Broken Battlefield, Mended Hearts (Breaking Protocol Series Book 2)

by Willow Brooke

  “Have fun, boys.” He stood and walked out, grinning over his shoulder at the two lovesick puppies that made kissy faces into the webcam at Alaina.

  “We will. Your wife is on here too,” Brody said.

  What the fuck? Venus closed the space in two rushed long strides and planted roots behind them. Low and behold, in the background behind Alaina was Bella. She was busy doing something at the kitchen counter and didn’t seem to notice her televised debut, but she was there, loud and clear.

  “Hey, baby, tell Bella to turn around,” said Leland.

  “What? Uh, okay. Hey, Bella, come here.” Alaina’s voice rang through the speaker, bringing Bella to stand next to her in plain view. Jared realized that from his position the girls weren’t aware of his presence, so he squatted down and grinned. “Hi, Alaina, thank you. Hey, baby! I love and miss you!”

  “Oh my God, Jared! I love you, baby!” She waved like a princess at a parade. Her excitement was more than apparent. Damn, she was gorgeous. With her hair tied in a ponytail and his green t-shirt on, she was a delicious vision he wished he could taste. Even though it had only been a little over a week since he had left, his throat knotted up in emotion.

  “Sorry, boys, thank you for letting me say hello. I will leave you all alone now.” Jared waved and told her bye, waiting on the delay to hear her back.

  “Don’t be sorry. You are welcome to use this computer any time. It is the only one setup with a web cam right now, but we only need one in the tent if you know what I mean. Anymore and things might get a little sticky.” Leland laughed.

  “Gross, dude. Keep your dick strokin’ fingers off the keyboard. If I come in to use it and the buttons are sticking, your ass is grass.” Jared heard Alaina and Bella start cracking up. A final “I love you!” was yelled at him from Bella, and he left. Seeing her only made it harder to go back to the dirty hell that waited outside.

  ****

  That night, Jared got jolted out of a dead sleep by the alarming shouts of Kodiak and Hulk. Reacting on instinct, he jerked his boots on, slapped his flak vest and Kevlar on and grabbed his gun. There was only a couple of them that had awoken, so he shouted, “Incoming! Get the fuck up!” It was almost amazing how one single word could rise a platoon up and get them strapped and headed out the door in mere seconds.

  Once he stepped out the tent door, the familiar sounds of gunfire and mortars shook the ground under his feet. All thoughts that had been in his mind cleared, leaving only training to take over. It was a mechanical program the Army had built in them all, and was a great defense to anything. There was no hesitation. Only action.

  Orders were barked in hushed tones, scattering the team into pairs to face and disarm their attackers. Shots were coming inbound from the East, and didn’t seem to be far. Their aim sucked thankfully, keeping all of the mortars at a safe distance and randomly scattered. It wouldn’t take them long to hone in their aim, but hopefully by then the team would have them illuminated.

  Vice grabbed his arm and pulled him to the side, slowly and silently leading them to the enemy’s shank. Once she felt like they were in a good position, she squatted and readied the badass sniper rifle she carried. Jared covered her, watching through his NBG goggles for any signs of movement that might be some sort of attack. The night vision gave them a better advantage over the Taliban or whatever this extremist group claimed to be. Seconds later, she had fired off the first few shots, dropping hajis with each one. It wasn’t long until all of the mortar shooters were down, leaving only a handful with rifles left. The team moved in, cleaning and clearing the rest out without resistance.

  “Good aim, Vice. You have definitely found your calling,” Jared complimented.

  “Thanks. It’s what I do. Some women sew or bake. I can hit someone between the eyes before they blink.”

  “You are one badass chick.”

  “Yeah, well, it doesn’t do much for a social life. Men are afraid of me. The whole, ‘I am a sniper’ doesn’t go over on a first date well, believe me.”

  Jared laughed. “I can see where it might create some apprehension. Hey, they aren’t worth your time either if something as silly as being able to kill them from six hundred yards away intimidates them. You will find your Rambo someday, trust me. There is someone out there for everyone. It’s fate.”

  “You can’t tell me you believe in that fate mumbo jumbo and make me believe you. No guy, unless gay, thinks like that.”

  “This one does. The first time I saw my wife, I knew without a doubt she was the one. When you least expect it, it will happen to you.”

  “I guess. It just gets lonely as fuck in this life, ya know? Yeah, I can shoot…but still I’m not as close to everyone because I’m a chick. Sure, they all treat me like family, but that bromance connection is missing. Then, I go home to an even lonelier personal life. It sucks ass.” Vice was down, that much he knew. Whether it was a dump from after the rush or just a girl thing, he had no idea. Having a wife and being married for so long did give him a better insight on the female psyche. From her prospective, things did look dreary and bleak. Before he could think up any reassurance, she back peddled.

  “Uh, sorry. It has just been one of those days. Listen, I am not usually all feelings and gothic emo shit…just a bitchtastic case of PMS and no chocolate in this hellhole. I am tempted to cut open every MRE and search for the ones with candy.” He could tell she was covering up the open pages she had revealed with her guard down, but didn’t call her on it.

  “Oh, shit. I am sorry. Hey, Bella packed me a stash of goodies in my ruck. I have everything from Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups to Almond Joys. If you get a non-chocolate tooth, my daughter stuffed all of my pockets with Starbursts and Jolly Ranchers. I think they bought out the candy isle. Keep it secret from the others, and you are in a full supply.” He lowered his voice to a whisper and added, “There is also a six pack of coke stashed in my sleeping bag…you can have one of those too if you want.”

  “Holy shit! Are you serious? Damn, now that is a good woman. Remind me to hug her when we get home. My lips are sealed, candy man. Keep me hooked up, and I will help guard your stash with my life.” She giggled, finally seeming to be in higher spirits. It was amazing what a little sugar and coco would do for a woman. Too bad he didn’t have any of those fruity wine coolers Bella loved so much. Every month he would bring a pack of those home along with a random array of candy and send her to the bathroom to lock herself in for a hot bath. It helped, and saved his ass from a hormonal reaming.

  Ten minutes later, Vice was happily licking the wrapper clean of a Milky Way and sipping a Coke sitting in her bunk. The rest of the team had all settled back down as if nothing had happened and was going back to sleep, besides Hulk and Kodiak who were pulling first guard. Hulk seemed to be wound tighter than a private holding a grenade without a pin. He didn’t know what had caused the normally ginormous tough-as-shit giant, but something was off. Men didn’t ask questions like, ‘are you okay?’ and ‘what’s wrong?’. It was just too emotional and girlie. There was a common man law that stated if another man needs to talk, they will grab a beer and invite you over to watch either a fight or sports game on television, then leave the unspoken issues to work out over the violence and testosterone fueled bonding moment. Here, there was no televised bloodfest. Sooner or later he could get it out…just hopefully not an explosion aimed toward the team. In his opinion, tonight had turned way to touchy feely for his liking. It was far past time to call it a day. With a few final thoughts of Bella and the kids, he fell prey to the darkness that took over.

  Chapter Four

  The next two months had flown by in a blur of chaos. The team had put in endless hours of surveillance sometimes without sleep for two and three days at a time. When they did catch a few minutes to rest, it was usually under the Humvee where there was shade, or across the hood to keep warm during the cold nights. No sleeping bags, no pillows…just a hard surface and the deep effects of exhaustion. When they we
re lucky, there would be an opportunity for more than one to catch a nap at the same time and they would buddy prop, leaning on each other for a softer bed. It sucked, but was all part of the job.

  Jared counted down the days until he would be able to snuggle down by Bella in their soft as shit memory foam bed by writing a letter to her in down time. Every chance he got, he would add a little paragraph, striving to have a full letter by the time they got back to camp to mail off. He was never one for writing, so this was an accomplishment in itself. It had been too long since he had heard from her, and somehow writing just a few words gave that connection he missed and needed. The isolation had begun to wear on them all, bringing out all of their odd humor and other ways to cope. Any prank or comment that could be made to lighten their moral was encouraged by them all. From dicks and obscene phrases written on foreheads in camo paint to putting foot powder and sardines in the A/C vent of the Humvees, there was never a dull moment in the intense situation.

  On the day Dom was getting pinned for promotion, he walked into the hanger and met a blonde blow up doll sitting at the front of the room holding a sign with his name on it. The team was known for its practical jokes.

  Today they were moving in on one of the villages that surrounded the center compound the Senator was thought to be hiding in. With nightfall only an hour away, the team geared up and loaded down, readying for the fight ahead. This town was known for the group of ruthless ruffians that had taken over, leaving the residents helpless and at the hands of cold-blooded killers.

  Driving in the mountains was a feat all in itself. There were boulders bigger than a car they had to carefully maneuver the Humvees over, praying they wouldn’t get high centered or stuck. The rugged terrain was slow going, but some of the views were indescribable. From lush green grass and trees, to crystal creeks and jagged rocks and the desert that surrounded, it was a world all in its own. As they finally descended down in altitude, they rolled through a thick forest-like patch of six to eight foot brush. They stopped just inside the edges, deciding it best to scout for any IEDs before proceeding. Upon closer examination, the field of green they had driven up on wasn’t a forest at all—but instead a huge ass crop of enormous pot plants. The buds that hung from the weeping branches were a good foot long and bigger around than a pop can. Hash and opium were major exports in Afghanistan, and seeing these plants proved why. The locals smoked the hash in pipes like Americans did tobacco. With this crop being so close to the ring of compounds ran by the fucktard traitorous Senator, there was little doubt its destiny was to end up on U.S. soil. After a quick radio call for air support to smoke the crop, and not in the fun way, they pressed on, clearing a road as they went.

  They had to be ready for anything, especially since the radical group wouldn’t hesitate to use the people as hostages or strap IEDs to them and use them as weapons. This also meant the civilians couldn’t be trusted. They could all be strapped and ready to shoot or kill in any means necessary for false promises of safety. Children had been recruited as soldiers, and were just as dangerous as the adults. Boys as young as five and six were trained in weaponry, and had been part of the groups that attacked military soldiers since the war on terrorism had begun. They shot to kill, making them the enemy. As a soldier, this had been one of the hardest targets to fight. Some didn’t have the heart. Instead, they would throw a potato sack over their head and beat the shit out of them and send them away, only to have them back the next time even more heavily loaded. The children in this country were brutally beaten from birth, so whippin’ their ass was pointless. In hopes to save their family or their own life, these people were willing to fight for the people that plagued them and made their life hell.

  Every member of the team focused as a detailed and extensive plan was set. If one thing went wrong, it could mean one of their lives. As always, Dom was leading the show. Everyone was issued strict orders and given different scenarios if things changed in the heat of the battle. One could never be too prepared, and Dom was a hard-core stickler for thinking out every possibility and giving the team examples and training on how to evade any sticky situation.

  Unlike the last compound they overtook, there was no way Vice and Mitchel “Poppa Smurf” Gram, or what soon became “Pop” to shorten the name, could put their sniper talents to work. Pop was multi-talented. He had specialized in a numerous amount of things, and had even earned his wings to fly any aircraft he could get his hands on. They were working on getting him an Apache to have at their disposal, but the multi-million dollar equipment was harder to get a hold of, even for the General.

  Their plan was simple. Surround, stealth, and take down. If they could come from all sides and keep the noise down to a minimum so not to alarm the others, it would be an in and out clearing. With the moon only a sliver crescent in the sky and the wind picking up, they had perfect cover. The lulling hum of their ride did some to help ease any anxiety, giving them a small length of time to get in the zone.

  Ten minutes out, Joker hit play on his MP3 player, giving the team their normal pump up song, “Let the Bodies Hit the Floor” by 3 Doors Down through the small speaker and straight into each member’s blood stream. Their mellow attitudes transformed into raging battle machines with each violent lyric. When the song was over, they were in the zone. Each soldier snapped their kpot, or Kevlar, under their chin and chambered their weapon. Their deuce and a half, or truck that was a tad smaller than a five ton, pulled up into a brush area they were using for cover and parked. Everyone unloaded, doing a double check on all of their weapons and shoving extra mags in every pocket in their cargo pants and on their flak vests. That was one thing they learned early—one could never have too much ammo. After a final run down and observation through NVGs, they moved in.

  They came across a row of huts first, splitting up to clear each one before moving on. The team broke into three groups, fanning out to get the maximum efficiency and still have safety in numbers. With their earpieces in place to stay in communication, they pressed on ready to take on the world…or group of shitbags, whatever came at them first. The first team to move in was Venus, Rock, Romeo, and Dom. The first shanty was actually leaning over. “I am more worried about the house falling on us than what’s in it,” Rock whispered over the radio.

  “You will get them, my pretty…and their little dog too,” Romeo answered.

  “I am gonna hang back and just get the fucking shoes afterwards. There definitely is no place like home, especially compared to this shithole.” Venus flanked from the rear, covering all angles as they made their way through the doorway. Standing with their backs together, they cleared each room. Only a small family eating dinner, or whatever the fuck you wanted to call the gooey nasty crap on their plates.

  “One is clear,” Romeo announced over the radio.

  “Roger that. We will confiscate after the targets are secured. There will be weapons everywhere,” Dom ordered.

  In visible sight, .50 cal shells were scattered everywhere, which was either a really bad thing, or just funny as hell. If there was a .50 cal gun stashed somewhere, things could get ugly fast. If not, it was stupid to have them. All of the hajis were known to be weapons hoarders. From Russian weapons that dated way back to French and everything in between, these people had it all. German tanks had been revamped and used throughout the war, but were still no match for modern technology. The Kiowa helicopter had the capability of zooming in and doing videoing surveillance from a distance of around ten miles away without being detected. With night vision and laser detection to fire upon a painted target, the Kiowa was a force to be reckoned with. It could hover under the cover of a mountain and just peek the Mast Mounted Sight, or MMS, above the ridge and be concealed and protected. Mounted with a .50 cal rockets and hellfire rockets, and other kick ass features, it was a mean son of a bitch. Add in the Apache that held the same type of sensors, rockets, and hellfires, only paired with a 30mm, the duo was unstoppable. No scavenged junk would hold up. Air sup
port was only two minutes away, waiting for the signal to move in if necessary. This was one of many battles to come, and they had planned it to be one of the easiest. No Rambo scenes, just get shit done.

  “Hulk smash,” came the signal from Hulk and his team of Vice, Maverick, and Pop.

  “Juju clear.” He, Kodiak, Bud, and Joker had started at the other end and were making their way toward the other crews.

  “Okay, move on,” Dom’s command reached them all, and the platoon marched carefully toward the next grouping of buildings. The process was repeated and repeated, with nothing new coming up. Either the insurgents had moved on, or there was an ambush planned with the people caught at their mercy. Halfway through, Dom stopped. “I want two to take the civilians over and detain them in the farthest northeast hut that is out by itself from when we came in. Eyes are glowing, boys.” Kodiak and Romeo were sent to gather and herd them into the proper detaining shack. Most went willingly, understanding the very few words of Arabic he and Kodiak could put together. The ones that resisted and were defiant, well, they made it anyway. Duct tape was the best field tool ever. And, to throw some past memories into the mix, their very own Romeo had rode on the circuit and won a glass case full of those championship buckles. Roping and tying frail little weasels was accomplished in less than eight seconds for each one.

  “The cows are out to pasture and safe, Dom.” Joker signaled for the next step to take place. People were beginning to move around. Some looked like they wanted to run, or to go nark, but a few looked like they wanted to help. One elderly man raised his hands in a defensive posture and stood from the corner they were huddled in, walking slowly toward Kodiak. He rambled off ninety miles a minute in dirkadirka, as the soldiers referred to the fast Arabic language.