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“Woody, in.”
Everyone was locked and loaded. Rick patiently continued viewing through his scope, knowing that each member of his team was doing the exact same thing. Waiting. Watching. Learning. Ready to take the shot when the opportunity presented itself. Then he saw their target walk out of a dilapidated shack, smiling and smoking a cigarette.
“Go hot,” Rick whispered into his piece.
He didn’t need confirmation to know that each Marine had moved their finger to the trigger of their rifle. Their Barrett M107 sniper rifles could hit a target from 1800 meters out and could cut through armor or walls like a knife through butter. With the thermal scopes mounted on them, success was almost guaranteed.
“Stone, you got sights?” Rick asked his point man. He was the best sniper on the team. Not that every single one of them couldn’t make the shot, but if you could use your best, you did.
“Negative.” Vic responded. “Fire from the RPG is between me and the target. Can’t get a thermal print.”
Shit. Rick specifically chose that hide sight for Vic knowing he was their best sniper.
“I got sights, staff sergeant,” said Bixby.
“Roger, Bixby. Take your shot when ready.” Rick focused through his sights, waiting for his sergeant to take out the high-ranking rebel leader that had been holed up high in the mountains of Iraq. A man responsible for killing thousands of civilians and ordering dozens of suicide bombs around the Middle East and Europe.
Rick waited, controlling his breaths so they came evenly, quietly. Patience was an essential part of being a Force Recon Marine. Unfortunately, it was never Rick’s strongest trait. He was naturally restless and twitchy. When on a mission, minutes seemed to take hours, but his body was trained to be still for long periods of time. It was Rick’s mind that never stopped going, which made this part of his job pure torture.
A single shot echoed across the camp.
“Target eliminated, staff sergeant.”
“We’re out,” Rick said, letting his team know it was time to pack up and head for the rendezvous point on the other side of the mountain.
He couldn’t wait to get the fuck off of this frozen rock. His team parachuted in by helo six days ago, taking four days to hike in, two days to do recon and complete the primary mission. Getting the hell out of here with their intel was priority number one now that the target had been eliminated.
Vic and Dash were to wait for him two clicks down the mountain’s east side. Then the three of them would trek another eight clicks to the helo pick up point where they would find the other half of their team.
Just as Rick got to his feet, a loud explosion rocked the camp, sending a fireball thirty feet into the night sky.
“Man down! Man down!” Romo’s panicked voice crackled through the earpiece.
“What’s going on?” Rick asked, chills going down his back. He was sweating even though the temperature was close to freezing. No way would he lose a man on this shit stain of a mountain.
“RPG landed near Bixby. Injury to abdomen, most likely shrapnel,” Romo answered. Rick could hear the panic beneath the man’s steady voice.
“I’m almost to you. I’ll get your six, you get Bixby out of here,” Michael “Woody” Atwood replied, his breathing heavy through the earpiece. Rick knew that Woody was going full speed towards the injured Bixby. He was the most experienced field medic in the group so it was fortunate that he was closest.
“Fuck!” Rick cursed. He felt helpless not being able to get to his men. They were his
responsibility. “Get Bixby and meet us at the rendezvous. Got it?”
“Yes, staff sergeant.” He knew his men would rather die than leave Bixby behind. There was no doubt they’d do their damndest to get him out.
Rick threw his heavy rucksack on his back and turned towards the path down the mountain. A ripple of heat singed the back of his neck at the edge of his helmet a split second before the deafening noise reached him.
Rick flew through the air, his body shoved up and off of the ground by an invisible hand. When he landed, the wind was knocked out of him, leaving him gasping for air. Rick struggled to get to his feet, but he couldn’t manage to catch his breath. A blinding streak of pain shot through his leg, forcing him to choke down the urge to scream. His mind quickly processed the injury.
I’m on fire.
I’m a highly trained lethal weapon, and I’m going to die on this frozen fucking rock. I’ll burn to death because I can’t shake the explosion out of my head or make my fucking legs work.
The smell of burning flesh hit him at the same time the red-hot sensation in his leg went past pain to excruciating.
Don’t scream. The rebels will find you if you scream.
Funny, Rick thought. He knew he wouldn’t survive if he didn’t do something. He had been trained to fight, to survive situations exactly like this, but he was completely and totally helpless.
