Uniform Desires (Make Mine Military Romance) (21 page)

Reaper moved on to the next building, similar in size to the first. Gator followed, the big guy so quiet, he was one giant shadow in the night.

Tuck joined them against the building. He directed Dustman to be the lookout at the corner, while Tuck, Gator, and Reaper stood beneath a window where they could hear the low hum of voices through a narrow opening.

Tuck made out some of the words in Pashto. They were talking about crops and the amount of money they could get for the current poppy harvest. When the man speaking mentioned how many weapons that would buy, Tuck’s adrenaline shot up. This had to be the place. He nodded to Reaper and they ducked around the other side of the building to the entrance.

Tuck led the way, pushing against the door, hinges squeaking slightly. He waited before entering, gauging whether or not the men in the back room had heard. When the Afghan’s voice droned on, Tuck crossed the threshold and slipped past darkened rooms. Women and children slept inside some of them. He pulled doors closed and moved on, determined to make this extraction as quick and painless as possible. Where the hallway split at a T-junction, he sent Reaper to the right and he and Gator took the left, toward the sound of talking men.

As he reached the room, a scuffle at the end of the hallway behind him made him stop short, weapon at the ready. He shot a glance over his shoulder. A man had emerged from the room at the end of the hallway, adjusting his robes with one hand, carrying a gun in the other. When he spotted Reaper, he raised his weapon. Reaper swung the butt of his M4A1, catching the man on the chin so hard, a loud crack echoed against the dried mud walls. He slid to the floor.

A shout sounded from the men in the room in front of Tuck. Before the men inside made it to the door, Tuck dove through the opening, weapon ready.

Armed with AK47s, and handguns, five of the eight men in the room opened fire.

Tuck nailed two of the shooters.

Gator popped two others.

The last armed man flattened himself on the floor behind one of his dead buddies and fired wildly at Tuck and Gator.

One bullet hit Tuck in the chest, his flak vest protecting him, but the force of the bullet knocked back against the wall. By the time he steadied himself, another round nicked his left shoulder. He dropped to the prone position, aimed, and shot the man between the eyes.

Two of the other men grabbed the weapons of their dead compatriots. Before they could pull the triggers, Tuck and Gator fired, dropping them where they stood, leaving the last man alive. He stood tall, his black beard and mustache shaggy, unkempt, his head swathed in a black turban. He spat on Tuck and cursed him in Pashto. The man looked like the one in the photos from his mission briefing. They’d found Muttaqi.

More shouting out in the hallway pushed Tuck to action. Their team didn’t have time to waste before the entire village descended on this location. When Gator grabbed the man’s arm, Muttaqi fought back.

Tuck hit the Amir in the temple with the butt of his weapon.

The man fell to his knees, then flat on his face.

Digging a zip-tie out of his pocket, Tuck secured the man’s wrists behind his back.

Gator slapped duct tape over his mouth, then flung him over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry.

Tuck emerged into the hallway to spot Reaper cornered by two men, a third man in the process of pulling the pin on a grenade.

He lobbed the grenade at Reaper and dove into a room.

Tuck couldn’t get to him fast enough and watched in horror as Reaper grabbed the grenade and flung it into the room after the retreating man. With no time to spare, Reaper dropped to his belly and shaded his eyes.

Tuck and Gator only had time to fling their arms over their eyes.

The grenade exploded.

The force of the explosion knocked Tuck and Gator backward, Muttaqi’s body landing on top of them, the concussion making Tuck’s ears ring and his head spin. As he pushed his way out from beneath their prisoner and sat up, his vision blurred, then came back into focus and his heart skipped several beats.

The entire wall where Reaper had been standing had crumbled onto Reaper and the three Taliban members. Dust choked the air.

Tuck staggered to his feet, off balance, a sense of urgency hard to grapple with when he could barely stand. He grabbed Gator’s hand and pulled the man to his feet. They teetered together until they could stand on their own.

Muttaqi groaned through the tape on his mouth, thankfully still alive for interrogation later.

Tuck helped Gator load the man over his shoulder and shoved him toward the exit.

Dustman met them at the door, took Gator’s load, and ran to the back wall of the compound, shoving Muttaqi over the top.

With Muttaqi out of the compound, Tuck went back for Reaper.

Two Taliban members, still alive but bruised and bleeding, had converged on Reaper and were digging him out of the rubble, cursing, something about ripping him apart.

Tuck aimed at the one nearest to him. "Hey!"

The men dropped Reaper’s arms and lunged for Tuck.

Two bullets ended any discussion, and Tuck raced to where Reaper stumbled to his feet.

"About time you got here." He pressed his hands to his ears. "Can’t hear a damned thing."

Reaper’s voice came to Tuck muffled and almost unintelligible, effects of the stun-grenade’s explosion. Though temporary, the condition didn’t make for clear-headed thinking when they needed it most.

With Reaper leaning heavily on him, Tuck ran from the building into the night.

Shouts sounded all over the village, and the popping of semi-automatic weapons indicated other Taliban members were closing in.

Tuck grabbed his handheld radio. "Razor, extraction point B. Now!"

Her answer came quickly, "Roger."

They had less than two minutes to get to their rendezvous point alive. At the west end of the village was a flat field where the locals grew poppies. Most likely the crop the Taliban had been counting on to fund the purchase of additional weapons.

Gator and Dustman, with Muttaqi dangling between them, followed Big Bird and Fish along the road between high walls.

Tuck brought up the rear, a bad feeling twisting in his gut. The walls were like canyons, trapping them in and funneling them through like mice in a maze. All it took was one enemy soldier with a machine gun to take out all six of them. Weapons aiming upward, the team ran through the streets as fast as they could, carrying the dead weight of an unconscious Muttaqi.

If Tuck had it his way, he’d shoot the murderous Taliban leader and get his team out before they became numbers on some congressman’s tally of the cost of Operation Enduring Freedom and the Global War on Terrorism.

He prayed the village inhabitants didn’t have an RPG anywhere nearby. Not with Delaney on her way to collect them.

The report of rifle fire had them slamming against the walls shadowed from the moonlight. Fish took a bullet to his leg, hit the ground, and rolled back to his feet.

Big Bird made Tuck proud when he locked in on the sniper on the rooftop and expended one bullet on the man. The Taliban soldier tipped over the edge and crashed to a heap in the street in front of them.

The sound of rotors beating the air pushed Tuck forward, yelling, "Move! Move! Move!"

The six men and their prisoner burst into the open and ran, stumbled, or limped toward the field of poppies.

Machine gun fire peppered the ground behind Tuck. He didn’t slow or stop. The helicopter appeared overhead and the door gunners laid down suppression fire until all the men were on board with Muttaqi.

The last one in, Tuck barely had his foot on the skid when the helicopter rose into the air.

A parting shot pinged against the side of the Black Hawk as it rose higher, headed back to Camp Leatherneck where they were to hand Muttaqi into the care of military intelligence officers for interrogation processing.

His ears still ringing, Tuck pressed the headset to his ear.

"Tuck?" Delaney asked.

"Yeah, Del, I’m here."

"Cory?"

"On board."

"The others?"

"All present and accounted for." Tuck’s heart still beat like a snare drum at a rock concert.

"What the hell happened?"

"We can talk later."

Silence for a moment.

"Tuck?" Delaney’s voice filled his head.

"I’m still here."

"I’m glad."

Chapter 3

Delaney’s hands shook on the controls as she guided the helicopter to Camp Leatherneck, their final destination for the night.

An hour of waiting had taken its toll. Along with the co-pilot and her door gunners, Delaney had been on full alert, NVGs scanning for heat signatures of Taliban fighters while their bird was on the ground, a dangerous place to be if someone decided to attack.

When the call had come through to pick up the men at the alternate location just outside the village instead of on the other side of the hill, she’d jumped to the worst conclusion. They’d run into trouble, maybe gotten wounded. Or lost one of the team.

Delaney didn’t hesitate to fly into hostile situations, but the worst part of her job was when she had to airlift out a dead or dying soldier, SEAL, or marine. Every life was important. The men fighting in this endless war had family waiting for them back home—a mother, father, grandmother, wife, children, lover—someone who would miss them if they didn’t come home safely. And her responsibility was to get them out.

During the past few months training as part of a joint task force, she’d come to know so many of SEAL Team 10, specifically the squadron of men that included Tuck and Cory. She loved most of them like brothers. But Tuck...there was nothing brotherly about the way she felt about him.

He was strong, capable and—despite his upbringing—caring, loyal, and would do anything for those he loved. She’d fallen for him the first time he’d walked her to her car, after they’d been at DD’s Corral too late. There’d been nothing sexual about how he’d seen to her safety. That he was incredibly sexy, and had shoulders so broad he filled doorways, had nothing to do with how quickly she’d fallen. Well, maybe a little. His deep voice, gentle hands, and the way he held her in his arms on the dance floor had sent her determination not to fall for a military man soaring out the window.

He was everything she could want in a man. His loyalty to his team, and especially to Cory, was commendable.

To a point. But that point had long since passed when Cory proposed. Now they were faced with dangerous missions. If she broke the news to Cory that she had been seeing Tuck for the past month and a half, how would he take it? Would it put a dent in the camaraderie between Tuck and Cory, or any other member of the team? They couldn’t afford that. She couldn’t be the bone of contention between the tightly knit group of men. Not when they needed to focus on the mission.

The radio had yanked her out of her musings, back to the present and the danger the team now faced. She’d fired up the engine and, as soon as she could, lifted off, skimming the top of the hill and dropping into the valley below, the rotor wash flattening the poppies in the field where she landed.

She’d held her breath, praying they’d all come out alive, counting as they emerged from the cover of the buildings. Not until the last one entered the helicopter and she was able to lift off did she release the breath she’d been holding.

She cared about all the men she transported into and out of battle. But having Tuck and Cory on board added to the burden, reminding her that not only did the people she carried have someone back home who loved them, she cared about them as well. She had a huge responsibility to herself and others—bring them home safe and alive.

Now that they were safely up in the air, the helicopter sweeping away from the village and gaining altitude, Tuck’s pulse regulated. The flight to Camp Leatherneck went quickly. Working in the dark with a flashlight and first aid kit, the team performed self-aid buddy care on each other for those wounded in the explosion and subsequent firefight.

Fish would need to see a surgeon to retrieve the bullet from his leg. He hoped to be back with the team soon afterward. Nothing kept a good SEAL down for long.

Reaper sat in the middle, fiddling with something in his hands.

Tuck shone a light at him to discover he was turning the ring box he’d used to propose to Delaney. As SEALs they weren’t supposed to bring anything personal to the battle, they didn’t wear nametags or rank insignia. If caught, the enemy would use anything to torture information out of them. Why the hell would Reaper bring the damned ring?

The entire trip out to the sandbox, Tuck had tried to bring up the subject of Delaney and why proposing to her wasn’t a good idea for Reaper. Each time, Reaper cut him off, insisting he knew what he was doing.

Short of telling Reaper he was seeing Delaney and that they were a thing, he didn’t know what else to do. If word got out he was dating the 160th Black Hawk pilot responsible for transporting them on missions, he or Delaney could be shipped back stateside and reprimanded.