by Radclyffe
Rachel had never seen a more beautiful sight. “Are you trying to get me to shoot you?”
“Not just yet.” Max pivoted to watch the sky. “Looks like ground-to-air rockets. That’s tracer fire—machine guns shooting back.”
“What’s happening?” Amina asked.
“Rebel ground forces firing at inbound birds, I’d say. About three clicks away from here.”
Rachel looped her arm around Amina’s waist, as much for her own comfort as Amina’s. “Are the rebels coming, then?”
“Maybe,” Max said. “Maybe not. Maybe we were just the bait all along. I think they want the Black Hawks.”
“Why?” Rachel glanced back and forth between Max and the jungle, half expecting someone else to drop down beside them, this time an enemy with a rifle or a knife.
“Intelligence, the weapons, maybe just the bragging rights.” Max shook her head. “Who knows how they think? Any kind of victory, even if it’s fabricated, probably helps them recruit more followers.”
“It’s crazy,” Rachel murmured.
“Yeah, it is.” Max gripped Rachel’s arm. “I’m going back out. Don’t fire unless you hear shooting first. Then if anyone approaches and it’s not me, fire at anything that moves.”
“Stay here.” Rachel heard the tremor in her voice this time and didn’t care. She wasn’t afraid to be left alone—she was afraid for Max to be alone out there in the dark. “Please.”
Max’s fingers tightened on her arm. “We’ve got a better chance if I go. I’ll be back.”
“Do you keep your promises?”
“Yes.”
“Then promise.”
Max hesitated, moonlight glinting in her eyes. “I’ll do my best. I promise.”
“Your best better be damn—”
Max jerked her rifle to her shoulder. “Get down.”
Rachel ducked and pushed Amina behind her. Keeping her head below the top of the barrier, she crowded next to Max and squinted into the dark. Another explosion lit up the camp and she saw them. Shadows within shadows, creeping out from the jungle. Animals? Humans? Her imagination?
“Max?” She held her breath, afraid the pounding of her heart would give their position away. Beside her, Max was as still as stone. For an instant, Rachel imagined taking shelter against her, leaning on her strength. She knew she could and Max would not think less of her, but she would think less of herself. Tugging her lower lip between her teeth, she forced herself to see the nightmares in the night.
Chapter Fourteen
Max steadied her rifle and focused through her night-vision goggles on the spot where she’d detected movement. If she hadn’t spent her share of time on night maneuvers, she never would have recognized the faint blur in her vision for what it was—the fleeting break in the tree line made by four men ghosting into camp. Four men inside their perimeter, circling around to converge on the center from four directions. Four against three, and Amina and Rachel were completely untrained. Their best hope was to even the odds.
“Rachel,” she whispered, “move around behind me and watch our rear. Keep your head down.”
“Right.” Rachel shifted as carefully as she could, certain that every crunch of stone beneath her boots, loud as a cannon shot, was audible for miles. She might as well shout, Over here! And what would she do if she saw someone?
Shoot? Yes. No. Could she? Until this moment, the idea of actually killing another human being had never been real. Earlier, when she’d been infuriated at the senseless slaughter of her friends and alternately terrified and outraged that the rebels might return to wreak more violence, she’d wanted to strike back as viciously as she’d been attacked, or thought she’d wanted to. She’d wanted to lash out to ease her pain, but now, peering into the dark with her finger on the trigger of a weapon that only a day before she would never have considered even picking up, she wondered if she could take a life. And if she could, what did it say about who she’d become?
Amina crouched beside her, and Rachel knew in that instant she would pull the trigger if it meant protecting herself and her friend. She would have to worry about the consequences later. Max was only a few feet away, but she dared not look over her shoulder, dared not look away from whatever lurked in the dark. Just knowing Max was behind her, protecting her, made her feel safe in a situation where safety was impossible, and she held on to that feeling while she searched for danger. Her eyes felt dry and tight, and she realized she wasn’t blinking for fear that one millisecond of inattention would cost her everything. How did anyone survive this madness day after day? And at what cost?
She couldn’t see anything out there except the soft flutter of tent flaps. That was all it was, right? That faint shimmer in the hazy moonlight slivering across the bare ground like shards of glass scattered by a giant hand. If someone was coming, she couldn’t see them.
“Max,” she whispered, “I can’t see anything. What—”
“I’ve lost them too,” Max said.
“Are you sure they’re out there?”
“My gut says yes, but whoever they are, they’re good.” Max swore under her breath, the vehemence surprising Rachel. “They might be searching the tents. Grif is alone. I’m going out.”
Panic surged. “No. If they’re here—”
Max edged next to her and unexpectedly clasped the back of her neck, her grip warm and strong and welcome.
“You’ll be all right,” Max murmured, her mouth close to Rachel’s ear. “You can do this.”
“I can’t,” Rachel whispered urgently. “Not without you. I won’t know when…I’m not sure if—”
Max’s fingers tightened on her nape, gentle and firm. Max’s breath seemed to slip beneath Rachel’s skin and soothe the sharp edges of her terror. “Yes, you can. I’ll be back. Remember?”
Amina pressed close to Rachel’s side. “Trust her…and yourself.”
“I…” Rachel gathered herself, tamped down the fear that clogged her throat. She never wanted Max to move her hand. She didn’t want to let the nightmares back in. “All right. Go. Go see to Grif.” She reached for Amina’s hand. Amina was steady and her certainty helped bolster Rachel’s resolve. “We’re good.”
“That’s my girl,” Max murmured.
For the first time in her life, Rachel didn’t mind being called a girl. She didn’t need to argue that she was a woman. Everything about the way Max spoke to her, touched her, said she already knew.
“Be careful.” Rachel wouldn’t beg Max to come back quickly. Max would do what she needed to do, and so would she.
“You too.”
And then Max levered herself up, rolled over the bags, and was gone. Rachel tried to follow her movement across the ground and thought she saw her flickering in and out of the shadows, but she couldn’t be sure. All the shadows looked the same. She wet her dry lips. “Amina, can you watch out the other side.”
“Yes. We’ll be all right,” Amina whispered.
Rachel watched and waited. In the distance, closer now than before, the pop of rifle fire, the sharp crack of explosives, and the constant barrage of things bursting in the sky continued. She had the absurd thought that she’d never be able to look at a light show again, never be able to hear thunder without experiencing an instant of terror. No matter what happened out here tonight, she was already changed forever.
*
Max raced for the cover of the nearest tent, expecting a round to take her down at any second. Whoever was out there surely had night goggles and saw her as she had seen them, and they were better than she was. She might have a rifle, but she was no tactical sailor. She could shoot as well as most on the firing range, but she was a surgeon first. Necessity made her a warrior, and she’d fight as long as she could to protect Grif and Rachel and Amina, but she was outnumbered and out of her element.
And what-if-ing wasn’t going to do her a damn bit of good. She had a plan and she wasn’t going to come up with a better one now. First step was to make sure Grif
hadn’t fallen asleep or passed out from the pain—if he was awake, he could defend himself, even with one leg out of commission, better than Rachel and Amina. Once she knew he was secure, she could decide whether to head for the jungle in the hope of drawing the intruders away, stand out in the open and fight, or take a defensive position in the foxhole with Rachel and Amina. She checked the immediate area, saw no one, and sprinted across the twenty yards between her and the admin tent. Halfway there something hard and huge hit her in the midsection, her feet left the ground, and she flew a good ten feet and landed on her back with her rifle under her. The air whooshed out of her lungs when she hit, and a heavy body landed on top of her, making it impossible for her to drag in air. Gagging, gasping for breath with muscles that wouldn’t work, she fumbled for her sidearm. A formless face, masked by night-vision goggles and opaque camouflage paint, hovered over hers. The glint of steel flashed as a knife blade touched her throat.
A deep male voice rumbled, “Hernandez, SEAL Team Four. Who are you?”
“De Milles…” Max’s ribcage heaved as air rushed back in and she bit back a moan. Cracked rib or two. “Navy Medical Corps.”
He eased to the side and the crushing weight lessened. “Good to see you, de Milles.”
He grabbed her jacket, hoisted her up, and dragged her across the open ground to the cover of the nearest tent. “Sorry about the tackle. Had to be sure you weren’t some muj in a confiscated uniform. Where are the others?”
Max had only a second to savor the relief. They were still in the middle of a firefight and a long way from safe. “One wounded in the big tent on the left. Two civilians in a foxhole in the center of the camp.”
“One of the civilians name of Winslow?”
“That’s right,” Max said. “What’s the situation?”
“The birds can’t make it here—too much ground activity. We have to walk out a ways.” He murmured into his com link, instructing someone to get Grif.
“How close are the rebels?”
He shrugged. “If they give up on trying to take out a bird, they could be here in twenty minutes. Best guess—we’ll have a forty-minute head start.”
“Listen,” Max said, “I want to get back to the civilians. Get them ready to move out.”
“Water and ammo. We’re traveling light and fast.”
“Roger that.”
She crawled on hands and knees back to the foxhole, whispered, “It’s Max,” and rolled over and in.
“What’s happening?” Rachel asked.
“Four SEALs are here to get us out,” Max said. “We’re leaving.”
“Where are the helicopters?” Amina asked.
“They can’t get here. We’re walking out.” Max kept her tone upbeat. A forty-minute head start might be enough for trained navy SEALs, but they’d be walking out with two civilians and a wounded man on a litter. If the rebels moved on the camp soon and picked up their trail, the rebels would catch up to them before they’d gotten a mile. “You up for that?”
Rachel gave a short laugh. “I’ll walk from here to Mogadishu if I have to. What should we do?”
“Grab a light pack from the pile of gear and fill it with water and some MREs.” Max stuffed her pockets and pack with ammo.
“How far will we have to go?” Amina asked.
“I don’t know—far enough away so the birds can get to us.” Max climbed back out, reached down, and helped first Amina, then Rachel out of the foxhole. “Stay close to me.”
She led them quickly to the point where the SEALs had emerged from the jungle. Two men in combat gear seemed to materialize out of the air.
“We’re Jones and Adeen, your escorts this evening,” one of them said with a wide grin and a Texas twang. “Are you ladies up for a stroll?”
“Can’t wait,” Rachel said.
Hernandez and the last SEAL, a tall thin African American, jogged up with Grif on a litter between them. Hernandez said, “Let’s rock and roll.”
The SEALs sandwiched Rachel and Amina between the first two men and the litter bearers. Max slid in beside Rachel. “How are you doing?”
“Happy to be moving. I just wish it wasn’t so dark.”
Max rested a hand on her lower back. “Don’t try to see—just follow the man in front of you. Your feet will know what to do. After a while, your eyes will adjust and it will get easier.”
“I can’t imagine anything ever being easier.”
“I’m sorry,” Max murmured, wishing she could rewind the clock to the moments before Grif was shot and Rachel and Amina still had a chance to get out. Wishing she could undo the horror and fear that followed.
“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Rachel said softly. “Without you we might have tried to make it out on our own—and who knows where we’d be now. I know you kept me sane.”
She shivered and Max instinctively slid her arm around her and pulled her close. “You were amazing. Just hang on a little while longer.”
“No choice.” Rachel sighed. “Do you need to check on Grif?”
“Yes, for a minute.”
“Go. I’m okay now. Just a momentary pity party.”
“You’re entitled.” Max didn’t want to let her go but Grif needed her. “I’ll be right back.”
Rachel’s smile was visible even in the murky light. “So you keep saying.”
Max grinned. “Limited repertoire.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“Ask Grif sometime—he’ll tell you.”
“I just might.”
Still smiling, Max slipped back to the side of the litter. Grif’s face was tight with pain. “Doing okay?”
“Better than I was.” Grif grunted. “Fucking leg hurts like a mother.”
“I’d rather hold off on the pain meds unless it gets really bad.”
“Yeah. I don’t want to be knocked out if things get hot either.” Grif coughed and took a minute to catch his breath. “How are the women doing?”
“They’re tough,” Max said with a rush of pride. “Smart and resourceful too. They’ll make it.”
“You done good, Deuce.”
“You just hang in there.” She squeezed his shoulder. “I won’t be far away.”
He nodded and closed his eyes. Max worked her way back up to Rachel. “Everything okay?”
“I don’t think I’ve ever been happier in my life.” Rachel’s voice was tinged with bitterness. “And isn’t that a sorry statement.”
Max rubbed Rachel’s shoulder. “You’ve just been through a hell most people can’t even imagine. The shock is setting in. Once you get out of here and get some rest, life will make sense again.”
Rachel’s fingers touched hers, warm and soft. For a heartbeat, the jungle, the battle, the insanity of life in the balance disappeared. Max shuddered, glad for the cover of darkness to hide the wanting she couldn’t control.
“Will it?” Rachel said. “Once you’ve seen this madness, can you ever go back?”
Max didn’t answer. Her truth was not one she would wish on anyone, especially not Rachel.
Chapter Fifteen
Rachel would never be frightened by shadows again, not after discovering what true darkness was really like. Time in this disorienting blackness lost all meaning. Once they’d left the encampment, the canopy completely blocked out the sky for long moments that might’ve been hours or minutes or days. When even the shadows died and she stared open-eyed into utter blackness, she stumbled along blind, following the soldier in front of her by instinct and senses she’d never known she had. Maybe she was drawn to his body heat, like some ancient creature pulled to the surface of the ocean by the primal call of the sun. Maybe she crept along in his wake out of a primitive drive for self-preservation while he became a human shield, pushing aside the clawing branches and vines that grasped at her from either side.
Her heart raced wildly and panic bubbled in her throat. She couldn’t relax enough to capture a full breath, afraid the instant her hypervigilanc
e ebbed, she’d be attacked. She doubted she’d ever relax again.
Amina was nearby, being guided by another one of these phantom rescuers whose faces Rachel had never seen and on whom she relied completely. Every now and then she caught Amina’s scent, still as sweet and light and undaunted as Amina’s spirit. She clung to that elusive reminder of the life she’d known before the nightmare until the pungent jungle smells finally pressed in from every side and obliterated it.
Isolated in the dark, her only touchstone was a faint pressure in the center of her back from Max’s fingers. The entire endless time they’d been walking—stumbling, in her case—Max was always there, just beside her, never letting her get lost. Every now and then, like a gift made all the more precious by its sudden appearance when she’d given up hoping for it, a bit of moonlight filtered through the trees. When her eyes grasped it in a desperate attempt to right a world gone mad, she’d catch the outline of a helmet and a darker shape against the other shapeless forms. Max.
Some of the choking heaviness in her chest lightened, and she centered herself in the light press of Max’s fingers, a reminder, silent and strong and unwavering, that she was not alone in this terrible madness. She reached into the dark and found Max’s arm. Gripped it.
“You’re doing great,” Max whispered.
Rachel choked back a disbelieving laugh at the bald-faced lie. How did Max know what she needed when she’d refused to admit needing anything even to herself? Could Max feel her panic—read her mind? Or had she always been so transparent and just been fooling only herself all these years? Max was so very good at seeing what she’d always managed to keep from others. She’d always worked so hard to maintain the façade of courage and control, from pretending she wasn’t terrified to go to bed as a child to convincing everyone, including herself, she didn’t need anything more than a meaningful career and casual, convenient physical relationships to be happy.
Maintaining any kind of façade out here was impossible. They were all naked, reduced to their most basic needs and desires and fears. From the moment Max had stepped out of the dark and looked into her eyes, she’d seen beneath her mask.
