Lethal Game

by Christine Feehan

  There was a small silence. Braden let out his breath. “That’s suicide. I’m serious. They’ve got every kind of weapon known in those bunkers and experienced fighters handling them.”

  “We have the intel,” Malichai assured. “It’s the only way any of us are getting out of here. We knew that when we volunteered to haul your butts out.” Deliberately, he sounded cocky, but even though both men were enhanced, the bunkers weren’t going to be easy to take down—and they had to be down, or they’d just keep losing helicopters.

  “Your job is to get stronger. Get warm. Hydrate. Start getting those muscles to work,” Rubin added to fill the silence as the others looked at them as if they were insane.

  “It isn’t the first time, you know,” Malichai added. “That’s what gave us the idea. A SEAL did something very similar on a different mountain a few years back.”

  “Weapons change all the time,” Braden pointed out. “I’m telling you, that’s suicide. I tried getting close to them, and they unleashed hell on us.”

  “We think they’re going to sneak up on us and take us out,” Jack added. “We’re taking shifts, trying to stay awake, but they could kill us just about any time.”

  “You’re too valuable to them right where you are. They know we’re going to keep sending more troops in to try to bring you home,” Malichai explained. “You’re the bait.”

  The team exchanged looks. They didn’t like that.

  “I can help out,” Braden offered.

  “I could probably get up and running,” Jack offered as well. “Barry can watch Jerry for us. I’m a damn good shot. You brought us some ammunition, right?”

  They had, but they weren’t taking the wounded with them on what amounted to a suicide mission—not to mention, being enhanced was classified. They weren’t to expose others to those enhancements if at all possible.

  “Your job is to make certain you’re ready for a run up the mountain to the clearing just above us. The helicopter will set down there. If we clear the bunkers, we’ll have help getting up to the extraction point. If not, it’s all on us.”

  “We aren’t leaving Tim behind,” Braden said decisively.

  The others murmured their agreement, all nodding and looking at Malichai as if he was challenging their firm statement. Malichai had no intentions of leaving Tim behind if it could be helped. The man was a soldier for the United States. He belonged home, not here, where his life had been taken far too young.

  “No, we’re not leaving him behind,” he stated quietly, hoping everything went as planned and there would be no need to go back on his promise. No matter what, the living came first.

  He looked across the small space to Rubin, who was still working on Jerry. It didn’t look good, not with the way Rubin was so gently and meticulously working on the man. That was another body they might have to transport out when the time came. He hoped not.

  Jerry had saved the others at a great cost to himself, but he could live without a leg and an arm. He could have a decent life. Malichai didn’t want to think too much on what that life would be like. He had to keep telling himself that at least Jerry was alive. Tim was never going to get that chance.

  “Braden. I’d prefer that you stop moving around until you absolutely have to. I think you’re losing blood internally. It’s best if you just stay as still as you can and hydrate. I’m going to set up a transfusion for you as well.”

  Rubin, when you have a minute, will you check him out? I’ve got a bad feeling.

  Rubin didn’t look up, but he nodded.

  There was a small gasp that seemed to go around the little encampment. Braden wasn’t their commander, but he’d taken command when he had to. He’d been the one to dole out the supplies and ensure that the wounded were cared for. He’d done it by crawling from man to man. He’d defended them when they’d taken heavy fire. He’d risked everything crawling around the bunkers at night to get intel on the enemy.

  “The transfusion will help get you home. You’re fine, but we just want to be more careful.” Malichai said it more for the other men than for Braden.

  Braden shrugged. “Save the blood for the others. Especially Jerry.”

  Malichai flashed him a smile. “You don’t all have the same blood type, Braden. We brought a supply for each of you because we weren’t certain what condition you were in. They’re jamming communications.”

  Braden glanced at his watch. “Won’t be long and they’ll launch their nightly show of force, warning us, I guess, to stay put. They know we’re sitting ducks here, but they just keep throwing ammo at us and then leaving us alone.”

  “What do you do?”

  “We just have to hunker down and take it. I tell everyone to treat it as a Fourth of July fireworks show. We can’t waste any more ammunition returning useless fire. We’re not going to hit anything. They could blow us up right here if they really wanted to.”

  Malichai didn’t like that, but it was the truth. They were alive because they were being kept alive in the hopes that more helicopters would come to rescue them.

  The whine of a lone bullet was their first warning. Then all hell broke loose. Machine-gun fire erupted from three different locations, the sound and sight insanely beautiful in the cold, crisp night. The incoming looked exactly like fireworks, long white streaks spewing into the air, small white starlike dots filling the dark sky and then the occasional explosion of red and orange roaring flames.

  If one could get over the horrific noise and the fact that those bullets could end a life, the murderous assault was exactly as Braden had said it would be—a Fourth of July fireworks display. Braden even began to point out the difference in one bunker’s shooting from another’s. They ducked and stayed under cover as best they could. Many of the bullets hit too close to home, but the men had endured the assault every evening, so they had already positioned themselves in the best places to stay safe.

  Malichai noted that the two most seriously wounded, Tim and Jerry, were both tucked in tight behind the largest boulders. Rubin had covered Jerry’s body with his own during the barrage of machine-gun fire. Malichai had been close to Braden, setting up his transfusion and the saline bag to hydrate him. Braden was the most exposed of all the soldiers and Malichai had instinctively covered him as well.

  Braden nudged him. “Bunker three is worst. They always chip away at the rocks, making certain the slivers they break off and the sparks hit us. They’re in the best position to take us out, but bunker two has the best and most accurate shooters. They’re the ones that have taken out the helicopters. They’re all capable, I guess, but bunker two seems much more experienced.”

  As far as Malichai could see, Braden O’Connell deserved a commendation, and if they got out of this mess in one piece, he intended to put the man up for one. Someone had to know how he conducted himself in the field under fire, even wounded as he was. He’d gathered intel, hoping to pass it on to anyone coming to rescue them.

  “Do you have any idea how many men are manning each bunker?”

  “I couldn’t get close enough. They have traps set out to warn them if anyone is sneaking up on them. I tripped them twice. Once at bunker three and once at bunker two. By the time I got to the first one, I knew what their traps were like.” He fished in his pocket and brought out a torn scrap of paper. His hand shook as he gave it to Malichai. “I drew them out the best that I could. It isn’t one hundred percent reliable.”

  Malichai thought Braden was the epitome of a soldier. Even wounded, the man had crawled to the bunkers during the night, trying to get intelligence on positions, number of the enemy, and what weapons they had. He took the paper and looked it over carefully. There was far more firepower available to the enemy than they’d known. He didn’t want any of the helicopters coming near their position until he and Rubin had a chance to take the guns out.

  The two GhostWalkers worked as qui
ckly and as efficiently as possible once the terrible barrage of bullets stopped. The noise had been deafening. More, the bullets had hit all around them. The constant mortar fire hitting close to their shelter was terrifying. There was nowhere else to go. They were in the last of the boulders before they were at the top of the peak. They lived with the certain knowledge that sooner or later, the enemy would get tired of taunting them. They wouldn’t be that difficult to kill once the boulders were blown to bits.

  It was bitterly cold at night, the temperature dropping drastically. Even with treating their wounds, giving blood, fluids and painkillers, the men weren’t going to last unless they got them out of there.

  “We’re going to do this as quietly as we can,” Malichai told them as they handed out ammunition. “We don’t want you to try to help us. You just rest. Drink water. Try to sleep if you can. Don’t make noise or call out to us, you’ll just get us killed.”

  “They have excellent night vision goggles,” Braden warned. “I learned that the hard way. I’m not certain any of us could come to your rescue.” He moved as if he might try.

  Malichai put a hand on his arm to stop him. “Just take it easy. You especially, Braden. I’m going to need you when we make our move. Don’t worry so much, I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve.”

  Braden looked him over. Malichai knew there wasn’t much to see, other than he was combat-hardened. His experience showed in the lines in his face, in the calm he displayed under all conditions and in the flat, cold look in his eyes. The soldier nodded, a little reassured.

  “You ready?” Malichai asked Rubin.

  Rubin bent over Jerry. “I’m heading out now, but I’ll be back in time to haul your ass out of here. I want you alive, soldier. You got that? You have a family waiting for you at home. Jack’s right here if you need anything.”

  “I’m with you, buddy,” Jack assured and reached out to grip Jerry’s wrist.

  Jerry attempted a faint grin. “I’ll be here. Just lying around. Give me a gun. I’m right-handed.”

  Rubin looked up to meet Malichai’s questioning gaze. No one wanted Jerry to take his own life. A decision had to be made. His team knew him better than they did. Both men looked to Braden.

  “He’d never do that with us needing him. He knows every gun counts,” Braden whispered to Malichai.

  Malichai gave the thumbs-up to Rubin, who put a gun on the man’s chest. “It’s loaded. Just point and shoot. Just make certain it isn’t pointed my way.”

  “Depends on whether or not these meds wear off before you get back,” Jerry said.

  Rubin gave him a grin, another pat and then turned his attention to Jack. “He’s a tough one, but you keep him down until I get back.”

  Jack nodded while Jerry made derisive sounds. “That’s my momma, telling me I have to behave myself.”

  “You keep that in mind.” Rubin crawled back toward Malichai, staying low. Together, they pulled out their gear and shed their snow clothing.

  Their garb was specifically constructed for nighttime raids. They reflected their surroundings and, with their enhancements, it was easy enough to fade into the night. They both were capable of lowering their body temperatures to confuse the night vision goggles and still function without impairment. It was one of Malichai’s least favorite things to do.

  “Helicopter will be here at dawn,” Rubin reported. “We’ll be back by then.”

  They had to be or that meant they were dead.

  Malichai regarded Braden as he shoved weapons into each of the carefully hidden compartments in his clothing. “You stay put. Jack, if he gets some wild hair that he’s coming after us, either sit on him or shoot him in the leg.”

  “Not sure that will stop him,” Jack said. “But I’ll be glad to follow those orders, sir.”

  Braden let out a groan. “You’re giving way too much authority to a bloodthirsty individual, sir.”

  Malichai heard the strain in their voices, although they were trying to hide it with jokes. He gave them a small salute. “At dawn. Be prepared to move out fast.”

  “I’ll get right on that, sir,” Jerry said.

  Rubin turned and looked at Malichai. Crouching low, they moved to the very edge of the boulder line. The big rocks progressively got smaller, forcing them to go down onto their bellies. Movement always drew the eye. Someone from each of the three bunkers had to have been given the job to watch for anyone trying to sneak out of the encampment, especially after Braden had tripped a few of their traps.

  The mountains of Afghanistan were home, in spite of the continual conflicts, to many wild animals, including snow leopards, lions, jackals, fox and the roaming ibex. Any number of animals might have triggered those traps, if Braden hadn’t left tracks for their enemies to find. It didn’t matter, they had to take out those bunkers in order to give the helicopter a chance to land safely and take the wounded home.

  He signaled to Rubin to make his way to bunker two first. That was the one with serious firepower and the most experienced of the enemy fighters. If they couldn’t get to all of them, they had to at least kill those in bunker two. It would take an hour to make it across the snow-covered ground if they didn’t want to be seen. During that hour, the hope was the fighters would be taking a much-needed break, eating and, if they were lucky, going to sleep. Malichai would approach from one direction, with Rubin coming in from the opposite side.

  Malichai proceeded to move inch by slow inch. He didn’t drag himself because he couldn’t afford to have drag marks be seen in the snow. He had to use his hands and feet to propel his body forward. Always, he had to keep his body inches from the ground. Without his enhanced strength, he could never have accomplished such a thing.

  Months earlier, he’d been shot in the leg, but thanks to Rubin’s psychic surgery and the efforts of Joe, another teammate who was very skilled in psychic healing, his leg was stronger than ever. He felt very confident crossing that long expanse of snow to get to his intended target.

  His enhancements were not as specialized as some of the other GhostWalkers’ because he was considered an “all-around” soldier. He could find water in a desert twenty-five feet down below the surface. He could go up the side of a sheer mountain, or swim for long periods of time underwater without taking a breath. He was extremely fast underwater. His sense of smell, eyesight and hearing were all very acute.

  He often felt like the man who wasn’t master of anything yet could manage to make his way through numerous pitfalls. If he did have one claim he could make, it was taking apart or putting together explosives in record time. He had a feel for them. He almost didn’t have to look at them. It was instinctive. But that was it as far as his enhancements went.

  They maintained silence until they both reached their destinations. In position, Rubin reported.

  They were always careful with telepathic communication. The truth was, many people had undeveloped psychic talents. They could trigger a warning, just by making the wrong person vigilant for no reason that individual could put his finger on—it was just a feeling.

  In position. Rubin, we can’t chance them making any noise. We have to do this one right. Even if they were able to kill their enemy, they had to do it swiftly, so the others didn’t find out. Most likely number is five. There will be a lookout behind the bunker. Malichai had to get to him first. He would be in the best position to get away and raise the alarm. Making my way around to guard’s location now.

  He spoke in very small bursts of energy, keeping the output as low as possible. Once again, he began to move, inch by inch. He “felt” for the traps Braden had warned him about. He had encountered the first row of them approximately twenty feet out from the wall. The traps had wrapped around the reinforced boulders with more traps every few feet. A virtual minefield of alarms and real bombs that would be triggered by weight had been constructed to protect those inside the bunker.
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  The traps gave off energy that he felt through the hairs on his body. He had trained over and over to be sensitive enough to know when there was a trap, a bomb, anything at all that would harm him or those relying on him.

  Malichai made his way around the bunker. Due to the rock formation, it was quite a distance to the back. There were no breaks in the rock and he finally went up, once again using his strength and the tiny gecko-like hairs engineered into his hands that allowed him to hold not only his own weight but that of another man as heavy as him. The hair was microscopic, but each was divided into a thousand fine projections, sticking out like tiny brushes. Unseen, they were only felt. Malichai’d had to train for months in the proper way to “stick” to a surface, and then learn to get unstuck. Once that had been accomplished, he’d trained to climb fast and in silence. He could hang upside down or stay on a ceiling if needed.

  He clung to the side of the rock, surveying the enemy camp and counting the six men in the bunker. The guard would make seven. Sleeping quarters were toward the back of the bunker. Two men were lying down. Two were drinking what looked like tea while another stood with a pair of night vision goggles looking toward the encampment where Braden and the others were, while the sixth man swept back and forth with his night vision binoculars over the snow-covered ground.

  Malichai slowly crawled down the rock wall and made his way toward the back of the bunker where the guard would be. It was darkest there. None of the light from the fire reached the outer perimeter. Once in the darkness, he stalked the guard. The man was facing out away from him, thinking all danger would come from outside the bunker, not inside. Malichai didn’t waste time. Coming up behind him, he slammed his knife into the base of the man’s skull, his hand over the guard’s mouth to muffle any sound, and then carefully lowered him to the ground.

  It’s done.

  Rubin was on the wall on the opposite side. They took the two men sleeping first. They were a distance from the others and no one so much as turned to look at them, leaving them alone so they could get sleep. They crept up on the two men drinking tea and killed them quickly, catching the small glass vessels they drank out of. The sentries watching the enemy were the last ones, and they managed to kill them as well.