Chapter 1 #2
“Guess you hate him as much as I do.” He caught her ear, gave a firm squeeze, and drew his hand up, rubbing it in the way that nearly drew a groan from her that he took as her agreement. “Knew you were a clever girl.”
They climbed out and he slung his weapon to the front, holding firmly to Marvel’s lead.
Climbing out the back, he found the team standing at the edge of a flattened area.
Hills rose on three sides, and to his two o’clock a crevasse cut through the hillside, winding hard to the right and disappearing.
But between here and there? Flat open ‘kill me’ space.
“Look.” Taco pointed across toward the crevasse. “It’s one of ours.”
Frowning, Crew couldn’t see what the guy referenced. He angled aside and that’s when he saw the tail end of a military Jeep. What in the world was it doing out here?
Mouse drew out his nocs and peered across the distance. Cursed. “I think there’s someone in it—I see blood. I think.”
What? How did that…? There weren’t any reports of missing vehicles or men.
Guess they could’ve come out here after Crew and the Marines left base. But wouldn’t they see tire tracks out to the truck?
Something wasn’t right.
Only then did Crew realize Marvel was shifting, sniffing—in that deep-throated way of hers when she was really hauling in scents—and turning. Had she caught wind of something?
She turned several circles, then lowered her back-end and piled a deposit in the dirt.
Right behind—
“Okay, fan out,” Ehretz said, sounding tough and official. “Eyes out. Gatlin, you’re with me.”
“Neg—”
Ehretz stepped back. Right into the smelly brown excrement. Cursed. Slipped.
Boom!
Boom!
Even as he secured Marvel and struggled to understand where the threat was coming from, Crew felt the soft thud of dirt and rocks hitting his shoulders. Dust and screams filled the air. That hadn’t been weapons’ fire but explosions. Was someone launching RPGs at them? Grenades?
Weapon up, Crew scanned the chaos. “Marvel, heel. On me.” He patted his leg. Saw a plume of dust that slowly settled into a mound of dirt. Then his mind began to assemble what he was really seeing. It wasn’t rocks…it was chunks…arms…fingers.
Son of a…
Mouse. Mouse was gone.
Howling came from Crew’s four—Taco was there, his face shredded and bloodied.
Crew took a step forward, and somehow, amid the tight panting of Marvel, the shouts of Ehretz demanding to know where the shooting was coming from—panicked idiot—heard the all-too-quiet click of a pressure plate. Freezing in place, he cursed.
Marvel started forward.
“Stay!” he shouted, which he knew better than to do. Emotion travels down-lead. “Marvel, stay. Down.” He lifted his gaze to the others. “Nobody move—it’s a minefield.” His thoughts were catching up, racing his heartbeat. “This whole thing is a trap.”
A private lay curled on the ground, holding his arm that was now handless. To Crew’s five, Ehretz was simpering as he held his gut where a large piece of shrapnel stuck out. His face was peppered with small holes. Likely nails. It was a crude, cruel method that was all the same effective.
“Base, this is Charlie Four. We are in need of medevac and ordnance retrieval. Team is trapped in a minefield and have one fatality and multiple injuries.” Crew swallowed and forced himself to think quick around the adrenaline.
“I’m on a pressure plate.” He flicked his gaze to Marvel.
Had she taken any shrapnel? She’d been close to Ehretz.
Even as he wondered, he saw the blood glistening on her coat.
And neck. No! “MWD has taken shrapnel as well.”
“Charlie Four, this is Command. Situation understood. We are deploying QRF and medevac. ETA in twenty mikes.”
Twenty minutes? Were they freakin’ kidding?
He eyed his girl. Recalled how she’d been acting weird, going in circles. She’d smelled the ordnance. All around her. No doubt it’d confused her.
She slumped onto the ground, her pink tongue dangling far out as she panted rapidly, making him worry that she had more wounds he couldn’t see. Internal wounds.
“Guess you don’t have to worry about your career ending…” Ehretz’s lame attempt at a joke was sick.
His life ending wasn’t in his plans for the day. “Not what I meant.”
Ehretz shifted. “I’m…I think I’m clear. Going to get the medkit.”
“No!”
The corporal took a step.
Boom!
The blast was close—too close.
Crew had a second to brace. To tell himself to keep his leg in place. Even as the concussive wave punched his chest. He felt himself falling back. Angled. Contorted to keep his boot on the plate.
He landed hard. Teeth jarring. Dirt and dust raining down as he waited for the blast that would take him off the map. Instead, he felt blood trickling down his temple and neck. His gaze landed on his boot…still on the pressure plate.
But he wasn’t. He was a solid ten feet away.
Separated from his boot…and the lower half of his leg.
Holy…! Dropping back into the dirt, hearing hollowing out, Crew knew the countdown to Death’s arrival had begun.
Scrambling, he unbuckled his tac belt. Slid it out.
Strapped it below his knee where blood was gushing out. Pulled it tight.
He growled, gritting his teeth. Feeling his gut heave.
Tighter. Tighter. Tighter.
It hurt like a mother, but if he didn’t cut off the blood flow…
His vision blurred.
Strength fled his body.
Garbled noises reached him. He opened eyes he hadn’t realized he’d closed. Saw a haze…blurs…a small black form blurring toward him. He cringed. When a slobbery tongue swiped his face, Crew tried to laugh. “Hav…” He felt violent, jerking tugs…backward…back…and surrendered himself to Death’s embrace.