Critical Diagnosis (20 page)

“This necklace travels everywhere with me, sir. It never comes off.”

She saw a fleeting softness in his eyes. “Very well, Sergeant, I’ll turn a blind eye this time.”

He turned to face his unit and all three soldiers lined up, standing at ease before him. He looked at each of them. “Radio contact is limited to target identification and emergency protocol. We use call signs only. Gomez and Hicks, proceed as agreed. Hanson, you’re with me. Let’s roll.”

The chirping sound of woodland birds echoed in Cara’s ears as she followed in the captain’s footsteps. He led her through thickets and streams, continuously looking behind to check her position. She started to relax. She loved the outdoors and moved through it like a quiet wind through the trees. It was where she was raised. Since she was ten years old, she’d been able to hit a tin can from five hundred yards with her dad’s hunting rifle. Her father had taken her on regular hunting trips and she had never disappointed him. He proudly proclaimed to the world that his teenage daughter possessed an aim that far surpassed his own. Her mom playfully complained about being a “hunting widow,” but she loved the fact that Cara and her dad were so close. It was a bond that could never be broken—except by death.

No,
she pleaded in her head,
not now
. She pushed the picture from her mind—the image of her father lying cold and still at the edge of the lake, blood seeping into the water from his outstretched hand. That fate would not befall anyone else in her life. She’d made sure of it. She’d become the best of the best.

Dean stopped ahead of her and signaled for her to come closer.

“You okay?” he whispered into her ear. “This is where we go our separate ways.”

She nodded.

“Let me check your earpiece,” he said, brushing his hand across her face to rest on the speaker in her ear.

Her breathing quickened as he adjusted the small black device, securing it firmly in place. As he pulled his hand away, she felt rough, calloused skin on her smooth cheek.

“Ready?” he whispered.

“Ready,” she replied. And she was. She was born ready.

She navigated easily to her designated position and began her routine of prayer. Her heart was heavy with the thought of taking out one of their own. She valued the sanctity of life and didn’t take her job lightly, but she knew that taking just one life could save hundreds, maybe thousands. When she had been tasked with shooting a suicide bomber in Baghdad three years ago, she hadn’t hesitated. She saw the crowded market, with women and children walking freely, and she’d pulled the trigger to take a clean shot. The choice was hers, but she trusted that God would understand her reasons—protecting the innocent would always be at the top of her agenda. She would do whatever it took to fulfill the promise to her father at his funeral, when she had resolved to dedicate the rest of her life to using her weapon to save as many lives as possible. She would atone for her fatal mistake seven years ago, and her father’s death would not be in vain. Even if it meant a lifetime of shutting herself off emotionally, it was the price she must pay for redemption. A click in her ear took her to high alert. It was Captain McGovern using her call sign.

“Red Four. Truck approaching. Target identification imminent. Prepare.”

Cara watched as a gray truck drove into the woodland clearing about a quarter mile away. It moved slowly, like a lumbering elephant, coming to rest partially covered by the branches of a low-lying tree. She aimed her rifle on the door of the truck as the face of her commanding officer settled on her mind. His safety was paramount on this mission and she would not let him down.

Suddenly, she saw movement: a glint in the hillside to her right. A finely honed instinct told her that this was a telescopic sight, another sniper playing the waiting game just like her. She scanned the hillside with her binoculars, trying to make out a figure, a shape, anything. There! She’d found him—someone lying in the undergrowth, unmoving but not well hidden. She traced the line of his sight with her binoculars. In the distance, lined up perfectly in his vision, was another figure, crouching down close to the clearing. Her heart began to hammer. She took out her radio.

“Red One, please raise your right hand.”

Dean McGovern’s reply was thick with anger. “Red Four, stand down, await target instructions.”

“Commander, raise your right hand.” She felt the panic rise in her voice. He must have heard it, too. He raised his hand. She gasped, realizing that the sniper in the hills had his weapon trained on her commanding officer. She spun her body around to face this new threat and breathed hard, lining him up in her sight. She gripped her radio.

“Commander, new threat detected. Move position.”

“Give details, Red Four.”

There was no time to explain as a shot rang out from the sniper in the hill. She took aim and fired her shot immediately. The figure scrambled to its feet and ran, stumbling into the darkness of the woods beyond. She lost vision on him within seconds.

More gunfire echoed in the valley below. Voices bounced through the air, chaotic and aggressive. Before she could react, a huge explosion rocked the hills, sending a vast fireball billowing into the air. She watched it rise like a demon into the inky sky. She couldn’t catch her breath. She froze.

Captain Dean McGovern’s voice snapped her back to attention as his words echoed, loud and strong, in her ear. “Red Team, abort, abort! Fall back and regroup!”

She picked up her rifle and ran.

* * *

Dean banged the steering wheel in frustration.

“What just happened back there?” he shouted.

He looked at Cara in the rearview mirror. She sat, hunched and breathless in the backseat with a look of deep shock on her face. The jeep raced along the lane, whipping up leaves and woodland debris as it gathered speed. Dusk was settling, and the sky gave off an eerie half light, illuminating the black hills into which they fled.

He quickly slammed on the brakes as he realized he’d reached his rendezvous point. “Where are they?” he shouted, looking around anxiously, searching the hills for any sign of danger. “Gomez and Hicks should be here.”

In a flash, Sergeant Gomez darted out from the trees and ran toward the jeep. He looked like a rabbit caught in headlights. He was covered in mud and brushwood, but he kept his gun raised, pulled close to his body. Dean pushed open the door of the jeep. Gomez hurled himself onto the front seat, slamming the door behind him.

“Go!” he yelled.

“Hicks,” Dean yelled back. “Where do we pick up Hicks?”

Silence.

“Gomez, you and Hicks were paired, where’d he go?”

The sergeant stared straight ahead. “He’s gone, sir.”

“Gone?”

“He was in the direct path of the explosion.” Gomez’s voice cracked. “I couldn’t retrieve him.”

Dean gripped the wheel tight. “You sure?”

“Yes, sir, absolutely sure.”

Dean clenched his jaw and his breathing grew quick and strong. The tires squealed as he pressed the accelerator hard. “What on
earth
just happened there?”

He noticed Cara jump at the force of his shout.

Gomez sat back heavily in his seat, rubbing his face. He was pale. “The truck was packed with explosives. This was no weapons drop. There were two heavily armed militia soldiers in the front seats. They knew we were coming. This was a setup.”

Dean banged the wheel again. “Someone set us up?”

“There was a sniper trained on you, sir,” Cara said, clearly trying to control the tremor in her voice. “I scared him off with a shot, but he was trying to take you out.”

“Did you get a good look, Sergeant?”

“No, he was too far away.”

“Did you injure him?”

“I don’t think so.”

“So you missed?”

“No, sir, I was firing a warning shot. I wasn’t trying to hit him.”

Of course, he should’ve known. She never missed.

The jeep’s small engine whined against the speed at which Dean drove. He had to think. He needed somewhere secret, secluded. There was just one place he knew, and he wouldn’t feel safe until he got there.

He looked at Cara again through the rearview mirror.

“Sergeant Hanson, are you hurt?”

She rubbed her knee, wincing. It looked as if she’d fallen heavily through branches and thorns. Her face and hands were badly scratched.

“No, sir.”

His eyes flicked between her and the road ahead.

“This mission just got messy. You’re not trained for this kind of assignment, so it’s my job to protect you. You stay close to me, and you do what I say, when I say, understood?”

“Yes, sir,” she said.

He wasn’t convinced of the sincerity behind her standard response.

“Until we find out who tipped off Major Moore, we trust no one.”

Dean watched her closely through the mirror. She blinked slowly and seemed to be trying to steady her breathing. She took off her helmet and pulled the band from her hair, allowing it to fall loosely around her face. She put her head in her hands. He grew concerned.

“Sergeant Hanson, stay focused. I need to ditch this vehicle and acquire another. While I look for something suitable, why don’t you lead us in prayer for Sergeant Hicks? He was a good soldier and a brave man. Let’s honor him and the sacrifice he made for us today.”

Cara lifted her head and gave him a weak smile. She closed her eyes and pressed her palms together. She managed to say a few words before she slumped sideways on her seat and his heart leaped into his mouth.

He willed the jeep to go faster, in a race against time to reach a place of safety where he could tend to her wounds, whatever they may be. He knew she must be in a serious condition to succumb to total defenselessness. She was too proud and strong to let her guard down so easily. He allowed his protective instincts to come to the fore, having decided that he would do everything in his power to steer her away from danger. He suspected that she might rail against his authority, but he was adamant that she would not come to harm—not now, not ever.

Copyright © 2014 by Elisabeth Rees

ISBN-13: 9781460335475

CRITICAL DIAGNOSIS

Copyright © 2014 by Alison Stone

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