Page 3 of Blitz

Leaving the firefight and Huxley to his teammates, Blitz saw that Bree had entered the building with Flint right on her heels. He and Bear got to the doorway, checking to make sure there was no one waiting for them. A split second later, they entered and then he saw Flint. He was sitting on the floor, the obvious sign that there was an explosive in the room. As soon as that registered, Bree and Bear both yelled at the same time. “Bomb!”

In two strides, he was to Bree, grabbing her up and hot-footing for the window. Bear and Flint were already beating feet through the doorway. He tossed her unceremoniously out and jumped after her.

The moment his feet hit the ground, Bree was trying to scramble to her feet. His gut went cold. It was a natural instinct. She was trying to get farther away from the blast, but Blitz knew the blast would be much more severe if she stood up, even with the side of the building to protect them. Before she could stand, he leapt forward, pinning her beneath him, covering her body with his just as the IED detonated.

The earsplitting, heart-shaking blast rattled his teeth and set off an intense ringing in his ears. The deafening concussive wave felt like it sucked all their air, disorienting him, throwing him off for a second or two before he could regain his equilibrium. Bullets snapped and cracked up the street. He could hear the rapid fire of his teammates, the suppressed fire making more of a clacking sound, then a boom. His heart was pounding as metal, dirt, and adobe rained down on them, stinging pain in his neck and shoulder.

Regaining his balance, he rolled to the left in time to see a terrorist raise a rifle. Then in the next instant, a black missile flew out of nowhere and latched on to his arm. The terrorist screamed and Blitz pulled his sidearm, but a shot rang out, and he turned his head to see Bree up on one knee, her sidearm gripped in her hands. Then she got up and moved over to him. She knelt down.

“Are you all right?”

He nodded and rose with her. Bear had been busy with several insurgents. They lay around him. Until they secured the town and helped Joker, there would be no more running after the squirters. They couldn’t even be sure it was Achebe and Olenska. He wouldn’t put it past them to plant decoys everywhere. He came up to Bear, who was keeping his head on a swivel. “Let’s go help LT.” He keyed his comm. “Joker, we’re going to circle around the back to see if we can flush out the remaining AAL,” Blitz said.

“Solid copy. Huxley needs to be medevacked. Buck has already called in a chopper. Any other casualties? We heard the explosion.”

“Negative on the casualties. We took some shrapnel, but it’s minor stuff.”

“Copy. Let me know when you’re ready to assault.”

The four of them moved back down the street and it didn’t take long for the twelve of them to neutralize the last of the fighters.

Zorro had already taken care of Huxley, stopped the bleeding, and administered an IV. He was prepped for the helo when it arrived, and that would be soon as Blitz could hear thewhop, whopof the Black Hawk’s blades.

He sometimes thought he would always hear that sound in his dreams and nightmares.

“Let’s move,” Joker said at the outskirts of town. The assault team hadn’t lowered their guard, keeping up surveillance all the while they moved out into the open.

The helo came into view in his NVGs, hovering.

The doors opened and the flight medic jumped out and was back on board with Huxley in seconds as Blitz scanned the area. Once Huxley was secured, the team, Webb, and the FBI agents started climbing in. He and Buck were the last to load as they kept vigilance on the perimeter until everyone was inside. He moved to the side, avoiding the edge of the stretcher that had been secured near a window. Huxley was already out. The flight medic had placed an oxygen mask on his face and sedated him.

The smell of cordite from hundreds of spent rounds mixed with jet fuel and the metallic tang of blood permeated the interior.

Looking at that mask brought back memories of when he’d been shot in Syria. He’d been in bad shape then, Gator doing everything in his power to get him to safety. He’d lost so much blood and hadn’t been sure he was going to make it. But Gator had been encouraging him every step of the way until he reached medical attention. He looked over at his buddy, who had just recently watched over all of them. His heart swelled at the sense of gratitude for having such a man covering their backs.

Gator met his gaze, his eyes softening, and he nodded. Blitz nodded back.

The pilot hit the throttle and the helo climbed rapidly, evening out and heading toward Niamey like a bullet fired from a gun. The terrain was a blur of green beneath them and it was still hours before dawn.

He looked over to Bree. She was sitting there unmoving, her eyes fixed on nothing—a thousand-yard stare, an unfocused, vacant stare into a vast abyss of emptiness, slipping into a shock and weariness from which it was very hard to escape. Then he noticed she hadn’t holstered her sidearm. The Glock was still clasped in her white-knuckled fist, the back of her hand bleeding sluggishly. He reached out and touched her and she jerked.

“It’s okay,” he said softly, then pried her fingers off the weapon, slipping it back into her holster and snapping down the leather band to hold it in place. He pulled out his med kit and found some gauze and tape. He cupped her hand, setting the back of her wrist against his knee. He crudely covered the wound and secured it into a makeshift bandage.

She met his gaze, his heart contracting when he saw the way she pulled herself together. This might be her first taste of combat, something out of her comfort zone, but she wasn’t going to let that deter her. Fighting the urge to hold her, he settled for stroking his thumb along her palm. The look in her eyes was enough to rip the heart right out of him.

Not quite able to sever the connection, he held her hand as the chopper roared in the darkness toward light, pain relief, and help. With every mile the helo traveled, her hold on his hand tightened, and the tightness in his chest grew. It had been one hell of a ride and although she was a bit shell-shocked, he had the sense that Bree wouldn’t be down for long. The woman had performed as well as any Navy SEAL with courage, professionalism, and presence of mind. Even after the blast, she hadn’t faltered.

When they landed on the roof at Niamey Regional Hospital, the shrapnel in his neck and back of his shoulder was beginning to smart. He let go of her hand, but she didn’t pull away, her fingers lingering against his palm.

Then they had to move as the chopper emptied so that Huxley could be transferred to a gurney and whisked away. The rest of the team moved slowly toward the roof exit. Feeling as if he was moving onto dangerous ground, he stopped when he reached the door, not wanting to step into the light spilling out. He was feeling too damned exposed for anything as civilized as incandescent light.

But his teammates crowded him toward the glow, and they entered the hallway as the doors to the elevator closed and started down. The rest of them took the stairs.

When they got down to the treatment area, Huxley was being rushed to an operating room. His coworkers stared down the hall as he disappeared behind two swinging doors, a myriad of emotions crossing their faces. It was tough to see a friend and leader injured.

Joker addressed the group in general. “He’s in good hands. Who needs treatment?”

Several of them spoke up, and Blitz said, “I need shrapnel removed and Bree has a hand injury.”

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