Trinity: Military War Dog (15 page)

“Unless you want a personal escort to a detainment cell, Mr. Daniels,” the general said with his own snarl, “I’d suggest you keep this little endeavor to yourself.”

Heath’s head pounded as he coaxed Trinity down, just as he did his own pulse. Seeing that SEAL take a bead on his partner … He looked to the general. “Understood. Sir.” As he eased back, Trinity once again relaxing on the steel floor, Heath closed his eyes. Focused on calming down.
What was that, Daniels? Getting info is one thing, but getting stupid’s another
.

In the back of his mind, he wondered if his aggression toward the general wasn’t some reaction to the way the man had treated Jia.

The generals were making a secret trip. Where? Why? Was Air Force One in the area? Dignitaries meant to bring peace and unity often brought death and destruction—to their own troops with the invisible target painted on their heads.

Heath settled in, wishing for all he was worth for an M4A1 to level the playing field. The general had a sidearm. And the SEAL an M4, an M16, and a modified handgun.

Prepared. Armed to the teeth.
What’s going on?

Whatever drew them out, it was big. And Heath hoped they lived through it.

Dead stop.

In the second he heard the driver mumbling about something in the road, Heath went for the weapon he didn’t have. His gaze struck the general, who was in motion, too.

“Why did we stop?” Burnett demanded.

“Back up!” Heath shouted at the same time the general spoke. He locked gazes with the steely-eyed general.

“Not sure, sir. Something about a roadblock.”

“Back up, back up!” The general’s face reddened. “Get us out—”

The vehicle lurched. Shoved Heath out of his seat. Into Aspen. Her blue eyes went wild as the MRAP dropped down and bounced. He stood and pushed himself back, mind racing.

“Go, go, go!” Heath shouted to the driver.

BoooOOOOOooomm!

Whipped into the air, Heath tensed. His hearing hollowed. His vision went black.

Coughing, Heath snapped awake. A sweet, metallic taste filled his mouth. He couldn’t breathe. He dropped his head back and coughed again. Again.

A warbling sound came from his right.

There, the general knelt, his mouth moving in hollow shouts.

Heath blinked. Shook his head—and the whole world spun. Man, why couldn’t he breathe? It felt like something was on his chest. He craned his neck—and let out a soft grunt. Stretched across him in a defensive posture, hackles raised, teeth bared, Trinity snapped. Growled—he felt it rumble across his ribs. He rested a hand on her flank and dropped his head back. With another cough, his head cleared. Trinity snapped at the general, who attempted to get closer.

Aspen’s fair skin was smudged with black. “She won’t let us help.”

“Trinity, out,” Heath said with another cough.

She ceased aggression and licked his face.

“Good girl.” He scooted to the others, throat burning. “What’s happening?” Wiping the grit out of his eyes, Heath tried to get his bearings. By the way things were playing out, he hadn’t been out more than a few minutes. Was it the TBI? Or had he hit his head?

Aspen swiped a hand across her forehead, smearing black over her pale complexion but looked otherwise unscathed.

A streak of blood ran down the general’s temple, but it seemed his helmet absorbed most of the impact. “RPGs. Got our driver. Backup’s en route. But we still have a shooter out there. Idiot about took my head off.”

The MRAP sat on its side, having been divested of passengers. The SEAL knelt at the front, staring out in the direction from which they’d been hit. Heath sidled up next to Aspen.

“You okay?” His throat burned as if he’d swallowed a blowtorch.

She nodded, the helmet cockeyed on her head.

Heath rubbed Trinity’s ear, letting her know she’d done a good job protecting him, as he scanned the area. In front of him a cement wall lined the road they’d been ambushed on. Following it to the far side, he recalled the zigzag at the corner. Two shops sat at the end, then the row of apartments, in which the shooter had taken refuge.

As he scoped it, a man rushed from the side of the building, glanced in their direction, then tossed something aside.

“Target! Give me a gun!” Heath shouted.

“Are you crazy?”

“Completely.”

The general grinned and tapped the SEAL, who passed him the small fully automatic. “You’re not authorized to engage the enemy, Mr. Daniels.”

Heath jerked toward him. “Trinity and I can find him. Take him down. Or do you want this punk to kill more of your men?”

“Lieutenant Wilson, go with Daniels.” Fierce eyes probed Heath. “Temporarily activated.”

Heath rose and Trinity with him. Using the dilapidated wall as cover, he sprinted down the street with Trinity a full length ahead of him. “Trinity, seek!”

The command fueled her desire. She surged ahead and barked. Across the intersection, which was ominously empty, and into the building.

Heath raced after her, knowing that while she was trained only to attack those in an aggressive posture, she hadn’t done this in a while. The doubts were new. She had her vest—one thing he’d insisted on, knowing how much terrorists wanted MWDs dead.

Snapping and barking ahead pushed him faster. “She hit on something,” he shouted to the SEAL behind him.

“Let’s hope it’s a
someone
,” Wilson retorted.

They hustled up to a corner, and their actions were seamless. The SEAL eased around and cleared it. Heath rushed into the room and pied out. Nothing.
Where is she?

Paint curled off the walls, reaching for them, as if looking for escape from the neglect. Plaster pocked with holes seemed as dejected as it looked. This place bore the marks of abandonment.
Years
of abandonment. But the carpet, table, pillows, and, in particular, the steaming cup of tea told him someone had been in here recently. Very recently.

“Tea.” His single word alerted Wilson to trouble.

Another bark.

“She’s close.” Heath sidestepped and eased into the hall. The tip of Trinity’s tail was low and flicking. Back legs spread, she snarled.

Heath rushed forward. Took point, then let the SEAL again clear it.

The guy stepped into view.

Tat-tat-tat
.

Wilson jerked back, stumbled. Went down. Trinity vanished.

A feral scream stabbed the tension and replaced the gunfire.

Heath rushed the room, weapon aimed, knowing Trinity had taken the tango down. The assailant lay on the floor, screaming, his arm between Trinity’s powerful jaws. Heath hurried to her side, Wilson rushing the combatant. “Trinity, out!”

With a stretch of her jaw, she released her quarry and came to his side.

Cowering and simpering, the man held his arm.

In Pashto, Heath said, “Down on your knees. Do not make any sudden moves. My dog is trained to attack on or off lead. Do you understand?”

A frantic nod.

“Hands behind your head.” Wilson grunted and held his side. “Slow.”

As he complied, the man darted looks to Trinity and tears streamed down his cheeks.

Weapon trained on the terrorist, Heath backed up. A half-dozen shapes swooned to his left. This was it. He’d die. Never see Jia, make her face what she felt for him. If that was possible. They were all going down. Heath swung his weapon to them.

“Friendly, friendly,” one shouted.

Standing down, Heath indicated to the room. “We need a medic.”

“We’ve got it from here,” a SEAL said as his team went to work securing the prisoner and aiding their comrade, whose vest had intercepted the bullets that would’ve put him six feet under in Arlington.

As Heath waited in the forward room, he took a knee and smoothed a hand along Trinity’s coat. Panting, she smiled up at him, her amber eyes sparkling. If she had a voice, she would be thanking him for letting her get back in action. He wasn’t as glad.

“Good girl.” He smoothed a hand over her head and rubbed her ears. “You’re a top-notch soldier, Trinity.”

“Wow,” Hogan said as they regrouped. “If you had talked to that Asian chick as nice, I bet she wouldn’t have left. Or maybe that was the problem—you were too nice.”

A retort was on the tip of his tongue, but as Heath came to his feet, he spotted General Burnett. The man seethed.

The SEALs came through, Wilson with a hand over his side, his face knotted in pain. No doubt the bullets had left a bruise. The last two warriors brought out the attacker.

“Did he do it?” General Burnett asked.

“Yes, sir,” a SEAL said.

The general’s brow furrowed as he considered the man. “Did he know
who
he was hitting?”

The SEAL shook his head. “Only that he was hitting Americans.”

A disgusted look washed over the general’s face, replacing the worry that had been there seconds earlier. “We’ll have to hunker down till nightfall. Choppers are on a rescue op south of here and can’t get to us till then.”

Aspen handed Heath a water bottle. He took a swig, then held the bottle out for Trinity, who lapped it so fast, half of it missed her mouth. She shook out her fur as if to shake off the attack itself. Heath crouched in front of his partner and stroked her fur.

“See you got our man.”

Heath looked up at the general. “Let’s hope so, sir.” Some Afghans hated Americans and would make any claim that made them look like a hero when the real villains could still be lurking on the rooftop.

“They cleared the roof. Found the tube.” Gruff and to the point as always. Without a “thank you” or “job well done,” the general pivoted.

Jibril frowned as he moved into Heath’s path. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, sure.” He gave the answer everyone wanted. But there was something in him, something deep and forbidding, digging into his brain. A thought he never imagined he’d have. Maybe he was just out of practice. Maybe it was the general’s attitude. But Heath couldn’t evade the warning that something was very wrong here. And that if he stayed in this country that had tried to snatch his life once, he would die.

            Ten