Four rockets dived into the area, not a hundred feet in front of Jake’s position. A flurry of rocks soared, flying in all directions, the hits accurate, taking out the last group of riders.
Jake shook his head, stunned by the close proximity of the rockets. His ears rang. He couldn’t hear anything. Dirt and debris showered down on him. Rolling up against the boulder, he hugged it, burying his head, praying like hell a huge rock would not land on him and kill him.
In moments, it was over. Jake waited for just a second before stumbling to his feet. Dirt and rocks were flung off his shoulders and back as he stood up. M-4 in his hand, he peered warily around the boulder. There was carnage on the goat path. Every horse and rider was dead.
Wiping his mouth, he called the Apaches, thanking them. And then he called the MH-47, letting them know he’d be a few minutes late getting on board. He saw both Apaches moving in large circles around the MH-47 below, guarding it.
Nose bleeding heavily, Jake wiped the blood away with his dirty sleeve and heaved himself up on the goat path. He stumbled and reeled from the blasts. The more he moved, the quicker he hit his stride. The ruck was banging heavily against his back, some of the straps torn off in the explosion. All those years of training played a part in him making the last thousand yards to the valley floor.
Big met him, helping him because he was limping. Jake practically dived into the helo, landing and rolling hard across the metal ramp, M-4 still in hand. Big hopped in after him and the crew chief quickly closed the ramp, giving the pilots the signal to lift off.
Jake felt faint as he lay on the deck, gasping for breath. At nine thousand feet, his lungs felt on fire, his breath coming out in tearing sobs. Big knelt over him, his expression worried as he stripped off Jake’s ruck and then quickly, with shaking hands, pulled off his Kevlar vest. Jake was grateful to just lie on the deck and feel the shudder of the helo around him. He saw Big pull out his SOG knife to cut open his T-shirt.
“I’m good,” he yelled over the thunderous sound of the rotors.
Big rolled his eyes, slit the material anyway and pulled the T-shirt open. “Christ, Ram, you’ve got three friggin’ bullets in your Kevlar! Your chest looks like hell!” A Level 4 Kevlar vest could take three armor-piercing rounds before it shattered. He’d taken the limit.
No wonder he was having trouble breathing. Jake didn’t fight Big as he rolled him over, examining his back for exit wounds from bullets. There were none.
Jake pulled on a helmet and plugged the connection in so he could hear communications within the helicopter. “I’m good, Big. Nothing’s broken. Just hurts like hell to breathe.” Jake gave his partner a silly grin.
Big pulled his cut T-shirt closed, helped him back on with the vest and then fastened the Velcro on his Kevlar. “You’re the luckiest damn bastard I’ve ever seen, Ram. You know that?”
Jake grinned wearily, exhausted. He lay motionless, trying to take in a full breath. “Big, check my Kevlar pocket?”
Big leaned over him, pulling the Velcro open at the top of his vest. “Why?”
“The engagement and wedding rings for my gal are in there. They didn’t get hit, did they?”
Grinning, Big held up the small plastic Ziploc with the rings in it. “You’re good to go, partner. Rock it out.” He stuffed it back down in Jake’s vest and pressed the Velcro shut.
Wiping the blood away from his nose and mouth, Jake managed a cocky smile. “Damn straight I am. First, J-bad, and then I’m getting the hell home and asking that red-haired woman to marry me.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Morgan’s landline phone in her apartment rang just as she hobbled through the front door. Exhausted from the hours of physical therapy at the medical center, she picked up the phone.
“Hello?”
“Babe?”
For a moment, dizziness swept through her along with incredible relief over hearing Jake’s voice. “Jake?” Morgan sat down on the couch, her knees going weak, heart hammering.
“I’m coming home. I’ve got to finish writing up my report and then I’m going to grab a flight from Bagram to Andrews. How are you doing?”
His voice was like life being pumped back into her, flooding her with joy and unimaginable relief. Closing her eyes, Morgan held the phone tight against her ear. Jake sounded incredibly tired. She could hear him slurring his words; it happened when weeks of sleep deprivation occurred on one of these ops.
“I’m fine, fine. Are you all right?”
Morgan knew all these calls were monitored and recorded. They couldn’t get personal, but, God, how she wanted to! Her heart thudded with unparalleled joy. Jake was safe! He was coming home!
Jake laughed. “Well, first things first. If I don’t get a shower, throw away my cammies for a new set, no one around here is going to allow me to stay here for five more minutes.”
His laughter lifted her. Morgan chuckled softly, tears jamming into her tightly closed eyes. “You’re never going to change, Ramsey. What time does your C-5 land at Andrews? Do you know?”
“Not yet. I’ll call you in transit. Can you meet me?”
There was worry in his tone. He had no idea how far she’d come with her wounded leg. “Yes, I’ll be there,” she promised, her voice turning husky.
“Gotta go, babe. I love you. I’ll be in touch.”
“I love you, too. Goodbye, Jake….”
Morgan sat there, stunned in the aftermath of the unexpected call. Jake was coming home after being gone a full month on the op. Her mind whirled with things she needed to do. First, call her parents. They would want to know, too. Second, the apartment she’d just rented needed cleaning. It would take Jake approximately twenty-four to forty-eight hours, depending on what flights he could catch, to make a connection back to Andrews Air Force Base.
Morgan knew Jake loved her. But how much? Enough to consider a relationship? Some of her joy was shaded with knowing at some point, after Jake was rested, she had to tell him about Emma. It was something she looked forward to but with trepidation.
Jake had matured in ways she’d never anticipated. Were his running days over? Some things about him might never change. Looking down at the watch on her right wrist, Morgan had time to prepare for Jake coming home. Grateful he was alive and not wounded, Morgan picked up the phone to tell her parents the good news.
Jake wiped his watering eyes as he stood with a group of Army Rangers and a couple of Special Forces A-teams who had hopped the C-5 out of Rota, Spain, to Andrews. The grinding noise from the C-5’s huge ramp opening up seemed to go on forever.
He was the only SEAL in the group, and he’d grabbed a crew birth and slept nearly all the way across the Atlantic. Still, he was exhausted, bruised, stiff and in one hell of a hurry to hold Morgan in his arms.
As he stood there, the sixty-five-pound ruck on his back, his AW Mag strapped upside down outside of it, the SIG riding low on his right thigh, Jake felt all his tiredness dissolving. The more that huge tail nose yawned upward, the more impatient he became.
Would Morgan be waiting for him in Operations? All incoming personnel transited through that building. Families were not allowed inside. They had to wait on the other side of it. He rubbed his jaw.
Jake had grabbed a quick shower at J-bad, climbed into clean cammies, hadn’t shaved because he didn’t want to miss the C-5 going out of Bagram in an hour. He’d managed to persuade a pair of Night Stalker pilots who were off duty to fly him to Bagram, a short trip. Luckily, the Army pilots, who worked with all black-ops groups, had been in the mood to do it after he’d told them he was going home to ask his girl to marry him. Even in black ops, romance moved mountains. Or in this case, his story touched two pilots, both married, into flying him to Bagram to catch that C-5.
The tail section finally locked. A buzzer sounded, alerting the men that they could now exit the cavernous C-5 via the ramp. Jake moved quickly down the long length of the largest U.S. military transport airplane in the world.
&
nbsp; Outside, he could see the sun low on the western horizon. The late August heat and mugginess of summer hit him fully as he hurried down toward the concrete apron. Jake settled his black baseball cap on his head and craned his neck as he stepped onto the tarmac of Andrews.
His heart started a slow, urgent thud in his chest as he spotted Morgan standing, leaning against a cane just outside of Ops. He couldn’t help grinning, knowing she’d somehow finagled permission to meet him out on the tarmac instead of inside the terminal. He started off at a slow lope toward her.
As he drew closer, Jake hungrily zeroed in on her face. Morgan was wearing civilian clothes, not her uniform. She was thinner, and that concerned him. She wore a simple pale pink blouse and dark green slacks. Her hair moved languidly in the hot summer breeze. His gaze moved to her left hand where she leaned on a wooden cane, most of her weight shifted to her right foot. He was going to put a ring on this woman’s hand very soon.
He slowed, noticing her smile. Damn, Morgan looked so beautiful. As much as he wanted to, Jake knew he couldn’t haul her into his arms and kiss the hell out of her. He stopped in front of her and gently framed her face with his hands. Her eyes shimmered with tears of welcome as she reached out, her hand sliding across his right shoulder.
“I stink,” he warned her, his grin widening. “Even the C-5 crew wanted me put away in their quarters to hide me because I smelled so bad.”
She laughed. “I don’t care, Ramsey. You look wonderful to me….”
“Good thing, because I’m going to kiss you anyway.” Jake leaned down, curving his mouth hotly against her smiling lips. He felt her tremble, his hands tightening and angling her chin so he could kiss her hard and long. Morgan’s fingers dug into his shoulder as he tasted her, absorbed her and inhaled her feminine scent. He groaned as she hungrily returned his welcome-home kiss. He couldn’t feel her body against his because of the Kevlar he still wore. It didn’t matter; she was here, with him, and he’d never wanted anything more in his life than that right now.
Jake heard the hoots, hollers and teasing of the Rangers and Special Forces guys trooping past them on their way into Operations. He lifted his mouth from Morgan’s, drowning in the joy he saw in her lustrous green eyes. “I love you, babe…. It’s good to be home.”
“I love you, too,” Morgan whispered unsteadily, barely aware of the men calling to Jake, razzing him. She knew it was in jest, that they, too, were all looking forward to coming home, meeting their wives or girlfriends who waited for them outside of Operations. She moved her hand to his face. “You look good with a beard. Do you know that?”
Jake chuckled. “Just get me somewhere where there’s a razor. I can’t stand the thing.” He stood before her, absorbing her, sensing her joy. Jake lightly placed his hands on her shoulders. “Are you okay? How is your leg?” He stepped back to study the brace she had around it.
“I’m fine, Jake.” Morgan couldn’t stop looking up at him. His gray eyes were clear but bloodshot. He had to be more than exhausted. He’d lost weight, the hollows of his cheeks deepened. “Let’s go. I have a car in the parking lot. I’ve got an apartment now. They finally released me from the hospital.”
Jake carefully wrapped his arm around her waist, fully aware she needed enough room to walk slowly with the cane. “Thank God,” he muttered. “Your place has a shower?”
Laughing, Morgan nodded as they made their way to the door. Two Rangers who passed them stopped and opened the doors for them. Morgan thanked them.
Within the terminal, Morgan knew the drill. Jake would have to sign out all his equipment, including his weapons. He’d take them with him once the list was handed over to an Air Force Tech Sergeant behind another desk. She went over to a group of chairs nearby, sat down and waited.
The noise in the terminal amped up as the men eagerly talked with one another. There was always teasing, laughter and black humor traded among the operators. Morgan watched as many of them had wives and sweethearts meeting them outside those doors. Many others, however, were going to be billeted nearby, catch a shower, some sleep, eat some American food and then be assigned to other flights leaving in a few hours from Andrews. The transports would head all over the U.S. to other major military bases. There, those men, who she knew were as exhausted as Jake was, would finally get home.
Jake cut free of the red tape and hurried toward Morgan. She was the only woman in the terminal, and he saw many of the men look at her, longing in their faces for their own loved ones. She was like a beautiful flower in a sea of desert camouflage. He understood their staring at her. Reaching out, he helped her stand. Once she got her balance with the cane as an aid, Jake escorted her out those doors and into the suffocating heat and sunlight.
Because she was an officer, Morgan had been able to park fairly close to Operations. Jake stowed his heavy ruck in the backseat, careful with his sniper rifle. Morgan was already in the car, waiting for him. He slid into the passenger side of the black SUV and shut the door.
The air-conditioning was heavenly as he strapped in. She backed the SUV out of the parking zone and drove toward the exit that would take them on another highway toward Bethesda medical center. He waited until she was on the freeway before sliding his arm around her shoulders as she drove.
“How’s PT going for you?” Jake asked, hungrily absorbing Morgan’s clean profile and those soft lips of hers. As fatigued as he was, he was infused with a giddy sense of happiness that thrummed through him.
“Hard and painful, but I’m making good progress.”
“I didn’t think you’d be this far along.” And he hadn’t.
Morgan shrugged. “What else was I going to do? I wanted the hell out of that hospital. I’ve had my fill of them, Jake. The only way I could get out was to improve fast and show them I was no longer nonambulatory.” She glanced and met his gaze. He was grinning. So was she. “I managed to scoop up an apartment two blocks from the medical center. I’m renting this SUV for now. It works.”
Jake moved his hand gently across her proud shoulder. “I’m glad. I know what kind of steel you have in that backbone of yours.”
“I’ve grown to hate hospitals, Jake.”
“Yeah, I know the drill.” He sat back, allowing the air-conditioning to cool him. “I’m going to be damned glad to get out of this gear and climb into a shower.”
“Yeah, you reek a little, Ramsey. But under the circumstances, I understand.” Being out on a sniper op for a month, there was no luxury of getting a shower, shaving or anything else. It was a rugged, hard business, and only men and women with a certain kind of mental toughness could handle it.
Jake tipped his head back, closed his eyes and said wryly, “Like I said, the C-5 crew had clothespins on their noses every time I walked by.” He chuckled.
“We’ve got some driving ahead of us,” Morgan warned, glancing over at him. There were shadows beneath Jake’s eyes. She saw the exhaustion in every line in his face. Right now, Jake needed a hot shower, a shave, food and then some decent sleep under his belt. It felt good she could give those luxuries to him. Morgan wanted to love him, but she understood the toll that an op took on a person. Loving Jake would come with time, and she could be patient. He was home safe and that was all that counted.
A while later, Morgan nearly cried out when Jake came out of the bathroom, a white towel wrapped low around his hips, his face clean-shaven, hair damp, and his chest still beaded with water. She had brought half a dozen fried eggs, bacon and toast to the dining room table when he padded out of the bathroom in his bare feet. There were wet marks on the wooden floor where he’d walked. She saw the terrible bruising across his chest. The dark hair couldn’t hide the fact he’d been hit three times with bullets. Setting the plate down, Morgan swallowed hard as he ambled into the adjoining living room.
“Damn, that smells good,” Jake murmured, moving over to her, giving her a kiss on the cheek. He wanted to do much more, but that was going to have to wait. Jake pulled out the chair o
pposite of where he was going to sit. “It’s all right, babe.” He touched his chest. “They missed me. Come on. Sit down. Talk to me while I eat.”
Morgan was rattled. Jake could have died if not for the Kevlar vest he wore. She knew what a hit felt like. His comment about not ever wanting to leave her a widow again struck deep. As he sat down and ate like a starved animal, she fought back so many conflicting emotions. This all felt like a dream to Morgan. Jake and she were chatting as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world. But it wasn’t. It was special, magical. She soaked up every second with him, her gaze never leaving his.
“How much weight did you lose?” she asked, her hands around her coffee cup.
“Probably twenty.” He shrugged. “Guaranteed, I’m gaining it back in the next sixty days.” Jake grinned boyishly over at her as he finished off the plate of eggs and bacon. He brought over a stack of toast, unscrewed the lid on the strawberry jam and picked up a knife.
“Sixty days?”
Nodding, he slathered a thick amount of jam across the first piece of buttered toast. “Yes.” Jake lifted his head, his eyes narrowing on hers. “And I’m spending every day of it with you, babe.”
Morgan stared at him, in shock. He seemed sincere, the earnestness reflected in his eyes and the stubborn set of his mouth. “It’s like a dream, Jake.”
“You are my dream.” He bit into the toast and jam, savoring every bit of tart sweetness in it.
“After you eat, you need to sleep, Jake. You look like hell warmed over.”
He snorted. “I’ll go to bed as long as you’re in it with me. You have no idea how many dreams I’ve had of us in bed together.” He gave her a wicked smile.
“You’re incorrigible,” Morgan said, feeling the love radiating off him toward her. There were new, pink scars, along with deep bruises, on his tightly muscled arms. “I was given access to your op. I went over to General Stevenson and asked her permission to get a copy of it. I read the mission report.”
Down Range (Mills & Boon M&B) (Shadow Warriors - Book 2) Page 23
