Uniform Desires (Make Mine Military Romance) (26 page)

With quick, practiced moves, Tuck smashed the plastic explosives against the middle of the wall closest to the living quarters inside the compound. He pressed a detonator into the plastics and motioned Reaper back around the corner.

He pushed his guilt about his rift with Reaper to the back of his mind and concentrated on what would happen next as he checked his watch, and waited for the time agreed upon for Bravo Team to move into position. At exactly the minute designated, he held his hands over his ears and pressed the hand-held detonator. A small explosion shook the wall he leaned on. Another explosion sounded from the other side of the compound a couple seconds later, like an echo of the first.

Without waiting, Tuck ran around the corner and dove through the gaping hole in the wall. The tap, tap, tapping of gunfire kept Tuck low to the ground, bullets kicking up dust near his feet. He ducked and rolled into the shadows, pulled his NVGs in place, and scanned the corners of the building and the rooftop for the sniper. A moment later, he found him as he leaned around the corner to fire off rounds at the hole in the wall, then retreated behind the corner.

Tuck aimed, waited for him to appear again, and fired. The gunman grunted and slumped to the ground.

Reaper, Big Bird, and Gator entered through the hole and spread out. Fish remained outside the wall. He’d provide protective fire on their rear.

If they timed their moves right, they’d converge on the building at the same moment. Satellite photos had shown them where the entrances were. Bravo Team would take the main entrance and provide a distraction while Tuck’s team blasted through the wall with more explosives and entered through the rear.

Everything was going as expected. Like clockwork. A niggling doubt insinuated itself into Tuck’s mind as he pressed more C4 into the back wall of the residence. Enough to blow a hole without causing too much injury to the occupants inside.

Charges set, he held his ears and detonated. The wall crumbled, dust spewing outward. He motioned for his team to move in. No gunfire erupted from inside.

If the meeting was being held in this building, the attendees would have come B.Y.O.G. Bring your own gun.

Tuck didn’t like it. Something wasn’t right.

Before Tuck could alter the plan, Reaper was first in, as they’d planned in the drills they’d conducted at Little Creek back in the states. He rolled to the side, pointing his weapon at the empty interior. Tuck followed behind him, moving more slowly, peering through the dust-clouded interior of an empty room with nothing but broken furniture and rags littering the floor.

While Reaper moved toward the door leading to the interior, Tuck hung back. On the wall, someone had spray painted a message on the stucco walls in Pashto. Tuck took a moment to translate and when he did, lead sank to the bottom of his belly. He spun toward Reaper. "Reaper, don’t go—" Tuck saw the trip wire just as Reaper bumped into it.

One minute, Reaper was standing in front of him, the next he was thrown across the room, along with half the wall.

Tuck flew back on his ass and the ceiling above him crumbled, caving in on top of him and Reaper. His ears ringing, Tuck forced himself to his knees and threw his body over Reaper as the stones and timbers crashed down, pummeling his back and head.

Something large and heavy hit the base of his skull, knocking his helmet loose. For a moment, the world around him faded into darkness. He fought to shake it off. Reaper lay beneath him, having taken the brunt of the explosion. His body armor would have protected his torso to an extent and he still wore his helmet, but what about his face and limbs?

Tuck pushed against Reaper, the pressure on his back giving way a little at a time. Not fast enough.

Shots rang out beyond the building’s walls. Big Bird shouted, Gator and Fish responded, but the sounds all came to Tuck as if from down a long, muffled tunnel.

He pushed again and a heavy beam rolled off his back onto the floor beside him, along with crumbled bricks and stone. Fumbling for his flashlight, he found it, switched it on, and shone it in Reaper’s face. His eyes were closed, skin coated in dust.

Tuck pressed his fingers to Reaper’s throat and prayed. When he felt the slow thump, thump of a pulse, he let go of the breath he’d been holding, and tapped Reaper’s face. "Hey, buddy. Wake up."

Reaper didn’t budge.

Bracing his hand on the ground, Tuck tried to stand. His leg was pinned by another beam. He twisted around and shoved the debris to the side before wiggling his foot. It hurt, but he thought he could stand. The main thing was to get Reaper out and back to the helicopter.

A mortar exploded close by, sending out a spray of more debris, the explosion reverberating in Tuck’s already numb ears. If they wanted to get out alive, he had to move, now. The whole situation stunk of setup.

"Tuck?" Big Bird leaned into the building. "Tuck?"

"I’m here."

"You okay?"

"Yeah. But Reaper’s down."

"Alive?"

"For now."

"We’re taking rounds and mortars. Team Bravo was hit hard. Two dead, the other three heading back to the LZ."

"Fish and Gator?" Tuck asked, afraid of the answer.

"Injured but mobile. Need help getting out Reaper?"

"I’m not sure what injuries he sustained." Tuck pushed against the ground in an attempt to stand. Where he planted his hand was warm and wet. "Holy shit. Shine your light over here."

Big Bird stepped over the debris and focused his light on the ground at Tuck’s feet. "Fuck."

Tuck ripped off his belt and looped it around what was left of Reaper’s right arm, pulling it tight to stop the relentless flow of blood from his severed artery.

"We gotta get him out of here."

"I know. You go ahead of me. I’m right behind you."

"Tuck." Reaper’s eyes blinked open.

"Yeah, buddy."

"Get out of here."

"Not without you."

"If I die, take care of Delaney for me, will ya?"

Tuck’s throat closed up and his eyes stung. Whether from all the dust or the knowledge his friend might not make it out alive, he didn’t have time to debate.

Reaper tried to lift his right arm, gave up, and caught Tuck with the left. "Promise."

Tuck ground his teeth together, adrenaline coursing through him. "Bullshit on all this talk about dying. You’re making it out of here alive, so hang on." He bent, grabbed Reaper’s uninjured arm, and dragged him over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. His ankle hurt like hell, but the injury was nothing compared to what Reaper had suffered.

His teammate grunted and then went completely limp, a deadweight hanging over Tuck, unable to balance or help to steady Tuck’s load. Well, damn it, he didn’t need help. He’d get him out if it was the last thing he did.

Stumbling over the stones, bricks and debris, Tuck made it outside the building where Big Bird was firing into the night.

"Go!" Big Bird yelled. "I called for transport. They’re on their way."

Tuck ran through the alley, back the way they’d come, followed by the reassuring sound of Big Bird’s weapon firing behind him. Gator and Fish were pinned at a corner, ducking around to fire in bursts.

As Tuck neared, they left the corner and charged past the intersection of two narrow streets.

Bullets pinged off the sides of the mud-covered compound walls. Tuck kept running. He had to get to the helicopter. If they could make the chopper, Reaper had half a chance to live. "Hang on," he said to his friend, again and again, like a mantra to cling to, getting him through the next few minutes.

Rushing past the last building and out into the open field, Tuck felt something hit the front of his leg, like a sharp sting. He ignored it and ran on.

The familiar whopping sound of helicopter rotors gave him hope for Reaper. "Please hurry."

"Tuck, wait!" Big Bird ran to catch up to him, grabbed his arm, and forced him to stop, pulling him to his knees. "Get down!"

Machine gun and rifle fire filled the night and the sky over their heads.

Tuck laid Reaper down, then covered his friend’s body with his own.

A Black Hawk swooped in, guns firing at the fields ahead of them.

It was then that Tuck saw the silhouettes of men moving their way, carrying weapons. One of them stopped and lifted an RPG to his shoulder.

"No." Tuck couldn’t leave Reaper to take out the Taliban man soon enough to stop the round from being fired. All he could do was watch in horror.

The round hit the helicopter above them. It jerked, then exploded in a ball of flaming aviation fuel, rotor blades flying loose, doors, skids and the fuselage breaking apart, flung across the sky like a broken toy.

Tuck’s heart stopped in that second and he ducked his head, praying it wasn’t Delaney’s helicopter. "Dear God," he said. "Dear God."

The bulk of the craft crashed to the earth, the flames reaching toward the sky. The second helicopter flew in—low, fast, and deadly—firing everything it had at the men on the other side of the field.

When the machine guns attached to its belly ran out of bullets, the helicopter launched the rockets, the pilot expending every last bit of ammo. Then the craft turned back toward the town and landed near to the spot where Team Alpha had taken cover.

Team Bravo emerged from the walls of the village, two men flanking two others helping a third between them.

Tuck rose, and with Big Bird’s help, carried Reaper to the waiting helicopter. With the door gunners providing suppression fire, the teams made it to the Black Hawk. Tuck and Big Bird laid Reaper on the floor. The others piled into the craft around him, hanging onto whatever they could find.

Tuck turned to Fish, the team corpsman. "Take care of him." Then he ducked back out of the chopper, followed by Big Bird, Gator, and two of Team Bravo’s men. They scoured the area around the downed helicopter, careful not to provide a target for the Taliban. They found one of the door gunners lying among the poppies, the others appeared to have burned in the fire. Big Bird and Tuck carried the dead door gunner back to the waiting helicopter and loaded him next to Reaper.

"Let’s go!" One of the door gunners yelled.

The helicopter, near its maximum load capacity, lurched from the ground and into the air.

Tuck bent over Reaper and shined his flashlight into his teammate’s face.

He was deathly pale, all the color seeming to have leached out of his lips and he wasn’t moving at all.

"Is he...?"

Fish shook his head and spoke loud enough to be heard over the rotors. "He’s hanging on, but he’s lost a lot of blood. You did good by applying the tourniquet when you did, or he would have bled out."

Out of the path of danger, without bullets flying past him, Tuck had time for the entire event to process. The building had been empty and set with a trip wire. If he hadn’t stopped to read the writing on the wall, he’d have been the first one through the door. He would be the one lying there with his arm dangling uselessly, the muscles ground into hamburger meat.

He glanced at the back of the pilot’s head.
 
He couldn’t reach her with the crowd of men aboard. Instead, he reached out to touch a door gunner’s arm. "Who’s flying this bird?"

The gunner’s mouth was set in a grim line. "Captain..." The craft dipped and the gunner lurched, braced his hand on the inside wall and righted himself.

Tuck held his breath and waited for the man to finish, his heart in his throat, his stomach a massive knot.

"O’Connell," he finished. "Razor."

The air left his lungs in a whoosh and he slumped over Reaper. They’d lost an entire helicopter crew tonight. If they didn’t get Reaper to a surgeon quickly...

Bullshit. They weren’t losing Reaper, too. Tuck helped Fish stabilize the wounded arm, check Reaper ‘s other injuries, and establish an I.V. of fluids to replace some of what he’d lost.

Then Tuck prayed to God to spare his friend.

Chapter 6

Delaney’s hands were steady on the controls as she’d fired on the enemy. She couldn’t think about the burning ruins of the other helicopter. The SEALs’ lives depended on her keeping a cool head. One thing at a time. Kill the enemy, then get the men back to safety.

"Take that, you sons of a bitches," she muttered, the aircraft shuddering with the force of the machine gunfire and rockets launching.

 
"We got it from here," Mac, her senior gunner said, after she’d unloaded the last of the ammunition into the Taliban.

Without hesitating, Delaney turned the craft toward the village.

A group of men rose from the field and waved at her. She landed and tried to count but couldn’t see from her side of the cockpit. "How many?"

"Four on their feet. They’re carrying one."

Her throat constricted and she held onto the stick so tightly her knuckles turned white. "The other team?"

"Coming now from the village. I count four and they’re helping another between them."

"All on board," Mac said.

Delaney wanted to take off before they encountered any more enemy fire.