Lucas - Anne L Parks

by Special Forces - Operation Alpha

  She pulled her hands from her pockets and stuck them out to the fire. The warmth was painful, and she fought hard to keep them in the heat and not pull them back. Wiggling her fingers and toes was like trying to loosen a vacuum- sealed jar that had been sitting on a shelf for too many years. The dread of the bone actually snapping from the exertion scared her more than it should have. Logic was taking a backseat to fear of never being free and dying of exposure.

  Never seeing her family again. Never seeing Lucas.

  She missed him so much and regretted sending him that email. Regretted not going home months ago and working on her marriage. It was tough to say whether the regret stemmed from truly wanting to put in the hard work of getting their marriage back on track, or because she would give just about anything not to be in her current situation.

  Does he know I’ve been kidnapped? Did the agency inform him that I hadn’t shown up in Indonesia? Would he come looking for me? Does he care?

  The questions seemed to build upon each other, a massive skyscraper of unknowns without any answers, that swayed with the winds of words that should have been said and things that should have been done, and it was about to implode and bury her in the rubble.

  The man with the headset jumped to his feet and knocked on the bedroom door. When the door was opened, he spoke in hushed Russian. Whatever he told them, caused the man at the door to turn to someone out of sight behind him and repeat what the comms guy had relayed. The man who had escorted her from the barn came out of the room, grasped Lettie by the arm and forced her through the kitchen and into a small pantry at the back.

  “Keep quiet,” he said in broken English while pointing his gun at her, an unspoken threat of what would happen to her if she didn’t do as told. The door closed and the deadbolt slid into place, trapping her in the small room with the man—and no other way out.

  Chapter 6

  Lucas shifted in his perch in a tree overlooking the house and barn high in the mountains of Chechnya. Adjusting the scope on his rifle, he peered through the window into the farmhouse.

  “Eagle in place,” Lucas said into comms.

  During missions, the team did not use real names to address anyone while on comms. Instead, codenames were provided for the players so everyone could be identified without having to either use someone’s name, or—as in this case—know someone’s name.

  “Copy, Eagle in place. What are you seeing?” Riley, codename Dixie, was in a TOC just over the border in a non-Russian occupied area of Georgia.

  “Two armed Ivan’s flanking the doors to the barn. I’m blind to the interior.”

  “They have something inside they don’t want anyone to stumble on?” Colonel Holt asked. Holt was stateside at the command center in Newport.

  “It’s pretty remote out here,” Lucas replied. “No one is likely to wander around this far outside of what they consider a town, this early in the morning.”

  “Better chance that the friendlies are being held inside, and the Ivan’s are there to make sure they stay put,” Riley said.

  “Roger,” Holt acknowledged.

  Lucas moved his scope to his right and focused on the farmhouse. “One Ivan on the north corner porch.” He trained his scope on a window. “One known Ivan in the northside bedroom…and one in the front room. That’s all I can see.”

  “Are all interior Ivan’s armed?” Riley asked.

  “Affirmative, Dixie. All Ivan’s are armed.”

  “Eagle, do you have eyes on our x’s and o’s?”, referring to the hostages. Lettie was the lone “o” because she was the only female among the hostages. The male doctors were X1, X2, and X3.

  “Negative, Yankee,” Lucas replied.

  “Red leader, see anything?” Riley asked.

  “Two Ivan’s in the west bedroom,” Jake said. “It’s possible one is Stalin.” Stalin was the codename for the leader of this merry band of Ruskie terrorist misfits. The order was to capture him, if possible. The rest could be killed.

  “Blue leader?” Riley asked Lance.

  “Blue confirms Eagle’s assessment of one Ivan in the north bedroom,” Lance responded. Lucas could see Lance and four of his teammates crouched along the north side of the farmhouse, ready to make their way around the west side, finally joining red team on the south to breach the residence. “Red, two Ivan’s were observed entering the kitchen. Are you sure there is no one there?”

  “Have unobstructed view of kitchen,” Jake said. “It’s clear.”

  “May have gone into the pantry,” Riley reminded them. “Stay alert when you enter. Intel showed the pantry has a door.”

  “All the better to shoot through,” Lucas said, his gaze trained on the front porch man who lit up a cigarette, the orange ember registering as a white spot through the night vision goggles.

  “Copy that, Eagle,” Jake said. “Blue team, ready?”

  “Blue team is in place and ready to go.”

  “Breach in three…two…one.”

  Heavy breathing filled Lucas’s earpiece as his teammates breached the exterior door into the kitchen. Lucas blocked it out, focusing on his target. Sighting the porch man, he gently pulled the trigger of his M-5 rifle. There was barely any sound from the shot as the bullet tore through the cold, dark morning air. Porch man’s head snapped back, then fell forward, his chin hitting his chest before slumping to the side and resting on his shoulder. With his NVG’s on, Lucas had watched the spray of blood, brain, and bone cover the wall behind the man. It looked like a white blur right now, but would be a colorful canvas of reds, whit, and grey by the sun started peeking over the horizon.

  Lucas had grown up being good at most everything he put his mind to—good at baseball, good in math. A good son. But he had never been great until he became a Marine, became a sniper, and joined the Raiders. The special operations team was the perfect fit for Lucas, and he excelled. It was not what his mother had wanted for him, feeling somewhat ashamed that the one thing her son was known for was a string of kills while in Afghanistan, but Lucas had finally found his calling. What he was meant to do. He was part of a team, a family that understood him, and accepted him. And Lucas would never go back to being just good when he had discovered greatness.

  He moved the sight of his weapon so he could see through the window into the front room of the house. His teammates would be moving into the room from the kitchen, and he needed to be ready if the opportunity arose to take out more terrorist assholes.

  Chapter 7

  A loud crash followed by the sounds of splintering wood broke the silence and felt like a sonic blast, knocking Lettie off kilter. She had been straining to hear any noise—any indication of what the hell was going on—and the sudden loud noises had nearly dropped her on her ass. She still wasn’t sure what was going on, but it sounded an awful lot like world war three was being waged in the next room.

  Did that mean they were being rescued? Or was this how they were going to get rid of the hostages? By blowing them all up, and leaving the bodies behind, never to be discovered. Judging by the bulging eyes and sudden grip of the armed guard’s rifle, this was not a planned event.

  What would Lucas think? Would he search for her? Or would he believe she had just decided never to come home? Never work on their marriage and just let go. And why wouldn’t he? She had made all the other major decisions in their marriage of late. He hadn’t had any say in anything. It had all been her. And it wasn’t a stretch to think he would finally let go, believing she had made that decision for them, too.

  She may have wanted that before—may have even considered just disappearing somewhere in the world and hope he would leave her alone to live her life. But the last couple of weeks had brought her some clarity. The thought of never seeing Lucas again. Of never kissing him, yelling at him, or making love with him tore her heart to pieces.

  The doorknob twisted. The guard slowly raised the barrel of his weapon, too slowly, as it turned out. The door was flung open, the man pushed against
the wall behind it. A large man entered, his rifle pointed at Lettie.

  “Get down on the floor now,” the man said, his voice commanding.

  Lettie dropped to the floor.

  A gunshot rang through the room, the reverberations rattling through her bones.

  A grunt of pain married with the body of the man slumping to the floor. Lettie lifted her head, her gaze on the armed guard standing behind the door, a smirk on his face as he stared at the soldier on the floor in front of her.

  Another gunshot from the kitchen. The guard’s smile faded. He dropped to his knees, his rifle slipped from his hand and skittered to the floor. A red bloom of blood spread across his chest.

  Loud voices filled the room. “Hands behind your head,” another man, also with his gun trained on her, yelled at her. Lettie thought she should’ve been concerned with how comfortable she was getting with having guns pointed at her.

  She did as she was told. “Please, my name is Scarlett Black. I’m an American and a doctor. I can help this man, if you’ll let me.”

  “Scarlett Black, you said?” The man stared at her for a moment before lowering his weapon. He nodded at her.

  She slid forward, rolling the man onto his back.

  “Can you tell me how many other men are in the house, and where they are located?” the man asked.

  “There were two guards in the living room, along with a man at a table with computers on it. At least two men in the bedroom right behind the computer man. Not sure if there was anyone in the other bedroom—” She searched the injured man’s body, ascertaining where the bullet had hit. The low light in the room made it difficult to see. “But this was all before they forced me back here. I have no idea how many men in all are in the house now.”

  Lettie leaned closer to the injured man’s ear. “Where are you hit?”

  The man grasped her hand and placed it on his upper leg.

  “Are the other doctors here, as well?” The other man asked.

  Lettie rolled her patient onto his back. “Three doctors, one probably has pneumonia, are in the upper part of the barn. We usually have two guards inside with us, and two more at the door.”

  “Okay, stay in here until we come for you,” he said.

  She nodded, sliding the night vision goggles from the injured man’s face.

  Chapter 8

  “Dixie, be advised, Doc’s down. Shot to the leg,” Lance said over comms.

  Fury raced through Lucas’s veins. Doc, his best friend. Shot.

  “Status,” Riley asked.

  “Alive. Significant blood loss. Left him with O in the pantry. We’ll need airlift in here to get him out. Soon.”

  “Are all the X’s with O in the pantry?” Riley asked.

  “Negative. O states the X’s are in the barn. Two Ivan’s inside, two on the doors. One X needs medical treatment.”

  “Continue clearing the house, then move to the barn.”

  “Blue,” Col. Holt said. “We need Stalin alive.”

  “Copy, Yankee. We’ll do our best.”

  Lucas watched a figure in black step into the front room of the house, and raised the barrel of his rifle. Lucas took a deep inhale and released it. His heartbeat slowed. He was calm as he watched the Ivan through his sight. Timing was everything. And Lucas was very good at figuring out just the right moment to shoot. Everything around him slowed. His finger pulled back on the trigger.

  The bullet sped through the air, shattered the glass from the front window, and hit the Ivan in the back of the head just as Lance and the Blue team entered the front room and moved to their right.

  Lucas sat up, slid back the bolt of the M-5. The expended shell casing popped out. Thrusting the bolt back into place, a new shell slid into the chamber. Lucas put his eye to the sight. The entire act took no more than three seconds.

  Shouts came over the comms as the two teams made their way through the house, killing Ivans and searching for the head of the unit, the man they named Stalin until they had his real name.

  “Front room clear,” Jake said.

  “Bedroom number one clear,” Mason said.

  Then there was quiet. “Stalin, Stalin, Stalin,” came the chant over comms indicating they had the commander.

  From the periphery Lucas could see movement from the direction of the barn. He swung his rifle towards the structure and watched the two Ivan’s standing sentry outside the barn jog across the open area tward the house. Lucas lined up his shot on the guy who was just slightly in front of the other, and pulled back on the trigger. The man dropped, a spray of blood and brain matter splattering the other man.

  Lucas watched the other man duck to a crouch and sat for a moment.

  “Don’t do anything stupid,” Lucas muttered. “Just stay put and live another day.”

  Ivan crouched walked toward the house once again.

  “Wrong move, dickhead.”

  Lucas dropped the man as his teammates came from the house and made there way to the barn. Mason and Ben were stationed on either side of the barn doors. Half the team had their backs against the wall behind Mason, the other half doing the same behind Ben. Lucas had his sight centered on the door in case anyone was waiting to come out, guns blazing, as Ben and Mason opened the doors.

  Lucas slowed his breathing once again, prepared to take out an Ivan coming through the door. He watched as the door slid open. Mason and Ben stepped aside, guns trained on the exterior in case anyone attempted to ambush the team while they were invading the barn.

  One by one the men entered, and would wrap around the interior, their muzzles sweeping left, right, and up until the area was clear.

  “Lower barn clear,” Jake said over comms.

  “Blue team going up,” Lance said.

  Lucas turned his focus to the man on his knees in front of the house, hands bound behind him. Sean and Appollo were guarding Stalin.

  “Dixie, be advised we have three x’s secured and two Ivan’s in custody,” Lance said. “Send in the rescue crew.”

  Chapter 9

  “Mick?” she gasped as she took in the familiar features of her husband’s teammate. And his best friend. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll get you back home to Layla and the baby.” She grabbed the flashlight from his vest and turned it on. “Can you hold this for me so I can see what’s going on?”

  Mick took the flashlight, and tried to aim it on his leg, but his hands shook so violently that it wasn’t aiding Lettie. But what she could see was a shot to his upper thigh. And by the looks of the amount of blood loss he had already suffered, the bullet had hit a major artery in the leg. If she didn’t do something soon, he wasn’t going to make it.

  She took the flashlight from him, and swung it around the room. The beam fell briefly on the other armed guard. Half of his head was missing, along with one of his eyes. The other stared into death. He was gone.

  Mick’s medical supply kit was on the floor just inside the door. She crawled over to it and back, opening it and pulling out the supplies as she went. She rummaged through the bag until she found what she needed. Shears in hand, she cut away the leg of his pants to get a better look at the injury. Blood poured from the hole in his leg. She grabbed some of the gauze and shoved it over the wound, took one of Mick’s hands, and placed it over the top. “Hold this here. Tight.”

  She found the SOF-T, an open looped tourniquet with a strong metal windlass. Ensuring the locking screw was in place, she removed Mick’s hand, and tightened the tourniquet. He low, muffled grunt escaped from Mick, but the tighter she could get the strap, the better chance of saving his life.

  Mick lay back. She lifted the flashlight to get a look at him. His face was pale. Blood pooled around him. He looked as if he was floating in a pool of his own blood. He had lost so much, Lettie worried if he would be able to hold on until they could airlift him out and get him to the hospital—wherever that might be.

  If The 13 was here rescuing them, she doubted they had approval of the Russian
government to breach their borders. There was no way they would be taking Mick to the hospital in Grozny. And Lettie had no idea where the closest friendly hospital would be from their location. Assuming they were still in Russia.

  “He still loves you, you know?” Mick said, his breathing labored. “Like sick, puppy-dog love.”

  “I don’t know about that,” she answered, knowing he meant Lucas. Was he here? Had they let him come? Would he have insisted, even if they had told him he had to stay back? “I’ve done a really great job of pushing him away and making him feel like the bad guy in our marriage.”

  “Well, I can’t argue with you there.” He coughed, and took a minute to catch his breath. “But you would have to cut out his heart to fully extricate from him. Even then, I think he would still love you somewhere deep in his soul.”

  Lettie grabbed the heated blanket from the medical bag and covered Mick with it.

  “The question is, do you still love him enough to fight for your marriage?”

  She sat on the floor and crossed her legs at the knees and let out a long breath. “If you had asked me that a month ago—hell, two weeks ago—I wouldn’t have known how to answer. But being this close to losing everything provides new perspective on life. And what’s important.”

  “And what’s important to you, Lettie?”

  “Lucas.”

  “Then make sure he knows how you feel.”

  “And what if I’m too late?” Lettie could hear the tremor in her voice that normally would piss her off. She hated showing weakness. But this was Mick, and he knew Lucas as well as Lettie did, and she was desperate for his take on things. “What if I’ve let things get too far out of hand to ever be able to get them back?”

  “I’m not saying it’s going to be easy, but I’ll tell you what I keep telling him—if you love him, truly love him, then fight with everything you have to stay together. Anyone can stay together when life is simple and easy. It’s the times when marriage is hard, and you want to throw in the towel, those are the moments that make great marriages. That is what will sustain you through the rest of your lives. The knowledge that nothing—even your own bull-headedness—can get in the way of your love and your lives together.”