Ricochet: Locked & Loaded

by Heather C. Leigh

  RICOCHET

  PART 1

  LOCKED & LOADED

  BY HEATHER C. LEIGH

  Copyright © 2015 Shelbyville for Heather C. Leigh

  All rights reserved.

  Published ebook use only. All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Edition, License Notes

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental

  DEFINITIONS

  Ricochet – (n.) the motion of an object or a projectile in rebounding or deflecting one or more times from the surface over which it is passing or against which it hits a glancing blow. (v.) to bounce off a surface and continue moving in a different direction.

  Locked & Loaded – (adj.) ready to go, weapons loaded and prepared for firing.

  Chapter 1

  ANOTHER ROUND exploded uncomfortably close to the jagged boulders that Rick “Ricochet” Brennan and the half of his Force Recon team had been using as cover while they did surveillance. Rick thought it was pure luck that he was the only one left behind the rock. The rest of his team was spread out to their designated areas along the perimeter of the enemy camp.

  “Jesus, Rick. The RPG’s are getting closer.” His teammate crackled over the communication earpiece.

  “Shut it, Savoy. They don’t know we’re here.” Rick growled as he belly crawled along the cold, hard ground until he could see around the edge of the rock outcropping. Using the government-grade thermal night vision scope of his rifle, he watched the scene below. “Looks like they’re just fucking around, launching RPG’s for fun. Fucking idiots.” Rick whispered so the enemy wouldn’t hear him, not flinching at the sharp gravel that was digging into his elbows. He had been trained to ignore discomfort, even torture, as part of his intense training.

  “I see them.” Dashiell “Dash” Savoy, his radio operator, said over the earpiece that each team member wore. “God, they are fucking around. Shooting off RPG’s in the middle of the night just for hell of it! Stupid and careless.”

  Rick continued his surveillance through the scope. “Better for us that they’re off their game. This will be easy with half of them not paying attention. Plus, the noise of the rockets will provide cover.” He laughed to himself. It was always easier to kill morons than intelligent, well-trained soldiers.

  “What’s our next move, staff sergeant?” Bixby, Rick’s second in command asked. Rick ducked back behind the boulders, his breath puffing in front of him in the cold night air. Before he first joined the Marines, he never would have thought Iraq could be so fucking freezing. He damn well knew better now. He hated this hellhole.

  Without missing a beat, Rick decided on a plan. “Everyone get in place. We’ll meet back at the drop point at,” he checked his watch, “zero-two thirty, assuming the mission is successful.”

  “Got it, staff sergeant.”

  “Alright. Get ready men. We’re up.” Rick gathered up his gear, checking his high-precision sniper rifle before packing the rest into his fifty-pound rucksack. The other men did the same with their weapons, efficiently and silently. The six members of the Force Recon team were well trained and used to working as a single unit after five years together and dozens of successful covert missions.

  Using the thermal scope, Rick studied the enemy soldiers as they horsed around, shoving each other playfully while they loaded up another rocket-propelled grenade. He examined them, counting how many were visible. It was difficult with parts of the camp on fire from the rounds they launched, but doable.

  Satisfied he got their numbers correct, Rick moved into position in his hide sight and checked in with his team.

  “Ricochet, in.”

  “Dash, in.”

  “Austin, in.”

  “Romo, in.”

  “Stone, in.”

  “Woody, in.”

  Everyone was locked and loaded. Rick patiently continued viewing through his scope, knowing that each member of his team was doing the exact same thing. Waiting. Watching. Learning. Ready to take the shot when the opportunity presented itself. Then he saw their target walk out of a dilapidated shack, smiling and smoking a cigarette.

  “Go hot,” Rick whispered into his piece.

  He didn’t need confirmation to know that each Marine had moved their finger to the trigger of their rifle. Their Barrett M107 sniper rifles could hit a target from 1800 meters out and could cut through armor or walls like a knife through butter. With the thermal scopes mounted on them, success was almost guaranteed.

  “Stone, you got sights?” Rick asked his point man. He was the best sniper on the team. Not that every single one of them couldn’t make the shot, but if you could use your best, you did.

  “Negative.” Vic responded. “Fire from the RPG is between me and the target. Can’t get a thermal print.”

  Shit. Rick specifically chose that hide sight for Vic knowing he was their best sniper.

  “I got sights, staff sergeant,” said Bixby.

  “Roger, Bixby. Take your shot when ready.” Rick focused through his sights, waiting for his sergeant to take out the high-ranking rebel leader that had been holed up high in the mountains of Iraq. A man responsible for killing thousands of civilians and ordering dozens of suicide bombs around the Middle East and Europe.

  Rick waited, controlling his breaths so they came evenly, quietly. Patience was an essential part of being a Force Recon Marine. Unfortunately, it was never Rick’s strongest trait. He was naturally restless and twitchy. When on a mission, minutes seemed to take hours, but his body was trained to be still for long periods of time. It was Rick’s mind that never stopped going, which made this part of his job pure torture.

  A single shot echoed across the camp.

  “Target eliminated, staff sergeant.”

  “We’re out,” Rick said, letting his team know it was time to pack up and head for the rendezvous point on the other side of the mountain.

  He couldn’t wait to get the fuck off of this frozen rock. His team parachuted in by helo six days ago, taking four days to hike in, two days to do recon and complete the primary mission. Getting the hell out of here with their intel was priority number one now that the target had been eliminated.

  Vic and Dash were to wait for him two clicks down the mountain’s east side. Then the three of them would trek another eight clicks to the helo pick up point where they would find the other half of their team.

  Just as Rick got to his feet, a loud explosion rocked the camp, sending a fireball thirty feet into the night sky.

  “Man down! Man down!” Romo’s panicked voice crackled through the earpiece.

  “What’s going on?” Rick asked, chills going down his back. He was sweating even though the temperature was close to freezing. No way would he lose a man on this shit stain of a mountain.

  “RPG landed near Bixby. Injury to abdomen, most likely shrapnel,” Romo answered. Rick could hear the panic beneath the man’s steady voice.

  “I’m almost to you. I’ll get your six, you get Bixby out of here,” Michael “Woody” Atwood replied, his breathing heavy through the earpiece. Rick knew that Woody was going full speed towards the injured Bixby. He was the most experienced field medic in the group so it was fortunate that he was closest.

  “Fuck!” Rick cursed. He felt helpless not being able to get to his men. They were his responsibi
lity. “Get Bixby and meet us at the rendezvous. Got it?”

  “Yes, staff sergeant.” He knew his men would rather die than leave Bixby behind. There was no doubt they’d do their damndest to get him out.

  Rick threw his heavy rucksack on his back and turned towards the path down the mountain. A ripple of heat singed the back of his neck at the edge of his helmet a split second before the deafening noise reached him.

  Rick flew through the air, his body shoved up and off of the ground by an invisible hand. When he landed, the wind was knocked out of him, leaving him gasping for air. Rick struggled to get to his feet, but he couldn’t manage to catch his breath. A blinding streak of pain shot through his leg, forcing him to choke down the urge to scream. His mind quickly processed the injury.

  I’m on fire.

  I’m a highly trained lethal weapon, and I’m going to die on this frozen fucking rock. I’ll burn to death because I can’t shake the explosion out of my head or make my fucking legs work.

  The smell of burning flesh hit him at the same time the red-hot sensation in his leg went past pain to excruciating.

  Don’t scream. The rebels will find you if you scream.

  Funny, Rick thought. He knew he wouldn’t survive if he didn’t do something. He had been trained to fight, to survive situations exactly like this, but he was completely and totally helpless.

  When Rick joined the Marines, he thought up a hundred different ways he could be injured or even meet his death. Hell, he thought it was hilarious at the time to come up with new ideas with his fellow recruits. But being rendered completely powerless, unable to fight, was not how Rick wanted to die.

  Chapter 2

  ANNETTE QUINN HARDY hid under the bed in the guestroom, terrified of what would happen if she were found. Trembling, she covered her nose and mouth so she wouldn’t sneeze from the dust bunnies that had collected under the old mattress.

  I’m twenty-three years old, and I’m cowering under a bed.

  A loud crash from the kitchen made Quinn flinch, causing her to hit her head on the metal bedframe. She bit the inside of her cheek, stifling her cry of pain, terrified to give away her hiding place.

  The thunderous noise moved from the kitchen to the family room, every thump and bang resonating throughout the modest ranch house. Heavy boots stomped through each room, echoing in Quinn’s ears. Her pale skin was covered in goose bumps from the terror and adrenaline racing through her veins.

  “Annie! Where the fuck are you, bitch!”

  She shuddered at the sound of his voice, a voice that had tortured her every day for the last two plus years. Her heart was beating so fast it actually hurt in her chest.

  “Woman, you better get your ass out here!”

  Quinn squeezed her eyes shut, escaping the fright by pretending she was back at her father’s house in rural Georgia. In her mind, she could see it as plain as day, her running around barefoot, catching lightning bugs in the big backyard while her dad laughed, snapping pictures of her as she finally caught one and put it in a jar.

  Another loud crash reverberated throughout the single story house, shaking her from her fantasy. Quinn could hear Travis’ heavy boots crunching over broken glass in the family room.

  My daddy’s flag! He wouldn’t.

  “When I find you Annie, you’re gonna regret the day you were born.”

  Quinn curled up into a ball, tucking herself as far back under the bed as she could. She cringed at the sound of her old name. She hadn’t thought of herself as Annie since the day she decided she was going to leave her husband, building a new life in her mind. How had she ever thought that Travis was special? That he was a good man?

  You saw what you wanted to see, Quinn.

  She had wanted a reason to not go back to that tiny town in Georgia like all of her friends, stuck in the middle of nowhere. Travis was a way out and Quinn was stupid. She truly believed he would be her savior, a stand up man she could be proud of.

  Instead, he’s most likely going to kill me someday.

  The footsteps grew louder, her panic increasing with each step. Quinn could hear Travis in the nearby master bedroom, angrily tearing everything out of the closet in his mission to find her.

  “Annie!”

  The hot tears ran down her cheeks. Quinn wiped them away angrily, biting on her hand to muffle the sobs. She hated that Travis made her feel weak, made her feel afraid. The fact that he had this power over her made her sick. Travis controlled everything.

  They lived in rural Texas, halfway between San Antonio and nothing. She didn’t have a car, a phone, or access to money. When her daddy died, she was left alone. She had no other family that would try to find her or worry about her. So much for leaving a small town, Quinn went from the middle of nowhere to the middle of “no one’s ever going to find your body because the nearest house is ten miles away”.

  Alone. Always alone.

  Right now, after living in hell for two years, Quinn would take alone any day of the week. If being with someone meant being with Travis? Alone sounded really really great.

  “You bitch!”

  The door to the guest bedroom slammed open, bouncing off the wall with a loud bang. Quinn trembled with fear, her teeth chattering together so loud she knew Travis had to be able to hear them.

  His scuffed boots appeared in the doorway. Those goddamn boots. How many times had she been kicked by Travis’ beloved cowboy boots? Too many to count. The pointed toes were especially effective at breaking her ribs, not that she’d ever had them x-rayed to know for sure. Travis would never take her to the hospital, because then he’d be found out for the abusive piece of shit he was. Sometimes, Quinn fantasized about putting on those boots and kicking Travis repeatedly in the nuts.

  The boots stopped right next to the bed. God, what she wouldn’t give for a knife right now. To sink it into his leg, hear him howl in pain. She could steal his keys and drive away, leaving his sorry ass behind. As stupid as Quinn thought he was, Travis was too smart to leave anything to chance. He kept every last sharp object locked up so she couldn’t plan anything devious.

  Travis had to know she hated him. He could certainly see it in her eyes every time he looked at her. She couldn’t hide her disgust anymore. She didn’t want to hide it.

  Quinn watched in horror as Travis bent down, his handsome face coming into view from her hiding place. Her pulse drummed wildly, beating so fast she was sure she’d have a heart attack right then and there.

  “There you are. Y’all had me worried, darlin’,” he said in a sugary sweet voice.

  She knew his game. Kind Travis was a trick, designed to make her lower her guard. Then, when she wasn’t expecting it, he’d turn on her and beat the ever-living shit out of her.

  “Fuck you, Trav!”

  Quinn knew she was making it worse by yelling at her husband. Maybe she wanted to die. No, that wasn’t true. She wanted to live, just not here with Travis. Death would be preferable to this.

  “Don’t be that way, Annie. Come out darlin’. I’ve missed you.”

  “Leave me alone!”

  Travis stood up. Was he going to leave? Quinn knew better, but that damn emotion— hope, got her every time.

  Suddenly, she was no longer under the bed. Travis had flipped the mattress and box spring over and onto the floor, leaving her exposed beneath the metal slats of the frame. Quinn ducked, but Travis was faster. He reached out and grabbed her by her hair.

  “Get out of there, bitch. You know better than to fucking hide from me!”

  Quinn cried from the pain that sliced across her scalp as Travis dragged her out from under the bed.

  “Stop Travis! You’re hurting me!”

  “Shut up!”

  He yanked her out of the bedroom, never letting go of the length of dark hair he had wrapped around his fist. Travis flung her to the floor of the living room, flipping her to her back and putting one of those goddamn boots on her throat before she could move.

  Quinn kne
w he could kill her if he applied enough pressure to crush her windpipe. Her lungs began to burn from the lack of oxygen. Black spots appeared in the periphery of her vision. She scrabbled to get a hold of his foot with both hands, using all of her strength to try to push him off. Nothing happened, he didn’t even flinch.

  This is it. He’s going to kill me this time.

  “You think you can beat me? You’re weak! You’re a useless piece of shit, Annie. The only thing you’re good for is fucking.”

  Travis finally lifted his foot and Quinn gasped, sucking in huge gulps of precious air. She rolled to her side, coughing and sputtering as she wheezed through her raw throat. Quinn clawed at the carpet, trying to put some distance between her and her husband. She recoiled when he laughed at her, a cruel, taunting laugh that rattled her to her bones.

  Quinn cried out when her palm slipped on a shard of glass, ripping her hand open from pinky to thumb. She saw the remnants of her daddy’s flag case scattered across the floor. The American flag presented to her at his funeral by the Marine detail that carried his casket, lying forgotten on the carpet.

  “You bastard!” Quinn screamed.

  Her vision clouded with rage, she snatched up a piece of glass and lunged for Travis. Quick as a snake, his huge hand easily caught her wrist, squeezing until Quinn was sure her bones would snap in half. The weapon fell out of her hand, uselessly clattering to the floor.

  Travis backhanded her— hard — and her head hit the floor, bouncing off of the strewn remains of her father’s flag case. His fist reared back and landed on her face. Stars exploded behind her eyelids in an overwhelming wave of pain.

  Quinn simultaneously wished she’d blackout so this could end and that she would stay awake so she could fight.

  “I’m going to teach you, Annie. You’ll learn who’s boss in this house.”