Down Range (Shadow Warriors - Book 2) (11 page)

Turning, Morgan heard a number of doors opening, men running toward her, ancient rifles in hand. Gasping, she didn’t dare fall. But she wanted to as dizziness slammed into her. Right now, she wished she had an M-4 instead of the pistol. Morgan warily glanced at the heap of three men piled below the wall. None of them moved. Her shots had been clean and deadly.

Jake raced to where she was staggering and watching the wall, her pistol pointed at it. He skidded to a halt, nearly stumbling over the dead men. Leaping over them, his M-4 at his shoulder, he moved swiftly to her side.

“You all right?” Jake asked, breathing hard, watching the wall. He moved silently along the corner of the mud house, taking his thermal scope and moving it across the mud wall.
Nothing.

Jake was worried about Morgan. She didn’t sound right. Terror raced through him as he silently stepped past her and kept his scope moving along the wall in the other direction.
Dammit!
His warnings, his sense of an impending attack, had come true. Worse, as Jake remained fully focused on the threat, deep down inside him, he realized Morgan could have been killed.

“Answer me,” he ordered. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she croaked. “Three over the wall. There could be more outside it.” Morgan continued to observe the wall for as far as she could see it in both directions.

Reza ran up to them, gasping and out of breath. He had a rifle in his hand. His eyes were wide with terror.

Morgan pleaded, “Reza, get the men of the village to stand guard along the wall. There could be more of Khogani’s men on the other side ready to attack.”

“Yes,” Reza said, turning and quickly speaking in Pashto to the gathering, shaken farmers standing warily with rifles in their hands.

Morgan felt as if the area of her right shoulder was on fire. Every breath was damned painful. She wanted to collapse and struggle to draw in some air. Jake came back to her side, NVGs down, M-4 raised and ready to take on anyone else who was stupid enough to clamber over the wall.

Morgan tried to steady her breathing. “This might not be over. Can you get the sniper rifle with a thermal imaging scope up on Hamid’s roof? It’s the highest roof in the village. We need to see what’s out on the other side of these walls.” The scope would detect body heat, making them easy targets to shoot.

Jake nodded, unsure of leaving her alone out here. “I’ll get the rifle up on the roof and let you know when I get there.”

“Be careful,” she said, pressing her hand against her right shoulder, the pain excruciating. Her shoulder was locking up on her, making it difficult to move her arm.

“Call Vero. We
have
to get a drone up here or we’re dead meat.” Jake turned on his heel, running as hard as he could down the wall to get back to Hamid’s house.

Hand shaking, Morgan changed channels on her radio and made the call.

Chapter Twelve

For two hours
, the village remained tense and on high alert. Jake saw nothing through the Night Force scope. It would pick up any movement in the darkest of nights because of its thermal imaging capability. Morgan got Hamid to set out a watch of ten men along the walls and gate. They would be relieved every two hours by another group of men. The arrangement would go on until dawn. Hamid ordered everyone else to go to bed.

Morgan walked over to a group of farmers. They’d laid out the corpses, beginning to search them for identification, letters or anything else that would give them intel. She spoke into the mic. “I’m coming up.”

“Roger.”

She told Reza, who was in charge of the search for anything important on the dead men, she would be up on Hamid’s roof. Morgan could see how scared he was with perspiration dotting his wrinkled brow. Everyone was frightened. They now knew Khogani had ridden down on another village forty miles away and decimated it during the night hours. It could happen again and they knew it.

Holstering her SIG, Morgan ducked between the wall and the houses, making her way toward Hamid’s house, two streets over. Darkness closed in on her. She heard the voices murmuring in Pashto behind her. Candles had been extinguished in the many homes, the darkness complete except for the sparkling stars that seemed close enough to reach up and pluck out of the sky.

Suddenly, Morgan felt her stomach lurch. Bile filled her throat, coming up fast. She fell to her hands and knees, and her body convulsed and she violently heaved. With her head hanging, breathing hard, Morgan’s eyes were tightly shut. It was a visceral reaction to the firefight. Her stomach convulsed again. She dry heaved, arms wrapped around her stomach, retching. Panting for breath, saliva dripping out of her mouth, Morgan waited for another wave to strike her. Finally, it passed. Dazed, she grabbed the CamelBak and sucked water into her mouth, swished it around and spat it out. Shivering, she forced herself to her feet. A fine tremble sang through her. Morgan leaned against the wall of a house. Gasping, trying to hang on, she tried to suck in large drafts of air. The pain in her right shoulder reacted and she groaned, bending over, hand pressed against her Kevlar.

Finally, Morgan calmed down. This wasn’t the first time she’d vomited after a firefight. The shock of combat often brought down many a soldier. Wiping her sweaty brow and mouth, Morgan forced herself to stand. She drank some more water, knowing she would become dehydrated from loss of so much fluid.

It felt as if an hour had passed, but when she looked at her watch, it had been only five minutes. Of hell. Pushing forward, she hurried to be with Jake up on the roof.

Morgan lay on
the top of the roof, slowly moving the AW’s Night Force scope across the land outside the village. The air was cool and she shivered. Snipers had to get used to being miserable in any number of climatic conditions. Their job was to hunt and find the enemy.

Jake was next to her, using the thermal scope on his M-4, slowly searching the area for heat signatures. He made her feel safer than usual. There was something quiet, steady and solid about him since the attack. She’d never seen Jake in action, never fought with him at her side. But he was a SEAL, and his reactions to the attack were the same as the men she’d fought alongside on other teams. Safety…there wasn’t any. A night breeze made her fingers cold and numb as she moved the stock of the rifle toward the south. Her right shoulder ached like hell, and it hurt to push the stock into it as she needed to. That bothered Morgan because when setting up to shoot, the fiberglass stock had to be jammed deep into the sniper’s shoulder. Right now, she could barely stand anything against her swollen, aching flesh.

“Nothing,” she whispered into the mic.

“Not a damn thing,” Jake groused.

Morgan moved quietly, reorienting her long body on the rooftop, slowly scanning the next area. Vero had called back. There were no drones available. The Air Force crews were working nonstop to figure out what kind of software malfunction had occurred in the two based at Camp Bravo. They had no eyes in the sky to protect themselves or this vulnerable village.

“Tangos,” she rasped. “Nine o’clock.”
Tango
was military speak for
enemy.

Instantly, Jake quietly changed position, aiming his M-4 scope to the south where hers was pointed. Toward that mountain he knew Khogani was hiding on. “Got ’em.” Jake saw at least ten men running toward the slope, rifles in hand.

“It has to be Khogani’s men,” Morgan gritted out, her hands tightening on the sniper rifle. “I’d love to take those bastards out….”

The distance was too far away for a clean shot. “Better to let them show us where they’re going.”

“Yeah,” she grunted. Her adrenaline continued to course through her body, making her heart pound. Pulling out her wheel book, a small computer every sniper carried, Morgan knew Jake had a bead on them. She tapped in what she saw. How many men. How many weapons. And then she rolled back onto her stomach, pulled the AW Mag stock against her cheek, scope near her eye and continued to follow the group. They took one of the goat paths and she was amazed at how quickly the fleeing group moved at that altitude. Morgan reminded herself these men had been born at high altitude and could handle the thin air and still move like swift goats up that scree slope. Neither of them could ever move that quickly; their bodies were simply not attuned to working in rarefied air.

“At least now,” Jake muttered, at her elbow, “we know they’re here. And we know where they’re going. The kids will know that path and where it leads.” It was the break Jake was hoping for.

Morgan heard someone climbing the rickety wooden ladder that led to the roof where they were. Automatically, she turned the rifle in that direction, looking into the scope. She took no chances. Reza popped up on the roof, waving his hand.

“Don’t shoot me!” he called, panting.

Lowering the rifle, Morgan called, “Over here, Reza. Stay low….”

Reza came and hunkered down between them, breathing hard. “Hamid’s men have confirmed those are Khogani’s soldiers. They’re Hill tribesmen.”

“Have they found any intel on them?” Morgan demanded.

“Yes, one of them had a map.” He waved it in his hand. “I took it. It could be valuable. It might show us where Khogani is hiding in these caves. I haven’t had time to look at it yet.”

“Okay,” Jake murmured, “good job. Go back and make sure those bodies are searched thoroughly. We need every scrap of intel they can provide us.”

“Yes,” Reza whispered. “Did you find them?”

“Yes, we did,” Morgan muttered, still following the green dots that were men climbing the goat trail. “There won’t be any more attacks tonight.”

Jake turned and sat up, facing the Afghan. “Go tell Hamid that Khogani’s men have run back to the mountain. There’s no enemy around the village. Have them stand down and put out the guard watch.”

“Yes, sir,” Reza murmured, scuttling quickly across the roof to the ladder.

Jake rolled back on his stomach, pulling the M-4 scope to his eye. “They’re gone.”

“Yeah, they disappeared over the ridge,” Morgan said. The shot would be too far away, and Jake was right: better to let the survivors of this attack flee back to Khogani. She was sure the Hill leader was going to be pissed. A dark feeling ran through Morgan, a sense of primal satisfaction she’d taken out three of his men. It would be three less for them to fight.

“We’re going to have to ride at dawn and go after them,” Jake said. He watched as Morgan continued to slowly scan the ridge of the mountain. If he had any doubts she knew her job, he was satisfied now. Her movements, her skills, were as good as any SEAL team member who had his back. She was solid. That took the question that always hung at the back of his mind out of the equation between them. It still stunned him that she was a woman doing a man’s job. And doing it professionally and as an equal.

Sitting up, his mouth compressed as he laid the M-4 between his arms, Jake knew he had to stop looking at Morgan as less than a man in combat. Tonight, it had been three against one, and she’d dropped all of them with her SIG. That impressed him. Morgan’s behavior was cool, calm and collected. Yet, as he sat there, gazing up at the bright stars of the Milky Way that looked like a river of light across the cold heavens, he worried for her on a personal level.

Jake struggled not to care for her. He avoided giving his feelings any label. There was no time or place for them. Not right now. Glancing down, he studied her profile, the stock tight against her cheek, still watching. Still waiting. Solid. Morgan was solid.

“Let’s get down,” Jake told her roughly, his hands numb against the rifle because of the cold. “They’ve hightailed it. Khogani will know we’ll be looking for him at dawn. If anything, he’s planning to leave the area right now. He knows we have drones, and his only escape is under the cover of night.”

Morgan sat up, crossing her legs, their knees brushing against one another. She rested the AW Mag in her arms as if cradling a baby. “Khogani knows we have drones up 24/7. He knows he can be spotted at night, too.”

“Yeah,” Jake said wryly, “but we have no drones. No eyes in the sky.”

“He doesn’t know that.” Morgan stared, frowning at the mountain she could see in the grainy green of her NVGs. “He’ll take to the caves, go through connecting tunnels and probably try and get out of the area that way.”

Jake nodded. “Yeah, let’s get down. I want to see if they found any more intel on those bodies.”

It was only midnight,
but to Morgan, it felt as if days had passed as she unrolled her sleeping bag in a room of a deserted home. Jake had insisted to Hamid that they remain together from now on to deter any new threats. They were a team and had to remain together for the protection of the village. She was too tired to argue, taking the room on the left. There was a central room between the two smaller rooms. Jake would probably sleep in the other room on the right.

Morgan slowly peeled open her Kevlar. Her right shoulder hurt like hell. Shedding the heavy vest, she dug into her H-gear and located a pen flashlight, pulled her dark green T-shirt downward and away from her neck in order to expose her right shoulder. Morgan’s eyes widened as she caught sight of it. Her entire shoulder was heavily swollen from where the bullet had struck the Kevlar. The bright purple-and-red bruising spread out from where the bullet had punched into one of the protective curved ceramic chest plates that fitted into the vest pocket. It looked to Morgan like a huge splat of purple paint as large as Jake’s hand. Grimacing, she released her T-shirt and shut off the light. There was nothing to be done about it. Morgan desperately needed sleep. She pulled herself down into the bag, boots remaining on. She’d use the rucksack as a pillow. The sleeping bag was warm.

Exhausted, her shoulder aching, her stomach still rolling off and on with nausea, she tried to relax. Jake would arrive soon, and a sense of safety descended around Morgan. She heard the door open and close.

“Jake?”

“Yeah, it’s me. Where are you?”

“Room to your left. You take the one on the right.”

Morgan heard him grunt, the door close and the brush of his boots against the hard packed dirt floor. It was the last sounds she heard, dropping off an abyss into blackness.

Jake snapped awake
when he heard Morgan moan. Or was he dreaming? Instantly, his hand went to the SIG he kept next to his ruck. Silently rising to his feet, he keyed his hearing. Morgan groaned more loudly this time. What the hell was going on? Pistol raised, Jake could see slats of moonlight around the wooden door. It gave him just enough light to see the room ahead of him was empty. The small window in her room shed plenty of light.

Jake’s eyes narrowed as he saw Morgan clearly. His gaze fixed on her slender neck. What the hell was that on it? He moved to her side, knelt down and gently placed his hand over her left shoulder.

Instantly, Morgan awakened, gasping.

Jake grabbed her right hand before she could reach her pistol near her head. “Easy,” he breathed, “it’s me. Jake.” The wild, startled look in Morgan’s eyes disappeared as she jerked into a sitting position, pushing his hand off her shoulder.

“What’s wrong?” she demanded, her voice low and raspy.

“I heard you moaning,” he said, remaining in a kneeling position above her.

“I was asleep!”

“Yeah, well, so was I until you woke me up. What the hell is that, Morgan?” He jabbed his index finger toward the right side of her neck.

“What?” She frowned and placed her hand protectively against her neck. It was swollen and painful to touch.

“Did you get hit out there tonight?” Jake demanded, worry evident in his eyes.

“Yes,” Morgan sputtered defiantly. “I took a slug to the right shoulder but the plate protected me. I’m
fine,
Jake. Let me go back to sleep, will you?” She glared up at him, shaken by his attention. He reached down to his left thigh and pulled out the SOG knife from the sheath. Sucking in a breath, she snarled, “You are
not
going to slit my T-shirt in half, dammit!” She scooted away from him. Morgan knew from combat first aid, everyone wore a tan T-shirt and if there was an upper-body wound, the medic took his knife and slit it up the middle to get a good look at the injury.

“Why not?” he growled. “Dammit, Morgan, you’re
hurt.
Or does that not compute?”

“It’s just a damned bruise, Jake! Jesus, you’re acting like a friggin’ mother hen! Put that SOG away before you hurt somebody!”

His nostrils flared. He saw her anger and that stubborn set come to her mouth. “Okay, then you pull it over your head. I want to look at that bruise. It could be a hematoma, Morgan. And that could cause a blood clot and you could die. It needs to be checked out. You know that.”

“I already looked at it before I went to bed. It’s fine, Jake!” His face hardened even more. He wasn’t taking “no” for an answer.

“Your choice, Morgan.” Jake held the knife up in a warning position.