Cindy Gerard - The Way Home

Ty wasn’t even sure if he could crawl, but his brother didn’t need to know that. “Hell, yeah, but I’d rather run.” He checked to see that the M-4 was loaded, that the magazine was fully seated, and then, gritting through the pain, he trotted after his brother and Waldrop to a low berm, where they hunkered down and waited for the bad guys.

NATE WAS STILL DIGESTING THE news that the helicopter crew was safe but the chopper was out of commission when Cooper and Santos pulled up in front of the house in a “jingle truck,” a garishly painted pickup about the size of a U-Haul.

He stepped outside.

“Did we deliver or what?” Cooper grinned, reached out the driver’s-side window, and patted the door panel as if it was a prize bull at a county fair.

“Nice score,” Nate said. They might fit everyone onto it.

His radio crackled. “Charlie to Lead. I’ve got an AC-130U gunship locked and loaded and in the air. All we need are coordinates, and we can handle some of that ground resistance for you and Reaper. Over.”

Oorah! He was going to owe Crystal, B.J., and the Specter pilot flying the gunship a steak dinner with all the trimmings if they got out of this. The AC-130U gunship was basically a cargo plane stuffed full of guns, including—Lord have mercy—a 105mm howitzer plus 25mm and 40mm cannons. This ship was the closest equivalent of the hand of God, carrying ordnance capable of smashing things to pieces in seconds. And thanks to Crystal and B.J., it was five minutes away.

“Roger that, Charlie, and please know that if I didn’t love my wife, I’d run away with both of you. As soon as I figure out what we need, you’ll be the first to know. Stand by.”

It had been a while since Nate had called in an air strike, but he’d done it enough that he could rely on muscle memory. Once he knew exactly where the bad guys and the good guys were, it was a matter of pointing them out and letting them loose.

He called the team and the evacuees out of the house and over to the hood of the truck. After laying the map out, he gave a quick briefing. Although everyone knew the details of the backup plan, there was little harm in reaffirming it.

“Cooper, you good behind the wheel?”

“As gold, sir.”

He looked at Rabia. “Can you navigate for us?”

She glanced at the map. “Yes. But my father,” she added hesitantly. “He is not well.”

Nate understood. “We’ll take care of him. He can ride in back with the team. He’ll be protected.” He turned to Albert. “You ready?”

“I am.”

Nate watched with interest as the SF sergeant limped heavily, favoring his left leg, then eased carefully up into the truck bed.

“How bad is he?” Nate asked Rabia in an aside.

“It is the vertigo,” Rabia said. “From a head injury. Movement often makes him violently ill.”

This was going to be a tough ride for Albert.

“You going to be all right back there, Albert? I can make room for you in the cab.”

“I’m good,” Albert insisted, but even in the moonlight, Nate could see he’d turned gray around the edges.

When everyone was onboard, Nate climbed into the shotgun seat. “Let’s move out. Ma’am, you keep down. Way down.”

Cooper ground the gears, and they made their way down the road toward the edge of the village.

Nate keyed his radio. “Reaper, we’re heading your way.” He heard gunfire in the background.

“Roger that. I was just telling the boys how much I missed your ugly faces. Sir,” Mike added as an afterthought.

“Any cover you can give us will be appreciated.”

“Taking heavy fire here, sir. Got all we can handle.”

“Roger that. Hang on. We’re on the way.”

NATE HEARD THE gun fight over the radio, confirming that Reaper was under attack. Here on the road as they rolled toward them, it was surprisingly quiet. A sure sign that all hell was about to break loose.

They made it about a hundred more yards before it did.

Tracers suddenly flew at them from all directions; bullets cracked and whined around their heads as Tangos shouting “Allahu Akbar!” charged out of the ditches at the truck.

Ten M-4s fired at will, shooting at anything that moved. Cooper jammed on the brakes, almost throwing them from the back as an RPG rocketed past the front of the truck. Nate shot a suicide gunner and beaded in on other targets.

In the midst of the melee, he heard the smack of a bullet striking flesh. He jerked his head around and watched Green drop. He would have rolled out the back of the truck if Albert hadn’t grabbed him.

“How bad?” Nate yelled.

In answer, Green got back onto his feet and, shouldering his rifle with one hand, shot a charging Taliban fighter.

“Got it covered.” Coulter knelt beside Green, quickly opened his medical field kit, poured some QuikClot on Green’s wound, and wrapped it tight.

About that time, Cooper gunned it, and the truck started rolling again. Faster this time. Speed was their only ally. If they could make it to Reaper, they could hope to consolidate their position and call in that air strike.

Gunfire, screams, and the roaring of the truck engine were all that Nate could hear as his senses threatened to overload. Through it all, he shot, reloaded, and shot again, as his team did the same. Another smacking sound of a bullet hitting flesh had Taggart clutching his arm. He swore before shouldering his rifle again, pain and determination etched on his face.

Nate leaned around the woman and yelled at Cooper as they ran the gauntlet of enemy fire. “Blow the cobs out of this bitch!”

“HOW’S YOUR AMMO?” Ty asked Mike. Ty was down to three loaded rounds and one more mag.

“So low that that I might have to start calling them names and hope they’ll run home crying to their Mommas. ”

“I’m low, too.” Waldrop zeroed in on another suicide runner.

They were fairly well protected behind the berm—until the baddies put two and two together and figured out that they could surround them and pick them off like carnival ducks.

They were also outmanned and outgunned, and right now, the only thing that stood between them and a very bad day was for Nate and the boys to come rolling up and call in the air strike. And soon might not be soon enough.

Ty had heard the radio commo. He knew Nate and the team had Jeff Albert onboard. He’d wanted to be there when they found him. At the least, he’d wanted to be in the cockpit when Albert boarded the bird. Wanted to be able to look him in the eye, see that this man had gone through hell, and know he’d done the right thing coming after him and bringing him home to Jess.