Boned 3 (Mandarin Connection Book 6)

by Stephanie Brother

  My thoughts whirling, my feelings bounce around in my chest, and my heart feels as though it is going to explode, it’s pounding so hard.

  Stephan, sensing my distress, tries to calm me.

  He rubs my back, massaging my shoulders and putting his warm hands on the small of my back.

  He presses me gently there, and I can feel warmth rushing through me.

  He puts his fingers under my chin and lifts my tear-stained face to his.

  He gently kisses my lips and then hugs me even more tightly.

  “Baby Doll, it’s only just started,” he whispers.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Gunfire is all around me.

  I am with the Alpha Team, standing behind a yellow line, watching as they are engaged in a live-fire drill.

  I am wearing some hearing and eye protection and trying to take in all the excitement.

  My hair is done up in a pony and sticks out the back of my baseball cap.

  Out on the range, holes are appearing as if by magic in the silhouette targets the men are firing upon.

  Lots of little holes, all grouped very tightly, as the drill continues.

  “Cease fire!” yells the Range Safety Officer.

  “All weapons to be made safe, check each other! Guns down!” he shouts.

  The Alpha Team goes through the motions of safing their guns, and then place them on the shooting tables in front of each man.

  “Range is cold! I repeat range is cold! No hot weapons!” says the RSO.

  “Travis, come over here a minute,” Karl shouts down the line.

  Travis comes walking up to us, a mountain of a man.

  His long dreadlocks frame his huge smile, his white teeth showing.

  “What is it, Karl? I see you’ve brought our special project out for a look-see, eh, mon?” he says.

  I’m a bit put off by the term ‘special project’, but Travis is such a friendly and nice man, and a good friend, that I suppress the urge to bite his head off and stick my tongue out instead.

  “Nice tongue, Rachel! And, I hope you keep it civil, as well!” he jokes.

  “Rachel is here to begin her training, Travis, and the Old Man wants you to be her Instructor for small arms,” Karl says.

  “I didn’t think this was something Rachel was cleared to perform, mon?” Travis says, looking concerned. “Especially so soon after?”

  “The timetable is accelerating, Travis, and we have a deadline now,” Karl explains.

  “The Old Man wants us to meet up with Buck in five days, and Rachel needs to be brought up to speed on some of the finer points,” he says.

  “Five days?” Travis exclaims.

  “Impossible! Mon, you know our typical team recruit takes fifteen months of training, and that’s just hand-to-hand! How in de fuck am I supposed to do that in five fuckin’ days, mon?” Travis yells, lapsing into his Jamaican dialect.

  I giggle.

  Travis is usually the most laid-back, refined and in-control man you’d ever meet.

  When Randy was killed, I thought Travis was going to pine away to nothing.

  Yet, he manages, day by day, to both remember and honor his friend.

  Travis is a tough hombre, and not one anyone would try to fuck over.

  Karl sighs, and pushes me over towards Travis.

  “Pay attention, Rachel. Meld if you need to, preferably with Bone for now,” he says.

  “Do exactly what Travis tells you to do, no joking around, okay? This is serious business, Rachel,” he says.

  Karl is worried.

  I can tell by how he looks at me, and around the range.

  We’re all on edge after the ambush.

  Captain Spalding had to recruit fifty new people, after the events that led to my ‘death’.

  Some of them are on the range, now, and the Alpha Team are training with them, to make sure that we can’t be attacked in that way again.

  But, I know what’s on Karl’s mind, and I don’t even have to Meld with him,

  He knows that trust is a hard thing to come by these days.

  And, he knows that I have to trust my stepbrothers, even after all the lies they’ve told me.

  —————

  “Okay, Missy, let’s get started, then,” says Travis.

  We are on the combat range, where Travis is going to give me some one-on-one lessons.

  I feel like one of those Barbie dolls, but I am all accessorized with gun crap and not shoes or makeup.

  I’ve got on camouflaged pants and a black t-shirt with some kind of Kevlar fabric.

  I’m wearing my ball cap, glasses, and ear plugs.

  My camo pants have big pockets, and on my vest, I have pouches for magazines of bullets.

  There’s a bunch of guns on the table in front of me.

  There are some handguns and a couple of longer ones.

  One of them has what looks like a can of hairspray welded onto the front.

  There’s all manner of doodads on them, like flashlights or telescopes and things.

  I have no real idea what all of it is, or what it’s for, and I really could care less.

  I don’t like guns, I never have.

  I mean, yeah, my steps have all gone hunting, or shot skeet or gone target shooting, I guess.

  But me?

  I’ve never even had a water pistol.

  I hate guns, to be totally honest.

  They’re scary and loud and dangerous.

  —————

  The attack on our group at the Marina Bay Sands still makes me shake whenever I think about it.

  All those guns going off inside the rooms, the explosive sounds, the people dying.

  It gives me nightmares, even when I am awake.

  And, poor Randy!

  I remember Kevin, shooting his Kimber .45 at the bad guys, grinning and then angry when one of those bullets shattered the glass of Maker’s Mark he’d been drinking.

  How odd!

  I remember all the pain, and the blood, and the smoke, and how I first saw Bone across the room, his beard making him look funny.

  I remember the loud noise of that final explosion, and the glimpses of the people I loved, bleeding, trying to escape the carnage.

  I hate all that fear and the feeling of helplessness.

  And, now, these guys think I’m just going to become Annie Oakley or Nikita or something?

  —————

  “Safety first, Missy!” Travis starts.

  I love his voice, a deep resonating bass that has hints of comical mischief buried in it.

  I listen as he goes through his list of things not to do, and how dangerous guns are, and blah blah blah.

  Suddenly, Travis looks at me with an intense gaze.

  “Rachel, I need to know you are paying attention. This is not a game, ok?” he says, very seriously.

  Without a word, I pick up one of the pistols from the table, and expertly shove it into my leg holster, not even looking.

  Then, I grab six boxy magazines and stuff them into the pockets on my vest.

  Then, I see this ugly black rifle thing on the table.

  I don’t know what it’s called, some kind of assault weapon thingie.

  I reach out and pick it up, sliding the sling around my neck and waist, and racking the action, checking it for any live rounds.

  I pick up another magazine from the table and jam it into the gun.

  Travis is dumbfounded, not able to speak.

  He is poised to react, in case I do something crazy, I guess.

  I watch as Travis is standing beside me, getting ready to grab the gun away from me.

  Without thinking, I get into a combat crouch, check for obstacles, make sure I have a clear line of sight to the target, and yell out “Range hot! Target acquired! Commence engagement! Now! Fire! Fire! Fire!”

  I rack the slide, chambering a round.

  I line up the target, focusing on the crosshairs in the scope.

  When the sights are alig
ned, I begin to squeeze off rounds.

  The first three go into the same hole, wiping out the “X” in the center of the bullseye.

  Flipping the selector switch to “F”, I reacquire my target.

  I shoot out the little black center of the target, in about three seconds, on full automatic fire.

  The last round flips out of the chamber, and I instinctively whip another magazine into the well, yell “Clear!” and then “Range hot! Fire! Fire! Fire!”

  The next thirty bullets go into the same hole on the now ragged target.

  I leap up, run to the cover barrier, ejecting the empty mag and slapping a new one in place as I crouch down again.

  “Range hot! Fire! Fire! Fire!” I yell.

  The rifle empties, and I drop it, the sling holding it just off the ground, as I pull my pistol from its leg holster.

  “Range hot! Fire! Fire! Fire!” I yell one final time.

  This time, I shoot at a silhouette of a bad guy.

  When I slide my pistol back into the holster, without even glancing down, the eyes and nose are obliterated by my shots.

  “Range safe! All weapons to be made cold!” I say.

  I empty the weapons of their magazines, setting everything down onto the table, the slides open for inspection.

  I smile at Travis, sweetly.

  “What the fuck was that?” he says.

  “Target practice?” I say innocently.

  “Where did you learn all that?” he asks me.

  “I have no idea. In fact, until five minutes ago, I’ve never held a gun in my entire life!” I reply.

  Suddenly, I feel afraid.

  “Travis, I don’t know how I know how to do that! I swear I don’t even like guns!” I say.

  My bottom lip is trembling, and the tears are close.

  I am confused and scared.

  Is this what happens when I Meld?

  Did I know all of this from just that one joining with Karl, Stephan, and Bone?

  “Rachel, it’s okay, it’s okay,” Travis says.

  He’s puzzled, but not really anxious.

  “Must be de nanobutts,” he mutters.

  My tattoo, I just noticed, is glowing.

  —————

  The next few days we just train on different scenarios, with Travis simply telling me the situation, and then standing back and letting me go to it.

  It’s scary at first.

  How I just know exactly what I need to do, which weapon to use, how to use it.

  Why do I know that a shadow over there means the bad guy is hiding just there, and that I can counter it in any of four distinct ways?

  Why do I know how to throw flashbang grenades?

  —————

  Today we are playing a simulated assault on an enemy compound.

  We all have training guns that shoot paint pellets, but they sting!

  It’s me, Travis and Walt against five Black Dog operators!

  We play a simple capture the flag game, in an abandoned warehouse training range.

  The game starts, and we start running and gunning.

  As we play, I know just how many rounds I have left, and how many each of my adversaries has.

  Walt, Travis and I use hand signals to communicate our intentions, and how many bad guys we see, where they are, and what they are using.

  Two Black Dog guys jump us from behind cover, and one of them hits Walt in the shoulder.

  Travis and I double-tap them before they know what hit them.

  Walt is officially required to retire from the game, as a ‘wounded’ player.

  Travis and I keep leapfrogging, getting closer to the objective.

  Another duo of Black Dog men try to get us in a crossfire, but Travis hits the one and takes him out before being hit by the other one.

  I tag him out with a double-tap and then move to the final goal.

  I can see the ‘enemy’ flag, sitting on top of a Mercedes.

  Looking for any adversary targets, I see none.

  I creep up to the side of the car.

  Glancing inside, I see someone in the back seat and double-tap him.

  That’s all five!

  “Yeehaw!” I crow, jumping on the hood and grabbing the flag, waving it around in victory.

  Suddenly, there is a stinging burn on my left ass cheek.

  I look down to see Captain Spalding, lying in the trunk of the Mercedes.

  He’s smiling at me, holding the flag of our team.

  “I got it when you guys lost Walt. Too bad, so sad, cupcake!” he says with glee.

  “Hey! That’s cheating, you bastard! There’s only supposed to be five on a team!” I scream at him, angrily.

  “Yeah, you capped an innocent bystander, Rachel,” he says.

  In horror, I look to see Bone rising up from the back seat.

  “Ya got me, ya lousy coppah!” he mocks, in a Jimmy Cagney voice.

  “Right in the heart, too!” he adds somberly.

  “Twice.”

  I give them both the finger.

  Travis and Walt laugh with the other assholes, but I fail to see anything funny in this situation.

  Bone helps me down from the roof of the car, gently taking the flag from me.

  I shove him and toss my paintball gun to Travis, who snatches it out of the air without a thought.

  “Asses!” I murmur.

  Sticking my tongue out at them, I decided to storm off and take a bath.

  A lady has her priorities, after all.

  —————

  Later that week, when we do one-on-one tactical training, it’s me against the Alpha Team.

  This time, it doesn’t go so well for them.

  The situation scenario is an airport terminal, with the bad guys getting ready to hijack a plane.

  I am on the plane, and the rest of them are trying to ‘kill’ me and steal it, so they can use it to carry a nuke to blow up a city or some such stupid shit.

  Seriously, who is the dumbass who thinks up these things? ‘Scenarios’…what a laugh.

  Anyway, I’m on the plane, sitting in coach, near the back, unarmed, can you believe it?

  Because TSA, right?

  And, cheap fares!

  I decide I will be cool, and wait until they start boarding the plane, and then take them out.

  Only, what happens is that Travis and Walt (who are bad guys this time) are the fucking pilots!

  Great! Inside job!

  Okay, Rachel, think.

  Travis and Walt come into the plane, carrying their pilot's bags, and sit down in the cockpit.

  They take guns out of their bags and inform the ‘passengers’ (that’s me!) that this is a high jacking.

  Five more Alpha Team guys run onto the plane, and I can hear some shouting and guns being cocked.

  Since I am in the back, I am able to slide unseen into the galley area.

  No, there aren’t any weapons here, unless you count the plastic utensils.

  But, there is an emergency escape!

  And, there is an oxygen canister.

  I use the drink cart to conveniently block access to the galley, taking all the high test alcohol bottles that I can carry.

  I look for and find some meals, and lucky me, they are covered in aluminum foil!

  I find the microwave, and rig it so that the timer is set for ten seconds.

  Using the oxygen and the booze bottles, I put it all together so the microwave will ignite the mix.

  Then, I open the emergency escape, and jump into the rear bathroom, barely closing the door.