“You’ve always been a patient person,” Jake noted. And then he grinned. “Even with your red hair.”
Snorting softly, Morgan appreciated his praise. These quiet times with Jake were going to end shortly, and she would miss them. “My red hair symbolizes my passion for life, for what I feel is worth fighting for.”
“A banner for sure. What’s the longest sniper shot you’ve ever taken out in the field?” Jake knew everyone graduating from SEAL sniper school was expected to hit a target at a thousand yards and nail it. However, school shooting and then taking those skills out into the real world were markedly different. Wind direction, weather, the barometric pressure and so many other variables all fell into whether a sniper could hit his or her target. One shot, one kill, was the maxim, although it might take two shots. Or even three.
“I nailed an al Qaeda regional leader at eleven hundred yards.” She lifted her chin and held his gaze. “What about you? What’s your longest shot?”
“I took out a Taliban leader at twelve hundred yards. The wind was a key player. I missed the first shot but dropped him on the second round.”
“The wind,” she muttered. “God, how I hate the wind. It’s the worst variable of all. And in these mountains, it makes getting a shot ten times tougher.”
“Yeah, that’s the truth. Mountains make their own weather, and wind patterns change in a heartbeat. In school, what was your final graduation score?” There was a possible one thousand points a student sniper could earn. In Jake’s class, no one got close to that number. He was curious about the women going through the training. Had they been better or worse scores than the men?
“I made nine hundred. The other women were in the high eight hundreds.”
“That’s a damn fine score, Morgan.” And it was. Very few male students made the nine-hundred range. It spoke of her abilities and Jake began to understand why she’d been picked for this op.
“What was your graduation score, Ramsey?”
“Eight seventy-five. Nowhere near yours.”
“That’s a good score.”
Jake shrugged. “I wanted it to be better, but things happened in the class. I had one sniper student on a stalk move suddenly in front of me. The instructor watching the field where we were hiding and stalking. He caught movement of the taller grass. He didn’t sight the student, but he found me instead. I was so pissed.”
“That doesn’t seem right,” Morgan said, feeling for him. She knew how important those scores were. The best snipers got the best assignments. And Jake was a relentless type A who always strove to be the best. It was simply in his genes.
“It wasn’t,” Jake growled. “After the stalk, I cornered the guy, a Marine, and I told him if he ever tried anything like that again on me, I was going to field-strip him like a sniper rifle.”
“And?”
“He took my threat to heart. By the end of the schooling, we were good friends. We are to this day.”
“So, you must have picked it up out in the field? Otherwise, you wouldn’t have been chosen for this op.”
“Yeah, once I got out in the field, I excelled.”
“Does it bother you to shoot a human?”
Hearing the guarded emotion in her tone, Jake held her serious expression. “No. I’m taking out a bad guy who’s killing a lot of innocent people, not to mention, our military people. You?”
Shrugging, Morgan put the finishing touches on the scope, satisfied it was as clear as it was going to get. “I’ve always looked at it this way, Jake. If I take a bad guy down, that means he’s not going to threaten another village, kill the men and bury IEDs for the children to step on.” Her mouth compressed as she thought about the next words. “Like you, if I take out one of these monsters, it means American soldiers may get to go home to their wives and children. I’m the fulcrum point between the bad guys and the good guys.”
Nodding, Jake rasped, “It’s the same for me.”
Morgan laid the scope aside after putting it back into the protective pouch that was padded as well as rainproof. “I want Khogani. I want to take the shot that kills that murdering son of a bitch.” She stood up, slid her hands against her thighs and looked out the window. “I’m going to stay with Roya again. You okay with that?” The sun had set and darkness was nearly complete.
Jake nodded. “Go ahead, but wear your helmet and NVG gear? It’s dark outside.”
“I will. Too bad the boys coming back earlier with the goat herds didn’t spot Khogani.”
Jake grimaced. “Yeah, but I can feel the bastard is nearby. Watching.”
“I’ll get my gear and leave. My radio will be on. Have a good night,” she said, rubbing her neck.
Jake would reassemble the rifle shortly. Everything was clean. He knew that Roya and Morgan were very close, and he wanted her to be able to spend one more night with the woman and her sickly daughter. “Stay safe out there….”
Night had fallen. If not for the grainy green that Morgan could see through her NVGs, night-vision goggles, after turning them on, she wouldn’t be able to see her hand in front of her face. The problem with NVGs was that there was no depth of perception, so when she saw a deep rut, she knew it was deeper or wider than it appeared and would slow her stride. As she walked quietly down the center of the street, heading for the wall where there was a path to cut quickly across two streets to Roya’s house, Morgan keyed all her senses.
The night air was cold and humid. She wore her cammies but not a jacket. Maybe she should have. Far off in the distance, she heard the hoot of an owl, the sound carrying from the fields. What she didn’t hear were crickets. They always sang at night around the village. Slowing as she made a left turn between the last mud house and the wall, Morgan wished she had better hearing. She stood and waited. It was her sniper’s patience coming forward to serve her.
No cricket sounds.
Morgan barely turned her head, listening for the three feral dogs that lived in the village. If someone was sneaking around outside the walls, the dogs would hear them first, and they’d start barking. They were a first line of defense.
Nothing.
The palm of her hand came to rest on the butt of her pistol. No dogs barking meant all was well. Or, as her lips thinned, considering the odd lack of night noises, the enemy slit the dogs’ throats before they could bark and give away their position. All of that ran through Morgan’s mind. She wasn’t going to take chances and spoke in a quiet tone into the mic near her lips.
“North wall, end of Hamid’s street. No night sounds. Going two streets over. Out.” It was a precaution, one that always paid off to let Jake know her location. Just in case.
“Roger.”
His voice was equally quiet in responding. Voices carried a hell of a long ways, and a short few words. A whisper could be heard more easily by the enemy than speaking in a low tone. Without thinking, Morgan unsnapped the retaining strap across the SIG, in case she needed to draw the weapon. There was never a time that the pistol wasn’t unsafed. It didn’t have a safety on it. Morgan made sure a bullet was always in the chamber. She would not have time for those two actions in a firefight as it would slow her down. And it could get her killed. Her fingers automatically closed around the butt of the pistol as she walked very quietly down the well-trodden dirt path parallel to the wall.
She had just reached the second road, where Roya lived, when she heard a sound. Morgan turned on her heel, her heart suddenly banging in her throat. Her eyes widened as she saw three men leap up onto the wall, rifles in hand, dressed with bullet belts across their chests.
They saw her, and all hell broke loose.
Morgan’s hand went to pull the SIG swiftly out of the holster. Everything slowed down. Her breath caught as she saw the one man stand up on the wall, aim his AK-47 at her and fire.
She fired simultaneously.
The bullet struck her Kevlar, high and to her right shoulder, spinning her backward, knocking her off her feet. Stunned, Morgan slammed
into the ground. She rolled, hearing the snarls of the men scrambling over the wall. She knew they were Khogani’s men. They dressed differently than the Shinwari men at the village.
As she rolled and leaped to her feet, two more bullets snapped and popped close to her head. She crouched, hands on the SIG, firing as one more man struggled over the wall. He cried out once, toppled forward, landing in a heap on the path inside the wall.
The third man lifted his weapon. Morgan shot first, the bullet finding his head.
Gasping for breath, her heart thundering in her chest, she managed to rasp out her position to Jake. Her chest hurt like hell. With one hand, Morgan frantically felt and touched her upper right chest. No blood. The thick Level 4 ceramic plate in her vest had done its job. Damn, it hurt to breathe! How many more Taliban were outside that wall?
Turning, Morgan heard a number of doors opening, men running toward her, ancient rifles in hand. Gasping, she didn’t dare fall. But she wanted to as dizziness slammed into her. Right now, she wished she had an M-4 instead of the pistol. Morgan warily glanced at the heap of three men piled below the wall. None of them moved. Her shots had been clean and deadly.
Jake raced to where she was staggering and watching the wall, her pistol pointed at it. He skidded to a halt, nearly stumbling over the dead men. Leaping over them, his M-4 at his shoulder, he moved swiftly to her side.
“You all right?” Jake asked, breathing hard, watching the wall. He moved silently along the corner of the mud house, taking his thermal scope and moving it across the mud wall. Nothing.
Jake was worried about Morgan. She didn’t sound right. Terror raced through him as he silently stepped past her and kept his scope moving along the wall in the other direction. Dammit! His warnings, his sense of an impending attack, had come true. Worse, as Jake remained fully focused on the threat, deep down inside him, he realized Morgan could have been killed.
“Answer me,” he ordered. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” she croaked. “Three over the wall. There could be more outside it.” Morgan continued to observe the wall for as far as she could see it in both directions.
Reza ran up to them, gasping and out of breath. He had a rifle in his hand. His eyes were wide with terror.
Morgan pleaded, “Reza, get the men of the village to stand guard along the wall. There could be more of Khogani’s men on the other side ready to attack.”
“Yes,” Reza said, turning and quickly speaking in Pashto to the gathering, shaken farmers standing warily with rifles in their hands.
Morgan felt as if the area of her right shoulder was on fire. Every breath was damned painful. She wanted to collapse and struggle to draw in some air. Jake came back to her side, NVGs down, M-4 raised and ready to take on anyone else who was stupid enough to clamber over the wall.
Morgan tried to steady her breathing. “This might not be over. Can you get the sniper rifle with a thermal imaging scope up on Hamid’s roof? It’s the highest roof in the village. We need to see what’s out on the other side of these walls.” The scope would detect body heat, making them easy targets to shoot.
Jake nodded, unsure of leaving her alone out here. “I’ll get the rifle up on the roof and let you know when I get there.”
“Be careful,” she said, pressing her hand against her right shoulder, the pain excruciating. Her shoulder was locking up on her, making it difficult to move her arm.
“Call Vero. We have to get a drone up here or we’re dead meat.” Jake turned on his heel, running as hard as he could down the wall to get back to Hamid’s house.
Hand shaking, Morgan changed channels on her radio and made the call.
Chapter Twelve
For two hours, the village remained tense and on high alert. Jake saw nothing through the Night Force scope. It would pick up any movement in the darkest of nights because of its thermal imaging capability. Morgan got Hamid to set out a watch of ten men along the walls and gate. They would be relieved every two hours by another group of men. The arrangement would go on until dawn. Hamid ordered everyone else to go to bed.
Morgan walked over to a group of farmers. They’d laid out the corpses, beginning to search them for identification, letters or anything else that would give them intel. She spoke into the mic. “I’m coming up.”
“Roger.”
She told Reza, who was in charge of the search for anything important on the dead men, she would be up on Hamid’s roof. Morgan could see how scared he was with perspiration dotting his wrinkled brow. Everyone was frightened. They now knew Khogani had ridden down on another village forty miles away and decimated it during the night hours. It could happen again and they knew it.
Holstering her SIG, Morgan ducked between the wall and the houses, making her way toward Hamid’s house, two streets over. Darkness closed in on her. She heard the voices murmuring in Pashto behind her. Candles had been extinguished in the many homes, the darkness complete except for the sparkling stars that seemed close enough to reach up and pluck out of the sky.
Suddenly, Morgan felt her stomach lurch. Bile filled her throat, coming up fast. She fell to her hands and knees, and her body convulsed and she violently heaved. With her head hanging, breathing hard, Morgan’s eyes were tightly shut. It was a visceral reaction to the firefight. Her stomach convulsed again. She dry heaved, arms wrapped around her stomach, retching. Panting for breath, saliva dripping out of her mouth, Morgan waited for another wave to strike her. Finally, it passed. Dazed, she grabbed the CamelBak and sucked water into her mouth, swished it around and spat it out. Shivering, she forced herself to her feet. A fine tremble sang through her. Morgan leaned against the wall of a house. Gasping, trying to hang on, she tried to suck in large drafts of air. The pain in her right shoulder reacted and she groaned, bending over, hand pressed against her Kevlar.
Finally, Morgan calmed down. This wasn’t the first time she’d vomited after a firefight. The shock of combat often brought down many a soldier. Wiping her sweaty brow and mouth, Morgan forced herself to stand. She drank some more water, knowing she would become dehydrated from loss of so much fluid.
It felt as if an hour had passed, but when she looked at her watch, it had been only five minutes. Of hell. Pushing forward, she hurried to be with Jake up on the roof.
Morgan lay on the top of the roof, slowly moving the AW’s Night Force scope across the land outside the village. The air was cool and she shivered. Snipers had to get used to being miserable in any number of climatic conditions. Their job was to hunt and find the enemy.
Jake was next to her, using the thermal scope on his M-4, slowly searching the area for heat signatures. He made her feel safer than usual. There was something quiet, steady and solid about him since the attack. She’d never seen Jake in action, never fought with him at her side. But he was a SEAL, and his reactions to the attack were the same as the men she’d fought alongside on other teams. Safety…there wasn’t any. A night breeze made her fingers cold and numb as she moved the stock of the rifle toward the south. Her right shoulder ached like hell, and it hurt to push the stock into it as she needed to. That bothered Morgan because when setting up to shoot, the fiberglass stock had to be jammed deep into the sniper’s shoulder. Right now, she could barely stand anything against her swollen, aching flesh.
“Nothing,” she whispered into the mic.
“Not a damn thing,” Jake groused.
Morgan moved quietly, reorienting her long body on the rooftop, slowly scanning the next area. Vero had called back. There were no drones available. The Air Force crews were working nonstop to figure out what kind of software malfunction had occurred in the two based at Camp Bravo. They had no eyes in the sky to protect themselves or this vulnerable village.
“Tangos,” she rasped. “Nine o’clock.” Tango was military speak for enemy.
Instantly, Jake quietly changed position, aiming his M-4 scope to the south where hers was pointed. Toward that mountain he knew Khogani was hiding on. “Got ’em.” Jake
saw at least ten men running toward the slope, rifles in hand.
“It has to be Khogani’s men,” Morgan gritted out, her hands tightening on the sniper rifle. “I’d love to take those bastards out….”
The distance was too far away for a clean shot. “Better to let them show us where they’re going.”
“Yeah,” she grunted. Her adrenaline continued to course through her body, making her heart pound. Pulling out her wheel book, a small computer every sniper carried, Morgan knew Jake had a bead on them. She tapped in what she saw. How many men. How many weapons. And then she rolled back onto her stomach, pulled the AW Mag stock against her cheek, scope near her eye and continued to follow the group. They took one of the goat paths and she was amazed at how quickly the fleeing group moved at that altitude. Morgan reminded herself these men had been born at high altitude and could handle the thin air and still move like swift goats up that scree slope. Neither of them could ever move that quickly; their bodies were simply not attuned to working in rarefied air.
“At least now,” Jake muttered, at her elbow, “we know they’re here. And we know where they’re going. The kids will know that path and where it leads.” It was the break Jake was hoping for.
Morgan heard someone climbing the rickety wooden ladder that led to the roof where they were. Automatically, she turned the rifle in that direction, looking into the scope. She took no chances. Reza popped up on the roof, waving his hand.
“Don’t shoot me!” he called, panting.
Lowering the rifle, Morgan called, “Over here, Reza. Stay low….”
Reza came and hunkered down between them, breathing hard. “Hamid’s men have confirmed those are Khogani’s soldiers. They’re Hill tribesmen.”
“Have they found any intel on them?” Morgan demanded.
“Yes, one of them had a map.” He waved it in his hand. “I took it. It could be valuable. It might show us where Khogani is hiding in these caves. I haven’t had time to look at it yet.”
“Okay,” Jake murmured, “good job. Go back and make sure those bodies are searched thoroughly. We need every scrap of intel they can provide us.”
Down Range (Mills & Boon M&B) (Shadow Warriors - Book 2) Page 11
