*
GABE SCOWLED, SEEING a Taliban soldier at the rear suddenly crumple and fall. What the hell? He and Reza were firing slowly but accurately at the Taliban closest to them, not at the rear of the group. His shoulder ached as he continued one fire, one bullet at a time. Whoever was closest was the one he sighted on. And then, after he saw a second soldier at the back of the group fall, he wondered where the bullet had come from.
He lifted his head for just a second, bullets snapping by him. His eyes narrowed to slits as he saw someone at the edge of the depression. Bay! And she had an AK-47, aiming and firing at the rear of the group, taking them down! His throat ached with relief. She was alive!
Gabe forced himself to return to firing at the soldiers racing and clawing up the hill to reach them. His mind worked like a deadly precision instrument. Now, with Bay in the fight, the Taliban were caught in a cross fire. None of them seemed to realize it yet, because she was killing those in the rear. His mouth thinned into a hard line, his eyes narrowing as he worked the rifle, the buck powerful, rippling through his entire body. He heard Reza’s Win-Mag, felt the heat of the Taliban bullet as it passed so damned close to his neck, his flesh burned in the wake of the passing speed of it.
The bloodcurdling screams of the Taliban grew closer. As fast as Gabe could fire at one, two more soldiers would pop up in his place. They were within a hundred feet of their position. He kept firing, the burning smell of cordite stinging his flared nostrils. They were going to get overrun….
*
BAY WATCHED THE soldiers racing up the hill toward the SEAL’s position. No! Oh, Lord, no! They’d be overrun in less than a minute. Gabe was there! Without thinking, Bay jammed her boots into the wall of the hide, scrambling, lifting herself up and out of it. She wove on unsteady knees, forcing herself to stand.
She yelled hoarsely in Pashto, hoping her voice would carry above the gunfire and screams. Two of the soldiers at the rear hesitated mid-hill, turned and looked her way. Bay waved the AK-47 up in the air at them, a challenge. And then, those soldiers screamed at the ones in front of them, excitedly pointing in her direction.
Satisfaction thrummed through her as half the soldiers nearing the summit turned around. Their mouths dropped open. They recognized her! She gave them a tight grin, her teeth clenched as she stood and fired a bullet into the group. One soldier fell.
For a second, the Taliban froze. And then, half of the group turned, running back down the slope toward her. The other half continued to fight their way up toward the crown of the hill. Bay felt rage and channeled it. She staggered to the depression, needing cover because the bullets were starting to snap and pop around her. She had no Kevlar, no way to protect herself. As she fell into the depression, pain ripped up though her. Relief soared through her. She’d at least crippled the attack against the SEALs and split the Taliban force. Now, maybe Gabe and his partner, whoever he was, could handle half the size of the attackers. SEALs didn’t surrender. Not ever. And now, she mentally counted the bullets left in the mag against the amount of angry soldiers running toward her position.
If she fired accurately, she had just enough bullets to kill all the enemy racing in her direction. Turning, Bay leaned against the rocky wall, her head and shoulders above it, the AK-47’s barrel planted on the earth to steady her aim. She saw their hatred. She tasted it. But Bay funneled her fear. One bullet, one enemy…
*
GABE GASPED AS he saw Bay reveal her position, shouting to get the Taliban’s attention. He couldn’t believe it. Instantly realizing what she was doing, he cursed richly. Bay was trying to stop them from being overrun. In that second Gabe was never so scared. No matter what she’d endured, no matter how injured she was, Bay was bravely making herself a target to save them. Dammit!
He kept his eye on the enemy. They were within fifty feet when Gabe yelled over to Reza, “Pistol!” And he yanked the SIG Sauer 9mm pistol out of the drop holster on his right thigh, swinging it up, firing as the first soldier came over the crest at them.
At a certain point, sniper rifles were too unwieldy to use. Especially in close-quarters fighting. Gabe watched as Reza dropped the rifle, going for the .45 at his side. Now, it was pistols against AK-47s. And his KA-BAR knife. Jerking the long blade out of the sheath strapped around his left calf, Gabe held it ready in his left hand, close to his body.
Four Taliban leaped over the crest, firing down at them. Gabe burned with hatred as he fired the SIG calmly into the shrieking group. Two fell. He felt a hit to his Kevlar, knocking him forward two paces. But he didn’t fall, instead dropping to one knee, his SIG remaining deadly accurate.
Reza took on two more. The .45 bucked, large holes in the chests of the Taliban opening up, blood flying all around them. Gabe’s whole world slowed down to milliseconds. Four more soldiers leaped at them. His hand bucked. The SIG barked. One soldier was left standing, and he’d thrown himself at Gabe. His hand was out, a curved blade in it, intending to stab him in the chest.
Like hell he would! Gabe sidestepped as the soldier flew by. SEALs were taught to use both their hands with equal ease. As the soldier passed by him, inches between him, Gabe jammed the KA-BAR up into the man’s gut. He heard him shriek. Instantly, Gabe jerked the knife out of his soft abdomen, falling backward, avoiding the downward slice of the man’s blade.
Another soldier jumped him from behind, and Reza yelled a warning. Too late! Gabe growled as he saw a knife slash downward out of the corner of his eye. The blade struck his Kevlar where his heart lay. The point snapped off. The soldier screamed, lifting his hand to try again. He wouldn’t get a second chance. Gabe snarled a curse, bringing the KA-BAR blade up from the left, thrusting it savagely into the man’s side. Ribs crunched and broke beneath the force of the blade’s entry. The man uttered a cry, surprise in his expression.
Gabe hissed, shoving him off to one side of himself, giving his KA-BAR a powerful jerk to remove it from the man’s torso.
Another soldier leaped at him. Lying on the ground, he rolled up to the left and fired straight up at the enemy with the SIG. The man screamed, dropping his AK-47. The weapon bounced off Gabe’s helmet, and he rolled to avoid being hit by the descending body.
The smell of blood, sweat and burning gunpowder surrounded them. Gabe leaped to his feet, shooting two soldiers who had jumped Reza. Breathing hard, Gabe swung around, expecting more enemy to charge them. There were none. He was confused for a moment until he suddenly heard sharp exchanges of gunfire below the hill. Staggering, his back hurting from the Kevlar bullet hit, Gabe spun forward, jumping over the ledge, moving toward the top of the hill. Bay!
Gabe stood for just a second, seeing five Taliban closing in on Bay’s position. She was firing slowly, accurately. Bullets were raining down on her. With a curse, Gabe turned.
“Get your Win-Mag,” he yelled at Reza. Leaning down, he grabbed up the weapon. His SIG would not cover the distance, but his rifle sure as hell would. He grabbed two mags, racing down the hill full speed, his eyes on Bay, automatically releasing the spent mag in the Win-Mag and slapping in a full one. In one motion, the bullet fed into the chamber.
*
BAY KNEW SHE was in trouble. She noticed the hatred in the men’s eyes as they ran toward her, firing their AK-47s on full automatic at her. Almost simultaneously, out of the corner of her eye, she saw a SEAL running down the hill toward her, rifle in hand. Giving a cry, she recognized Gabe’s form. He was firing the rifle at the men who were about to leap into the depression and kill her. The seconds slowed to a painful crawl. Gabe was trying to save her. Bay was overwhelmed with the knowledge he had somehow found her.
One Taliban soldier jumped down at her, firing his weapon. Bay knew she was going to die. He fired directly at her head even though she raised her AK-47 and fired simultaneously up at him. Her world went dark.
*
GABE SCREAMED OBSCENITIES as he saw the Taliban soldier leap into the depression, firing down at Bay. He’d skidded to a hal
t, jamming the Win-Mag to his shoulder, pulling the trigger. Midway down, the Taliban soldier’s body jerked sideways. But it was too late. Oh, God, it’s too late!
Through his scope, Gabe watched Bay crumple and disappear into the depression. Son of a bitch! He roared out her name, running as hard as he could across the goat path. Behind him, Reza fired the Win-Mag twice, taking out the last two soldiers. Hitting the scree at full speed, Gabe stumbled, nearly fell, righting himself, his gaze pinned on the depression. All the Taliban were dead, bodies lying everywhere. Was Bay alive? How bad was she hit?
Breathing in explosive gasps, Gabe skidded to a halt at the lip of the depression. His gaze whipped from the soldier, who lay dead three feet away from Bay. She was unmoving, the AK-47 in her lifeless hand, lying on her side among the rocks.
Gabe cried out her name and fell to her side. Automatically, he reached into his cammie pocket for his blow-out kit, the emergency medical packet filled with items to save another SEAL from a gunshot wound or from bleeding out. Gently, Gabe eased Bay over on her back, pressing his fingers against her heavily bruised throat, trying to find a pulse, trying to find life.
There! He swallowed his emotions. His eyes teared for a second as he felt her slight, fluttering pulse. Rapidly, he raked his gaze across her body, trying to see where she’d been shot. And then, horrified, as he carefully moved her head, he discovered blood leaking down the left side of her skull, across her delicate ear, soaking into the dirty, curled strands of hair. Oh, God, her face was horribly swollen, bruised.
Gasps tore out of his mouth. Gabe heard helicopters approaching, the puncture of rotor blades never sounding so good to him. Two medevacs were following them in because a QRF force might need them. He had a battle dressing and quickly pressed it to the side of her temple and wrapped it around her head where she’d taken the bullet. Gabe couldn’t tell if the bullet was in her brain or had just grazed her and ricocheted off her skull. He began to pray for the first time in his life as he slid his hands beneath her shoulders and thighs. Lifting Bay gently against his body, her head lolling against his chest, a sob tore out of Gabe’s contorted mouth. His chest hurt so damn much, he felt as if he was going to die from grief.
Reza appeared at the lip of the depression. His eyes widened enormously as he saw Bay unconscious in his arms. Without a word, he thrust out his hand and helped Gabe scramble up and out of the hole.
“They’re here!” Reza shouted, pointing to the two MH-47s landing several hundred feet away.
Gabe tried to think through his shock. “Run to them! Get me a medevac! Bay’s been shot in the head. Hurry!”
The SEAL force emptied out of the rear of the Chinooks. Also a Black Hawk medevac landed hundreds of feet farther down behind the Chinook on the goat path. Shoving his legs forward, out of breath, feeling shaky with terror, Gabe pushed forward into an unsteady trot. He held Bay tightly in his arms, not wanting to injure her any more than she already had been. He caught sight of Chief Phillips racing toward him, his face set.
Gabe didn’t even slow down as the Chief met him. “Head wound,” he yelled over the rotors beating around them. The dust was rising on the goat trail, the SEALs were rapidly deploying, M-4s ready, moving toward each of the Taliban soldiers to make sure they were dead.
Phillips nodded, pointing behind the Chinook. “Get her and yourself onto that first medevac!”
As Gabe was halfway to the Black Hawk, two medics leaped out of the helo and raced toward him. Fear and grief riddled him. He stumbled, nearly fell, holding Bay tight against his body. Righting himself, Gabe met the two men. One was older, maybe late thirties, the other younger.
“Let us take her,” the older medic yelled above the cacophony.
“No way,” Gabe snarled at them, pushing past them and into a trot. Only fifty feet to go and Bay would be on a litter. Then, they could help her.
The older man turned, gripped Gabe’s arm, steadying him as he ran. “This way,” he yelled as they hit the rotor wash pummeling them with eighty-mile-an-hour blasts as they drew near the medevac.
Gabe bowed his head, protecting Bay. Brush, dirt and dust kicked and swirled violently around them. He was grateful for the older medic’s guiding hand on his arm, pulling him toward the lip of the helo.
There, Gabe climbed in, gently depositing Bay on the litter strapped to the bulkhead of the bird. And then he shoved himself quickly to the rear, allowing the two medics to instantly hop on board. Gabe grabbed a helmet and pulled it on. Plugging the connection into the ICS panel, he’d be able to communicate directly with the two pilots and medics.
The older medic’s last name on his flight suit read Taft. Gabe gasped for air, sucking it deep into his burning lungs, his eyes never leaving Bay’s white, unmoving face. Taft pulled on a helmet and put the mic to his lips.
“Head wound,” Gabe told him, his voice unsteady. “Left side, temple.”
“Roger that, sir.” Taft lifted his head after a swift examination of Bay. “Casevac,” he told the pilots. “Bagram. It’s a nine-line. Redline this bird. She’s critical.”
Closing his eyes for a moment, Gabe felt the Black Hawk break earth, the gravity pushing down upon him. He opened his eyes, breathing raggedly, watching the two medics quickly cutting away the sleeves on Bay’s cammies, exposing both her pale arms. Feeling as if he were in some kind of unending nightmare, he watched Taft push an IV into each of her arms. The younger medic named Marbury followed the older’s directions quickly and efficiently. Sobbing for breath, his back throbbing painfully from the Kevlar hit, Gabe bowed his head, his hand across his face, tears falling.
Critical. Bay was critical. He couldn’t lose her! He just couldn’t! No matter what Gabe tried to do, he couldn’t stop the tears from flowing. The roar of the helicopter covered his sobs that wrenched unwillingly out of his chest. He simply couldn’t conceive of life without Bay in it. Her soft, shining eyes, her full lips, her husky laughter riffled across his heart and memory. Bay had always lifted him and made him feel happy for the first time in his sorry-assed life.
He heard Taft’s voice tense as he snapped orders to Marbury. Gabe lifted his wet face and watched as the medic placed a blood pressure cuff on her upper right arm. Taft leaned over her, listening to her heart through his stethoscope.
Only now was Gabe beginning to realize the terrible damage done to Bay. The entire left side of her face was swollen, nothing but purple-and-red bruises, her left eye swollen shut. What kind of hell had she endured? Gabe knotted his fist, wanting to kill whoever had done this to her. He was racked with murderous rage.
His life focused only on Bay. Taft took the dressing off her head, peering intently at the head wound. Gabe couldn’t read his taut expression. The medic quickly cleaned the area, replacing it with a dressing, wrapping gauze around her head. Her light brown curls looked stark against the white bandage.
Gabe’s gaze moved down across her limp body. It was then he saw dark blood staining her trousers on the insides of her thighs. A groan tore out of him. Gabe felt a new kind of terror ripping through him. And Taft found it in his examination of her. Bile rose in Gabe’s throat as he watched the medic quickly cut her trousers from ankle all the way up to her waist. The other medic did the same on her other leg. Old dried blood along with bright red blood coated the insides of both her thighs all the way down to her calves.
Gabe turned away, unable to watch as Taft went to examine the source of her bleeding. Why? Why had they done this to her? A wrenching scream worked its way up through him. Gabe’s cry was drowned out by the thundering sounds of the helicopter. He turned away, head pressed against the cold metal of the bulkhead, his eyes jammed shut. Hot tears fell down his tense face.
Gabe felt like a coward by turning away when Bay had bravely faced her captors head-on and he had not. When he turned back, he could see that several warm blankets had been placed across her lower body, tucked in around her waist. Taft’s face was filled with fury. Their gazes briefly met. Gabe felt h
is whole life slipping, tumbling into free fall. The medic didn’t have to say anything. The look on his face said it all. He knew Bay had been raped….
AT BAGRAM HOSPITAL, Gabe followed the gurney bearing Bay into the emergency room. He wasn’t going to leave her side. Taft quickly gave the stats to a young woman doctor with red hair and green eyes. The name embroidered on her white coat said Captain S. Guardian. Gabe wondered if it was some kind of sick joke being played on him as he stood, gripping Bay’s cold hand. Waiting. Waiting again. God, hurry. Do something for her! What the fuck is taking so long? Get your asses in gear!
Dr. Guardian glanced over at him, then gave orders to her nurses, turned and thanked Taft.
Taft nodded and then went over to Gabe.
“Sir, she’s got a chance of making it. Okay? Do you hear me?” His eyes burrowed into Gabe’s.
Those were the sweetest words Gabe had ever heard. Turning, he looked over at the lean medic. “Th-thanks…I appreciate everything you did for her….” He choked up, his eyes burning with unshed tears, unable to speak.
The medic gripped his shoulder. “Hang in there, sir. She’s got you fighting for her. Never surrender.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
GABE SAT TENSELY in the surgery lobby of Bagram hospital. It had been four hours since Bay had been wheeled into surgery. Four of the longest, most torturous hours of his life. Dr. Guardian was a neurologist, and he hoped against hope her name really meant every word of it. Right now, Bay needed a guardian, someone who could pull her out of death’s embrace and bring her back to him.
He was so immersed in his grief over Bay that he failed to even hear Dr. Guardian approach until she touched his shoulder. Gabe jerked, his head snapping up, automatically going into a defensive posture.
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