Trinity: Military War Dog

by Ronie Kendig

  Fingers tickled his ear. He shrugged off the tickle.

  “Keep still,” came the quiet command—from Jia.

  The coms link tucked back into his ear, he eyed her face, so close to his … and sideways. He gave a nod and kept moving. Shouts erupted behind them and served as motivation to move faster. They cleared the line of huts and broke into the open. Heath trained his focus on the rocky incline. Remembered slipping and sliding down it. This will be interesting.

  “Ghost, Candyman, you’ve got tails.”

  Okay, make that very interesting.

  Halfway up the hill, rocks and dirt peppered his face.

  “Taking fire,” Candyman called.

  Heath stuffed himself behind a rocky cleft and peered up. Huffing, he knelt and looked at Jia. “Doing okay?”

  “Sure.”

  He panted through a quick laugh. “Good.” Eying their route, he felt desperation clogging his veins. At least another fifty, sixty feet up to the ridgeline—but they’d still be prime targets. Then another mile or more to the team.

  The verse in Proverbs about God making paths straight teased Heath. He smirked, imagining the great hand of God smoothing a path directly to safety. Then again … You are the God who says all things are possible to him who believes, right?

  Trinity barked to the right.

  Heath checked … and froze as she darted out of view. Tucked behind a stack of boulders, a path led up the side of the mountain. Smooth. Straight. Protected. “No way.” He readjusted, looked to Candyman, who already pushed up from his spot and started toward Trinity.

  “Hold on,” Heath muttered to Jia.

  “Ya think?”

  He smiled and broke into a sprint.

  Gunfire peppered the ground.

  Fire lit through his leg.

  Jia sucked in a sudden breath.

  The ground rushed up at him.

  Thirty-Five

  Cover them!” Watterboy’s shout sailed through the air.

  Peering through the binoculars but unarmed—at least, they believed he wasn’t armed—Haur trailed the trio as they hoofed it back up the mountain, mind stricken with what he’d seen and heard. M4s provided suppressive cover.

  He let the extended reach of the lens trace the village. Jianyu’s elite were there in force. Russians … not so much. Odd. If the purpose of Jianyu’s presence here was to align with the Russians in order to attack the Americans, wouldn’t there be more?

  Maybe they were holed up on the other side of the ridge.

  Or maybe there was something different, something more sinister going on here.

  Haur double-checked on the threesome and the dog. Making good progress. A tiny explosion of blood on Ghost’s leg told of a shot. The man hobbled but made it into the passage.

  He’d be fine. So would the dog. And the woman. The spy who’d outsmarted his brother and escaped him twice. Haur would like the chance to talk with her, determine her motives, determine if the love she lavished on his brother was real. Or was in fact a tactic to unseat Jianyu. No one had mastered his brother, the master of all.

  Except the woman spy. Meixiang. But that’s not what the others had called her. Jia, wasn’t it? Thoughts rolled around his mind, laden with curiosity and venom, a hunger to know the power she’d exerted over Jianyu.

  He’d tried to exert power, to influence the brother whose thirst for power had darkened his outlook. Oh, how Haur had tried. For more than twenty years. And here he was on an icy mountain, staring at the scene before him, distanced. Cold. Left out.

  Again.

  Haur studied the village, tried to mesh his thinking with Jianyu’s. They’d been close, studied together, planned together, passed exams, and soared through the ranks like twins. But there had always been a particular twist to Jianyu’s thinking. The awareness of that element in his “brother” had kept Haur alive.

  So, brother, what are you doing here? What madness is behind this mission?

  The binoculars hit on movement near the center of the small village. Men ran in all directions. A door spun through the air. Haur trained in on that structure.

  A man stepped into the open. His face a mask of indignation and rage.

  Giddy warmth slithered through Haur so heated he feared the snow around him would betray his guilty pleasure.

  “What do you see?” Bai asked in a low voice. “Do you see Jianyu?”

  Haur ignored him, glad he’d kept the smile from his face. “No.” The lie was necessary. Especially with suspicions abounding. Especially with loyalties shifting.

  “They’re clear, but let’s keep them safe,” Watterboy announced. “Spook, you ready to haul butt out of here?”

  “We’re ready.”

  Haur kept his focus on his enraged brother. Who kicked a truck. Punched a private. Knocked a boiling pot from its stand in a fire. Men around it shot up, tumbling backward, away from the spewing maw of the pot and their colonel.

  So. Jianyu had discovered the American spy had been recovered. Taken right from his hands. Right out from under his nose. The same operative who’d toppled the Zheng empire.

  He should not be so pleased. It was not good to revel in the misfortune of others. His mother had taught him that. But Haur could not help but think even his mother was smiling on this day. Or … perhaps not yet. Perhaps soon though.

  “Haur,” Bai said hoarsely.

  “They’re almost out,” he muttered, hoping Bai would beg off and leave him so he could figure out what Jianyu would do now. He wanted to witness this.

  “Pack it up, people. Let’s move!”

  As Haur was about to pull up, a second man emerged from the hut. Heat splashed down the back of his neck, filling him with dread. He knew that shape. Or did he?

  No, it couldn’t be …

  Same height but twice the girth. He placed a hand on Jianyu’s shoulder, bringing him around. His brother shoved off the hand, arms flailing as he raged at the man. Yet the other man clamped the hand back on his shoulder, brought him back in line.

  This … this was too familiar. Unease squirmed through Haur’s gut.

  At this angle, Haur could not see the man’s face. But something …

  Jianyu shifted.

  And with him, so did Haur’s world. General Zheng.

  “Ghost!”

  His foot plunged into soft snow, shin-deep, the second fire ripped through it. Heath struggled to stay upright, to keep from dropping Jia. The weight of the world rested on his shoulders. She was an American operative with information that could put a lot of people in danger and countries at war.

  Heath trudged out of the deep snow, staring at the path where Candyman stood with Trinity, each step felt like trying to plunge into a vat of glue.

  “Sorry.” Jia’s apology warmed him.

  “For what? This”—he grunted as he pushed up and over a crevice—“walk in the park?” She sucked in a breath that slowed him, worried he was hurting her with the ragged, jerky movements.

  “Bomb.”

  In the split second after she said that word, Heath’s gaze hopscotched over the terrain, a blast—literally—from the past still ringing in his ears. “Where?”

  “Don’t know.” Jia moaned. “Jianyu … bombs … bases.”

  He braved another step. “But not here?” He couldn’t help but assess the ground with more caution now. With the sun about to peek over the tips of the mountain, the pristine snowfall would soon be blinding. “No … bas …”

  Hands pawed at him. Candyman tugged him into the safety of the passage. “Want me to take her?”

  “No.” Heath surprised himself at the vehemence of his response. Easy, chief. “We’re good.”

  “Tell him,” Jia wheezed out, then drooped.

  Candyman’s gaze darted to him. “Tell me what?”

  Thwat!

  Heath ducked and went to a knee—which hit hard because of the incline.

  “Move!” Candyman shouted as he zigzagged farther into the passage and up t
he mountain.

  Heath pushed himself, ignoring the sweat sliding down his neck and back despite the chilling, bitter wind and the frigid temps. His nerves bounced, wishing he could stop and reassess Jia, but even though they had the protection of the passage, this walled-in passage would provide a perfect ambush point.

  He propelled himself up the narrow path and focused on getting back to Watters and the others. It took a minute before they reached the top. Candyman crouched at the opening, Trinity too. She came to Heath and licked Jia’s face.

  “We’ll go up some more, then beeline it for the team. They’re waiting and will cover, but going up over the ridge and down a little will provide cover.”

  “Got it.”

  Candyman’s gaze tracked over Heath and then Jia. “You okay?”

  “Sure.”

  “Let me take her the rest of the way.”

  “I’m good.”

  “Bull.” Candyman’s dogged determination held fast. “Your head’s hurting, isn’t it?”

  “No,” Heath said as a thump inside his head argued with his answer. “Okay, a little.” Little? The thing felt as if it wielded Thor’s hammer. He hadn’t noticed.

  “Your leg …”

  Heath glanced down to where blood seeped into the snow. “Just a graze.” But standing here, not moving, the muscle contracted and squeezed, sending shards of fire up past his knee and into his thigh.

  “You willing to risk her life on that graze and little headache?” Candyman stepped closer, his tone softer. “Ghost, listen—dump the pride. Work with me. We can move faster. You slowed down. You’re tripping. Let me take her.”

  Heath considered the offer. But three things made him hesitate: They had less than a mile to go. The incline had been hard and completely in the open. The other element was Jia’s trust in him, her saying she was okay “now,” now that he was here, now that he held her. And third, jostling her from his shoulders to Candyman’s might inflict unnecessary additional trauma.

  Then again, if he passed out, went down for five seconds like he had days earlier …

  Heath nodded. “Okay.” He went down on a knee again, angling his back to his combat buddy. Weight shifted from his shoulders and unbalanced him.

  Heath swiftly turned and aided Candyman with adjusting and getting back on his feet. “Got her?”

  Straightening, Candyman nodded. “Let’s go.”

  Only as he moved free of her weight did Heath notice the burn in his leg, the pounding in his skull, and the aches in his legs and arms. He couldn’t help but make the comparison to the moment of surrender … with God.

  A month ago, he would’ve been too stubborn and filled with pride to admit that he needed Candyman to share the burden. Just as Heath needed to now admit he needed God’s help. He didn’t belong here. As much as he’d said he wanted to get back into combat, into the fray … he didn’t. His pride had been wounded by that blast. Shoved out the back door by the Army, his self-worth and identity took a hit, center mass.

  He’d been so focused on proving he still had what it took, he nearly caused more harm than good. No wonder he hadn’t qualified for the chaplaincy.

  “Do it,” Candyman grunted.

  Heath turned to his beautiful partner, invigorated by the life lesson that had just dumped down his nerve network. “Trinity, go!”

  She threw her muscular body around and launched along the ridgeline. Heath gauged the incline, making sure they were out of sight. Keying his mic, he reported in. “Base, Ghost and Candyman en route. One klick.”

  “Roger. We have you in sight. Covering your six.”

  And wasn’t that just like God, too? Surrender the load, admit you can’t do it alone, and He’s right there, ready to fight. “The Lord will fight for you; you need only to be still.” The verse from Exodus sailed across his mind and propelled him toward the team.

  Help me be still, God. Not literally, of course, but in heart and mind, in attitude. The fight wasn’t his. He needed to surrender the dreams, the hopes, the yearnings … God would defend his honor. God would prove the mettle buried deep within Heath Daniels.

  A shape rose from the snow.

  Heath’s breath backed into his throat.

  “Ghost!” the form waved an arm.

  Heart stuttering, Heath let out the breath. “Watterboy!” He spun around and guided Candyman into the safety of the team’s embrace.

  Scrip and Doc rushed forward and took Jia. In a two-man carry, they lowered her onto a thermal blanket and litter. Candyman and Watterboy joined the others in lifting it. The spook and his objective were there helping—even though the other man’s face looked as beat up as Jia’s. A white bandage covered the guy’s neck as the team made a quick turnaround and got moving again. They navigated the treacherous terrain for about another klick before pausing near an outcropping.

  Scrip and Doc knelt around Jia, probing, assessing. Scrip slid a needle for an IV into her arm.

  “How bad is she?” Heath shifted to alleviate the throbbing in his leg.

  Doc looked up, then dropped his gaze to Heath’s calf. “Let me see that.”

  Heath tugged the leg back. “I’m good.”

  “I didn’t ask, and I outrank you.” Doc wrapped a firm hand around Heath’s knee and ripped his tactical pants open around the wound. He grabbed a packet from his field kit, tore it open, and squeezed the clear contents onto the injury. Then he pressed gauze and tape around it. “Just a graze. You’re good.”

  “Except now it stings.” Heath couldn’t resist the taunt and smirked when Doc glowered at him. “How’s the girl?”

  “Can’t tell—messed up,” Scrip said. “Broken ribs for sure.”

  “Means this hike could make this journey a killer.”

  Scrip shook his head. “Watterboy, we need an extraction. She can’t make the hike.”

  A curse stabbed the tension.

  Heath looked at the team leader. “What’s wrong?”

  “No coms.” Watterboy huffed. “Okay, pack her up. Let’s get moving. Putman, keep trying coms. First signal, I want to know.”

  “Roger.”

  Heath squatted beside Trinity and held her face in his hands, rubbing each ear between his thumb and forefinger. “Good work, girl.” Nose cold but dry, she panted and gave him that squinted “You betcha” look. Heath tugged the bite valve of his CamelBak and took a draught of water. Icy cold, but at least it hadn’t frozen yet. He sucked hard, then aimed it at Trinity. She lapped the water, but he could tell she didn’t have the stamina she’d had twenty-four hours ago.

  Heath dug his hand into the fur along her chest, feeling for her pulse. Had she been injured and he hadn’t noticed? No noticeable bullet holes. No blood. “You just tired, girl?”

  As if in answer, she lowered herself to the snow, pink tongue wagging with each rapid rise and fall of her chest. He slipped on the insulated doggie mitts.

  “Let’s move. Last established coms was two klicks out.”

  Heath lifted her onto his shoulders. Though she tensed at first, it wasn’t her first rodeo, and she settled into the hold.

  The journey proved treacherous and laborious. Heath watched the path in front him, head tucked, gaze down to ensure he didn’t step off the path and plummet to his death. When Trinity whimpered, he wondered if she’d be better off walking. At least down among their legs, her back and ears weren’t exposed to the frigid air. Gently, he brought her around and lowered her. As he patted her head and took a step—his foot plunged downward. Stomach went with it.

  Something tugged him back.

  “Easy there, Ghost.”

  Steadied and moving again, he glanced back. “Thanks, Haur.” Shaken that he could’ve plummeted to his death, Heath mulled over who’d saved him. The Chinese man. The dichotomous one. Whose words always seemed to have double meanings. Or maybe that was just Heath’s imagination.

  Thanks to the narrow path covered with snow, every cell in his body felt frozen through. Howling winds tore at
their clothes and exposed flesh. Heath’s head pounded in cadence with each step. He eased two tablets out of a packet tucked into his pocket and dumped them in his mouth. With a dry swallow, he hoped that would cut off the thumping in his skull.

  Minutes bled into what felt like hours. In fact, two hours. Still no communication. Shadows overtook the team, drawing Heath’s gaze upward. Gray, heavy clouds shielded the earth from the sun. Thick, fat snowflakes swirled and danced on the tendrils of icy air. As Heath’s gaze roamed the sky, it hit the foot-deep ledge of snow that stretched over the mountain passage.

  A foreboding wormed into his gut and took root.

  “All quiet,” came the hissed words from the front.

  Watterboy, too, had noticed the shelf of snow.

  And the danger it posed. They didn’t need a missile. Or even a bullet. Just a sound. Just the right frequency, and the enemy could wipe the whole grid off the map and into an icy, suffocating grave.

  Thirty-Six

  They’re going to die because of me.

  The thought strangled her as the sky twisted into a cauldron of white and gray fury. Darci appreciated the warmth of the thermal blankets and the less-jarring method of carrying her. But that these men were placing their lives on the line. For her. Unacceptable.

  In all, she counted four men carrying her, at least four others and Heath closely trailing her. Had he been carrying Trinity? I thought he carried me. Two men, shoulders burrowed and heads tucked, trailed Heath. A couple more behind them. A dozen? Why were a dozen men searching for her? Too many! She didn’t want to be responsible for that many lives. She’d seen the weight her father bore after her mother’s death and being separated from her brother. She didn’t want that burden.

  She shifted her left arm and felt the familiar pinch of a needle. For what? Darci searched her mind for coherency. She didn’t feel addled. That told her they hadn’t given her morphine. Saline, most likely. Maybe antibiotics. She was, after all, missing a few fingernails.

  Down the length of her body, at the foot of the stretcher that bore her, Darci locked onto Heath. He’d stormed into the hut, all bravado and good looks. Face still streaked with tactical paint, he maintained that grim determination. But beneath it … something else spoke. A certainty. A … knowing.