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Mace grunted, flinging himself forward, diving for the ground. He could barely see anything in the darkness of the jungle, but he did catch a glimpse of Cale also lunging for the ground instantly.
How close was it going to hit to them? Mace slammed into the mud, skidding on his chest, his arms flung outward, holding his rifle up. Mud spattered across his face as he slowed. Dropping the M-4 nearby, he clapped his hands over his ears and opened his mouth. If he didn’t equalize the pressure between the outside air and that in his lungs, the explosion could turn his lungs to jelly in seconds, and he’d die instantly. His last thought was of Sierra and Nate. At least they were well ahead of them.
A bare instant later, the RPG detonated hundreds of yards ahead of them. The concussion wave throwing along mud, huge tree limbs and other debris, flew out in every direction from where the weapon had hit high up on the trail. The pressure waves pounded against Mace’s body. He kept his mouth open, kept breathing through it as mud, water, rocks and the broken-off branches from trees rained down upon them. Covering his head with his hands, he and Cale tucked, making themselves less of a target.
Within moments, it was over, and he leaped to his feet, grabbing his muddied rifle in his slippery hand.
“Check!” he snapped into his mic. He needed to ensure his team was safe and unhurt.
“Clear,” Nate gasped.
“Clear,” Cale huffed.
Mace waited. Sierra?”
Damn! He jerked around, expecting to see Russians heading in, AK-47s ready to use against them. Nothing! Whipping around, he narrowed his eyes, glaring into the darkness, trying to catch sight of Sierra. Cale was slowly getting to his feet, grabbing his rifle, heading in his direction.
Nate! Where’s Sierra!” he rasped.
“She was ahead of me by at least a hundred yards,” Nate rasped, breathing hard.
“Sierra isn’t answering anyone,” Mace said to Cale. “Nate? Stay where you are. We’re comin’ your way pronto!” Digging the toes of his boots into the mud, he hurtled deep into the underbrush, swallowed up by the lush vegetation, Cale hot on his heels. They ran for nearly half a mile and linked up with Nate, who was covered in mud. He looked grim.
“She went around that curve,” Nate told them. “I lost sight of her.”
Mace nodded. “Let’s go. We’ve got to find her.”
They spotted her on the trail a quarter mile further down the slippery path. She was sitting up. The RPG had hit nearest her position, a huge hole nearby that had blasted the jungle and trees out of the area. His heart pounded with terror as he rushed to her side and saw her hair and half her face plastered with mud. She was dazed. Gripping her by the arm, he knelt at her side.
“Sierra, are you wounded?” he demanded harshly, turning, watching their six as Cale and Nate slid to a halt, covering the trail they’d just come down.
“N-no,” she managed, gripping her sniper rifle. “I’m okay… that RPG… it hit close… threw me off my feet…”
“Any wounds?” he demanded.
She was breathing hard and gasped, “N-no…”
She didn’t sound good. Mace’s mind churned at the speed of light. He knew the second-in-command, Milova Kushnir, would come after them. But Mace had an exfil plan in mind. Gripping her arm, hauling her to her feet, holding her still because she was unsteady and weaving, her eyes telling him she’d probably suffered a mild concussion from the shock waves, he growled into his mic, “Nate, Cale, you take trail two. We’re taking three. Rally point. Confirm.”
“Confirmed,” they chimed in immediately.
“Roger. See you at the rally point.”
Instantly, the two men ran down the fork in the trail, disappearing quickly.
Mace pointed at a small trail to their left. “Start running down that trail. I’ll be right behind you. Okay?” He looked hard into her clouded eyes, felt her struggling to get her bearings. There was no way he could carry Sierra. Looking over his shoulder, the trail was clear.
Not for long.
Urgency thrummed through him. “Sierra! Are you alright? Can you hear me? Can you run?”
She jerkily nodded. “I’ll– Yes… I’ll do it.” Turning, she pulled her arm out of his hand, heading down the narrow trail that quickly engulfed her with wet, swatting leaves.
Mace had seen blood coming out of her nostrils. She had a concussion, for sure. There had been no time to give Sierra a rest or even treat her injuries. Digging into the slippery mud, Mace catapulted his tall body forward, gripping the M-4 as he raced down the trail behind her.
He knew that Kushnir’s men would trail them. But, by making his decision to split up, their enemy would see the footprints in the mud and had to follow one trail or another, or split up themselves. And Kushnir might worry, while making that choice, that one of his divided forces might be ambushed. Mace hoped that such an indecisive moment might stop the Russians in their tracks, confused and uncertain which direction to go. What he worried about most though was Kushnir dividing his team, five men each, and coming after them anyway.Two against five.It wasn’t the worst of odds he thought, as he ran, leaping over exposed roots, the wind tearing past him. They had the element of surprise on their side.
Sierra fought dizziness,wobbling like a drunk, sometimes, along the narrow trail. She could barely see anything, everything grayish and dark along the trail. Adrenaline was spurting through her bloodstream. They’d been compromised! Kushnir had found them! And he was after them. Urgency roared through her, and she clenched her teeth, focusing on the trail as it twisted and descended, sometimes sharply, leading her to lower altitudes and into a thicker and more humid jungle. Mace’s heavy footfalls were right on her heels. She tried to run as hard as she could, but dizziness came and went. And, when those spells of vertigo hit her, she began to weave, struggling to right herself and stay on the path and not stray off into the surrounding jungle to trip over tangled roots and uneven ground, and fall, unable to get up.
