Line of Fire

by Anderson, Simone

  Accompanying that was a small niggle of worry for Hayden. He didn’t want to lose the man now. Not when they were edge of something else. Even if he wasn’t quite sure what it was. Letting out a slow breath, he forced thoughts of Hayden out of his mind. Now wasn’t the time. Christian signaled to the men nearest to him and moved forward. He wanted to avoid killing anyone until they were closer to the compound. Patrols that were out of communications for too long could alert the wrong people to their presence. It was essential that their arrival be as unnoticed as possible.

  They had been dropped off two hours ago under the cover of darkness. They would attack O Caudilho’s compound just before dawn and leave before the Brazilian Police showed up. The Brazilian authorities had asked them to get proof of cocaine production, collection, or distribution while they were retrieving the prisoner. The team would only have one shot. The local government was not willing to allow any outside military or police force in their jurisdiction, further proving that De Luisa owned the local government, something the U.S. had been saying for years.

  Muscles cramping and screaming to move, Christian trained his weapon on the surrounding foliage in anticipation as the seconds ticked by. Continually scanning the area, he looked for anything out of the ordinary. Anything that would tell them people were near by. The patrols were regular and armed, but carried no visible communication equipment. The guards watching the single set of gates were vigilant and would need to be taken out and any alarm system deactivated.

  The compound was surrounded by corrugated metal fencing and barbed wire. The handful of buildings on the outside of the fencing were little more than thatched roofs held up by four poles, while the roofs of the buildings inside appeared to be a combination of thatch and metal. Satellite photos had shown nearly a dozen buildings of various sizes, but only one that looked like it might be a house. None of the other buildings were thought to have windows or even multiple entrances. Details that both helped and hindered them. No one wanted to get trapped in a building with no way out.

  His heart raced, adrenaline surged through him. They would have minutes to get in and get out. Two eight-man teams had been broken down and reorganized into four four-man teams. The new breakdown, while taking away the numbers, allowed them to move faster through the compound. Once entry had been made, his four-person team—consisting of himself, his dive buddy and best friend Jason Morganstern, the homophobic Ryland Seiboweitz and Tyler Harrington the medic from Hayden’s crew—would move to the left hitting two medium size and two smaller buildings to the far end of the open courtyard. Hayden and three others would take the three farthest buildings. The third team would serve as the entry men and locate and shut down the power source, while the fourth would take the remaining out buildings. The current plan was to start with the smaller structures before hitting the large house, which is where Intel said the young man was being kept. Not only was a direct assault on the house suicidal, it didn’t make sense for the enemy to keep a prisoner there. Especially since they needed to prove to various diplomats and authorities innocence.

  Time stretched into eternity, night disappearing into the gray misty morning before four men slipped out of the undergrowth and quickly took out the guards and entering the compound. Minutes later, they signaled. Weapon ready, Christian rushed forward. He was acutely aware of the men near him and the relative position of the rest of the team. Moving silently through the compound, he led the way to the first building. It was a large white square with one entrance and exit and no windows. Christian nodded and Jason tried the door. When it didn’t open, the other man kicked at it, forcing it open. A quick sweep revealed crates full of chemicals for processing opium into a variety of sellable drugs, but little else.

  The telltale staccato beat of gunfire hit the air moments before the radio crackled. “Ammo building. Place is hot.”

  “Watch your asses! Let’s move out,” Christian called out signaling the group to move. He turned and moved, constantly searching their surroundings. From the right and front, gunfire opened up. Taking aim on the muzzle flashes, Christian returned fire, pleased to hear a variety of chaotic screams and the clattering of weapons. Time was running out.

  Pressing against the side of the second building, the group made their way around to the front of the building. Half way across the open area, light flooded the compound.

  “Take out the fucking lights! Why wasn’t the power cut?” Jason demanded taking aim at the nearest set of lights.

  “Hell if I know, but when I find the asshole responsible for this mess, I’m going to tie his nuts around his fucking throat,” Christian ground out.

  One by one the lights went out in the courtyard went out. Taking a deep breath, he rounded the corner of the building. He needed to get his team to a relatively safe position and out of the line of fire of O Caudilho’s men. He signaled Jason to open the door while he and Seiboweitz covered him. Gunfire erupted from inside. The hair on the back of Christian’s neck stood as they returned fire. Breaching the building, the hail of bullets dwindled as the team advanced, pushing through the group of men. An eternity and more bodies than they were willing to count later, the silence from the inside the supply warehouse bristled sharply against the battle waging outside. He signaled Jason to remain at the door and pushed further inside.

  The back section of the warehouse was cordoned off and had three separate doors. Seiboweitz pointed to the door farthest from them. Christian nodded, and moved in. He planted a heavy boot in the middle of the door, leaving it swinging from the assault. They scanned the three-foot by four-foot nearly empty room. By the look and smell, it seemed liked the occupant had only recently left. Shackles hung on the wall next to a threadbare mattress. The combined odors of sex and blood permeated the air, telling Christian what type of person had been here before or at least what the room had been used for. Sex. The previous inhabitant was either a prostitute, either by choice or force, or a prisoner that had become a sex slave. Swallowing his anger, he led the way to the next room.

  A wire frame connected by cords to a large battery or amplifier stood at one end of the room. Chairs, whips, knives, more chains and assorted equipment Christian didn’t want to name filled the room. Devoid of humans, he was tempted to destroy the room. Christian signaled the group to move to the next. Bursting through the last door, Christian pulled up short. A filthy, scared young man crouched in the corner, wrists and ankles manacled.

  “We’re here to rescue you,” Christian said in English, hoping the information about the man was correct.

  “American?” The man asked hesitantly.

  Christian nodded. “We need to get you out of here. Can you walk?”

  The man shook his head. Donning gloves, Tyler Harrington knelt down beside the prisoner and quickly assessed the man’s injuries.

  “Two broken legs, dehydration,” Tyler said standing. “More than that will have to wait. Seiboweitz, can you carry him?”

  Seiboweitz nodded and shot through the chain connecting the man to the wall before he handed his weapon to Christian. “This is probably going to hurt kid,” Seiboweitz said, the normal bitterness gone from his voice.

  “Better than what was going to happen in the morning.”

  The flatness in the prisoner’s voice surprised Christian. The young man barely contained a cry when Seiboweitz scooped him up and placed him on his shoulders as gently as he could. Tyler stepped in and rearranged the man’s arms so he could hold on without interfering with Seiboweitz’s movements.

  “Peter Pan is with the lost boys,” Christian said into the mic. “Let’s get the fuck out.”

  “Move your asses!” Jason shouted from the front of the building. “We’ve got company!”

  Christian swore and ran to the door and their only escape route. He counted almost a dozen armed men coming towards them. “Where the fuck did they come from?” he demanded.

  “Fuck if I know,” Jason replied. “It’s like they knew we were coming.”

>   A chill ran down Christian’s spine and he prayed his friend was wrong. He fired at the approaching group knowing they needed to make a run for it, also knowing that they were two men down. It was their job to see the hostage made it to safety, which meant at least Tyler and Seiboweitz would both have to go with him. Christian knew there was no way the young man could walk to their extraction point.

  Christian and Jason lay down covering fire as the trio ran around to the side of the building. Signaling Jason to move, Christian scanned the courtyard while the order to withdraw from the compound and be on the look out for each other as well more of O Caudilho’s men was given. Firing his weapon, he followed as the group zigzagged their way back to the gates. Moments later, they were joined by four others. Return fire by O Caudilho’s men fell in waves, increasing and decreasing randomly until the survivors focused on the gates.

  Christian left the relative safety of the truck he’d been hiding behind, drawing attention to himself as Seiboweitz and Tyler made it through the gate. He ran to a stack of crates on the other side of the exit, prayed they would hold up under the sporadic gunfire and continued to shoot. Not knowing where the other twelve team members were or what direction they would come from had him up as high as he dared, endlessly scanning the compound. Christian continued to fire, trying to keep track of the men and shadows, watching as one by one SEALs started to slip past him. He nodded his acknowledgement when another man joined him.

  “All lost boys found,” the voice crackled in Christian’s ear.

  “Let’s go!” Hayden yelled, hitting Christian on the shoulder as he changed the clip on his weapon.

  Christian nodded and pointed to the gate. Pivoting, he darted from behind the meager protection the palates had offered and ran toward the jungle. He grunted as something collided with his arm. Ignoring it, he ran full speed into the thick undergrowth of the jungle.

  As soon as everyone was accounted for, platoon leader Lieutenant Nathan Ellison ordered them to make for the extraction point. Quietly, they moved east towards the extraction point. Behind them, O Caudilho’s men were shouting orders and starting to move outside the gate. They would rendezvous with the Brazilian military and catch a ride back to Rio where they would take a Sea Stallion back to the USS Nimitz. After medical attention and a debriefing with the young hostage, United States diplomats and other government officials would arrange for him to go home.

  “Shit!” Seiboweitz exclaimed from behind him.

  Stopping, Christian and the rest of his team turned. A woman stepped out of a truck and looked around. The hair on the back of his neck stood. Men jumped out of the back.

  “God damn it!” Lieutenant Ellison said. “Findley, can you make out what they’re saying?”

  “Can’t understand it, must be Portuguese,” came the response after several tense moments.

  “Peter Pan said something about reinforcements and dead Americans,” Tyler said making his way to where Ellison stood next to him. Turning, Christian didn’t see the young man, which meant Tyler had already triaged him and had him on a litter.

  “Looks like we’ve been double crossed,” Ellison said flatly. “Move out. Make for the extraction point. We’ll fly home.”

  The woman turned toward them, waiting for a long moment before getting into a waiting jeep and headed down the road away from them. The group watched as O Caudilho’s men poured out of the compound and loaded into a variety of vehicles and headed in every direction but the one that led to their hiding place. Long minutes passed before relative silence returned to the jungle. Luck or planning, Christian didn’t care, just breathed a sigh of relief.

  “We need that truck,” Hayden said from beside him.

  Christian’s stomach clenched at the closeness of his lover before turning his attention back to the truck. He nodded his agreement. The presence of more personnel could only mean that their mission was compromised and that extraction by original means was no longer possible. Their secondary extraction point was close to a hundred miles away. What may be a two hour drive in the States, would take several hours over a treacherous road, most of which wasn’t paved.

  “Go get it,” Ellison snapped.

  Christian nodded and Hayden stepped forward. Making their way to the edge of the jungle, he continually scanned the area. From their vantage point, he could tell that no one was in the front of the truck. He motioned to Hayden, and the pair silently crept forward. Working in tandem, they inspected the vehicle as they for bombs and other signs of sabotage before signaling for the rest of the team.

  “Nothing,” Hayden said searching the cab of the truck. “Not even keys.”

  “Hotwire it,” Christian said peering in after Hayden, the pair were careful to keep the truck between them and the compound.

  “Will it run?” the platoon leader asked coming up to them. Three more men joined them. One at the front of the truck, one at the rear, and one underneath, their weapons all trained on the surrounding area.

  Christian nodded. “We can hotwire it.”

  “Do it. I don’t want to be traipsing around the jungle with injured people and fucked up Intel,” Lieutenant Ellison said handing them a map. “Take this route.”

  “Aye.” Christian took the map and looked at the course to the airstrip that would serve as their backup exit. The road that led them toward the secondary extraction point required traveling through at least one village and possibly bringing them within sight of O Caudilho’s men.

  Aware less of Lieutenant Ellison’s presence and more of Hayden’s body pressing close to his, he focused on their escape route. There were a handful of turn offs that would lead them either further into the rainforest, south toward Rio, or east toward the coast. There was more than one way to get out of Brazil, far to the north of where the USS Nimitz was waiting.

  “What the fuck are you thinking not getting a wound checked out?” Hayden ground out. “We need a medic,” Hayden said into the mic.

  “Wound?”

  “You’re bleeding asshole. Have Tyler look at it before we move out. The last thing we need is for that to get infected. Christ.”

  The harsh undertone of Hayden’s words didn’t match the concern showing in the deep blue depths or the clenched fist after Hayden let go of his wrist, hanging onto it for a fraction longer than was necessary. Christian swore and tried not to think about what else might be showing. Relationships were for other people, not for him. Happiness was for people who didn’t have to fight to survive. Who hadn’t seen all the horrors that he had before or since he’d joined the Navy.

  Shaking his head slowly, Christian unbuttoned his shirt and carefully slid his left arm out. Now that he was paying attention to it, it started to sting. What had felt like sweat trickling down his arm, had been blood. He waited impatiently, knowing they were running out of time, as Tyler cleaned and dressed the bullet wound. A section of flesh approximately three inches long and narrower than his pinkie was missing from where a bullet had grazed along the back of his arm. Adrenaline had kept him from feeling most of the effects from the minor wound. After a smile from Tyler and an almost imperceptible growl from Hayden, he was dressed and pulling himself into the truck.

  “Let’s go. We’ve wasted enough time here!” Lieutenant Ellison called out.

  Christian jumped up into the truck, yanked wires from under the dash and twisted them together, starting the truck. Hayden slid in beside him. Christian handed the map to Hayden. Pulling forward he swung around and stopped next to the tree line and waited for the rest of their teammates to get in.

  “Everyone’s in,” Jason said climbing into the cab and forcing Hayden into the middle. Turning, he had his weapon ready as they pulled away from the compound and made their way down the dirt path that passed as a road away from the camp and toward the secondary extraction point.

  Chapter Four

  Hayden clamped his mouth shut as the truck bounced along the pothole-strewn road. Their progress had been infinitely slower than any
one was comfortable with. Christian had kept the vehicle lumbering along at about thirty miles an hour, slowing to five m.p.h. on a semi-regular basis, but never making it above forty-five. He refused to think about the bandage hidden beneath Christian’s shirt even as Jason Morgenstern kept shifting in his seat constantly on the lookout, forcing him closer to his lover. He didn’t mind the nearness to Christian; he just didn’t understand why Morganstern hadn’t ridden in the back with the others.

  The engine hissed and Christian swore, pulling over as far as he could on the narrow road. Hayden looked up and saw steam rising from under the hood. With the light dimming, he knew they were nowhere near the secondary extraction point. Making the trek over land to where a Sea Stallion would take them to the USS Nimitz carrying the wounded hostage was going to be slow and would put them in danger of missing their extraction. Morganstern slid out of the cab and motioned for Christian to pop the hood. Grabbing his weapon, Hayden left the cab and stood nearby, scanning the area. He watched Morganstern approach Christian and signal the engine was dead. SEALs poured out of the back of the vehicle, hauling the wounded man down carefully before they disappeared into the undergrowth.

  Hayden made his way over to Brian, while the Lieutenant and platoon chief were looking over the map. Crouching in the undergrowth, he searched the jungle for anything out of the ordinary, his gaze routinely coming back to where Christian huddled with Ellison. The wound on his lover’s arm was relatively minor, he’d still been surprised at how hard and how fast the thought of Christian being injured hit him. He’d wanted to take care of it himself, reminding them both that they were more than just SEALs, even if he wasn’t sure what they were to each other anymore. He’d kept his actions professional and his feelings guarded, taking care not to out his lover. Keeping himself in check to pretend they were just friends hadn’t been easy. Seiboweitz’s threat re-emerged. He knew that by now everyone on the team knew he was gay and what had happened in the parking lot. Thankfully, his crew had already known and hadn’t cared. Or if they did, it no longer mattered. He’d gone on enough missions with them by now they knew that he could be trusted, he could be counted on.