Drake muttered a curse. Then in his strong, resolute way, he reported in. “TOC-one this is sierra-tango-one.”
“Sierra-tango-one, challenge,” the battle captain asked for verification.
“Linebacker. Complete. Five.”
“Authenticate.”
“Aftershock.”
“Confirmed. Sierra-tango-one go for TOC-one.”
“TOC-one this is Alpha-one actual. We need R-one-S at our location.”
I quickly clicked off my mic and turned to Logan. “What’s he doing?”
“Calling in backup.”
“Why?”
“Because you just informed us Lore’s gonna blow the pier.”
Logan picked up the pace and I fought the urge to puke. Oh, shit. Oh, no. I’d fucked up.
“No, I didn’t. I was just talking out—”
“You talking it out was informing us. That’s how this works. Remember this, darlin’—always trust your gut. Always. Guns, tanks, airstrikes, those don’t win the war. Information does. Knowing how to receive, process, and extrapolate that intel is what bests your enemy. That’s what just happened, intel was processed and now he’s calling it in.”
“And if I’m wrong?”
“Then no one dies and it’s a good day.”
“…EOD. They go in soft.” I caught the tail end of Drake’s order.
“Copy that.”
We were moving at a fast clip and once we cleared a gaggle of people, I saw him. Lore. I had him in profile—head still down, cell in hand, beelining it toward a junked-up, red Mazda. Totally out of place. I scanned for Trey and Luke, they were supposed to be in position across the street. My eyes found them and I felt it—a punch to my stomach.
This was wrong.
All wrong.
I glanced back at Lore. He hadn’t changed direction, he was going for the Mazda but his head was now up and he was staring at Trey and Luke.
“They need to move,” I huffed, that sensation of dread growing.
I clicked back on my mic and without consulting Logan I gave the order. “Charlie, you need to move.”
“Bravo-two repeat.” That was Trey.
“Move. Get the fuck away from the Mazda.” From a distance, I saw Trey glance at Luke before his head turned. What they did not do was move. “Move, goddamn it. Now. Now. Now.”
Lore made it to the Mazda. Then everything slowed down—Trey lifting his weapon, Luke stepping to the side and doing the same, Lore ducking low for cover. And when he turned his head toward me and I saw his smile, I knew.
I was too late.
The explosion rocked the street.
The sound sliced through the air. Debris flew. Smoke billowed. Flames danced. Then Logan side tackled me and my head bounced on the cement. Through this, my eyes never left where I’d last seen Trey and Luke. Even as my peripheral blotted with flashing black spots. Not when I fought to keep more than a pinhole of my vision as the haze of black fog covered the street.
Too late.
20
I fought to keep my feet under me. Nausea roiled in my stomach as I took in the aftermath of the explosion. Rubble from the crumbled storefront littered the sidewalk, the Mazda and cars nearby still on fire—the acrid smoke filled my lungs and stung my eyes. Seconds ago, I saw Liberty rushing across the street with Logan on her heels. But I lost sight of them in the dust and debris.
Shit, Goddamn.
Don’t let Trey and Luke be under that mess.
Chaos ensued. The explosion had people scattering and cars whizzing past as Matt and I ran full-out toward ground zero.
Sirens wailed in the distance.
Shouts and screams from the crowd made it damn near impossible for me to hear Matt calling in a nine-line to get us help and he was right fucking next to me, keeping my brutal pace. Matching me step for step as we navigated the street.
Fucking shit, let them be breathing.
“Exfil one,” he shouted.
I didn’t answer, I just kept running. Liberty’s last words echoing in my head, pissed as all fuck Trey and Luke didn’t bug out.
What in the actual fuck had they been thinking?
Ten yards beyond the burning car, Logan was hovering over Luke’s prone body. I caught sight of his bloody face. Shards of glass dotted his burned flesh. Fuck. Shit. Goddamn.
My gaze moved to Liberty and Trey. Her hands were covered in blood as she twisted the torsion bar on the tourniquet on his upper thigh. Motherfucking shit. A six-inch piece of shrapnel was visible just under where Liberty’s hands were working—unknown inches implanted into Trey’s flesh.
Tension coiled as I took in my injured teammates. I waited for the numbness to take over—for time to stand still so I could get my shit together—but it didn’t. Movement went on all around me.
Find it, Hayes. Find the cold, dark place where there are no emotions, no distractions. Trey howled in pain and my mind quieted. Training and discipline took over.
We were out in the open, exposed on the street, two men down, two more working on our wounded—visible, therefore in danger.
“We have less than a minute to move,” I told the group, noting the sirens were getting louder. “Bravo-One, check for distal pulse and get ready,” I instructed Liberty and scanned the area.
“You keep your eyes open and on me,” Liberty commanded and from the corner of my eye, I saw her left hand reaching toward Trey’s ankle while keeping her right on the tourniquet near his groin.
Shit, motherfuck.
“Pulse absent,” Liberty informed me and without me needing to tell her, she stood to take my place, standing watch so I could get to Trey.
Her face was carefully blank. No signs of distress or unease. Her mask of indifference was damn impressive and settled an ache of worry I didn’t realize had coiled in my gut.
But there it was, in the shitshow of a situation I was worried about Liberty—her response to the stress, her state of mind, her mental wellbeing. I shouldn’t have been. She’d proven just how strong she was. Yet I couldn’t stop the need to protect her in a much different way than I defend my teammates.
“Exfil one,” I told her.
“Check.” She wiped her hands on her jeans, smearing Trey’s blood down her thighs. In a smooth draw, she unholstered her weapon, keeping it low but ready nonetheless.
Yeah, I needn’t have worried. Despite her lack of battlefield experience, Lieutenant McCoy was far from stupid.
I knelt down and Trey’s battered face twisted in pain.
“You wanna shot of morphine before we move?”
“Fuck no.”
“We got half a mile, brother, it’s gonna—”
“I’d prefer not to lose my fucking leg, just move.”
I got my arm under Trey’s back, the other under his knee, and hefted him up. His scream was both agony and a blessing.
“Bravo-two, go.”
Luke moaned in pain as Logan lifted him. “Primary blast injury,” Logan clipped. “Chest retractions. Globe rupture.”
Fucking shit. None of that good. High-order explosives cause a supersonic shockwave. The over-pressurization can lead to lung, abdominal, ear, and eye damage. Most of that being internal all but the globe rupture, which would be very noticeable. Meaning, Luke’s eyes were fucked.
Shit, motherfucking, goddamn.
Matt radioed in the new information as Liberty guided us down the street, ducking into an alleyway that took us off the main street, giving us a modicum of safety. I didn’t have to look behind me to know Matt was multitasking—updating the medevac and covering our six.
“Got company up ahead,” Liberty shouted but didn’t stop.
Our extraction point was not ideal. The industrial area had warehouses and not just a few—a lot of them, but we couldn’t have a helicopter land in the street filled with civilians, tall buildings, and city traffic. So this was the best we could do. Anything could be going on in those buildings including nefarious shit that men would protect.
It was a calculated risk, but one we needed to take.
“Keep going. Do not engage unless—”
Automatic gunfire rang out before I could finish. I was on my knees shielding Trey the best I could as I watched in horror as Liberty advanced, returning fire. Matt was at her side, both of them providing cover fire for Logan and me.
I would’ve been impressed at how Liberty seamlessly worked with Matt if my gut wasn’t in knots—call it delayed reaction—but the situation hit with a force. This was not the worst position we’d been in, not even close. And it wasn’t Liberty’s nonexistent experience on the battlefield that had my stomach twisting painfully.
It was her.
Directly in the line of fire.
Standing between me and the bullets raining down.
There was something so wrong about the role reversal. It should’ve been me standing in front of her.
“Out,” Liberty shouted and I watched her quickly and efficiently drop her spent magazine and slam a new one in, immediately reengaging.
The steady hiss of shots fired rang out and unease wrapped around my thundering heart. This was all fucking wrong. My jaw clenched and I blinked away the sweat dripping into my eyes as I followed behind Liberty and Matt. They operated as one as they moved us toward cover. Their position damn near suicidal, the thought had me battling gnawing fear. Not something I was accustomed to feeling—I was at home in the field, at ease. I controlled the chaos, but not with Liberty in front of me and in danger.
We ducked behind the metal shipping container as bullets pelted the box. Silently, Logan and I deposited our wounded and prepared to jump in the fight.
“Gun,” Trey grunted.
I patted his ankle, found his backup, and shoved it in his hand. I hauled ass to the corner of the metal box and fought the urge to tell Liberty to go watch over Trey and Luke.
“Go.” I slapped Matt on the shoulder. He immediately stepped back and seconds later, red smoke filled the air to mark our location.
Green good.
Red bad.
The Medevac crew would know they were coming into an active situation.
“Conserve what ya’ got,” I reminded Liberty and she slowed her return fire. “We got at least five minutes until we hear blades. Then we gotta get ourselves to that medevac. Let them dump their ammo. Make yours count.”
“How’s Trey?”
“Pissed off.”
“And Luke?”
“Bitchin’.”
I left out the part about what he was bitching about. The last thing I heard was him telling Logan he couldn’t see out of his left eye and his right was foggy.
“I should’ve—”
“Not now,” I barked.
Then like some fucked-up movie, Liberty and I crouched next to each other picking off bad guys as they became available.
“Jesus, how many of them are there?” she muttered. “They just keep coming.”
She wasn’t exaggerating. Every time one went down another came from the warehouse. I couldn’t see what was happening on the other side of the container but I heard Matt and Logan exchanging fire as well.
“We picked the wrong fuckin’ extraction point,” Logan radioed.
“No shit,” Liberty returned, and even in the clusterfuck of a situation, I couldn’t stop the smile.
“Sierra-tango-one, this Angel one. We see your smoke. ETA two minutes. Coming in hot. Prepare,” the medevac called in.
Thank Christ.
“Angel one, this is ST-one. Be advised we’re under heavy fire.”
“Copy.”
In all the missions I’d been on, I’d never been so goddamn happy to hear rotor blades and heavy artillery coming from the medevac. I had two wounded men—not the first time and unfortunately it wouldn’t be the last. But it was the first time my ass clenched and my chest tightened.
In a moment of weakness, I glanced at Liberty and the tightness in my chest intensified. Fucking spectacular. Cool, calm, collected. Sexy as shit brandishing her firearm. Sweat beaded on her forehead and that was sexy, too. She was a mini-sized badass. I bet there were a lot of men who underestimated Liberty McCoy—all of them foolish.
“Hang tight, we’re almost out of here.”
Thank fuck, the whooshing of the rotor blades filled the air right before the medevac touched down.
I tapped Liberty on the shoulder. She looked at me with wide amber eyes. I jerked my chin, pointed to the helicopter, and even though it was doubtful she could hear, I still said, “Get us the fuck outta here.”
Liberty took point and started to jog to medevac—weapon up, head swiveling, watching for anyone stupid enough to pop out of the nearby warehouses. Logan jogged behind Liberty with Luke, Matt behind him with Trey, and I brought up the rear.
There’s something to be said about a confident woman. Never again did I want to be on the battlefield with Liberty. But that had nothing to do with her competence and everything to do with my heart unable to withstand the gut-clenching, crippling fear of losing her.
21
My hand shook as I picked up Trey’s. The medics worked on him at a frantic pace. A few feet to my left, they’d ripped Luke’s shirt and vest off and assessed him as well. I couldn’t even look at him. Not with the trauma to his eyes. The membrane so swollen his pupil was barely visible. Not that seeing a piece of twisted metal in Trey’s thigh was better, nor were the hundreds of tiny pockmarks on his face.
But his eyes were clear.
And they were locked onto mine, full of hate and anger, and fucking shit if I didn’t deserve that look. I should’ve warned them earlier. I should’ve known Lore would make that play. I knew he was an extremist. His endgame would always be suicide.
Dying by his beloved explosives.
Drake’s hand on my shoulder made me look over at him. Cold, assessing, searching. I missed his warm brown eyes but I couldn’t blame him for his unfriendly freeze-out. His teammates were injured.
“Should’ve fuckin’ listened,” Trey groaned.
“Yeah, you fuckin’ should’ve,” Drake returned angrily.
“We thought we had the shot. Thought we had time. How’s Luke?”
Drake remained quiet, his non-answer was the answer, one that he didn’t want to verbalize. “Fuck! How’s my leg?”
“Attached.”
“Drake,” I snapped. “Aren’t you being a little harsh?”
“Harsh?” he clipped. “You called out a goddamn order.”
I had, but I wasn’t seeing a reason to berate Trey while he was full of morphine with a chunk of metal in his leg.
I felt Trey’s hand take mine. With less strength than I assumed he normally had, he gave me a tug.
“You were right. I was wrong. Drake’s pissed. Leave him be.”
“Yeah, well, he can be as pissed as he wants to be. Right now, we’re concentrating on you and Luke.”
“Can’t feel a thing.” Trey winced, giving away his lie. “You did good work out there, Lieutenant. Might have a second-calling being a medic. You had that damn tourniquet on before the burn even started. A little high though, I was worried about my balls.”
“Maybe we can not joke right now.”
“Either I joke or I think about how I have less than two hours before there’s a real possibility I lose my leg.”
I swallowed down the sob tingling in my throat. Now that the danger was over and the adrenaline waning, the gravity of what happened closed in. Perhaps Trey had it right, not thinking about the loss of a limb or Luke’s possible blindness was a better option.
“Fine. We can talk about your balls. But just so you know, if you ask me to massage them, the answer’s no.”
Trey gave me a tight, painful smile. “Any chance I can get you to reconsider?”
“None.”
His lips twitched again and he closed his eyes.
The rest of the way back to post, I held Trey’s hand. Logan stayed close to Luke. Matt kept in constant communication with W
ick. And Drake was silent and broody—but he never left my side. Some part of him kept touching me, therefore I didn’t miss the stiffness.
* * *
Once we touched down, everything happened in a flurry of commotion. Medical personnel swarmed, Luke and Trey were pulled from the Blackhawk and whisked away, Matt and Logan following close behind.
Much to my surprise, Drake stayed behind with me.
Which, considering Wick’s fury, it was a good thing. We’d been escorted to the TOC where Wick had been holed up during the operation, undoubtedly watching in real-time as our body cameras transmitted to the large, wall-mounted screen that incidentally was now off.
“Trey and Luke?” Wick inquired.
Drake gave the general a list of their injuries. The manner in which he gave his report was a little scary—veiled, disguised, cloaked. He gave not a single emotion away. Not anger, not sorrow, not fear, nothing—blank.
Devoid.
Ice.
Wick’s gaze came to me but his eyes didn’t settle on my face. He did a sweep of my body while he asked, “And you?”
“I’m fine.”
And I was. Other than the scrapes on the palms of my hands from Logan taking me down, I was uninjured.
“How’d you know?” Wick continued.
“That Lore was going to commit suicide?”
“No. Considering what we know about him, that was a given. How’d you know about the Mazda?”
I hadn’t known—not until it was too late. Wasn’t that the problem?
“The way he was racing to it. He saw us, me and Logan. If he wanted to escape, he would’ve hailed a cab. The street was busy, there were plenty to be had. But he was on a mission. Then when he spotted Luke and Trey, he didn’t stop, he kept going even though that meant he was going in their direction.”
“Why not a suicide vest?”
How the hell should I know?
Taking Liberty: The Next Generation Page 15
