Rev It Up (2 page)

And, yo, wasn’t that just dead-eye wrong? Wasn’t it the exact same type of mentality terrorists employed to justify bombing buildings and embassies and marketplaces? Of course it was. But even though his rational mind might yell
Dude, what the hell are you thinking?,
the monster inside him seemed to be growing louder by the day. And it screamed one line over and over:
Kill
them
all. Avenge your brothers…

He was ashamed to admit he’d nearly let the reins slip on that monster once. The thought of doing so again terrified him. Like right now? He was piss-his-pants scared that if he unleashed his need for revenge and killed al-Masri outside of his orders, there’d be nothing to stop him from doing it again. And then again and again and again…

“Ya really think it’s possible we can get ourselves outta here before al-Masri’s guys surround us,
mon
ami
?” Rock asked.

“Check it,” Jake said as he wrestled back the bloodthirsty beast growling inside him and the accompanying fear it evoked. Taking out the topographical maps and surveillance photos of the area, he motioned for his teammates to follow him a short distance away, out of earshot and eyesight of the Taliban leader, before spreading them on the ground. “If we go up the mountain and reach the plateau,” he pointed at the map with a dirty finger, “our cell phones should be able to receive a signal. We can call back to base and request an airlift out. Let’s say it takes us fifteen minutes to make the climb, two minutes to make the call, eight minutes prep time for the helo, and thirty minutes flight time for the bird to reach us. That’s fifty-five minutes total. It’ll take al-Masri’s army at least forty-five to fifty minutes to climb up the mountain from the valley. That’s cutting it close. But we’ll have the high ground and can hold our position for those remaining few minutes.”

It wasn’t cockiness that assured him four guys could hold off 120. It was training, superior shooting accuracy, premium weaponry, and better positioning.

“All right then,” Preacher said, nodding once, “you’ve convinced me.”

“Rock,” Jake asked, turning toward the Cajun, “what do you think, bro?”

Rock eyed him for the space of a few interminable heartbeats, and Jake knew his teammate was accurately reading the situation. Rock was there the day Jake had nearly done the unthinkable, and the ragin’ Cajun had to know it was the flat-out, ball-shriveling fear of what he was on the brink of becoming that was driving Jake to make this decision right now.

“
Oui, mon frere
,” Rock finally nodded, sliding him a look of…
Please, God, don’t let that be pity.
“Let’s try it.”

Jake blew out an unsteady breath, and for the first time in his recent memory, nary a swear word left Boss’s lips even though the big man must have thought they were making a colossal mistake. Instead, Boss took the vote in stride and simply walked back to al-Masri, pointing at him and motioning for him to stand.

The Taliban leader shook his head, his nostrils flaring. In answer, Boss grabbed the guy under the arm and yanked him up like a ragdoll, giving him a little shake before setting him on his feet and propelling him forward with a hard shove.

“Move out,” Boss ordered.

In less than two seconds, they were all slogging it up the side of the mountain. The loose shale and rocky rubble gave way beneath their desert-tan boots, and for every two steps forward, it seemed they slid one step back. It didn’t help matters that al-Masri fought them every inch of the way, slowing their progress until it seemed they’d never reach their destination. By the time they’d covered half the distance to the plateau, sweat streaked their camouflage face paint and dampened their clothes.

Jake was dying of thirst, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth. And just as he made a grab for the hydration tube on his CamelBak, the biggest, ball-twisting sight he’d ever seen manifested before his gritty eyes…

Taliban fighters swarmed the plateau like ants on an anthill. All armed with AK-47s. All with only one thing in mind:
Kill
the
Americans.

Holy shit!

Somehow they’d managed to climb up the backside of the mountain even though Jake’s maps had shown nothing but a sheer cliff face…

Well, obviously his maps had been wrong. Go figure. Because that’s
exactly
the kind of day he was having.

“Get him in front of us!” Boss roared as they shuffled in behind al-Masri, using him as a human shield, knowing the Taliban leader’s men wouldn’t risk opening fire on their esteemed commander. But as they began to inch back down the mountain, al-Masri stuck out his foot, tripping Rock who was directly behind him.

Jake and Boss made a grab for their teammate as Preacher scrambled to secure the Taliban leader, but they were too late. Somehow al-Masri managed to snag Rock’s KA-BAR from the sheath around Rock’s waist and, in the blink of an eye, he’d driven all seven inches straight into Rock’s shoulder. A heartbeat later, he ripped out the blade and aimed it straight for Rock’s carotid artery.

What happened next was like something beyond reality.

This
is
the
man
who’s responsible…

It was a fleeting thought, but it was enough. Because no sooner did he have it than Jake lost his grip on the thing inside him. Rage poured through his system, hot and violent.

This
man, this
evil
man
has
killed
and
injured
enough
of
my
comrades. It stops. Now!

Then it was if he’d been catapulted from his own body. With an odd sort of detachment, he seemed to watch himself. Watch as he raised his weapon, aiming it at al-Masri’s turbaned head. Watch as he pulled the trigger.

Blood sprayed from the Taliban leader’s skull in a terrible arc of crimson gore, and Jake was suddenly slammed back into his body just in time to feel a delicious sense of justice right before he realized what his impulsiveness…what his
bloodlust
may have cost all of them.

Oh, shit! What have I done?

“Fall back!” Boss roared as the first volley of rounds sprayed around them, biting into the shale, kicking up razor-sharp flecks of rock that turned one projectile into fifteen.

Fall
back.
Yo, Jake didn’t need to be told twice. And
fall
was the operative word.

He tried turning and getting his feet under him so he could at least
attempt
to snake his way down the mountainside, but if he thought going up was difficult, going down was impossible.

At least, it was impossible to manage with any sort of control…

He slipped and slid, his thick-soled boots skidding on the loose shale as he occasionally turned to fire behind him.

SEALs were trained to make their rounds count, so while al-Masri’s men wildly sprayed the side of the mountain, Jake and the guys only fired when they had a target they could hit. By the time they’d slipped back into the relative safety of the little copse of trees, he could see the bodies of at least seven Taliban fighters littering the steep slope.

It wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough. Especially since more of al-Masri’s men rushed over the brim of the plateau. The intel they’d received on the number of fighters the Taliban leader commanded was clearly off.

Way
off.

He’d bet his left nut there were at least two hundred hard-faced militants closing in on their position.

“This is bad!” Preacher yelled from behind a small tree trunk as he continued to acquire targets and fire. He was trying to protect their left flank while Jake covered their right. Boss quickly dispatched anyone stupid enough to come at them head-on, and Rock picked off anything that managed to slip by all three of them.

“We’ve got to get off this mother-sucking mountain!” Boss yelled, his suppressed M4 quietly spitting rounds uphill as more Taliban fighters breathed their last.

The acrid smell of cordite perfumed the air around them as hot rounds bit into the trees behind which they took cover. Jake’s particularly weak, little sapling wasn’t going to last much longer under the barrage.

“If we can make it to the valley, take over one of those houses, we can hold our position until help arrives!” he yelled, slamming in another clip.

They had the ammo; they had the weapons. The plan just might work.

Of course, making it down to the valley was going to be the tricky part and, yeah, he couldn’t deny the fact that it would’ve been a whole helluva lot easier for them if they’d still had al-Masri to use as a shield and bargaining chip.

What
the
hell
have
I
done?
Again, the question blasted into his head, and waves of guilt and recrimination washed through him, compounded by the adrenaline coursing through his veins.

“Fall back!” Boss shouted and, once again,
fall
was exactly what they did.

The mountainside below the outcropping of trees was even steeper—if that was possible—and controlling their descent proved hopeless. Soon, all four of them were rolling and tumbling like clothes in a dryer. Sharp rocks and debris grabbed onto straps and gear, snatching it away, and all the time bullets rained down from above.

They landed in a giant heap of screaming muscles and tangled limbs at the foot of the mountain beside the tiny village houses. Boss and Rock both made for one helluva hard landing spot, but Jake figured Preacher, who’d ended up on top of the pile, would say something similar about him.

The four of them managed to untangle themselves only to fire and retreat, fire and retreat, leapfrogging each other as they raced toward the village.

Thankfully, they weren’t met with any resistance from the village’s inhabitants. It seemed all the guys with guns were on the side of the mountain.

Well,
mahalo
to
the
Big
Kahuna
in
the
sky
for
small
miracles.

As Jake, Preacher, and Rock laid down covering fire, Boss planted one of his big boots against the door of a little mud-brick house and, two seconds later, they all stumbled inside.

It was blessedly empty.

Again, Jake took the right, Preacher the left, and Boss held steady smack dab in the middle while Rock covered their six. They kept plugging away at the approaching army, acquiring targets and squeezing their triggers. During a small lull in the action, Jake felt for his cell phone and came up empty-handed.
Damn!
He must’ve lost it somewhere on the long tumble down the mountain along with two extra clips, his M203 grenade launcher, and his pack.

“I lost my phone!” he yelled, and watched from the corner of his eye as Boss, Rock, and Preacher started patting pockets, searching for their phones, their one and only chance of making it out of this god-awful situation alive.

Both Boss and Rock came up with a big handful of
nada
. Thankfully, Preacher hit the jackpot.

He held up the device triumphantly, but Jake could tell by the look on his face, they were too close to the side of the mountain to get reception.

“Cover me!” Preacher yelled.

Before any of them could stop him, Preacher raced through the front door and down the packed dirt street. Bullets slammed into the road all around him, kicking up great puffs of dirt as he serpentined his way toward the open poppy field at the south end of the village where his chances of acquiring a cell signal would be the best.

It was the bravest thing Jake had ever seen, but he didn’t have time to watch the heart-wrenching spectacle because he had to keep shooting, keep disposing of as many of the men operating those AKs as he could so Preacher could make the Hail Mary call back to base.