by Melody Anne
“Yep. The one at the corner of the building is at one-zero-eight-eight.” Maps spoke out the yards between them and the terrorists.
Green started turning the dial on the top of his scope, found the first target and went through his steps of taking a shot, breathe in, breathe out, wait on heartbeat, pull trigger, watch target until hit is confirmed while simultaneously racking the spent round, inserting a new one, and readying the rifle for another shot.
“Good hit,” Maps said.
Four more shots were taken, and four more terrorists’ lives were extinguished. Green quickly dropped his magazine, inserted another one, racked in a round, and found the next target. The insurgents became wise to a sniper and stopped filing from the same corner. It didn’t matter, though, because these men had managed to find themselves on the wrong end of a US Navy SEAL sniper round at the next turn as well.
It was a unique situation for Green and Maps to remain in the same place, firing over and over again. That was never done. The reason became evident when a couple of rounds from an AK-47 hit the building they were in. Time was up for the spot they were shooting from. Instead of calling it good and getting out of there, though, they decided to stay in the fight and help as much as they could.
The two quickly got up and repositioned to a new firing spot. Three more shots, three more targets connected. Then another volley of rounds hit their building.
“We have to get out of here, Green,” Maps said. He wasn’t looking to quit, but he knew they were going to become sitting ducks if they stayed any longer.
“Yep,” Green agreed, immediately packing his gun away.
“There are two options. Another two-story house about a block from us to the south or an apartment building to the north about three blocks, which is unconfirmed abandoned,” Maps shared, showing why he deserved the call sign he had.
Thinking for a few moments, Green didn’t like the idea of something not confirmed, but to go south of their current location was asking for a more difficult situation in getting out.
Before a decision could be made a barrage of rounds started hammering the outside wall of the room. Pieces of broken brick showered the room Green and Maps were in. The two of them got out of the room and down the stairs, and then decided to go toward their original escape route, which was near the apartment building.
Maps took a look around the corner to see two insurgents coming at him. Before the insurgents could register an enemy was on the ground in front of them, Maps used his long gun, which had a silencer attached to the end of the barrel, to dispose of them.
The SEALs worked together carefully to serpentine their way to the apartment building. It took all of a few seconds for them to agree going into the dilapidated building wouldn’t work. They set their direction for another building that was still within sight of the firefight.
Before they could make it around the next building a group of five insurgents turned the corner in front of them. The opposing groups of men were surprised to see the other. Unfortunately for the terrorists the US military men were running in the ready position — armed for anything that might come at them. Maps had his long gun aimed and kicking out rounds into three men before they could bring their weapons up to return fire. Green used his sidearm to put one down and was pulling the trigger on the last remaining terrorist, but the enemy was able to get a single round off. It hit Maps in his left shoulder.
“Maps!” Green yelled as his partner spun like a top, falling on his face.
“I’m good, I’m good!” Maps replied, scurrying to his feet as quickly as possible.
“Damn . . . it burns!” Maps yelled out in rage that he’d been hit.
“We need to get off this street,” Green said, looking at his partner’s arm and seeing that it was, at minimum, structurally sound.
“There.” Maps gave a nod to an old roughly built building.
Taking up position on top of the building, and knowing they weren’t seen by anyone below, Green took a moment to give aid to Maps’s shoulder, which was bleeding at a good clip, but the round had gone in clean through the muscle. Patched up and given a clean bill of health, or as much of a clean bill as could be given on the field, the duo went to work helping their brothers-in-arms.
It wasn’t only the terrorists who had taken notice of the sniper, the Canadians had as well. There was no way for Green and Maps to know, but outside of the first few men who’d gone down it appeared as if the rest of their squad was alive and had gotten themselves set and working in a good tactical manner.
“Get our guys on that damn phone, Maps; we’re going to need help carrying that team out of here,” Green commanded.
“Already on it, brother, have confirmation, they’ll be here in fifteen minutes,” Maps replied.
Green made an out-of-character decision. He stepped to the edge of the roof, looked over, saw no one coming toward them, and yelled out as loud as he could the beginning of the Canadian national anthem, “Ohhh, Canada, our home and native land, true patriot, love in all of us command.” He gave a pause then finished. “Come to us boys, we’re getting you out of here.”
Green knew there was no way the terrorists would know what was yelled out — just that someone was yelling in English.
His decision worked; in small groups of three and four the Canadian men started closing in on their location. The insurgents followed without discipline.
“We’re at six five three,” Maps said. He knew Green didn’t need any additional information. Shooting from 653 yards was a no contest for Green. Shoot he did. In the course of three minutes, he put down five attackers. Maps took up a position on another railing and kept lookout for Green, in position beside him.
With a whistle, Maps got the attention of the first wave of friendlies who arrived at the intersection in front of them. After a brief showdown to ensure they weren’t getting hammered from above, the Canadians quickly made their way into the building and then up to the top, taking position in an offensive manner.
“Hey! Get your man over there next to mine — he’s been hit and will need an assist if insurgents come,” Green commanded to the closest Canadian military man.
“How many more do you have?” Green questioned while eyeing another insurgent.
“At most thirteen but I think it’ll be ten. There were sixteen total before we were ambushed,” said the warrior.
Soon, the building was a beehive of activity. As the man thought, ten more arrived and it was confirmed that three wouldn’t be joining them.
“Who’s your CO?” Green yelled out between taking two more enemy forces down.
“Here!” A middle-aged man came over. He’d obviously seen more than his fair share of battles. He wasn’t hardened, but he was far from soft. When he wasn’t in the throes of battle, it was obvious he smiled a lot, those wrinkles around his eyes weren’t made by a sad man.
“Name’s Green, over there is Maps. This is going to be our hard point until transportation arrives. You take over setting your team to keep this place ours until the ride arrives. I don’t care who gets here first, we’re all going with first on scene. Understand?” Green asked while looking through his scope. It wasn’t a moment of who had the superior military experience or rank, it was a simple matter of getting off the X.
“Name’s Iron Fist, and . . . agree with all of it. Thanks for the assist, we were up shit creek, still are, but at least we have a paddle now,” the Canadian officer said while turning back to look at the team he’d left. He went back to barking out strategic orders to his team.
A large round blew through the concrete five feet from Green. He instantly swung his large rifle to the direction of the other sniper, looking hard through his scope to find him.
“MAPS! Get over here! Stay low!” Green yelled. He kept searching at each opening of every building in the direction the round had come from. Nothing caught his attention.
A solid thwomp hit the closest man to Gree
n. A head shot ended the Canadian’s fight. Green was pissed, he missed the second shot, which meant the enemy would be able to put down another shot soon. Green looked at the head wound, studied the information it gave, calculating distance, bullet type, angle, velocity of round and other pieces that only snipers would ever think of.
“Here,” Maps said, pulling out his spotting scope without being asked. They’d been in fights before and they knew how to work with each other.
“He’s higher than our location. The entry wound is at a slight downward angle. I have yet to locate him. Looking at less than one thousand,” Green informed his partner.
“Copy,” Maps answered as he was already looking downrange for the enemy sniper.
A shot from the sniper rang out and confirmation from below came quickly that another military man had been critically hit.
This time he’d given his location away with the shot. Maps located the barrel flash, gave the location to Green and the two worked together to range the shooter.
“I don’t have the shot,” Green said calmly. For SEALs, there was no notion of quitting in them, or that they couldn’t get the job done. It was just information.
“I’m going to go through the wall,” Green informed Maps.
“Copy,” Maps said. Maps would question him if there was a need for it, but he knew what Green was doing and knew it would work.
Deep breath in, deep breath out, heartbeat, pause, trigger pull.
The concrete next to the sniper exploded and a massive splash of red covered the wall at the back of the room. It was a gruesome scene, but Green knew it was a quick death and that was the most honorable thing he could do for anything he shot. It was a life motto he carried with him ever since he’d started hunting rabbits and groundhogs as a kid. For Green, life wasn’t easy as a kid, but he carried a respect for life and knew that death shouldn’t be met with suffering. It was a personal promise he’d made to the world and he’d kept that promise when in war.
The team was taken away from the hell hole by a bunch of American troops, the Canadians were picked up in route to the American base. There were only a few handshakes and waves. The Canadian group had to get their fallen. They honored their men too much to leave them there.
Green and Maps were met with a rousing chorus of cheers and questions as soon as they exited the vehicle at their base. Maps went to medical; Green was requested to meet with the base CO and he told the runner he’d be there once he got a shower. The poor seaman apprentice in charge of gathering Green wasn’t equipped with how to deal with a SEAL and stood there awkwardly and more than a little scared of the man who’d just walked past him.
It was only a few months later that Green learned he’d been submitted for a Medal of Honor as well as Canada’s Victoria Cross. Both were massive accomplishments and an honor. No one could remember someone being put in for both of those medals. Green didn’t think anything of it. He’d only been doing his job and protecting people to the best of his ability.
Later that year, he’d been awarded both medals, making him the first. He was the ripe age of twenty-two. Green took his meeting with the US president with his award-winning smile and drank a few beers at a random Canadian bar with a bunch of the guys he’d saved that fateful day, then he’d gone on to win more medals and citations over the next few years that he’d served. Lucky, good, whatever the word, he was able to get through all of it unscathed, both mentally and physically.
Maps received a Bronze Star and a Purple Heart. His wife had pleaded with him to leave after the injury. He’d completed the remainder of his contract and once out of the military had happily lived his life on the plains of Oklahoma.
The two SEALs never worked together again, but they’d talk on the phone at least once a month — they’d be brothers for life.
Green served a couple more years before moving on in the private sector, but the day of that battle, more so than any other, would stay with him for the rest of his life. He was one of the lucky ones who didn’t struggle with the numerous demons that came with PTSD, and he found that he could talk about it easily and openly if in the mood, but a darkness would creep over him if someone else asked. One should wait to be invited into the darkness of someone’s memories of war, never invite themselves in . . .
Green’s mind was focused on that fateful battle as he slept and dreamt of that day exactly ten years ago. He shot up in his bed, sweat coating his naked body. He struggled to find his bearings, and after a few hard thumps in his chest he realized it was the new bedroom he’d slept in for the first time hours ago. He hadn’t had a dream like that for years, and he chalked it up to drinking too much wine and being so tired.
Then again, he’d long ago stopped trying to analyze himself and why he did what he did. Maybe this new war he’d found himself in was reviving the past, or maybe it was the constant battle of life. Or maybe it was demons trying to break in. Whatever it was, he’d figure it out. He wouldn’t dive into a hole and hide from his past. He’d face it head on, and he’d conquer it, just as he’d conquered every other battle he’d ever faced.
Chapter Eight
Green glanced at the clock on his nightstand and huffed in disappointment. He flopped back down, lying to himself that he’d be able to fall asleep again. After rolling around in multiple angles and positions he finally surrendered to consciousness, slowly lifted his torso, slung his legs off the side of the bed, and ruffled his hair and face — hoping there’d be some form of cognitive reality of what to do next.
He’d only gotten a few hours of sleep and those had been filled with reliving one of his missions; that always woke him up feeling unsure if he was back at war or a free civilian. He didn’t suffer trauma from his time in the service, but he did remember every minute of it.
He went through a mental checklist of the things that had to happen for the day, most of which included getting back to the operations center and giving a full read-out of what had transpired the night before.
He thought about that for a moment and decided a full readout wouldn’t be necessary, as the guys didn’t need to know about that sixty-minute window of getting a little crazy with the senator. He wanted to erase that moment with the woman he’d been shocked to find any attraction to. He’d much rather focus on his time with Mallory that had been so much better. His body had been on fire the entire night. It had been far too long since he’d been with a woman, and even longer since he’d been with a woman who was willing to live dangerously.
There was no doubt in Green’s mind that the senator would be good in bed, but boring and focused on only her own needs. She was the type of woman a man forgot about as soon as he was pulling up his pants. Crude? Yes. True? Also, yes.
Mallory on the other hand . . .
Before he could even begin to get a grasp on what he felt for the second woman he’d spent the night with, he heard Mallory enter the guest bathroom. The sound of her shuffling through his make-believe home had all thoughts of any other woman evaporating from his mind. She’d surprised him quite often during their multiple-hour conversation the night before.
She was confident, sexy, and had a passion burning inside her that pulled a man straight into her web. He had no doubt the woman got exactly what she wanted when she wanted it. The problem with a woman like Mallory was that most men couldn’t handle her. They were either intimidated or felt smaller next to her. Green smiled. There was no fear of that happening with him. He’d searched for a woman like her his entire life — and he was certainly willing to see where this new adventure might lead them both.
He wasn’t so sure Mallory was ready to take the leap. But would it be any fun for either of them if they simply fell into bed together? He laughed aloud. Hell yes, it would be fantastic, but Green knew he appreciated something so much more when it wasn’t easily handed to him. He was a natural hunter, and he wanted to stalk his prey — and Mallory just might be his next target. With her closeness to the senator, it w
asn’t an easy task. But that made it much more fun.
Was he ready to run down that path without knowing where it would lead? No, he was once again getting ahead of himself. Before his mind could get caught in tomorrow, a month from now, or a year from now, he had to get to know this woman.
Mallory was smart. She could also weave in and out of a plethora of topics without missing a beat. He found intellect as sexy as a great body, which she also happened to have. Her clothes hid a lot of it, but Green’s imagination filled in the blanks. He rose, threw on some sweats and a shirt, then opened his bedroom door.
The sound of the running shower gave him an instant thickness the loose sweats did nothing to hide. He’d better get himself under control quickly or Mallory would run from his home screaming. But the thought of her beneath that hot shower spray, soap trickling down her body, her head thrown back as she sighed with pleasure . . .
“No!” he snapped to himself as he moved to his kitchen sink and grabbed the coffee pot, filling it with water. “No, no, no! Guns, ammo, targets, snow, dirt, grime.” He kept on muttering words that had nothing to do with sex, and thankfully, just as the shower turned off, he began softening. He’d do his best to keep his body under control. He heard her wet steps down the hall from him and turned as hard as a boulder again. “Dammit!”
He quicky moved down the hall to his room and threw his oversized university sweatshirt over his head. If he couldn’t get the beast to settle, he’d have to cover it. He left his room, doing all he could for now. Other than meeting her in the doorway and pushing her back inside the shower to satisfy them both, oversized clothes was plan B.
Snapping himself back to the present reality that was far away from his fantasies, he dropped to the floor and did a quick fifty pushups and the same number of crunches, in less than three minutes. That helped tame the beast . . . a little.
