Always a Warrior

by Patricia Bruening

  He stopped so abruptly she plowed into him, gripped his waist to steady herself. He slunk along the wall, pulled her behind him, and peeked around the doorframe. Laurie held her breath until her vision swam. She exhaled slowly, quietly, and her vision cleared. Releasing her hold on his belt, she waited.

  Without looking at her, he spoke over his shoulder. “Keep your eyes on me and when I give the signal, run into that large building. Neal, my second in command, will meet you there. He'll take you to the extraction point."

  "But you...."

  His forceful glare stilled her protest. She gulped, nodded slowly, and pressed back against the wall.

  Chapter Seven

  Time slowed to a crawl as Laurie watched Damien study the fracas outside. She went rigid, forcing herself not to fidget. Minutes dragged. She waited, none to patiently, on the raw edge of her nerves. Suddenly, all hell broke loose. Gunfire erupted from outside the compound. Terrorists scattered, dove for cover, and returned fire. Several fell, never to move again. Several soldiers in American uniforms, Laurie assumed they were Americans, slunk around buildings, moving quickly and quietly.

  Laurie jumped and almost lost her grip on the pistol. She flinched at every explosive shot, her ears ringing constantly. Damien moved stealthily out the door, rifle held ready, and darted across the ground. Laurie eased into his vacated spot, watching him as he gained distance from her. He fired the rifle in a sweeping horizontal arc until he reached the cover of a small wooden building. He looked back at her and jerked his thumb toward the large building on her right.

  She nodded and slipped out the door, struggling with the gut-wrenching sensation of abrupt, dangerous exposure. Ducking slightly, pistol pointed ahead of her, she inched slowly along the wall to the corner. Terrorists ran directly across her path. She cringed back and shot Damien a terrified glance. He held the rifle at his waist, pointed toward her destination. His burst of automatic gunfire scattered the terrorists.

  She sucked in a sharp breath, gathered her meager courage, and ran. Terrorists ran like frenzied cockroaches but Damien was no longer visible. He had left his dubious cover. Terrified and worried, she made her way alone toward the double doors directly ahead of her.

  A terrorist charged around the corner and stopped short, his eyes wide with surprise as he gawked at her. His hesitation cost him. Though her hand shook badly, Laurie raised the gun and squeezed the trigger. The shot cracked like thunder in her ears and she winced. But the terrorist dropped like a stone and did not move.

  She ran through the open doors and halted in her tracks, shocked by the arsenal of rifle, ammunition, handguns, and other things she did not recognize. The firefight raged outside but she inadvertently spent precious seconds gaping at the weaponry.

  "My god,” she said softly, tightening her sweaty grip on Damien's pistol.

  With a violent shake of her head, she dispelled the shock and sped around racks of weapons in the cavernous area. She dashed into a much smaller room, looking for a way out. Except for a cot on one end and a fairly sophisticated computer system, the room was empty. She spied the regular size door at the other end of the room but concentrated on the computer, instead.

  Intently studying the screen, she used the mouse to scroll through dates and notes of targets. Recognizing several recent attacks from news stories, she looked ahead and found references to future plans, including potential targets in the United States.

  "Damn,” she muttered, astonished and angry at the same time. What was it about terrorists and little piss-ant countries that made them think they could take on the United States and win? She snatched the diskette out of the drive, spotted two more next to the keyboard, and grabbed them, as well. She quickly scanned the desk but found nothing else of interest. Without a less destructive alternative, she shoved the diskettes into her back pocket.

  The door crashed back against the inner wall. Her head rang but she whirled and pointed the gun at the intruder. He ducked as she pulled the trigger. She missed but the bullet shattered wood at head level.

  "Don't shoot, Ms. Crawford,” a distinctly American male voice called out calmly.

  Her hand steady as a boulder, she pointed the gun at the door. “Show yourself,” she commanded coldly. The gun did not waver.

  The soldier peeked warily around the doorframe but did not enter. His glance flicked to the splintered wood at his eye level but he made no comment. Laurie took one step back and stared suspiciously at him. He wore an American uniform. Green and black stripes covered his face but there was no mistaking those bright blue eyes. She motioned him forward with a slight flick of the gun barrel. She trusted no one. He hesitated for just a split second then stepped over the threshold, his rifle held ready.

  "Laurie Crawford,” he stated, not seeking confirmation. “I'm Neal Farrell, United States Navy SEALs."

  Now, Laurie hesitated. Though Damien was not a traitor, he had deceived her, after all. Neal lowered his rifle despite her pistol pointed straight at his head. He held out his hand, his bright blue eyes warm and friendly.

  "Come on,” he urged softly. “I'll get you out of here."

  She examined him through critical eyes. He was just under Damien's six feet four inches height, his muscular body tensed for a fight. Warm blue eyes gleamed. He exuded good will and dependability. Trusting him for the moment, she lowered the pistol slightly. She heard his sigh of relief and nearly chuckled at his uncertainty. She put her free hand in his but kept the gun ready. He quickly yanked her behind him and looked out the door.

  "When I move, stay behind me and don't stop,” he whispered over his shoulder.

  He released her hand, aimed his rifle, and fired a sustained automatic burst. Some remaining terrorists scattered under that barrage of gunfire.

  "Stay low,” Neal cautioned then sprinted out of the building.

  After a wild glance around her, Laurie ran after him, barely pausing to snatch up a rifle with a thirty round magazine from a dead terrorist. Flinching at every bullet that whined past her head, she followed Neal's zigzag course until they reached the far edge of the compound and darted into the surrounding trees.

  Laurie stopped and hid behind a tree, struggling to catch her breath. Her lungs burned from unfamiliar exertion and her legs ached. Her feet throbbed as she stared around the tree trunk into the compound. Neal grabbed her hand but she yanked free and studied the violent pandemonium they had left behind.

  Only when she spotted Damien behind a jeep did she realize she was looking for him. He was engaged in a gun battle with a terrorist behind a truck. She shifted her gaze past him. Another terrorist approached, rifle raised. She sucked in a harsh breath and her heart nearly stopped. Damien had lied to her but she would not let him die—not shot in the back by a terrorist coward.

  Behind her, Neal fired several shots at terrorists scrambling between the trees. Laurie dropped the pistol onto the dirt at her feet and raised the unfamiliar rifle. She would forgive him anything if fate would only let her make this shot. She centered the sights on the terrorist behind Damien and pulled the trigger. The blast rang in her abused ears but the terrorist dropped. Damien spared a brief glance over his shoulder then returned to his gunfight.

  Keeping the rifle, eyeing Damien intently, she retrieved the pistol and shoved it into the back of her waistband. The terrorist behind the truck staggered back as red spots bloomed on his chest. He toppled backward and lay still. Satisfied, Laurie turned back to Neal, who stared at her in shocked admiration for a second. With a slow incredulous shake of his head, he grabbed her hand and ran, dragging her behind him. Her heart pumped more adrenaline into her blood, her muscles, and her nervous system as she yanked her hand free.

  The battle sounds faded behind her as she neared a clearing big enough to land a helicopter. Laurie started across it, in search of a hiding place, but Neal snagged her wrist and halted her.

  "Rendezvous point,” he explained, showing no signs of physical exertion.

  Dragging air int
o her burning lungs, Laurie leaned weakly against a tree and waited. Her side hurt like fire from the punishing run. Her legs ached. Her throat felt as though she breathed in razor blades and every breath grated on her ears.

  "Where did you learn to shoot like that?” Neal demanded. Curiosity gleamed in his eyes.

  She shrugged indifferently. “Damien."

  But her heart broke again as she looked up into the cloudless blue sky. The rhythmic thumping of the rotors whipped the air, and her ears, before the helicopter came into sight over the treetops. She let out a ragged sigh and sagged against the tree. The ordeal was finally over.

  Half a dozen soldiers poured out of the trees to converge on the helicopter. A jeep roared into the clearing and screeched to a halt. She barely heard other jeeps among the trees.

  The helicopter rotors stirred up wind and dirt, stinging her bare skin and nearly deafening her. She started to follow Neal toward the helicopter but recognized Damien in the jeep. Her heart soared before she could prevent it. He was alive! He had survived! He jumped down, dragging a bound and gagged man behind him. He handed the prisoner off to a pair of soldiers.

  Inexplicably desperate to make sure he was unharmed. Laurie changed direction and ran toward him. Just as he turned, she plowed into him and threw her arms around him. He caught her in arms of steel and glared down at her.

  "Get the hell out of here!"

  Machine gun fire erupted from the trees. Damien shoved her to the ground so hard the breath erupted from her lungs. Firing rapidly into the trees, he covered her body with his full weight, squashing her into the dirt. The helicopter rose into the sky and hovered. Damien waved it off and it easily outran the gunfire.

  Silence dropped momentarily around them. Struggling for air, she squirmed under him. He was so heavy! He shifted slightly and she nervously met his icy glare.

  "Stay still,” he snarled and slowly rolled off her. “Stay down."

  She flattened herself on the ground and peered anxiously through overgrown grass and weeds. She found nothing but knew beyond a doubt they were surrounded. A burst of excited foreign words shattered the silence. Laurie cringed and gripped the rifle so tight and hard her hand ached.

  Next to her, Damien put a finger to his lips for silence. He pointed to the trees, then her, then himself. ‘Follow me'. She understood. He slithered along the ground, rifle pointed ahead of him.

  Laurie shifted the rifle to her shoulders, slipped the pistol from her waistband, and followed Damien so closely she could reach out and grab his foot. Her anxious gaze stayed riveted to the soles of his boots. Rocks and dirt scraped her stomach but she ignored the discomfort. The rifle, banging on her back, became a nuisance but she loathed relinquishing it.

  They slowly made their way into the thicker cover of the woods. Damien stopped behind a tree, rose to his knees, and quickly scanned the area. Laurie sat back against another tree, staring anxiously at him. He looked back at her, his face grim and dirty. Anger blazed in his eyes. She shrugged.

  But she was not as nonchalant or brave as she wanted to appear. Her heart pounded erratically. Sweaty palms made the pistol slippery in her hand. Adrenaline had her tense, wary, almost lightheaded with the impact of heightened senses. Every sound jerked at her nerves. The sun was hard and brittle rather than warm and comforting.

  A sudden rustle of movement snapped her attention to the right. Damien jerked his thumb down. Laurie dropped, hugging dirt. Damien followed suit just as a terrorist stepped around the tree, practically on top of him. All Damien carried was a rifle, useless in close quarters.

  He grabbed the man's ankle. The terrorist let out a startled yelp. Laurie pointed the pistol and fired. The shot cracked around them and the terrorist toppled backward, a bright stain of blood spreading over his chest.

  Damien looked back at her. Surprise mingled with gratitude in his eyes. He nodded approval. She gave him a triumphant grin. He moved his hands rapidly but his signals meant nothing to her this time. She cocked her head and shrugged. Scowling, he slid back beside her.

  "We have to get to a jeep or we'll never get out of here alive."

  His harsh declaration filled her with stomach churning dread and she shuddered. But his relentless determination not to be defeated strengthened her resolve. She would be reunited with her daughter or die in the attempt.

  But as her gaze rested on Damien, it occurred to her that if she had to die, she would rather be with him than alone or with anyone else. She also realized, interpreting the hard glint in his eyes, Damien had no intention of being a corpse. She nodded her understanding and willing cooperation. A brief gleam entered his eyes then disappeared as he jerked his thumb to the left.

  A few minutes later, carefully dodging terrorists intent on finding and killing them, they studied a jeep from behind a huge tree. A machine gun had been mounted in the back of the jeep. Three men guarded it—two near the gun and one near the driver's seat. They laughed and joked, obviously confident of their quarries’ eventual capture. Damien extended his hand, palm up, his dark eyes warning her to be ready. She slapped the pistol into his hand and nodded curtly, every muscle tensed to spring.

  Damien leaped like a panther from behind the tree and fired three quick shots. Caught flatfooted, the terrorists fell, dead before they hit the ground. Damien lunged forward and jumped behind the steering wheel. Laurie ran and launched herself into the back of the jeep, barely missing the machine gun. She banged her knees and elbows and clamped her teeth on her lower lip to stop the whimpers from the sharp, radiating pain. She would not be a whiny wimp and complicate the situation further. The rifle she miraculously still carried clattered loudly on metal.

  Damien started the engine and the jeep lurched forward. Laurie clutched the rifle and struggled to sit up. Damien drove around the trees until he found the road leading to the terrorist compound. He turned in the opposite direction. Laurie crouched in the back of the jeep, aiming the rifle to the rear.

  Later, confident they were not being followed, Laurie climbed into the front passenger seat. Damien navigated the narrow bumpy road expertly. Laurie leaned back in the seat with a heartfelt sigh of relief. Gradually her breathing slowed and her heartbeat steadied but she trembled with adrenaline let down. She took one look at Damien's forbidding expression and wisely remained silent.

  That evening Damien stopped the jeep in a small village. Fluent in Spanish, much to Laurie's surprise, he got them a room over a local bar. Grim-faced, he led her through the rough, seedy bar and up the stairs to their room. He shoved her inside, followed, and slammed the door shut with a resounding crack.

  Laurie stumbled, caught herself on the edge of an old dresser, and turned slowly to face Damien. He looked furious. He stood just inside the door, arms crossed over his broad chest, pistol on his hip, rifle slung over his shoulder, and stared at her. Trembling, she clutched her rifle to her chest and wondered what he might do to her for causing him to be left behind. His eyes widened in astonishment. His expression softened slightly and he shook his head.

  "She runs through a gun battle and shoots down armed terrorists, then cringes in fear when we're finally safe?” he said softly as he tossed his guns onto the bed.

  Laurie warily tracked his every move as he crossed the room and rounded the corner of the bed. He sat on the floor, his back against the side of the bed. She squirmed under his piercing regard. The room was so small she could touch him if she wanted. And she did want to touch him but kept her two-handed grip on the rifle as though it were a lifeline.

  Delayed reaction slammed into her. The rifle slipped from her hands and she sank to the floor, her back against the rough wooden wall. She drew her knees up to her chin, wrapped her arms around her legs, and cried. Tears streamed from her eyes. Racking sobs shook her shoulders but she did not make a sound.

  Damien's arms slid around her and he pulled her onto his lap. She had not heard him move. Sobbing silently, she cuddled up to him. He rocked her gently until her sobs subsided and she
sagged in his embrace, clutching his shirt. His finger under her chin, he urged her to look up at him. She reluctantly lifted her spiked, damp lashes and met his gaze.

  "Hey,” he said lightly. “You did good."

  He stroked his thumb over her lips. That slight contact warmed and soothed her. She offered him a shaky smile and wiped the remaining tears from her face.

  "I want to go home.” Longing rang in her voice, echoed in her ears, and put an ache in her heart.

  "You will,” he promised. Then he simply stared at her, curiosity darkening his eyes. “Why didn't you get in that helicopter with Neal?"

  She hesitated, her teeth clamped on her lower lip. She had asked herself the same question during their long silent jeep ride. Only one answer circled in her mind. The desperate urge to make sure he was unharmed made her realize she still loved him—but she dared not admit it.

  "You could have escaped,” he persisted.

  She dropped her gaze from the hard gleam in his eyes, unable to formulate a response without admitting her feelings.

  He cupped her face in his hands, tilted her head so she looked into his eyes. His piercing brown stare riveted her. “You killed for me.” He paused. His breath hitched. “Not to protect Stacy or yourself but for me. Why? You could have left me there for whatever you felt I deserved. Damn it! Why?"

  The need to know, to understand, burned fierce in his eyes. She swallowed hard and could not look away. Her feelings meant nothing to him. Tears filled her eyes again. She took the coward's way out and gave him only part of the truth.

  "They would have killed you,” she whispered raggedly. “I didn't want to watch you die."

  His gaze roamed slowly over her face then he lifted his eyes once more to hers. His expression softened and he released her face but kept her in his lap. He traced the faint tracks of her tears with his finger then stroked the curves of her lips. That once familiar warmth stole over her.