, I suppose he is.
I
go with him
, keeping low to the ground, and our progress is slow – but steady. I don't bother keeping the handgun out in front of me, it's not like the movies. Especially not now, when I've got a walking stick in my other hand to concentrate on. I mask a smile, briefly thinking about how ridiculous I must look. If I run across some trained Taliban killer, what's he going to think? He's as likely to think I'm some kind of circus act as someone who poses him an actual threat.
O
n the plus side
, that might be a good thing. I shut down that line of thought – it's ridiculous, and it's not going to get me anywhere – other than the wrong side of a wooden box.
"
G
ood boy
," I breathe quietly, scratching Jake behind his ear. We're almost there, and I can see the dark shapes of men moving around in the darkness, occasionally – and randomly – stretching a rifle out and firing it into the distance.
D
efinitely not good guys
.
I
t looks
like they've got – I'm not sure, dirt bikes with them? It would make sense, given how precarious the terrain is on the other side of the fences in this part of the base. Still, if they manage to get on them, then this is over.
I
creep in closer
, trying to get a better view, sticking to the shadows and cursing the full moon hanging low in the night sky and the fact that Afghanistan barely has any light pollution, so the sky's full of starlight.
W
hen I do get closer
, my heart sinks, and then it plummets.
T
hey've got her
. Katie. Shit, they've got her. They’ve got my woman – and they’ve got my kid. In that moment, I know I’ll do anything to save her, even if it costs me my own life.
T
here are two of them
, two women, struggling against their captors. One of the terrorists barks something in a language I don't recognize – maybe Pashtun? It doesn't matter. Whatever he shouts, it quiets the two girls, and they stop struggling – clearly terrified.
O
ne of the
Taliban raises a handgun, pointing directly at Katie’s face, and my fingers tighten against the grip of the gun in my right hand, getting ready to fire. But it's just a threat, not an execution, and the tight ball of fear in my stomach relaxes, just a smidgen – but enough for me not to make a risky play with so much riding on my next move.
O
kay
, don't panic.
Ordinarily, panic wouldn’t even be an option – but ordinarily, I don’t have the mother of my future child in mortal danger…
I
count
the bikes – five of them. Not the best odds, but I've dealt with worse. And I've got Jake with me, and he's as deadly as two men. I lower my head, whispering into his ear.