Firethorn (Discarded Heroes) (47 page)

Green World Health Clinic Compound, Uganda

Ash and smoke spiraled through the Ugandan sky in a lazy dance. Pockets of fire crackled and hissed, the world tilted sideways as Scott lay on the ground, rocks and dirt poking his cheek. He coughed, cringed at the fire that exploded through his chest, then dragged his hands to either side of his head. Slowly, he pushed up—

Nothing.

The weight pinning him to the ground registered as he searched his memory for what had him in this situation. He remembered being with—Max! The thought pumped vital determination through him. He attempted to free himself, again pushing upward. Dirt and small rocks dribbled down, the sound like a trickle of water to his plugged ears. Stretching his jaw didn’t help. Again, he pushed, this time feeling a shift in whatever pinned him.

Pop! Pop!

Thwat.

Tat-a-tat-tat!

The sounds of a gunfight in the distance blazed through him. He strained to see around him. Chunks of the collapsed building barricaded him. Who was firing? And what were they firing at? He wiggled and managed to free his torso. Twisting around gave him a bird’s-eye view of the slab that had fallen on him—and a man huddled against what remained of the wall. Max. He shifted, fired, then jerked back.

Scott’s hearing had tricked him into thinking the gunfight was far away. He stuffed a finger in his ear to jiggle it free—warm wetness met his touch. Cement blasted up at him.

“Down!”

Realizing a bullet had impacted the slab, Scott flung himself backward, staring down the length of his body, over the cement pinning his legs, at Max.

Blood sliding down his temple, Max fired a few shots, then whipped back. “We need ammo!”

Pulling hard, Scott worked his legs free. His right ankle sat at an awkward angle. Pain and fire licked through his foot, then rushed up his leg. He’d broken it. He ground his teeth as he scrambled to Max’s side at the half-blown wall. “No ammo. Marie won’t allow it here.” And Max had sent the Aussies to the mine for recon, so they were down to…nothing.

“Then we’re dead!” Max tossed the M16 toward him and snatched a handgun from a belt holster.

Scott spotted the last magazine and clapped it into the M16. “I thought you sent coordinates…”

Max shook his head, dust flying from his short, black crop. “Didn’t make it.”

Scott bit back a curse as he passed the assault weapon back to Max. “Where’s Marie? Have you seen her?”

His brother scowled, thinking,
We really do look and act alike,
as he resumed with the M16. “Took the boy and headed toward the hospital.”

Boy? “Ojore?”

“Hanged if I know.” Max pressed the weapon into his shoulder like the seasoned warrior he was and scanned. “We need backup.”

Toes pinched, Scott looked at his booted foot and noted the swelling that stretched the boot laces and crowded his toes. He pulled himself into a crouch. “I’m going to find Marie.”

“Round up survivors.” Max lowered his face toward the weapon, aimed, and eased back the trigger again. He jerked up. “Crap.” In a fluid move, he spun, shoved upward. “Go!”

Scott ran-hobbled as fast as he could, watching as Max rushed ahead. He feared his older brother would once again abandon him. It made sense—the weak got left behind. Is that how Max saw him?

The grating sound of shoes sliding against dirt drew his mind back to the battle. His brother skidded to a stop, glancing back. He scowled, said nothing as he provided cover fire. When Scott caught up, Max hooked an arm under him, supported his weight, and rushed onward.

The simple gesture shed light on the darkest part of Scott’s heart. Max couldn’t know how much that meant, but at the same time, Scott couldn’t let his brother get killed because Scott was weak.

“Go,” Scott said through a breath choked with pain. “Get to Marie. Protect her.”

“Don’t wimp out on me now.” Max’s arm flexed around him, then hauled upward.

Surprised at the strength in Max, Scott hopped with his right foot. “What’d you see?”

“Twenty, maybe thirty soldiers incoming.” Max huffed as they skirted a crumbling building, navigating around chunks and mountains of debris.

Screams and shouts pierced the early morning air.

Scott’s heart rammed into his throat. “The hospital!”

Together, they plunged through the rubble. Around tents that sagged like weighted sentries amid a battle-torn village. Scott’s mind fastened on the thought of losing Marie. Of all the things he’d done wrong, let get in the way, allowed to separate them.
What an idiot.

“Ever do something you later regret?” Scott asked before he thought better of it.

“Every day.”

Surprise hitched in Scott’s chest. He considered the older brother he’d invariably looked up to, wished for a connection with, longed to be
brothers
in heart as well as blood with.

Max shrugged, nearly smiling. “I’m a Jacobs.” He hauled Scott over an overturned palm tree.

Though his mother had kept her maiden name, Scott knew the same hot blood that rushed through Max’s veins boiled in his own. Their father had been the King of Mistakes and had the illegitimate children like him to prove it.

Behind them, the heavy thud of boots stampeded.

Scott glanced back. Sucked in a hard breath. Went down—his foot tangling on something. He hit the ground hard, the breath knocking out of his lungs. Gray spots sprinkled through his vision. Hearing hollowed, Scott tried to shake it off at the blurry images and sounds assailing his senses. A large shadow loomed over him.

Max lunged, his fist ramming into the face of a soldier. A hard right. A left. The fight seemed to take forever—directly over him—yet happened in less than a minute before the soldier crumpled. As Scott shoved the man to the side, Max yanked up the M16 and shouted, “Get to the hospital.” On a knee, he fired.

Adrenaline pounding, Scott glanced at Max’s target—and froze. More than a dozen soldiers advanced, weapons trained, firing.

“Go,” Max said with a growl.

Scott scrambled around the next collapsed tent, staying low to the ground, ignoring his screaming ankle. Again, he looked back as Max swayed, his right arm flinging out. Blood exploding from his arm. Then realigning and firing back. One against twenty?
It’s no use. We’re going to die.
Inexplicably, soldiers dropped. One. Two. Five. Max must’ve noticed too because he hesitated, lifting his gaze from his defensive position to gauge what was happening. More soldiers went down. His brother reengaged, firing.

A blur of black dove at Max. Tackled him. His brother went down.

CHAPTER 33

T
arget acquired.”

“Nice and easy, gentlemen” Griffin said, sidestepping, weapon to his cheek as he rushed forward, flanked by the Kid and Aladdin.

The compound looked like a day in Fallujah.
Obscene.
Griffin honed his focus on this battle. On finding Max. Following the muzzle of his weapon, he traced a line along the only building that had walls still standing—
half
standing. Window. Door. Roof.

“Clear.” He plunged on, aware of his team as they spread out to cover more ground, take down more tangos.

A soldier came around the corner. When he turned and saw them, his eyes bulged.

Griffin coldcocked him. A chopper circled overhead, rounds pelting the ground, forcing the enemy to keep their heads down. Nightshade moved on, unfazed with the shooting, knowing Midas wouldn’t hit one of their own. But what whiplashed Griffin’s mind was Kazi on that chopper. Leaving her wasn’t an option after Aladdin informed him she’d been fishing around websites for Carrick Burgess. Then the coded communiqué.

He shook off the thought as he moved over the unconscious soldier. Advanced.

“Target down,” Colton’s smooth voice sailed through the coms.

“Cowboy,” the Kid said. “Trouble in blue two. Tango on Frogman.”

“Tango in blue two, copy.” Colton’s voice soothed the tension knotted at the base of Griffin’s neck as he rounded a corner. The scene before him sped adrenaline through his veins yet stopped him cold.

At first a tangle of bodies. Then it stilled. A soldier knelt over Frogman, who raised his hands as the man pointed a gun at him. Just as the thought crossed Griffin’s mind that Cowboy needed to end that fight, the tango pitched forward.

Max’s knee snapped up, and he pushed the man over his head. Motionless, Max eyed him, squinted. “Legend?” The hitch in his voice said Max didn’t believe his eyes. But then he slumped against the ground, his chest heaving, and gave a hearty half laugh.

“Clear,” the Kid said through the coms, announcing the area Griffin and he worked was secure.

As Max peeled himself off the hard earth, Griffin grinned and stalked toward Nightshade’s team leader. “Just like a SEAL, lying around while the Marines do all the work.”

Body rigid, Max whipped his weapon toward Griffin.

“Hold up.”

Max fired. In the fraction of a second it took the bullet to travel between Max’s muzzle and the air around Griffin, he smelled the cordite. Saw Max’s smirk. And heard the impact behind him.
Thwump.

Griffin jerked. A man lay on the ground, a machete clattering from his grip. He looked back at Max.

“That’s right.” Max swiped an arm over his face, smearing blood, sweat, and dirt across his cheek. “A SEAL just saved your sorry, whining butt.”

He gripped Max’s hand and pulled him into a hug, the relief sweet and powerful that they were back together. “Good to see you’re alive and kicking.” He gave his face a friendly smack. “We had our doubts.” Into his coms, Griffin radioed their situation and called for sitreps from the others.

“So did I.” Max gulped the dusty air and looked around. “The team—they’re all here?”

“Midas is covering us on the chopper—he got messed up bad in Venezuela, but he’s here. We’re not sure about Squirt.”

“Here.” Max stabbed a finger down. “Sent him to recon a mine a day’s hike from here.”

“Nkooye mine.”

Dark eyes appraised him. “How do you know that?” Suddenly Max’s face tightened. He spun around, his boots crunching on the debris. “Scott!”

“Blue three secure,” Aladdin said.

Again, Griffin spoke into his mic as he trailed Max around the corner. “Regroup in blue two.”

“Area secure. Coming in.” Cowboy’s suppressive fire had been instrumental in taking back the compound. They’d hoofed it a klick to the compound, met with mild engagement, then flooded into the compound right behind the tangos.

As he jogged behind Frogman, Griffin saw a woman appear, sprigs of curls dancing around her face in the hot wind.

“Where’s Scott?”

She held back her hair with the crook of her elbow, but what slowed Griffin was her bloodied hands. She bobbed her head toward the tent she held partially open. “In here. Took some lead in the neck.”

Griffin hesitated. That kind of wound could drain a man in minutes. And who was Scott?

Max pushed into the tent.

The acrid stench of blood and feces assaulted Griffin as he stepped out of the Ugandan sun. He waited at the edge as Max went to a metal table surrounded by netting. Blood covered the man’s upper torso. What looked like a freshly stitched wound in the shoulder caught Griffin’s attention. That and the tattoo. Special ops? Who was this man?

“Hey.” Max bent over the man. “Action junkie.”

The man coughed. “I’m a Jacobs.”

Max snickered.

Wait. Hold up. The man was a Jacobs? That meant—

“Oh, for pity’s sake,” the woman said as she worked on him. “Stop trying to take so many souvenirs home. Besides, I think this may just be a graze.”

Griffin didn’t miss the look Max and the woman shared. Around them, villagers righted poles, stretched canvas taut between them, laid out new medical utensils, plopped dirtied ones in vats. A lanky—no, bone-thin—woman skirted past Griffin with a bowl of bloody water. He stepped aside, pulling his nose to avoid the strong smell.

“Get well,” Max said. “I’ve got work to do.” As Max strolled toward Griffin, he shook his head. “We have a lot to catch up on, but there’s no time.” He grabbed some sterile bandages and wiped a bloody knot on his temple. “Do you…?” He stared at the soiled cotton. “I should…” Outside, Max squinted up at him. “My wife.”

Griffin gave a knowing smile. “Safe house. The wives and children are under the protection of Mossad agents.”

Visible, tangible relief flooded through Max. He hung his head, let out a gargled laugh, then shook his head. “When her phone went dead…Imagined the worse.”

“When you went MIA, so did we. Where you been, man?” Together, they stepped into the open. Blinding Ugandan sun beat down on them. Middle of February and home, they’d be suffering through the last cold snap, but here the heat proved merciless. Sweat sped down his spine and temples.

“Anywhere eyes couldn’t find me. Mountains, rivers, Australia—“

“Squirt.”

Max nodded. “Hid out in the wilds of Australia.” He let out a long breath. “Let’s clean up and see what we’ve got to work with. Take care of the people first, then we’ll get our game on.” He frowned, his gaze locked on something behind Griffin, and drew his weapon around in front of him. “Know him?”