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Chapter 13
Adam
To tell the truth, I’d actually been a little excited about the mission. We’d spent so much time at the ranch over the last year or so that I was beginning to get a little stir-crazy. There was nothing quite like hopping on a plane to the other side of the world, to jump head-first into danger with my brothers.
That sentiment went away as soon as Mac mentioned the name Balaban.
The instant the name came out of his mouth I was back in Bosnia three years ago, bullets whizzing around my head as me and the guys struggled to take cover and exchange fire. The mission was supposed to be simple—a quick evac of the remaining staff at the German consulate. The intelligence had told us that Balaban, some local warlord, was still a day off.
The intelligence had been wrong. We hadn’t been in the consulate for more than an hour before Balaban hit us hard. What was supposed to be a simple hand-holding operation had turned into a nightmare, dozens and dozens of mercs coming at us from all sides while we screamed into our radios for the helicopter evac.
We’d been heavily armed, however, our one saving grace. Marcus had been manning a hastily-setup machine gun nest on the top floor, peppering Balaban’s men with M60 fire in a desperate effort to buy time.
That is, until he’d been shot.
I’d come into the office room that Marcus had been using just in time to see him take the bullet, his face wincing in a tight expression of pain as he fell backward, his hand clamped onto his shoulder.
I’d run over to him, my blood running cold at the thought of my brother dying right in front of me.
“It went clean through. Get on that thing!” he pointed with his free hand to the machine gun, relief taking hold of me as I went to work with the powerful gun.
The moment I had my eyes on the iron sights, I saw him. Standing at the blown-open perimeter of the consulate, men swarming onto the property all around him, was a man that I instantly knew was Balaban. He was tall, easily six and a half feet, with broad shoulders and a bald head, his face craggy and scarred, his thin mouth formed into a smirk that suggested everything was going according to his plan. He wore the greens and browns of DPM forest camo, splatters of blood here and there that suggested he’d killed more than a few people up close and personal to get to the consulate.
In his hands was a rifle, one that I had no doubt was the weapon that had shot my brother.
I’d let out a yell, opening fire with the M60 and hoping to end the fight right then and there by taking out the leader. Balaban stepped back behind the stone wall, the bullets missing him as the rest of his men rushed the property.
“We have to get out of here,” I said. “Now.”
Marcus nodded, groaning as he rose to his feet. I pulled the M60 out of its nest, checking the belt feed as Marcus withdrew his 1911 sidearm. Together, we hurried out of the room, the sounds of Balaban’s men carrying up from the first floor.
“We’re leaving, now!” Mac’s booming voice came down from above.
“Can you make it?” I asked, worried eyes on Marcus. His shoulder was soaked with blood, and while I knew a clean through-and-through wound to that area was pretty manageable as far as gunshots went, it was still a concern at the moment.
I reached my arm to support him. Marcus quickly swatted it away.
“I’m not dead yet,” he growled.
“I’ll lay down some covering fire,” I said, propping up the M60 on the railing looking down the stairwell. “You get upstairs and get ready to move out.”
He shook his head. “Not leaving you alone. Not a fucking chance.”
“Bro, you’re shot through the shoulder, and you’ve got a pistol against an army. Get up there and help those people evac.”
He opened his mouth, as if wanting to protest.
“Don’t stay down here for long,” he said. With that, he shot me a hard look that I knew was the closest Marcus came to concern.
He hurried up the stairs and I wasted no time turning the M60 on the mercs coming up. I let out a war cry as I opened up with machine gun fire, the men taking immediate cover down below. I fired in bursts, keeping the mercs pinned down, hoping to buy time for the rest of the team. When the belt was spent, the gun clicking dry, I heaved the weapon over my shoulder and rushed up the stairs as quickly as I could.
“We’re up on the top floor!” Tyler called down. “Hurry!”
I rushed up the stairs, spotting the rest of the group right away. To my relief, Mac, Marcus and Tyler were all there, along with the half-dozen members of the staff who we’d been charged with evacuating.
My relief turned to horror, however, when I saw that one of the staff members was slumped against the wall, his eyes closed, and his white shirt stained with blood.
“Is he…”
