Power Game

by Christine Feehan

  Take them out quietly, Ezekiel ordered and signaled to the others to stay still.

  Gino and Draden moved up the wall and across the ceiling like a couple of spiders. Neither was a particularly small man, but it was difficult to see them in the dark of the room as they crossed into the next room where the two terrorists lay in wait. The two GhostWalkers slid down the wall behind the enemy. In seconds it was over and they signaled to Ezekiel and Mordichai that it was all clear.

  Ezekiel scented blood and infection ahead and to his right. He indicated the direction to Gino. Gino shook his head and indicated the room veering off to their left. He held up three fingers. Ezekiel understood. Three enemies lying in wait.

  Tell me what's in the room with the hostages.

  Gino switched his attention for just a moment. Four guards. They've got knives to the throats of the hostages.

  Ezekiel swore. Hell. They knew it wasn't going to be easy. He indicated the room veering off to their left. The four GhostWalkers approached silently in formation. They stood to the side of the door. Gino exploded into a kick, taking the thin door from its frame as Ezekiel tossed in the flash bang. The enemy began firing blindly, but all four GhostWalkers had already chosen their targets and shot them.

  Fuck. Draden spat the word as they turned toward the room with the hostages. So far they hadn't been in the building longer than a minute forty-five seconds.

  You hit?

  A scratch. Just kissed my arm.

  You're getting slow, Sandman, Ezekiel said, pausing to look him over as they approached the room where the scent of blood was strongest. He slapped a bandage on Draden's arm to stop the blood flow.

  What's the plan, Zeke? Gino asked.

  Four of us, four of them. I say we just shoot the fuckers and be done with it. Gino, tell us exactly where they are.

  Gino pulled the image of the room into his mind. Bed is in center of room. All three hostages are sitting on the bed; one is slumped over. All four bad guys are behind the bed. They have guns on the bed but knives to their throats. Stupid. He gave exact positions and as long as no one moved, they were golden.

  They used the same entry, tossing the flash bang and following it in. They were expert marksmen and they each hit their target. Two to the chest and one to the head. One man's hand jumped, and the hostage, one of the Indonesians, yelped, but all four enemies fell backward, knives clattering to the floor.

  Ezekiel was on the hostages immediately, bandaging what he could and evaluating them for travel. The American and one Indonesian looked in bad shape. The American would need immediate attention. The third Indonesian was far more alert and clearly he'd been trying to help the other two. All three had been tortured. The smell of infection, urine and feces was potent in the room. There were rats everywhere and a bucket in the corner that they had been using as a toilet. Ezekiel was gentle as he prepared them for travel.

  "We'll get you out of here. It's gonna hurt, but we'll get you to the boat and then give you medical attention."

  He glanced over the American's head, his eyes meeting Draden's. It didn't look good. Aside from looking as if he'd been beaten and dragged, he had a knife wound and clearly a punctured lung. He was fighting for air. They needed to get a vein before every vein collapsed, but they didn't have the luxury of doing that until they were in the boat. Draden was the best he knew when it came to collapsing veins and getting a needle in when helicopters or boats were pitching wildly, or a firefight was on top of them. Already, outside, the sound of gunfire was constant and growing intense.

  Ezekiel, Mordichai and Draden each took a hostage, hoisting them over their shoulders while Gino led the way through the house to the rear entry where they were going to bring out the hostages. Gunfire erupted around the corner of the building when Gino stepped out. He dropped to his belly and fired off three quick rounds. Delta team was already on it, clearing the way for them.

  The three teams collapsed in on themselves, keeping the GhostWalkers with the hostages in the center as they ran for the river. Around them, the enemy closed in, trying to surround them. The SEALs and Kopaska returned fire as they moved to wait for the boats.

  Brad Henderson went down, one of the SEALs Ezekiel had worked with more than once, his leg going out from under him. The bullet spun him around and he swore as a second bullet hit. He went down on his side. He was a good man and a fighter. He struggled to rise, blood pouring from his thigh and buttocks, pain on his face. He kept laying down a hail of bullets, providing cover fire as the others settled into a defensible position, waiting for the boats to get to them. Two of his buddies turned back, one spraying the nest of the enemy with his M240L machine gun as the other one dragged Brad to his feet and got them moving again.

  Mordichai applied a tourniquet to Henderson's leg and slapped a bandage on his butt while Ezekiel called for extraction.

  "Wolf Pack, this is Liberator. We are heavily engaged. Need extraction."

  "Liberator, this is Wolf Pack. Make sure everyone is marked. We are inbound."

  "Roger, Wolf Pack is inbound."

  He took one moment to ensure his men had complied. In the heat of battle he didn't want anyone forgetting to make certain their strobes were engaged. They covered the hostages but continued to engage the enemy. The terrorists outnumbered them, but they'd hit hard and fast, getting in so quickly and retrieving the hostages, the SEALs and Kopaska warriors doing their jobs, thinning the ranks of the enemy and providing a route back to the extraction site. Circling the hostages, they faced every direction, bullets coming in from everywhere while they picked their targets and did as much damage as possible.

  They could hear the roar of the eight hundred horsepower-driven boats as they thundered up the river coming to their aid. As the SWCC crew got to the extraction site, Ezekiel yelled for everyone to get down and tossed the red smoke that would tell the crew exactly where to bring in the boats.

  "Wolf Pack, this is Liberator. Bring the rain!"

  With that the boat crews opened up with everything they had. Each boat carried two 7.62MM mini-guns that fired six thousand rounds per minute as well as two MK19 40MM grenade launchers that could fire forty rounds per minute. It was deafening and awe inspiring. After one minute the crew of the first boat stopped firing in order to allow the men to board.

  Ezekiel and the other GhostWalkers lifted the hostages and made a run for the boat. Behind him, just as in training, the six SEALs hustled into the boat as fast as humanly possible. Every second they delayed meant a delay for the others to get aboard the other boat.

  The moment they were in place, the crew changed positions. The second boat that had continued firing stopped and nosed into the bank, allowing its passengers to load while the other boat took up firing to cover them. Ezekiel had been extracted from a hot zone several times by the SWCC crews, but it never failed to amaze and awe him, the skills the crew had and the sheer efficiency with which they worked. They were all business, moving together like a well-oiled machine. The guns thundered all around them, the bank with its trees and shrubs disappearing in a haze of smoke.

  When they were all loaded, the boat crews now launched smoke grenades, and as they sped away the .50 caliber machine gunners on the back of the boats opened up. The craft raced away at over forty MPH, bouncing everyone around while the GhostWalker PJs began treating the wounded.

  "Draden, I need you," Ezekiel called. There was no way, in the moving boat, bottom slapping hard on the surface of the water as they roared away, he could get a collapsing vein on the American. Draden was the only chance the man had. Even Draden's skills were being challenged as he worked to place an IV into the hostage they hadn't been able to treat while on location.

  Ezekiel and Mordichai worked on the other two hostages. One of the Indonesians was in nearly as bad a shape as the American and Ezekiel had to fight to get a vein, but he managed in spite of the wildly bouncing boat. While Ezekiel was getting the vein, Mordichai was stripping off the filthy shirt to get to the see
ping wounds on the man's chest. Ezekiel flinched when he saw the infection. Not only saw it, but smelled it in spite of the open air they were in.

  Gino put quick-clot and a bandage on the bullet wounds to Brad Henderson's thigh and buttocks. "You doing okay?" It wasn't a through and through and the bullet would have to be dug out. Just not there on the boat. They'd wait until they were in the air.

  Despite his sickly color, Henderson gave him a thumbs-up. His two buddies stayed to either side of him, protecting him, even as their weapons were ready to help defend the boat should it be necessary. Henderson was going to get razzed big time about getting shot in the ass, but right at that moment, his friends were all about protecting the hostages as well as their buddy.

  "Captain," Draden called, "need you now."

  Ezekiel switched places immediately, leaving the Indonesian to Mordichai. The American was having trouble breathing, his chest heaving as he tried to draw in air. Ezekiel put a calming hand on the patient and made the call to the Indonesian Marines at the staging area.

  "Safe Haven, Safe Haven, this is Liberator. We're coming in with three wounded. All three are in bad condition, but we have one needing immediate assistance. We'll need the room." He gave the condition of each hostage and the injured SEAL and then orders to have what he needed waiting for him.

  "Safe Haven understands. Liberator, are you coming in hot?"

  Ezekiel glanced over his shoulder. There was no boat in pursuit close, but in the far distance a couple appeared to be coming toward them.

  "Negative, Safe Haven. Liberator is not engaged at this time. Believe we will have company very soon."

  The big guns were silent, the crew saving ammunition while the enemy boats were too far away, but they were ready and it showed on their faces.

  "Prep him for surgery the moment we get into the warehouse," Ezekiel said to Draden. "We'll get him stable and then take him with us. Either that or I'll have to stay behind." That was the last thing he wanted to do, but he wasn't leaving the hostage behind where someone could possibly get to him in a hospital. The man had suffered enough. He was American and Ezekiel had the job of bringing him home.

  Draden glanced over his shoulder at the pursuing boats. The Marines would hold any terrorists off the docks, and the SWCC crews would use their boats to help, but staying and trying to work on their patient for any length of time would endanger everyone. They had no choice if they were going to save the man.

  The moment the boats arrived at the staging area docks, the Indonesian Marines were there with stretchers in hand. Ezekiel and Draden ran with a stretcher toward the old broken-down warehouse to the right of the dock on the edge of the island.

  Other Marines stood by to help guard the docks while one boat unloaded and the other watched the river, weapons ready. The SEALs and Kopaska soldiers spread out to help the Indonesian Marines defend the area from the terrorists coming toward them in their boats. The SWCC boats hurriedly left the dock to get into a better position to defend against the enemy.

  Draden was a good anesthesiologist--the best as far as Ezekiel was concerned. Right now, Ezekiel was certain the American had a collapsed lung and was fighting to keep air moving through the other lung. Putting in a chest tube without anesthesia would hurt like hell. His patient was very lucky Draden was with them.

  They ran alongside the gurney to the dilapidated warehouse. "We'll get you home in one piece," he assured the hostage. "I'm going to have to put in a tube so you can breathe. I won't lie, it's going to hurt, but once I have it in, we can transport you, get you to the carrier and I can take care of the problem."

  The man nodded, his gaze clinging to Ezekiel as if he was his last hope--and he was. That was the scary part. Ezekiel never let himself think about failing or making mistakes. In his case, if he didn't get the job done, someone died. He knew while he was caring for his patient, Mordichai and Gino were seeing to the wounded SEAL and the Indonesians had taken possession of the other two hostages. The Marines had set up the room as best they could with the equipment they had.

  "Captain, I've got both lidocaine and ketamine in my trauma backpack," Draden informed Ezekiel. All of the PJs carried their trauma backpacks with their basic equipment of needles, IV catheters and chest tubes.

  "In high doses, ketamine works as an anesthetic. It doesn't suppress the respiratory system, but it can cause hallucinations, vivid nightmare-like dreams. For a short period of time it can produce increased salivation, increased heart rate and elevated blood pressure, but I think this is best for him."

  "Do it." Ezekiel didn't hesitate. He'd rather work with Draden as an anesthesiologist than anyone else. He trusted him with his patient's life just as he did with his own.

  Draden was already using the vein to get his patient under as fast as possible.

  "The knife wound is deep." Ezekiel felt as grim as his voice. Outside the firefight continued as the Marines, SEALs and SWCCs kept the enemy off of them in order to give the American hostage a chance to live.

  Ezekiel applied an occlusive dressing--an air-and watertight seal--to the wound. Made with a waxy coating, it provided a seal other bandages couldn't. The dressing would keep additional air from being sucked in through the wound. His movements were fast and efficient, his hands rock steady. He'd done this many times out in the open, bullets hitting around him, without Draden to put the patient under. It was very, very painful, but without the lifesaving technique, he knew the patient wouldn't last until they could get to a hospital.

  He used an eighteen gauge IV catheter for the decompression, placing it in the intercostal space between the second and third ribs along the mid costal line--halfway between the sternum and side. He removed the needle, leaving the catheter. Instantly there was a hissing sound as the pleural space was decompressed. It was temporary but very necessary.

  They placed the patient in a supine position with his arm up so his hand was above his head. Identifying the fourth and fifth ribs, they quickly prepped the area. Ezekiel glanced at Draden, who nodded. He was barely keeping the patient under. It would hurt, but not like in the field without him.

  Ezekiel made the incision quickly and inserted the curved clamp into the muscle tissue to spread the fibers and then used his own finger to develop a track. Once he hit the rib, he angled the clamp just over the rib to continue the dissection. He found the pleural, inserted his finger and explored for adhesions. Attaching a large bore 36F chest tube onto the clamp, he passed it along the track to the pleural cavity. He had to stitch very carefully to ensure it was held in place. He used a Heimlich valve--a one-way valve--to stop air from coming in through the tube when the man inhaled.

  Ezekiel reexamined his patient to make certain everything was working properly, nodded to Draden and the waiting Marines and hurried out to release the Kopaska soldiers to accompany their countrymen home so they could get back to their home base and take the wounded hostages to the hospital. As he did so, the SEALs let loose with an AT-4 rocket, blowing the enemy boat out of the water.

  It sounded like thunder, and then the night was lit up with orange and red flames, a shower of flaming debris falling into the river. The SWCC boats returned to the dock and the SEALs and GhostWalkers once more took up their positions, this time with their wounded hostage.

  The boat crews headed off with all of them, making the fifteen-mile trip out to the ocean to rendezvous with two Chinook helicopters. The GhostWalkers took their two patients up first, and the SEALs followed them, climbing what looked like a precarious swaying ladder up into the helicopters.

  The boat crew rigged special lifting harnesses to their vessels while the helicopters hovered over them. When they descended to just a few feet above the boats, the crewmen attached the harnesses to the hooks on the bottom of the aircraft. The helicopters lifted the boats from the water for the thirty-minute flight to the waiting amphibious assault ship USS Makin Island.

  There were several operating rooms aboard the ship, and the American was taken to one
while the SEAL was immediately taken to the other. Ezekiel did surgery on the American, while Draden took care of the SEAL. Both patients were then airlifted to a tertiary hospital while Ezekiel and the other soldiers were put on a plane back to Stennis.

  Only when they were heading home did Ezekiel allow himself to relax. He'd come full circle. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, weariness in every bone and muscle in his body, yet sleep was elusive. As a rule, he could sleep anywhere, anytime. He'd learned to do that over the years of adrenaline and gunfire, but now, his mind was filled with Bellisia. He couldn't think about anything else. If he was being entirely truthful with himself, he was maybe a little obsessed. If any of his brothers had brought home a woman and claimed she was the one in such a short time, he would have laughed his head off, after he beat the shit out of him and hopefully some sense into him. Then Ezekiel would have told him he was a complete idiot.

  He'd never expected to have a woman of his own or a chance at a family. He loved what he did. He belonged with the GhostWalkers. He saved lives and he helped his brothers. He was good with that, but truthfully, he was lonely. Somewhere inside where he'd never looked, he had wanted more for himself. He wanted a woman to walk with him. To look at him with love in her eyes. To do the little things like rock a child on the front porch, raise her head and smile at him over dinner, hold his hand when they walked somewhere together.

  It sounded a little pathetic to him, and he was grateful the others couldn't read his mind. He'd never thought about holding a woman's hand. Bellisia was small. Delicate even. She looked fragile, but he knew she wasn't. Still, her physical body was small and fragile. How the hell would that work? He wasn't a small man and at his best he was still rough. He'd learned life on the streets, fighting with his fists for food and a space in abandoned buildings for his brothers to rest. To call home. That hadn't left a lot of room for gentle.

  What if she hadn't stayed? There really wasn't a good reason for her to stay. His mind kept looping back to that no matter how hard he tried to stay focused on the here and now. Be present. What was the use of getting upset over something that was outside his control? It was just that if she was gone, she was gone for good. He'd never find her.