Down Range (Shadow Warriors - Book 2) (16 page)

“I’m hoping so. I’ve been a paramedic since Annapolis. General Stevenson has a lot of power. I’d be the second woman allowed to go through 18 Delta training. You know there aren’t any women field medics because that puts them directly into combat.”

He heard the derision in her husky tone. “Well, that would mean you’d be stateside if you get the school.”

“Yes.”

“I’ll be on the West Coast. You’d be on the East Coast.” Jake took a deep breath. Sure, he wanted to reconnect permanently with Morgan, but he couldn’t. His life as a SEAL was one of constant danger. He could die. Jake wasn’t even sure Morgan would agree to have a relationship with him. She was gun-shy just like him.

“That’s the story of our lives.” Always on opposite sides with one another except when they made love.

Morgan thought about how she was going to tell Jake about Emma. If everything went right, as soon as they killed Khogani, they’d be sent home to Washington, D.C., for the debrief. And Morgan was sure they’d each get sixty days’ leave. That would be the perfect time to ask Jake to come home to Gunnison, Colorado, to meet his daughter for the first time. Provided that Jake forgave her. A deep love for him welled up in her. And then she took the biggest risk in her life. “You know, we’ve never said we loved one another, Jake. Not through all these years.” Morgan took a deep breath and whispered, “I’ve never
not
loved you, Jake. You need to know that. But our past scares the hell out of me, and I’m not sure of our future.”

Jake was about to reply when he spotted something through the scope. His radio beeped a warning that the drone saw movement in the cave. “They’re moving.”

Instantly, Morgan focused on the cave through the spotting scope. There was just enough gray light now to see the cave opening. Her heart rate remained slow. Snipers could control their breathing and remain calm. Tension amped up as she analyzed all of the data. The wind was inconstant. The other problem was their position would be given away, regardless. Adrenaline began burning into her bloodstream.

Jake settled in, the fiberglass stock pressed to his cheek. There was a natural still point to the breath. And to the body. He lay with his legs spread. In this kind of light, his head would look like one of a thousand rocks peppering the ridgeline. The sniper scope was draped with material so that the barrel wouldn’t shine or glint and catch the Taliban’s sharp-sighted attention. He felt confident in his position.

“First rider out,” Morgan spoke quietly. “Not Khogani.”

Jake realized he had a second to fire. His mind was running over a thousand variables on the shot. The bullet, when fired, would actually arc up at supersonic speed and then down toward the target, slowing as it went. He got a clear view of the first rider coming out of the maw. The other problem was riders and horses. They were both unpredictable. It wasn’t something a spotter could call or control. Wind and animals. His mouth tightened.

Morgan would have a millisecond to identify Khogani. And he’d have a millisecond to fire. He might not get down to that still point between the inhale and exhale. That was ideal as to when to squeeze the trigger. But he wouldn’t have that luxury. And it made them damn vulnerable as a result.

“Khogani!” Morgan whispered.

Jake caught the Taliban leader riding his horse in the crosshairs of his scope. He fired.

Chapter Seventeen

The sniper rifle
bucked hard against Jake’s shoulder, the power of it rippling through his entire body. The harsh bark of the bullet echoed around the area after it left the barrel. It had no muzzle suppressor, and the Taliban would see the flash and easily locate them. Jake held his breath.

There was a rider coming out of the cave at the same moment Khogani did. He trotted his horse right in front of the leader. And he was knocked off his horse by the bullet, dead before he hit the ground.

Morgan gasped softly. “No good! You hit the guy next to Khogani.”

“Dammit!” Jake seethed. The echoing sound of the bullet sent Khogani wheeling his horse around and escaping back into the cave. There would be no second chance. “Exfil!” he snapped, shouldering the rifle across his back. Jake quickly slid back down off the ridge.

Morgan grabbed the spotter scope. She leaped down, boulders and smaller rocks loosening on either side of her boots as she slid, causing minor landslides. She jammed the scope into her jacket while moving. They were going to need help. And fast. Morgan grabbed the radio, made the urgent call to Vero at J-bad. He would launch two Apache combat helos and a medevac from Camp Bravo. Her call was acknowledged.

Already, as Morgan slid, fell, bruised her backside, she could hear angry screams, yells and orders erupting from the other side of the ridge. They’d just stirred up a hornet’s nest, and now seventeen Taliban were going to romp up over that ridge and come after them.

Jake slid down on his butt, feeling the rocks biting into his legs. It was Morgan’s job as the spotter to protect him. She had the M-4 rifle and would initiate rearguard action if they were attacked. Jake was vulnerable as the sniper because the rifle had only three shots to a magazine. And a sniper rifle wasn’t good in a close-quarters fight like this. All he had was his SIG Sauer pistol, his second line of defense.

His breath tore out of him as he fell again, rolled headlong, slamming the rifle into the rocks. Cursing, Jake realized there was nothing he could do about it. He would never leave the rifle behind. Not ever.

When he heard Morgan sliding above him, he twisted around, watching her skidding to a stop, her gaze fixed on the ridge, the M-4 rifle jammed into her right shoulder, ready to fire. Thank God there were five grenades in that grenade launcher on a slide beneath the barrel. They were going to need them to get out of this alive. Jake saw one of the horses rip its reins free of the bush they’d tied them to. Panicked, the animal ran off down the goat trail, reins trailing in the wind.

Dammit!

The second horse was rearing, whinnying and trying to get loose to run after the other fleeing horse. Jake leaped and jumped over larger rocks, trying to steady himself down the slope. Above, he could hear Morgan coming down behind him. Small rocks pelted him as she continued to slow her descent, playing rearguard action.

By the time Jake hit the bottom of the slope and grabbed the reins of the frightened horse, he heard Morgan fire the M-4 above him. Jerking a look over his shoulder, he felt his heart slam into his ribs. Three Taliban were riding hard up and over the ridge. The echoing shots of bullets being fired rang throughout the area.

Morgan knelt, fired systematically at the three horsemen who rode over the top toward her. All three men fell. The horses, wild-eyed, scattered, barely missing her. Her bravery, her courage to hold the position, to protect her sniper partner, was what a spotter was supposed to do. Jake feared for her life.

“Exfil!”
he roared into his mic. Leaping up on the horse, he landed in the Western saddle Morgan had been riding. Jake yanked the animal around, then swiftly reached for his SIG and brought it up. Morgan turned, leaped and slid down the last three hundred feet.

Another rider crested, firing wildly down at them with an AK-47. Jake snapped off one, two, three shots. The bullets landed in the Taliban rider’s horse instead. The animal’s legs collapsed beneath him, the rider thrown over his head. Jake watched as the man cartwheeled through the air, his head striking a huge boulder. He collapsed on the ground, dead.

“Come on!” Jake yelled, hauling back on the reins to stop the horse from leaping around.

Morgan threw the M-4 strap across her back. She grabbed Jake’s extended hand, and he hauled her upward in one single motion. She landed hard onto the back of the horse, behind the saddle.

“Exfil!” she gasped, sliding her arms around Jake’s waist.

Jake whirled the frantic horse around once again. Above, they heard more cries. Glancing upward as he sank his heels into the frenzied horse, Jake noticed two more Taliban riders cresting the ridge. They began firing wildly. The bullets screamed by them. Mouth tight, Jake leaned forward. There was just enough light to see the goat path leading down toward the wadi. It was their only chance!

Breathing hard, his breath coming in gasps, Jake felt Morgan’s arms tighten around his waist as they galloped toward the wadi. The wind tore past him, his eyes watering as the horse ran hard, his hooves pounding along the narrow, rocky goat path. Jake’s mind was clicking over the variables. It would take the Apaches fifteen minutes to arrive on station. It would be way too late! They’d have to make a stand. He estimated how much ammo they had between them. The sniper rifle would be useless in a close-quarters gunfight. They had an M-4 grenade launcher and two SIGs and plenty of mags for both. Maybe…just maybe, they could fight and hold them off. Maybe….

The wadi appeared around the curve of the mountain. Jake hauled back on the horse’s reins. The animal grunted, slid to a stop, panting, its sides heaving.

Morgan slid off, jerking the M-4 off her back.

Jake slapped the horse’s rump. It went galloping panic-stricken down the goat path. What he hoped was that as the Taliban rounded the corner, they’d see the horse in the distance and follow it. He wasn’t that sure he could fool them.

“Come on!” he said, pointing toward the wadi. He held the SIG in his hand, watching the corner of the goat path above them. “We’ve got to get in deep and as high as possible.”

Breathing unevenly, the high altitude making her lungs burn, Morgan nodded. She ducked into the cover where the brush was thick, tall and poked savagely at her body. The boulders were large and small, making climbing hard and slippery. They were in trouble. As she scrambled, Morgan radioed the coming combat helos with their present GPS position. But their position would continually change as they climbed.

Brush swatted at Morgan as she turned aside, allowing Jake to move past her. His face was gleaming with sweat, his gray eyes nearly colorless. This was going to be a fight to the end. There would be no survivors, one way or another.

Morgan had the M-4, and it was her duty to hang back, provide cover fire for Jake, who only had a pistol and a useless sniper rifle. The trees around them were short and spindly. It was the brush that would give them cover. At the same time, it rendered the sniper rifle useless. A twig could turn a bullet enough to deflect and miss the enemy target. Jake was reduced to just his pistol. That wasn’t good odds for them. Two rifles and one pistol against sixteen AK-47s.

As Morgan allowed him to move above her, she heard the thunder of approaching horses. Her adrenaline was pumping, burning through her bloodstream. Everything was slowing down; it always did in moments when she could die. She’d been at this point before. But never did she ever feel this kind of overwhelming dread. Death was breathing down their necks. Their number was up.

Jake managed to climb a thousand feet up into the center of the ravine, finding several large boulders. They could hide and make a stand of sorts. Rocks were better cover than tree limbs and brush. Morgan was laboring upward just as he was. By the time they reached the boulders, Jake heard the screams, shouts and horses below them. They hadn’t fooled the Taliban at all. From his vantage point, Jake could see the horses and riders milling down below the wadi, soldiers excitedly pointing upward, pointing at them, even though they couldn’t see them yet. Khogani knew they were in here. And he was coming after them.

Morgan sobbed for breath, her lungs burning, as if on fire. Jake grabbed her hand and helped her the last few feet up to the other boulder. Between them, the rocks would act as a shield. They would have minutes to settle their breathing, take their positions and wait.

“Apaches on station in ten minutes,” Morgan reported, breathless.

Jake hissed a curse. There was no way for the Apaches to send missiles or Gatling gun bullets into the wadi now. Both the hunter and hunted were mixed together somewhere in the undergrowth. Apaches had infrared ability to see body heat on a human. But they wouldn’t be able to identify which was the enemy and who were the friendlies. His mouth flattened. He knelt, finding as comfortable a position as possible to rest his wrist on a rock to steady the aim of the SIG. He kept his sniper rifle across his back. This was going to come down to an old-fashioned shoot-out. The Apaches would not be able to help them.
Son of a bitch!

The screaming and cries of the Taliban sounded closer and closer. Morgan hunkered down on one knee, resting her right arm against the cold, gray boulder. There was a narrow area that had no brush below them. They would funnel in that way because it was easier than fighting through the thickets. And that was where they had to pick them off, one at a time.

Breathing hard, sweat trickling down her ribs, her heart feeling as if it would leap out of her chest, Morgan looked behind them. Worried, she continued to search up above the brush. Was it possible that Khogani would send men on either side of the wadi above their position? Or come in from the sides at them?
Yes.

“I’m taking the area above us,” she told him, instinctively reacting to the possibility.

“Roger that. I’ll take below us.”

Her chest heaved with exertion. The brush snapped and shattered. The sounds of the approaching soldiers grew louder. The Taliban would appear any second now….

Jake saw the first soldier pop up into the area. He snapped off a shot. The man screamed, toppled, his AK-47 flying into the air. He spotted a second soldier, but instantly, he moved back into the brush to hide. Jake’s mouth was tight, hands gripped around the SIG, the perspiration running off his face. The light was better, and he could see more deeply into the brush below them.

Suddenly, he heard a scream. It had come from his left. Surprised, Jake turned, swinging his SIG toward the sound. Out of the brush a soldier came firing at him. The bullets snapped and popped around his head. He fired once, twice, three times. He felt a sudden numbness in his right calf. The soldier’s twisted, angry face suddenly took on a look of surprise. Jake’s third bullet hit him in the chest. The man was jerked backward, off his feet.

There was a sudden commotion above them. The Taliban had not only paralleled the wadi where they were located, but had climbed above their position! They were firing from the brush, their bullets singing and ricocheting all around the boulders where they were hidden. Morgan had to move. She couldn’t hide behind the boulder because the Taliban were down below, throwing every kind of lead their way they could. The bark of the AK-47s was deafening. She crouched, trying to find the men who were making the noise above them. To her left, she heard more soldiers coming in to get them.

Jerking a look to her left, she saw Jake go down. For a second, Morgan caught a glimpse of the blood on his lower right leg.
No!
There was nothing she could do to help him. It sounded as if the rest of the Taliban had climbed far above them and were coming down.

Morgan shouldered the M-4 and popped off a grenade. It thunked, the heavy, bruising recoil of the stock against her shoulder. It flew into the thick brush. The explosion occurred, the invisible pressure-wave reaction pounding against her body. She fell to her knees, watching the fire and brush, soil and rock erupt. Screams and shrieks pierced the dust-laden air. And then more bullets flew into the position where she was kneeling.

She heard Jake systematically firing the SIG. They were in a pincers with the Taliban closing in on all sides of them! There was no place to hide. Mouth tightening, sweat running down her temples, Morgan turned and fired a second grenade off to the left of where Jake was located. And then she fired a third one down below where six Taliban struggled to reach them on foot.

The explosions were loud and concussive. Her ears hurt, and she could barely hear anything afterward. She was firing dangerously close, meaning they could be injured in the grenade explosions, as well. Above the fray, for a second, Morgan could hear the Apache helicopters circling above the wadi. Their rotor blades punctured the air like huge kettle drums being beaten above their heads. The pilots didn’t dare fire into the wadi because it could kill them.

More movement came from Morgan’s left. Just as she was going to fire a grenade into the side of the wadi, a bullet struck her in the chest. She cried out, thrown back off her feet. Morgan landed hard against the boulder, momentarily stunned. Without thinking, she triggered the grenade into the brush. Burning pain floated up through her chest. Scrambling to her feet, Morgan spotted two more men to her right, aiming at Jake. She fired the last grenade, the M-4 bucking against her shoulder.

The explosion rocked the area. It was so close to them! Hundreds of pounds of rocks and gravel exploded upward, showering them. Morgan realized she was down to bullets only. The brush moved above her. Jake was down but still firing prone, keeping half the enemy at bay. Gasping for breath, Morgan moved to the left, exposing herself to anyone that might still be below them. Two men were in the brush above her. For a second, she recognized Khogani. Hatred flowed through her. She jammed the M-4 against her shoulder. Morgan wanted that son of a bitch!

A bullet struck her Kevlar from behind. Morgan was flung forward, off her feet. She gasped in pain. Jake turned, firing the SIG at two men coming up to finish her off from behind. Rolling, she saw the two Taliban above her leap out in front of her. She lifted the M-4, firing multiple times at the first man who charged her.