Chapter 16
CHAPTER 16
L uke Gibson had a bad feeling. His phone did not ring at the ten-minute mark as he stood in the Operations building of the Addis Zemen airport waiting for Willow’s call. What the hell? He knew she was flying solo this morning, without help from her copilot, and with only an inexperienced worker along to help with the heavy lifting. That would put a lot on her plate, though, which could explain it. He leaned casually against the flight desk, waiting to see if she landed in another ten minutes. He saw Shep entering the Ops building and he lifted his hand, waving him over. The engineer was dirty, sweaty, a white hard hat on his head, work gloves tucked in the back pocket of his well-worn, dusty jeans.
“Coming to see Willow?” Luke inquired in way of a hello.
“Yes, I came to see her, and what supplies she’s got on the Otter. We’re really hurting for those iron posts.” He pulled up the master list from his cell phone. “Says thirty posts should be on the plane. I’m crossing my fingers they are. We need every one of them right now before we can put up more cyclone fence.”
Nodding, Luke said, “Looks like General Hakym just flew in three of his Black Hawks with his men about ten minutes ago. Must be going to do some scouting around or they’re on a training exercise today. Usually? He’s not here at the Addis Zemen airport.”
“Busy morning,” Shep agreed.
“Mr. Gibson?” a male traffic controller behind the desk called to him.
Luke turned. “Yes?”
“Sir, we’ve just gotten an SOS and Location GPS on your Otter. Something seems to be up.”
Shep scowled. “What does that mean, Luke?”
Luke turned fully toward the air traffic controller, who handed him a sheet of paper. “All planes have a location beacon on them,” he explained as he read the Otter’s data printout. “Some have a crash or SOS button that can be pressed if the plane’s in trouble. Delos made sure any plane flown by the charity had that SOS button installed.”
Shep’s heart went into overtime. “Where is she?” He looked at his watch. By now, Willow should have already landed here. Fear began to eat at him.
Luke, still rapidly reading the information on the printout, replied, “I don’t know, but something’s happened.” He looked up at Shep, telling him of Dev and Ginny’s food poisoning, and of the workman from the Bahir Dar warehouse, Zere, who was on board with Willow instead. “I’m calling General Hakym,” scowled Luke, and pulled out his other phone with a direct line to the Ethiopian military leader. The general answered instantly. Luke gave him the Otter’s coordinates.
“That GPS location is here at Zegye,” the air traffic controller said, tapping the clear plastic over a large map on the desk, as Luke waited for the general’s response. “Maybe fifteen minutes northeast of Bahir Dar.” He produced a copy of Willow’s flight plan.
“Why the hell would she change her flight plan?” Luke demanded, taking it. The man shrugged. Rapidly, he read the sheet, verifying Addis Zemen was her landing airport. “Something isn’t right.”
General Hakym got back on his end of the call, and Luke updated him.
“I just ordered one of our Black Hawks readied to overfly that area,” he told him. We’re only twenty minutes away from Zegye by helo.”
“We’d like to come along,” Luke said.
“We have room for you.”
“Are you armed?”
“Yes, fully.”
“Good,” Luke growled, “we’ll be there pronto.” He turned to Shep. “Let’s hoof it over there across the revetment.”
As Luke ran, Shep at his side, and they neared the Black Hawk, his satellite phone rang. Slowing, he pulled it out of his knapsack and clicked it on.
“Gibson here.”
“Luke! It’s Willow! I need help! I’m at Zegye. I crash-landed the Otter. Tefere David and Zere hijacked me. They forced me to land at Zegye! I-I’m on the run. They’re after me! I need help right now!”
Shep froze, hearing her voice. He saw Luke’s eyes go hard as he listened intently to the call.
“Where are you at right now?” he demanded. “Give us some coordinates! I have one of Hakym’s Black Hawks here, ready to fly us to the crash site. We can redline this bird and get to you in no time.”
“I-I…,” and she cursed, her voice low. “I’m hiding in some bushes. I went north-north-east from the touchdown end of the runway. I crashed the bird there on purpose. Zere is dead, but David and his soldiers are going to track me for sure and hunt me down. They’ve got two white Toyota trucks, three men in the back and one driver in each, and they’re heavily armed! My cell phone is damaged, so I can’t give you coordinates. Please, hurry!”
“Okay, what landmarks can you see?” Luke pressed.
“I—oh, I’m in deep woods. I have my compass. At least I know my coordinates, nor’-nor’-east. I’m going down a slope. About a mile ahead, it looks like the woods give way to scrub brushland. Does that help?”
“Anything will help. Do you have your personal cell phone on you?”
“Y-yes.”
“Turn off the sat phone and use that, instead. Is it fully charged?”
“Fully charged every night,” she whispered, breathing hard. “But the screen is cracked from the crash.”
“Doesn’t matter. Turn on its location tracker,” Luke told her. “I’ll be able to find you. We can track you that way.”
“Good idea,” she huffed, trying to catch her breath. “Okay, it’s done. Is it showing up?”
Shep knew that cell coverage was not that reliable here in Ethiopia, and he silently prayed the idea would work. The woman he loved had crashed her plane on purpose. She was in trouble, and he didn’t want to stand here waiting, but Luke had to get a fix on her location.
“I got it,” he said. “Now? Leave your phone on and put it in your go bag. Wear it like a knapsack. Keep up the evasion tactics. Try and stay in the dense-forested area. It’s harder for them to see you or your movement. Don’t step on any fallen branches. The crack will alert them to your position. Got it?”
Breathing hard, she whispered, “Y-yes, I’ll be careful… is Shep there?”
“He is. He’s coming with me. But let’s ring off for now. We need to board this helo.”
How badly Shep wanted to talk to Willow; tell her he loved her, unsure if he would ever see her again. They raced across the revetment area to the Black Hawk, whose blades were already turning. Luke leaped on board and went straight to the general, who was piloting the bird. He knelt between the two cockpit seats and thrust the GPS printout at Hakym. The general took the paper, placing it on the cockpit console in front of him, and the co-pilot started punching in the numbers. Almost instantly, the air crew chief shut the door. The helo was powering up, blades turning faster and faster. Everyone on board was in full military gear, bearing U.S. M4 rifles.
The air crew chief handed them helmets equipped with ICS, Internal Communication System, allowing everyone to talk and be heard over the brutal noise of the helo. Once the helmets were on their heads, Luke said into his mic, “The general has two spare M4 rifles and magazine vests onboard for us to use.” He turned and one of the soldiers handed him the heavy weapons vest containing four magazines for the M4 rifle he would be using.
Shep grabbed the other vest, with its own ammo, and shrugged into it, the acceleration of the Black Hawk taking off pressing him heavily into his jump seat at the rear of the helo. He was used to wearing a mag vest, so it felt just like being back in Afghanistan, once again. As soon as he was strapped in, Luke handed him an M4. Shep, familiar with the weapon, quickly went through the procedure of checking the rifle while they flew; slapping a magazine into it, loading it, and checking the safety was on. Luke did the same, and then sat cross-legged on the vibrating deck as the Black Hawk flung itself high and fast into the early morning sky.
The smell in the cabin of sweaty soldiers and the vibration of the helo were familiar and comforting to Shep. He tried to keep his terror in check. How close was the enemy to Willow? Had they spotted her yet?
“Willow always packs a .45 pistol in her go bag,” Shep said to Luke.
“Good to know. A pistol only has about a seventy-five-yard lethal range, though. David’s soldiers have M4s and they can hit someone half a mile away.”
Shep nodded, knowing the vast difference, his heart sinking. If they got a clear shot at Willow? He didn’t want to go there. She wasn’t a ground pounder like he was and didn’t have his kind of combat training. Dropping bombs from a combat jet was a helluva lot different than being on the ground in the middle of a firefight.
He heard General Hakym ordering the other two Black Hawks up and into the fray as well. There were six soldiers, plus a three-man flight crew, in each. Never had he wanted a bird to fly faster than right now. He couldn’t lose Willow! He just couldn’t! He watched as Luke went forward and knelt between the cockpit suite’s seats again. He handed his iPhone to the copilot, who punched in the GPS coordinates where the phone showed Willow presently located. Luke turned and spoke once more to the pilot, General Hakym.
“Can you drop us off near her? She’s going to need protection. She only has a pistol on her.”
Nodding, the general said, “As close as we can. She is in heavy forest terrain. After you’re both off, we will fly to the air strip and see if the pickup trucks are still there, or if they are driving around looking for her. I need to get my men on the ground engaging them ASAP.”
“Roger that,” Luke said. “Thanks,” and he clapped the general’s shoulder, and returned to where Shep was sitting. He gripped Shep’s shoulder. “Hang in there, okay? She knows evasion tactics.”
“Plus, she just made a run with me for her life earlier,” Shep growled, shaking his head. “Damn it…”
***
Breathing harshly, watching where she was running down the slope, weaving in and around the pine trees, Willow tried to keep her ears tuned for sounds behind her. She’d skid to a halt, hide behind a wide tree trunk, and then peek back around it, looking for any sign that Tefere was running her down with his cutthroat, murderous soldiers. She knew she’d die rather than be taken alive. No way was she going to become anyone’s sex slave! Looking up through the treetops, into the sky, she could see the huge cloud of ruddy-brown dust still hanging over the one end of the airstrip where she’d crashed the Otter. There was no fire. Just hellacious clouds of dust hanging in the humid air. Her whole body ached. When she’d deliberately crashed the plane, her nylon body harness had cut deeply into her shoulders, abdomen and hips. Her flesh must be horribly bruised in dark purple stripes across her body. She wondered if David was unconscious. He appeared to have been at least dazed by the crash, hanging like a puppet, only stirring limply, wedged between the sharp-pointed spears that had plunged through the co-pilot’s seat. He’d been literally behind bars, imprisoned by those three fence posts. It was the main reason she’d been able to escape so quickly, along with Zere’s final fate, skewered on two of the fence posts through the center mass of his body.
Where were her remaining enemies? Her mind went wild, and she tried to steady her breathing, watching, listening as she ran. Were they onto her yet? Already spotted and were closing in to surround her? Capture her? The thought terrified her even more. The only thing she clung to was the fact that General Hakym was flying a Black Hawk fast in her direction. Luke had her position on his iPhone, guiding them in. Looking up, she realized with further terror that no helo could land anywhere near where she was presently at. The bird needed an open area to land, not a damned forest.
Jerking back around, Willow saw she was within half a mile of the scrubland below. The bird could land there! Looking back, she waffled over the choice. The forest gave her much more safety compared to running out in the open where she’d be easily spotted. Yet, if she wanted rescued, she HAD to go to the scrubland! How she wished for a Kevlar vest! She knew that David’s soldiers carried smuggled M4s, and they could well be using those awful frangible rounds that, once entering her body, would blow apart and rupture her vital organs, killing her instantly, with no chance of surgery to save her. Wiping her face with a shaking hand, she chose her only real option, terrifying as it was, and turned, starting her run, heading down toward the potential kill zone of the scrubland.
The wind whistled past Willow’s sweaty features. She focused on the ground where her booted feet would hit. There were lots of unseen rocks beneath the dry, brown pine needles. She kept slipping, a few times almost spraining her ankle, her arms flailing outward to maintain balance as she ran as if on an invisible, wobbly tightrope. Her lungs burned with every breath, but she had to keep going regardless, or else she was going to die.
Shep! Her heart felt as if it were going to burst with such pain, agony tearing through her, her love for him making tears rush to her eyes. She rapidly blinked them away, running faster, leaping over rocks and small bushes. They’d just made progress with one another! Willow wanted to live, to have that chance to be with him, for them to work through their flaws and make them positives, instead of the negatives that had torn them apart before. She loved him! He was wonderful, deeply wounded, but trying so hard to heal his childhood trauma, to give them a chance at a happy life together. Oh! How could this all be happening right now? She kept up her pace, a slow run, keeping her stride long and cadenced while trying to maintain balance; the hardest challenge of all.
Suddenly, a burst of bark flew off from a nearby pine, nearly blinding her. She fell, hand against her face. Slamming hard into the earth, she rolled. Scrambling to her feet, she saw two other pieces of bark exploding at chest height from the trees right where she’d fallen. Oh, no! Breathing raspy, lungs hurting, she lifted her head and saw one of David’s soldiers standing far up the slope, M4 pointed down at her, doing the firing. There was no way her pistol could make that range and take him down before he got her. Just as she recovered her footing, she fell again, grunting in pain. A hidden rock had twisted her ankle. Crawling around, rocks bruising her legs and belly, she moved to the next tree trunk that was wide enough for cover, keeping her head down, anxiously on the lookout for more enemies. They knew where she was, now…
Fear shot through Willow, and she leaped unsteadily to her feet, finding her balance, using the protection of the tree’s girth behind her, run-limping as hard and fast as she could, teeth gritted, ankle screaming, throwing caution to the wind.
More gunfire.
Tree bark, like shrapnel, exploded all around her. It cut into her neck, back and the rear of her arms.
She couldn’t stop now! They knew where she was! Up ahead, was the scrubland. She had to make it there!
Over the booming of the M4 behind her, she heard the chop, chop, chop of a helicopter. It had to be the Black Hawk! Looking ahead, up into the sky, she saw three black dots racing toward her. Shep was on one of them. What could they do? Would they be able to land in the scrub? Then charge up this hill at David’s men coming down it? Or what? Willow’s mind spun but she didn’t know. Teeth clenched, white-hot pain in her ankle, she lowered her head, running as hard as she could toward the open land.
A bullet sang past her ear. It sounded like a ‘CRRRAAAKKKK’ !
Wincing, she redoubled her efforts, adrenaline pouring through her bloodstream, all her fight or flight hormones online, giving her speed and endurance to escape her enemy. The scrub was close! So close! She was running, running, almost there as one of the Black Hawk helicopters suddenly began its landing descent in a helluva hurry. Giving a cry, Willow waved her arms above her head just as she hit the scrubland, screaming at them, yelling, “I’m here! I’m here!”
Terror threatened to squash hope as she looked sideways and saw three soldiers in the scrub about half a mile to her left. They were running toward her with M4s up ready to fire. She dodged in and around the brush, stumbling, catching herself. She realized David had put his men in a pincer maneuver to find and trap her. Looking to her right, she gasped. Half a mile away, to her right, three more men appeared out of the woods, running toward her. They were coming fast from three directions to capture her.
NO!
She raced toward the Black Hawk, the slope much steeper, more vertical than before. The helo touched down a quarter mile ahead. The door opened and two men bailed out in full military gear. Black Hawk Chopper Two split off low and thundered to her left, heading for the men in the distance. Chopper Three banked off to her right, going after the other group. The hard, thumping rotor wash kicked up loose brush, dirt and grass a hundred feet into the air, whirling the mess around, momentarily hiding Willow from her enemies closing in on her. The loud engines of the helicopter that had disgorged the two men running up the hill toward her roared and the blades whirled faster and faster as it took off, clawing the air, rising into the sky, heading straight up the mountain toward where the soldier was firing at her.
More bullets zinged past, dirt exploding in geysers around her. She tripped over a root and went flying headlong down the hill. Willow tucked her body into a ball, her arms around her drawn-up knees, bracing for the brutal impact. She slammed into the earth, rolling, hitting a huge, brushy tree, coming to a sharp stop.
“Stay down!”
Gasping, she remained flattened on the rocky ground beneath the bush. That was Shep’s voice! And as she looked up at the two men charging up toward her, she recognized him and Luke. Giving a little cry of relief, Willow hugged the earth, more bullets plowing through the bush above her. There was nowhere to hide! Nowhere to go! She saw the sweat on Shep’s frozen features, the hard line of his mouth as he lifted the M4, firing up the hill at her pursuer. Luke took the men to the right of her. Shep, one threat neutralized, then swung, taking on the men charging in from the left.
There was a storm of roaring, ear-splitting sound. Willow saw, to her relief, they had on Kevlar vests, making them far more protected than she was. The heavy sound and vibration pummeling her as the Black Hawk roared overhead added to the massive explosion of firepower all around her on the ground. The blasts from the rotors kicked up massive clouds of dirt, striking her, blinding her from the massive dust cloud.
Shep reached her first, dragging her around him, sheltering her from bullets, leaning over her.
“Stay down! Crawl behind this tree trunk! Hide behind it!” he yelled above the roar.
Her knees were badly torn up, blood running down her legs as she scrambled and clawed, trying to get to her feet, wobbly, off balance. Shep gripped the fabric of her blouse, between her shoulder blades, lifting her up into a crouch. She wavered, weak and disoriented. He placed himself in front of her, a shield, shoving her behind the tree. He released his hold on her shirt, firing rapidly at the men running from the left toward them, their rifles winking. She ducked beneath the scratchy branches, zips and cracks screaming through them, then hit the deck again and crawled in on her belly, hands grasping for purchase on the black rocks until the width of the trunk somewhat protected her. Bark was flying, exploding, all around her. She jerked a look to her right, saw Shep kneel, M4 up, firing at the charging soldiers closing the distance on them.
She watched as the Black Hawk that had swung to the right suddenly plummeted downward, going for a swift landing. David’s soldiers began to fire up at it. But the helo was so damned fast coming in, gusts of over one-hundred mile an hour wind tearing at them from the whirling blades, that it knocked the enemy off their feet, scattering them like bowling ball pins. Six soldiers offloaded, bailing out of the helo, instantly firing at David’s soldiers still trying to get their feet under them. Within seconds, all three of them dropped, dead. Gasping, her eyes rounding, Willow sobbed in relief. Shep leaped to his feet, going in front of the tree, and flung himself prone on the ground, firing up the hill. From where Willow saw at least three new arrivals charging down at their position, firing wildly. Bullets were singing everywhere. She ducked, keeping her head behind the trunk of the tree, praying that Shep wouldn’t be killed.
To her left, she heard the slow, consistent firing of an M4 and knew it had to be Luke. Only SEALs fired like that. And when they did, even if they were running full speed, they hit their targets. She couldn’t see anything through the thick branches, but suddenly, the firing stopped. The third Black Hawk disappeared to her left, but the branches didn’t allow her to see much at all of it after that. It sounded as if it had landed! There was no further gunfire. Had Luke dispensed with all three of David’s soldiers, first? It wouldn’t surprise Willow. SEALs were known for their deadly accuracy.
Shep saw the last man fall up the slope. The only sound he heard was from the two Black Hawks, both on the ground now, blades whirling fast, and he saw the general’s men running to the unmoving bodies of David’s soldiers. A sudden movement caught his attention. There, no more than a quarter mile away, he spotted Tefere David. He was running away from the area! Racing between the trees toward higher ground and the airstrip, trying not to be seen by the general’s men. David was trying to escape!
Shep had no way to tell anyone in time. He leaped to his feet, yelling to Willow, “Stay where you are! I’m going after David!” and he dug the toes of his boots into the rocky surface as he sped off.
Willow gasped. She jerked her head around, peering between two thick branches, catching sight of the tall, lean thug. He was running like a gazelle, leaping over small logs, heading out of sight of the two zones now under friendly control where his own soldiers were presently either dead or being captured. Realizing no one saw David except Shep, she hurriedly pushed and wriggled her way out from beneath the bush. Getting to her feet, she swayed, caught herself and took shaky steps around the bush, watching Shep running hard after David. Looking around, she realized she wasn’t within shouting distance of either Luke or the other soldiers. Had anyone else seen Shep race away? Hurrying around the bush, to her left, she spotted Luke a good quarter of a mile away, working with the general’s soldiers, going through the pockets of David’s dead soldiers for any useable intel.
There was no way to reach him in time! And then, she remembered her iPhone! Shrugging out of her go bag, she set it on the ground. With shaking hands, she unzipped it, struggled for precious seconds to find the cell phone, and grabbed it. Standing up, she punched in Luke’s number and prayed it would work despite the broken screen.
“Yeah?” Luke growled.
“Luke! It’s me, Willow! Shep is chasing David! He’s up to your right, halfway up the hill! He’s trying to make an escape between the airstrip and this second Black Hawk to the right of me! Can you help?”
“Hold one sec,” he said.
She saw him race about a hundred feet away from the other men, looking in that direction.
“Yeah, got him!”
“Can you help Shep?” she pleaded hoarsely.
“Yes! I’ll also call the general. He’s landed up on the airstrip. He has six men with him. I’ll give him the info. Thanks! You just sta…”
Her phone went dead. She realized its power had died. Looking up, she saw Luke on his own phone, presumably now filling in the general. Twisting around, she saw Shep weaving in and out of the trees getting closer and closer to their nemesis. David would blind fire indiscriminately behind him with the M4, and was shooting on the run to boot, so he was widely missing Shep… so far. Feeling her heart tear open with fear for Shep’s life, she realized there was nothing else she could do. Breathing in raspy gulps, pressing her hand against her heaving chest, she watched the race between the two men. In a matter of a minute, they would disappear around the hill, and she’d lose sight of them. Wanting to cry, wanting to help him, feeling horribly useless, unable to protect Shep, she didn’t want to stay put. There were no more of David’s soldiers firing at anyone. They were either dead or being zip-tied.
The Black Hawk that had landed to her right was taking off! The blades whirling faster and faster. She saw Luke leap on board, the door sliding shut. Within seconds, the bird was up and thundering laterally up the slope, its pitch nearly vertical, nose skimming just above the ground, tail rotor high in the air, blowing a hurricane of debris out behind it. The chopper passed thirty feet above her, the rotor wash knocking her on her butt. Willow hit the ground with a loud ‘omph!’ The vibration and wind currents from the powerful black helo thrummed through and around her. Pebbles and dirt slammed into the exposed skin of her face, neck and arms. She choked, scrambled to her feet in awe as the bird gained altitude, hot on the trail of Shep and David. It was barely fifty feet off the ground! It took some great flying to do that, and she knew it. Luke was on that bird. That made her feel better. She put her hand above her eyes, shading them as the sun rose on the eastern horizon, her heart hammering. Every cell of her being screamed that Shep survive this! She began to limp in the same direction the Black Hawk was flying. There was no way she wasn’t going to try and find Shep!
Shep ran hard, his whole being focused on Tefere David up ahead, weaving, ducking and bobbing, keeping up with the Somali who was like a graceful gazelle, running and never tiring. He could feel feel the tightening of his calf muscles, knowing that he wasn’t in the kind of shape that his mortal enemy was, but what gave him the endurance, the drive, was the knowledge that if he didn’t capture or kill this bastard, he’d keep going after Willow. David was like whack-a-mole; they’d foiled him, and weeks later he’d popped up again, boarding Willow’s aircraft, trying to kidnap her again . David would not stop trying until he was successful. That is what drove Shep to call on every bit of strength, every reserve his body knew of, to catch up with him. Not caring if David killed him or not, Shep raced forward, slowly decreasing the gap between them.
Behind him and to his left, he suddenly heard all kinds of gunfire, the whapping of Black Hawk blades, shouts and more firing. No time to look. He HAD to get David! The land was changing as they moved around the hill. It was nothing but thick woods and Shep knew no helo could land to help him. If these had been DAP, Direct Air Penetrator, Black Hawks? They could have found David by infrared and drop a hellfire missile on the bastard, blasting him into oblivion. But it wasn’t a DAP; it was merely a transport helo with no firepower on board, except for the men it carried.
Suddenly, David went down, the M4 flying out of his hands. He’d burst out of the thick undergrowth and come out in a small clearing, a circle of grass, and had tripped badly over something unseen.
Shep raced toward him, gripping his rifle, holding it up. He saw the man flounder on his back, as if stunned by the fall. David’s rifle was too far away for him to reach. Gritting his teeth, Shep surged forward, his whole existence pinned on the Somali struggling to turn over. If only he could get to him first!
The toe of his boot slammed into a hidden root. Grunting, Shep suddenly flew forward, his own M4 sailing out of his hands. The power of the hit was so hard that it flipped him over and he landed on his back, the air knocked out of him.
Stunned, Shep could hardly breath. He lay there trying to gasp, like a fish out of water. No! This couldn’t be happening! Where had his M4 gone? He saw David get to his hands and knees, glaring at him, no more than twelve feet away. He was grinning lethally at Shep as he started crawling toward him.
Dammit! Shep grunted and forced himself to roll over on his side.
Getting himself to his hands and feet, he realized David had a deep head wound. Blood trickled down his jaw, dripping into the grass as he moved closer. Shep glanced frantically around. Where was his rifle? He couldn’t find it!
David got to his feet, wavering, wobbling, hands out to keep from falling again, still walking one unsteady foot at a time toward him, death in his eyes.
Shep saw his enemy draw a long, wickedly curved knife from a sheath on the side of his belt. He instantly recognized it as a trademark weapon these terrorists carried: A scimitar knife blade. It was a sharp, deadly crescent, twenty inches in length, three inches wide. The blade glinted dully, looking well-used. Rolling over, Shep unsnapped his own knife: a Marine K-bar, a lethal, straight-bladed, seven-inch knife that could saw flesh on its way in and on its way out of an enemy’s body with the serrated razor teeth along half its spine. He gripped the knife hard by its leather handle. Cursing, he used almost every ounce of his energy to get to his feet, still gasping, still trying to catch his breath. He was just at the rim of the clearing of ankle length grass. For whatever reason, David did not turn and run toward his M4 that had been flipped into the center of the circle, barely visible in the heavy grass. Maybe he didn’t see it? Couldn’t find it? Shep was relieved in one way; never bring a knife to a gunfight.
A snarl lifted David’s bloody lip. “You are going to die, American pig!”
Shep had one chance only to make him a liar: A long blade was good at a distance in that the knife bearer had to lift his arm high and away from his body to make the kind of sweeping cut the scimitar blade was made for. It was not a stabbing knife; it was a cutting knife. His K-bar was only seven inches long against the twenty inches of the curved scimitar blade. But his Marine Corps combat knife, and the long years he’d carried it over in Afghanistan, trained in its use, were all it came down to now as he walked toward David, eyes on his chest.
Shep’s stride was confident, suddenly steady, and he ate up the distance between himself and David, who stood grinning fiendishly, slowly raising his scimitar blade, ready to sweep it downward, and cut through the skin, flesh, tendon and bone of Shep’s body.
Shep knew the distance he needed. One chance. Just one. If it did it wrong? He was going to die. Most likely, be decapitated in the sweep of that blade David held so powerfully and confidently, upraised, ready for him to step into the Circle of Death where a blade could take the opponent’s life. In those last, vital seconds, he moved his hand from the leather handle, turning the knife around, blade pointed toward himself, his hand in a handshake position, closing around the spine of the K-Bar. He wouldn’t have time to take aim.
Nine feet. The knife’s blade caressed the palm of his hand.
Eight feet. Shep locked his wrist, keeping it in the proper straight position needed to send the K-bar’s point straight and true into David’s body.
Seven feet. He pulled back his arm, eyes still nailing his enemy’s chest. He heard David laughing, almost hysterically, as he lifted his foot, starting to take the step forward into the Circle of Death.
Six feet. Shep darted his forearm and released the knife, the blade slipping from his hand, cutting the air at high speed, cartwheeling end over end. The blade plunged into David’s chest with ferocity, five inches deep into his jerking body.
David’s eyes bulged as the knife pierced his heart and sent him flailing backwards. He let loose of his own knife, a croak of surprise in his throat, disbelief in his face as he continued to stumble back, arms flailing like a windmill.
Shep halted, holding the man’s eyes that had first been filled with killing lust, now turned to disbelief at the K-Bar sticking from his chest, its steel blade deep in his heart muscle. Standing there, breathing hard, Shep watched the Somali’s hands flutter over the K-bar’s handle, but to no end. His legs crumpled beneath him, and he crashed to the ground. Dead.
“Holy shit!”
Shep turned, seeing Luke running up behind him, M4 ready to fire. There was disbelief written all over his face.
The SEAL skidded to a halt, staring at the unmoving enemy that had plagued all of them for so long. Then, his stare of disbelief moved to Shep. “Where the HELL did you learn how to throw a knife like that?”
Wiping the sweat off his face, Shep said, “When I was in Afghanistan, I ran around with the Marines on base. Their Recons taught me how to use a K-Bar, and how to kill with it. No one even comes close to them for knife skills.” A slight grin tugging at his mouth, he watched Luke shake his head, eyes on the blade’s deadly placement. “Holy shit!” he said again. “Right through his heart. You shoulda signed up for the SEALs.”
“You SEALs must know how to throw a knife, right?”
“Well,” Luke stumbled, “we learn how to FIGHT with a knife, not throw it.”
Shep walked over and picked up the scimitar blade. “Pity. Maybe you ought to invite some Recon Marines over to your training base in Coronado, to show you ALL the uses of a combat knife, huh?”
He dropped the scimitar next to where David had crumpled, where it belonged.
Shaking his head, Luke muttered, “You’re friggin’ something else. I’ve never seen anything like what I just saw. And I wouldn’t believe it either unless I did see it with my own two eyes.” He pushed his hand through his short, damp hair. “You took a helluva risk. You know that don’t you?”
Shep leaned down, jerking his K-bar out of David’s limp body. He wiped the knife off in the grass, getting rid of the blood and viscera. Sliding it back into the sheath on the left side of his body, he snapped it into place and turned, giving Luke a very serious look. “Yeah. I’m gonna have to email my Recon friends and tell them what happened. They deserve to know their hard work paid off.” His voice lowered with quiet fury. “This is one bastard of that terrorist group that isn’t going to harm anyone else. Ever again.”
Luke just shook his head, disbelief still etched in his expression.
“Looks like the general has this under control. I heard some gunfire.”
“One of the Toyota drivers tried to run,” Luke said. “But that ended fast. All the men David had along are either dead or up on the airstrip in zip ties. They’ve also taken some prisoners who threw down their weapons and held up their hands the instant the helo landed. The other Toyota driver is in zip ties, too.”
“Let’s go back and get Willow. I need to make sure she’s all right,” Shep said, frowning.
“Roger that,” Luke replied, taking one more look at David and then turning and starting to trot down the hill with Shep. “She’s been through hell.”
“Tell me about it,” Shep growled, wanting nothing more than to take her into his arms, hold her, keep her safe and tell her how much he loved her.