Buck

Chapter 1

Deep in the jungle on Nicaragua’s border with Costa Rica

Sam “Buck” Buckard released a breath, the shouting like distant thunder, the crackle and pinging of metal cooling, the smell of smoke, cordite, and heavy vegetation, disturbed the gray fog that seemed to have descended over his mind. He frowned, unable to understand what he was missing in the hissing silence. Whop, whop, whop, his mind whispered from a different place in his head. Rotor blades. He sometimes heard rotor blades in his dreams.

But he wasn’t dreaming. A breath, a harsh intake of air. He knew that sound. It was the kind of noise a man made when he was in pain. Another one, and groans, a cascade of them, the shifting of bodies close to him. But he lay in some kind of weird limbo feeling nothing except a strange weakness and sense of disconnection between his mind and his body.

Then he was caught up in bits and pieces of powerful memories. Trapped in the punishing spiral of centrifugal momentum, pressing with invisible velocity against his chest, pinning his body in place by a giant, unseen hand, spinning out of control, maydays going out in frantic, fierce spurts along with the chilling sound of an explosion, the whine of an engine straining against impossible forces. The images flashed like a strobe light, like random scenes from a movie.

A sharp crack, flickering light behind his eyelids. The scent of blood assaulted his nostrils and balled in his throat. The air was stifling hot, heavily humid.

The world dipped and tilted beneath him, pain biting, muscles burning, heart pumping, the creak and roar of displaced metal.

A storm, he thought dimly. Or was the rumbling in his head? He felt like the sharp hooves of a horse had connected with his skull. He forced his eyelids open—a monumental effort—and tried to take stock of his surroundings—the barrel of a rifle, the polished metal of a doorframe.

In the near distance, thunder rolled and lightning flashed pink behind a bank of clouds. A storm moving toward them.

Buck shifted, pain throbbing through his side, pounding in his head. He blocked it out and used anything at his disposal—adrenaline, cursing, attitude. The ground seemed to spin beneath him, and nausea crawled up the back of his throat. He fought off the sensations, and his eyes fluttered open. Trying to clear his vision drained his strength, and he slipped back toward oblivion.

“Buck,” a hoarse plea. “Wake up. Get your ass going.” It was Mateo “Zorro” Martinez’s voice, their medic.

He struggled into full consciousness again, the strain making him dizzy. Coughing, he rolled onto his knees and forced himself to his feet with one arm banded across his belly. He leaned against the chopper, his gaze darting everywhere. Bodies…of his teammates, their DEA contact, pilots.

Crashed. The helicopter had crashed—an RPG struck the tail rotor, sending them into a death spiral to the hard ground.

Nicaragua. Remote, isolated, and full of thick jungle. No concrete for miles. This country was the land of lakes and volcanoes…and drugs. Lots of drugs. But the one they were after was cocaine. Nicaragua was a key transit country for trafficking between South and North America. Colombian, Peruvian, and Bolivian-sourced cocaine arrived there for storage and transshipment. Mexican drug cartels also had a strong presence in the country. Nicaraguan criminal networks collaborated with counterparts from Costa Rica and Honduras to transport cocaine, and corruption within the state system enabled the market, including elite officials accepting bribes and negotiating with drug traffickers. And, with no communication or collaboration between Nicaragua and Costa Rica, it made it much harder to stem the flow.

They had been tasked with taking out a notorious drug kingpin at the southernmost part of the country, practically on the Costa Rican border.

They’d been met with a dry hole. Their quarry had escaped somewhere between reports of his targeted whereabouts and the time they landed. But with so much money exchanging hands, there was no one they could trust except themselves.

They’d been sold out. Ambushed.

“Buck!” Zorro called again, sending his teammate a desperate look. “We can’t fuck around! Check the guys and get them moving.” He frantically worked over a body, the man’s face turned away from him. The agent? No, he shook his head free of the fog...camo…it was their Lieutenant…LT…Elias “Joker” Jackman.

He pushed away from the side of the chopper. The first guy he came to was already rousing. “Professor?” Buck rasped out. “You all right?”

Milo “Professor” Prescott pushed up from the ground with a groan. “Yeah, I think so.”

Buck turned around. There were several guys in the chopper. He came to the DEA agent, his neck at an odd angle, his eyes open and staring. Buck dipped down and closed them, stowing his emotions and moving inside the twisted chopper.

“What the fuck?” Andrew “D-Day” Nolan swore as he pushed up, accepting Buck’s outstretched arm and clasping his hand as Buck helped him out of the chopper, his side protesting violently. He thought he was going to be sick. He groaned, and clutched his gut, letting the pain wash off him like water.

“You okay?” D-Day asked, his piercing blue eyes assessing everything within view, looking for any sign of danger. He grabbed up his M4 and was already combat-ready.

“Yeah,” he said, pushing himself to climb into the downed bird. Zephirin “Gator” LaBauve was in the back, pushed up against the fuselage. Buck crouched down and shook him. “Gator,” he called, and the man’s eyes flashed open. He shifted and looked at Buck.

“What the hell—” he said, then bit off his words as he rose. He coughed a couple of times and got to his feet as Buck clasped his forearm and helped him to rise. He also grabbed up his M4 and headed for the exit.

He found Blitz just outside the other side of the helo. He was sitting against the side of the chopper, blinking slowly and clasping his arm. He looked up as Buck dropped down, his sidearm pointing at him swiftly and decisively.

“Whoa, brother. It’s me.”

Blitz relaxed and swore.

“You all right?” Buck asked.

He shook his head, releasing a hard breath. “I think my arm is broken.”

Buck nodded. “Zorro, Blitz’s arm might be busted.”

“You assess it and get him patched up,” Zorro called.

“I’ll be right back, buddy. Sit tight.”

He turned to the cockpit. Their main pilot was reclining back, his head to the side, and his eyes open and staring. Buck gritted his teeth, and he put his fingers to the co-pilot’s neck. His pulse was so faint, then suddenly it was just gone. He turned away, looking for their last teammate, Dakota “Bear” Locklear. He was a few feet away. Flint, their tough, fearless military working dog stood over him, his dark eyes slightly off. The moment Buck got close, Flint growled low in his throat, his muzzle curling away from his teeth.

“Easy boy,” Buck said, using his horse whisperer voice. The K9 was most likely disoriented, and his only instinct was to protect Bear. Buck took a step closer, and Flint lunged, his jaws snapping. Keeping his attention on Flint, and his distance, Buck crouched down and murmured. “Bear, you okay man?”

Bear stirred, and Flint barked and snapped again. Bear gave a soft, barely heard order and the pure black Belgian Malinois dropped to the ground and whined softly, licking the hand that clutched at his dark fur. Bear gave another firm command, and Buck leaned in to support his shoulders as he rose.

Bear turned to the dog and sent his hands over him, checking him for wounds, his eyes laser-focused. Pushing to his knees, he gave Flint another command, and the dog stood, his tail wagging.

Buck went back to Blitz, and carefully wrapped his arm and set it into a sling. It was eerie that he hadn’t heard a word from Zorro. Leaving Blitz to Bear, he rounded the destroyed end of the chopper, while his teammates had automatically formed a perimeter.

Zorro was still kneeling next to Joker, his face pinched, his full attention on their LT. Buck’s stomach dropped away, his heart pounding, his mind going back to that night when they’d heard about Adrian “Rock” Lane and his terrible car crash. The shock, the pain, the gut-wrenching randomness all hit like cinder blocks to their chests. That accident had resulted in a medical discharge from the SEALs, and they’d lost their leader and brother.

The storm was overhead now. The sky rumbled and crackled. The first flurry of fat raindrops hurled down on them as Zorro worked feverishly.

Without Rock, they had been rudderless, and resentful when they were assigned a new guy to the team to take over leadership. It had been easy to circle the wagons and reserve judgment until they checked out Lieutenant Elias “Joker” Jackman, part of Navy royalty, son of an admiral, and as-yet untested within the team dynamic. But as he stood there in the rain watching Zorro fight for Joker’s life, Buck realized their reactions had all been about protection. After all they had been through with Rock, they didn’t want to invest in another guy and…

Buck gritted his teeth and clamped down on his emotions—respect, loyalty, and affection. Their LT had been through hell with them. Now they would do what was necessary to get him out of here and to the medical attention he needed.

The rain came harder. Lightning shattered the black of the sky, and the clouds ripped open, drenching them. Mute and aching, Buck stood there as water sluiced down his face.

Buck squeezed his eyes closed as fear surged through him in a flood tide and bile rose in the back of his throat. Bloody gauze, plasma, discarded packaging, and Zorro’s feverish movements, the facts filtering away in his brain while his attention was riveted on Joker’s still body.

They couldn’t stay there. As he followed the plume of smoke rising in the sky, the water against the tail rotor metal sizzled and spit. Their enemies had shot them down—waited for the right moment, and attacked. They would be coming for them in a relentless pursuit that had only one purpose.

Their complete annihilation.

His eyes met Zorro’s and in them was the whole story. His expression was set in grim lines, the high cheekbones looking as sharp as blades, his iron jaw, a strong nose, brows lowered over dark eyes. Joker was in trouble.

His adrenaline surged, heart pounding. He was one of the best medics Buck had ever met, and his confidence, calm, and focus went a long way to alleviating Buck’s tension. Treating someone who was fighting for his life was a heavy load to carry. It was clear that their LT’s life was in Zorro’s hands. He would make the right decisions.

Fuck, LT! Don’t die!he demanded. Buck shoved the thought away with an effort that had him squinting against the pain. They were battered and bruised, but they were never out of the fight. He looked down at the bloodstains on his gloves. He checked his weapons system, magazine, and optics. He composed himself and straightened.

Around them, the jungle was like a blanket of rolling green, the air thin and the foliage so dense he could barely see a few feet beyond.

The thunder rolled. Lightning brightened the sky with slim cascades of delicate blasts. Beyond them stretched miles of wilderness. No mercy. No justice. One of the worst environments on the planet: physically punishing, insect-infested, limited line of sight, no roads, and it was a communications nightmare. With the thick vegetation and uneven terrain, radio signals were limited. But as the teams comms expert, he knew how to boost a signal. The main problem was that the enemy knew they would try that, and as sophisticated opponents, they would have the equipment to block them. He looked up at the soaring trees. He would have to climb.

He keyed his comm. “I need to get to high ground to get a radio call out. Professor, cover me. Gator, get a stretcher together for LT. We’re getting him out of here.”

“The plan?” Blitz said.

“I’ll know more when I get through to TOC.”

He pulled off his ruck and got his climbing spikes and belt. His side protested with each and every movement, an exquisitely debilitating agony, but he gritted his teeth and dug deep. The rain pelted him, thunder rumbling and lightning crashing, but with each methodical step, he made it to the top of the canopy. He keyed his comm and said, “Buck to TOC.”

Static hissed and spit for several seconds, then he heard, “Go for TOC.” A ball of tension melted in his gut.

“TOC, chopper shot down. Dead and injured. LT in bad shape. Need immediate extraction.” After consulting his GPS, he gave the coordinates.

“Negative, Buck. Coordinates are compromised. Move across the border where DEA assets can assist.” Buck memorized the coordinates. “Enemy moving to your position. Bug out.”

“Good copy, TOC. Moving to friendly coordinates. Buck out.”

He swiftly climbed down the tree, removed and stowed his gear. Gator, D-Day, Professor, and Bear were all standing with Zorro. Joker was already on the stretcher. Buck walked over and told them the information he’d gleaned from TOC. “We gotta move,” he said.

Gator and Bear each picked up one end of the stretcher, and they started to move into the thick vegetation. He regretted leaving behind the pilots and the DEA agent, but they had no choice. TOC had their coordinates. They would eventually get their people out.

“Are you all right?” Zorro asked.

Buck nodded. “Bruised on my right side, but it’s manageable.”

“Liar,” Zorro said.

Buck moved ahead to navigate and keep them on course. When he passed the stretcher, Joker’s eyes were closed, his face ashen. He looked at Zorro.

“He took a piece of shrapnel to his left side. He lost a lot of blood.” Zorro glanced at him. “We have two bags of plasma left. I’ve packed the wound and slowed down the bleeding, but we’ve gotta get him medevacked out of here, pronto.”

Buck looked off into the distance with nothing but green in front of them. “We have about ten klicks to go. The DEA will be waiting for us across the Costa Rican border.”

Buck hacked through undergrowth, listening for any movement, but only the squawk of macaws and white-faced monkeys hovered overhead as he worked his way toward their destination. He swung the blade chopping through plant life, his muscles starting to burn. They didn’t slow down.

Beyond the forest canopy, the moon was completely obscured by the heavy clouds, the rain coming down hard, and making each step a challenge. He saw a clearing in the distance and headed for it. As they broke through the trees, Buck said, “Brief rest. Switch out the stretcher-bearers and get hydrated.” It felt funny to say that when they were all drenched to the skin. After a few minutes, he said, “Time to move.” He rose and pulled the machete from the sheath at his back.

“Whoa there,” Zorro said as his hand planted in the middle of Buck’s chest. “You’re bleeding.” Buck stopped moving and looked to where Zorro’s eyes were laser-focused. “You told me you were all right.”

“I didn’t realize…” Buck had been dealing with his side pain and hadn’t realized he’d been wounded in the shoulder.

Zorro stopped the procession, as D-Day and Professor set Joker down. “We shouldn’t waste?—”

“We’re not wasting time, Buck!” Zorro said fiercely, his set expression and folded arms telling Buck they could argue longer than it would take for him to let Zorro see to his wound. “You know how little it takes for an infection to settle in for fuck’s sake. Let me take care of it.”

Buck relented, impatient with the delay. Every minute they weren’t moving, the enemy was gaining on them.

The air heavy with moisture in the darkened jungle dripped with humidity. After Zorro was finished with Buck’s wound, they all fell into a battered trance, and the minutes blurred into an indistinguishable tangle of pain as they ran, eating up the uneven ground.

“In times of war and uncertainty there is a special breed of warrior ready to answer our nation’s call,” Buck growled between gritted teeth, the pain in his side now almost unbearable. “A common man with uncommon desires forged by adversity, he stands alongside America’s finest special operation forces to serve his country, the American people, and protect their way of life.”

The pounding rain eased off to a constant drizzle, and their boots squished as they ran south.

“I am that man,” Buck said, a chorus of voices joining him. He felt comfort in their presence and reciting The Navy SEAL Creed made his chest contract with pride.

“My trident is a symbol of honor and heritage bestowed upon me by the heroes that have gone before and embodies the trust of those I am sworn to protect.” They swept across the ground, teeth gritted, pain in every muscle and joint.

Each of them was reciting with him now, pride swelling in him to be part of such a brotherhood of men. “By wearing the trident, I accept the responsibility of my chosen profession, and it is a privilege that I must earn every day.”

They pushed between the trees, the ground vegetation dense and dripping with midnight dew and the continuous rain.

“My loyalty to country and team is beyond reproach. I humbly serve as a guardian to my fellow Americans, always ready to defend those who are unable to defend themselves. I do not advertise the nature of my work or seek recognition for my actions. I voluntarily accept the inherent hazards of my profession, placing the welfare and security of others before my own.”

His legs continued to pump as everything melted into a blur of adrenaline and distorted time. Trying to catch his breath, he swallowed a big gulp of jungle rot. The words were in his head. I serve with honor on and off the battlefield. The ability to control my emotions and my actions regardless of circumstances sets me apart from other men. Uncompromising integrity is my standard. My character and honor are steadfast. My word is my bond. We expect to lead and be led. In the absence of orders I will take charge, lead my teammates, and accomplish the mission. I lead by example in all situations. His head felt ready to burst. The smell of the vegetation fused with a wave of thoughts sent his body running on automatic: Joker fighting for his life, all of them injured and hurting like hell, sprinting in the dark and dank with an unknown number of tangos at their back, crashing in a helo, leaving Americans behind, and his body on fire with adrenaline and fury.

He bent over and was sick.

After a few heaves, he stood up and composed himself, taking a swig of water to clear the taste of bile. The guys had stopped and stared at him. They all looked about as smoked as he was, but Buck could tell their thoughts were on something other than themselves. Their focus had turned back to Joker. I will NEVER quit!

Gunfire suddenly cut across the area, and they all immediately dropped to the ground. Professor and D-Day automatically covered Joker’s body like a shield as bullets chunked near their position. Buck was no more than thirty feet from one of their pursuers, the stench of flash burns from his weapon lingering on the steamy air.

I persevere and thrive on adversity. My nation expects me to be physically harder and mentally tougher than my enemies. If knocked down, I will get back up every time!

In a moment, he heard footsteps and the brush of leaves. A bright light swept back and forth over the area. Without a choice, the men moved slowly into the jungle. They were less than twenty yards away, the light faint until it speared near them. He closed his eyes and smelled the wet mustiness of the earth tossed up with each careful step, just as he sensed how hard their hearts were beating, his M4 was locked and loaded.

The men shone the light at their feet, took a step, then swept the area high and low. They couldn’t do both. On the jungle floor, there wasn’t a shred of moonlight, and it was uneven and full of exposed roots. It was their one advantage. Buck could see boots now, hear the shift of dirt and pebbles beneath them. They shuffled, the movement of unsure steps.

Buck slipped his finger over the trigger. Fifteen against seven wasn’t good odds, but then they were up against SEALs. That evened out their chances. I will draw on every remaining ounce of strength to protect my teammates and accomplish the mission.

“We’re going to take the fight to these fuckers,” Buck whispered, turning his head, and meeting the eyes of his teammates. “Blitz, stay with Joker. Let’s move out. Knives only.”

I am never out of the fight!

Together at first, they low-crawled over the ground until they started to separate into different directions, flanking the advancing force. Buck came to a place of concealment. That was one thing the stinking jungle afforded a man, camouflage. Buck made out several moving shadows, picked out his quarry, and moved, striking like a snake. He had his hand over the man’s mouth and his knife scraping over the man’s throat. The man struggled and gurgled for a second, then it was over. He let the body slide to the ground.

We demand discipline. We expect innovation. The lives of my teammates and the success of our mission depend on me, my technical skill, tactical proficiency, and attention to detail. My training is NEVER complete.

Buck froze, movement and sound amplified as boots stepped so close to him, he could smell the man’s sweat. He remained as still as stone, checking his bearings before he slid to the right. The second shadow went down as easily as the first.

“Two,” Buck said into his comm. We train for war and fight to win. I stand ready to bring the full spectrum of combat power to bear in order to achieve my mission and the goals established by my country. Execution of my duties will be swift and violent when required yet guided by the principle that I serve to defend.

“Three,” came Professor’s count.

“Two,” Zorro rasped.

“Five between me and Gator,” D-Day said.

“That leaves three,” Buck said. “Get it done.”

“One more ghosted,” Bear whispered.

Buck moved back toward Joker and Blitz, keeping low.

“Buck?”

“Yeah,” he replied, hearing the tension in D-Day’s voice.

“We got the rest of them, but there’s more moving in. More than we can handle,” D-Day said.

“Copy that,” he growled. “We’ll have to make a run for the border. We’re almost there. Get back to us, and we’ll bug out.” He spotted D-Day near the tree line. He was moving fast and left a body in his wake.

“Copy,” came five replies.

When all the guys had assembled, Buck bent down, hefted Joker onto his shoulders and worked at not passing out from the excruciating pain that ripped through him. The stretcher was just going to slow them down at this point. They had one chance, and one chance only. Get across the border to the waiting DEA.

As they broke into a run, gunfire peppered around them, the impact of the bullets against leaves making a smacking sound.

A quarter mile along the ridge, Buck could see buildings and a green lushness spreading out in uneven rows. It wasnt small or quaint but filled with color and movement, settled on the edge of the stream in a shallow valley.

He pushed ahead, his breathing labored, his wounds hampering every step, but Buck pushed through the pain, every muscle in his body screamed in agony, Joker heavy across his tight and aching shoulders. Then he tripped, going down on one knee before falling to his side as Joker slid gently to the wet grass.

“Are you all right?”

Fighting against the urge to cry out, he turned his head a scant inch and tried to make out the image above him. Women. Two. One. The shape blurred and multiplied, came together, then divided. Trying to clear his vision drained his strength, and he slipped back toward oblivion.

Brave men have fought and died building the proud tradition and fear of reputation that I am bound to uphold. In the worst of conditions, the legacy of my teammates steadies my resolve and silently guides my every deed.

Joker.

I will NOT fail! He struggled to full consciousness again, the strain making him dizzy as he moved his leaden body and covered his LT. Joker. Danger. The enemy. White flashes erupted like small blasts in his field of vision. He turned his head as the figure closed the space between them, floating, then came into full and stark reality. Delicate cheekbones, almond eyes, an aching blue, a winsome expression, wavy, shoulder-length hair, as dark as the night. Her voice was soft, a hand settled on his back. “Be still. The DEA is here and has everything under control. You’re safe.”

The face of an angel.

He collapsed, the oblivion of darkness swallowing him whole.