Chapter Nine
I was listening over comms, but that was all I was doing.
Hiding away in the house, listening to the battle rage on outside.
My trigger finger itched to join the fight. To go out and help Jack and his team. But the whimpering of a little girl in her teenage sister’s arms reminded me that I needed to stay with Berta and guard the women and children.
On the way to the compound, I’d learned the president’s wife and children were to be picked up tomorrow morning after a scheduled visit to a hospital in Puerto Cortés.
The timeline would be tight; the other women and children would already be aboard the boat that would take them across the Gulf of Honduras to Belize.
The other two members of the team, Aiden and Ryan, had already made contact with Berta’s people in Hopeville, and the arrangements for new identities and safe passage were in place.
We just had to get through the night.
“Catarina, you should sit,” Berta told me in her thickly accented English.
There was something melodic to her voice.
It was soothing and calm, despite the sounds of rapid gunfire.
I understood why these women responded to her so well, beyond the fact she was their savior—the Angel of Death.
The woman who was not afraid of the gangs and had dedicated her life to avenging the women who had been brutalized or lost their lives to the senseless violence.
I glanced from the only entry point—a flight of stairs leading to the upper level of the house.
We weren’t in a traditional basement. The bunker had been built into the side of a hill with two exposed sides.
Three layers of concrete-reinforced cinderblocks were the only things stopping the bullets from penetrating.
That meant we were trapped, with Berta’s trusted soldiers patrolling the grounds and guarding the house. There were three men stationed on the level above—and me.
The last line of defense.
“Thank you, but I’m fine.”
Berta patted my shoulder and smiled.
The strands of gray in the woman’s dark hair, the wrinkles lining her forehead, and wary brown eyes told a thousand tales of death and vengeance.
Yet, she was smiling. Standing as a pillar of righteousness and hope for the hopeless.
I’d been to a lot of war-torn cities, I’d seen the devastation of corruption, the depravity, and the exploitation of people who just wanted to live in peace.
I’d seen courage and optimism in the aftermath of war—the liberation that follows ruthless warlords being taken out.
But never had I seen strength like Berta’s.
She was fighting a losing war, yet she refused to give up. In her lifetime, she’d never see the end of the corruption in her country, yet instead of fleeing and freeing herself of the nightmare, she stayed and freed her people.
That wasn’t honor, bravery, or strength. There were no words to properly describe what that was.
“All will be well,” she murmured. “The cowards always retreat at dawn. They attack under the cover of darkness. Without the shadows they are not brave enough to face me.”
We had hours to go until dawn.
“Come, Catarina,” she continued. “The little ones like it when you speak to them. They think you sound . . . funny.”
I glanced back at the stairs, not wanting to give up my tactical position.
“You’re making them nervous,” she went on.
Damn it all to hell.
“Okay,” I conceded, not wanting to make it more difficult on a roomful of already traumatized children.
I followed Berta across the small space and sat on the dirt floor next to a young mother with a baby in her arms and a toddler holding on to her back.
“Do you speak English?” I asked.
The woman nodded.
“How old are your children?”
It took her a moment to answer.
“Two. Three.”
I took that to mean the baby was two months, the toddler girl was three years old.
The woman looked and sounded exhausted. I wondered, when was the last time she’d slept? When was the last time she’d had a decent meal, or spent even a few minutes not worrying about her babies? I didn’t have food. I couldn’t take away her fear. But maybe I could give her something.
“Do you want me to hold the baby while you get some rest?”
The woman stared at me with a blank expression. Berta quickly translated. The two of them had a rapid-fire conversation in Spanish I couldn’t keep up with beyond the words baby, sleep, good.
Suddenly, she held the infant out to me. I took the baby, cuddled her to my chest, and hoped I gave the mother what she needed so she could get some rest and relax her arms.
Berta patted my head. “Gracias, querida.”
“My pleasure.”
I’d quickly found not even snuggling a cute little baby could calm my racing thoughts of Jack being in the middle of a firefight.
Jack and the team. The only thing that eased my mind was when one of them called in over the radio.
Of course, as luck would have it, Jack was the quietest, though I did catch snatches of his voice here and there.
I also found that cradling a baby made your arms tired, and I’d only been holding the tiny tot for a little more than an hour.
The gunfire outside had slowed to bursts with long lulls between.
Some of the women had fallen asleep, including the baby mama and her toddler next to me.
If what Berta had said was true and sunrise would send the men attacking the compound back into the trees, the guys only had to hold the bad guys off for a few more hours.
By some miracle, none of Berta’s men had been injured—though I figured it was more because this was just their way of life.
Every night was probably a battle. As experience went, Berta’s men probably had more than anyone on Jack’s team, and that was saying something, seeing as they were all former SEALs.
The baby started to squirm. Little baby lips puckered right before her lids opened and deep brown eyes appeared.
She was so darn cute, I wanted to blow raspberries on her chubby cheeks.
“Hey there, cutie,” I cooed.
I didn’t want to wake her mother, but I was pretty sure she needed a new diaper.
I’d never in my life changed one, though I was fairly confident I could figure it out.
I mean, I could drive an M1A2 Abrams—not that I’d been authorized to take the controls of the tank, but when you’re in the sandbox, you find fun where you can.
“Five, post up, you have incoming.”
It took my brain a moment to engage and remember I was Five.
I scrambled to my feet, doing my best not to jostle the baby or wake the mother. Berta’s gaze came straight to me, going from relaxed to high alert in the space of a second.
“Here.” I gently shoved the baby into her arms. “We have incoming.”
In the blink of an eye, Berta’s brown gaze turned lethal. She would fight and die to protect the people in this room.
“Go.”
I turned the mic to my comms on and radioed back, “Good, copy.”
I went straight to the stairs and took them two at a time, fastening the sides of my vest I’d released to get comfortable while sitting.
When I made it to the top, I grabbed my M4 by the barrel and pulled it over my shoulder.
I let go, the sling caught, and I pulled the Rugger-Magpul RXM from my holster.
I quickly pulled my hearing protection from the carabiner hooked at my side and slid the noise-canceling headset on over my earpiece.
With my left hand, I slowly opened the door, keeping my RXM close to my chest.
Training day one: never lead with the barrel.
I didn’t hear any sounds.
I pushed the door open just enough to slip through and silently closed it behind me. Someone knows how to use WD-40. As quietly as I could, I made my way down the short hallway that opened up to the main part of the house.
“I’m entering the house, east side,” Pete called in. “Everyone else, hold positions.”
Two “copy that” calls immediately came in—Fallon and Mason.
It took another few seconds before Jack’s tight, rumbled “copy” came through.
In my mind’s eye, I could see his angry frown.
The open living room, kitchen, and dining space came into view.
One of Berta’s men stood to the side of a window peering out, until he swung his rifle in my direction.
I held my breath and waited for the man to recognize me.
It was never fun being on the business end of a weapon—friendly force or not.
I heard the door to my right open. I pivoted and waited. Pete appeared and shoved his goggles up onto his helmet.
“Rough night?” I asked when he got close.
“Not for us,” Pete told me. “Four tangos broke through. Fallon can’t get a shot, and Mase and Jack are still on the other side of the building.”
“You broke cover for four tangos?”
There were three of Berta’s men in the house and me. Pete didn’t need to come in.
“You’ve only got one man in the house. Two broke station and went outside.”
I didn’t get a chance to ask why the men had left the house.
The window to our far right shattered. Glass exploded into the room, followed by two men. I popped off a shot, hit my target in the shoulder, adjusted, pulled the trigger again, and he fell. Pete’s target was down with one.
The window behind us broke. Pete went left for cover while I went right. Berta’s man at the window went down, blood oozing from his forehead.
“One, you’ve got at least two more coming your way,” Fallon announced.
The door swung open. I dropped to a hip, leaned out from behind a chair, and fired. The newcomer stumbled, his shot went wide, and I fired a second time.
Pete still hadn’t answered the call, so I did.
“Copy that.”
A second later, a barrage of bullets tore through the room, holes peppered the furniture, and pictures fell off the walls.
I was pinned down but had a direct line of shot to the door and the now-shattered window opposite Pete, who was returning fire.
The smell of gunpowder perfumed the air, reminding me I needed to slow my breathing.
Let my body fall into my training, let muscle memory take over.
Easier said than done when your world’s exploding around you.
After what seemed like forever, the gunfire slowed.
I chanced a look in the direction Pete was shooting.
Two assailants, one right after the other, tried to climb through what used to be a large picture window but now was nothing more than a battered frame.
In rapid succession, Pete dropped the men.
The room went quiet. Eerily quiet. I used my wrist to wipe away the sweat rolling down my temple.
“I’m coming to you, Five.”
Even though Pete wasn’t more than twenty feet away from me, I heard his call through my earpiece.
I held my position, ignored the stock of the M4 digging into my side, and waited for Pete to make his move.
My eyes were alternating from the window to the door when I thought I heard what sounded like the snap of the changing handle of a rifle slamming closed. I slowed my breathing and strained to listen.
Nothing.
“Hold,” Pete instructed. “Call positions.”
Right, he heard it too.
“Overwatch,” Fallon came back.
“Three and Four are still at the line,” Mason returned.
The team was accounted for and not in the house. But one of Berta’s men could’ve entered the house to help.
Shit.
The next minute felt like an eternity, and the house remained silent.
“Coming.”
I held my breath, glided my finger down the trigger guard, and paused just shy of the pull that fired my weapon.
Two shots pierced the silence.
I rolled to my back, did an ab curl, and fired on the man advancing into the room.
His shoulder jerked, then he disappeared back into the kitchen.
There were three points of entry into the house; one was through the kitchen.
The upstairs was basically one open room, but the cabinetry that jutted out to make the kitchen an L would provide cover and a place to hide.
I rolled back, peeked around the chair, and saw Pete lying face down on the floor.
Fucking shit.
I scrambled to my knees, tossed my rifle back over my shoulder, and crawled as fast as I could to Pete’s prone body.
I heard the snap of the bullet breaking the sound barrier before I felt it whiz past my head.
I dropped to my belly, transferred my RXM to my left hand, and returned fire in the general direction. Then I went to Pete’s feet, grabbed his ankle, and stood. I was pulling him back behind the couch he’d been using as cover when the shooter appeared with his rifle lifted.
I went into a crouch, saw he was fumbling to clear his jammed weapon, and used his bad luck as my opportunity to end the threat.
“Come on, Pete,” I grunted, and pulled. His gear made it hard for me to slide him across the floor, or maybe it was the 1970s shag carpet that was inhibiting my movement.
We were almost there when an assailant ran into the house.
Fucking hell, where are they all coming from?
I let go of Pete and went to my knees. The angle was awkward, seeing as I was basically straddling his legs, but I couldn’t leave him unprotected.
I fired on the man, and my slide snapped back and stayed open.
I dropped the out-of-ammo weapon and calculated the odds of getting my M4 back over my shoulder before the asshole got a shot off.
I didn’t have to think. Berta appeared and unloaded on the man.
Unfortunately, his buddy didn’t get the memo it wasn’t safe to enter Berta Lanza’s home and helped himself to the door behind me. Before Berta could stop him, his forearm went around my neck and he hauled me to my feet, using me as a shield. His other hand went to my hip as he pulled me back.
The idiot didn’t have a weapon, or if he did, he wasn’t holding it. I needed to get him off me before he commandeered my rifle.
Berta was yelling at the man in Spanish. The man was yelling back. He tightened his forearm across my throat. I turned my head into the crook of his arm to stop him from choking me out and reached up to my vest to find Jack’s knife.
I snapped it open as the man jerked me up off my feet.
My neck wrenched and pain exploded down my spine.
I breathed through the pain. The asshole dropped me back to my feet, unhooked his arm, and in the process clocked me in the jaw.
I immediately tasted blood. I freaking hated the taste of blood, despised it, just the thought of it made me want to gag.
It was an insane thing to think about while being manhandled by a man who meant you harm, but there you have it—the crazy shit one thinks about while in battle.
As soon as I got a handle on my gag reflex, I spun and plunged the knife into the side of the man’s throat. He let me loose and I dove to the side, landing on top of Pete.
“Christ,” he rumbled beneath me.
“Welcome back, boss.”
I rolled off, clicked on my mic, and called in, “Need backup.”
After that, I sat on my ass next to Pete with my M4 up and waited for the cavalry.