Текст книги "Collateral Damage"

Автор книги: Kaylea Cross

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Текущая страница: 15 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

Everyone rushed into action. They took whatever they could use: equipment and spare parts, tools and even storage shelves off the walls and floors, then piled it around the fuselage of the old Huey in a low wall. The relic had probably flown soldiers to safety back in Vietnam; now it would provide refuge for them if the shooters tried to storm the hangar.

As she dragged a compressor over to the pile they were assembling, her cell rang. Yanking it out, she saw it was her superior calling. “Sir,” she answered, ordering everyone into the Huey with a hand signal, “what—”

“We’re being hit with drone strikes,” he said before she could get another word out. “Someone’s hijacked military drones from Boeing Field and using them to attack the base. We don’t know how many shooters are involved. It’s a fucking nightmare.”

Honor swallowed. “Is the President alive?”

“Don’t know. You’re secure where you are?”

She glanced around the makeshift bunker they’d created. Everyone else was inside the Huey, watching her. “For now, yes.”

“Air support is inbound. Security forces have located and engaged several of the shooters, but there could be more out there. How many people are with you?”

Honor updated him as quickly and succinctly as she could, half her attention on the sounds of those shots growing ever closer. She climbed inside the Huey with the others, seven of them now crammed into the small space. The little boy whimpered and his mother made a crooning noise, rocking him gently.

Sweat dampened Honor’s face and beneath her arms as she added, “Sir, as soon as it’s safe to move, I need to find us some weapons.”

“Understood. Do what you have to do and keep this line clear.”

“Yessir.” She hung up and checked her battery, relieved to see she was at eighty percent. In the silence everyone’s breathing seemed over-pronounced. She and the men sat watching the door of the hangar anxiously. One woman was texting on her phone, likely contacting loved ones.

Outside the shooting drew nearer still. Multiple weapons from the sound of it, given the sudden upsurge in volume of fire.

“Someone’s shooting back,” Ipman murmured, his tone confident, and Honor hoped he was right.

Her whole body was tense. She fought the anxiety gripping her, forced herself to draw a deep breath. As she waited to see what would happen her mind flashed back to Liam. To the way he’d held her yesterday on the beach. His greeting smile when he’d met her down in Kandahar. The absolute love in his eyes when he got down on one knee and asked her to marry him.

Her throat constricted at the memory. So many things she wished she’d done differently. She should have fought for him harder, for them.

None of that mattered now though. She couldn’t undo the mistakes she’d made before. All she could do was be honest about what was in her heart now.

Taking out her phone again, she sent him another message. I love you. Never stopped. Need you to know that.

Just in case, she added to herself as she hit send.

Honor’s head whipped left at more shots, much closer this time. Maybe only a few dozen yards away if her guess was accurate.

“Ma’am, we seriously gonna just sit here and wait?” Ipman whispered, rubbing his good hand up and down his thigh in agitation.

“They’re too close,” Honor replied with a shake of her head. “Can’t risk moving right now, we’d be sitting ducks.” And the civilians even more so.

“Hang tight, I think they’re moving again.”

At Smithers’ low words Honor lifted her head and strained to hear what was going on outside. Before moving to aircraft maintenance the master sergeant had done six years as an infantryman, so for damn sure she was going to listen to him now.

The volume of fire had decreased slightly, she realized a moment later. As she listened, the shooting seemed to move to the left, away from the hangar. The spacing between the volleys lengthened. Then stopped abruptly.

They all waited, holding their collective breaths. In the distance more emergency vehicles wailed past and the helos were almost directly overhead now.

Honor cocked her head and kept listening. There was only silence.

She waited thirty seconds, then a minute before whispering, “They’ve either been taken out, or moved on to another target.”

Smithers nodded, his profile barely visible in the dimness of the Huey’s belly. “I think we’re clear.”

The others all expelled relieved breaths. Honor wiped the back of her arm across her damp upper lip. “You can all stay here if you want, but I’m finding a weapon. There are some in my commander’s office in the next building.”

“I’ll go with you,” Smithers answered instantly.

“Me too,” Ipman said. The male civilian said he’d come as well, while the women chose to remain behind and wait it out a while longer.

“Everyone coming with me, let’s get going.” Honor climbed out of the Huey and stayed below the windows as she hurried to the far door. Smithers came up beside her and tilted his head as he listened.

He shook his head. “Don’t hear anything.”

“I’ll take a look,” Honor said, reaching for the release bar.

Smithers planted a solid hand against the metal surface. She looked up into his face in surprise, read his fierce expression. “I’ll check,” he insisted. Before she could argue he pushed her aside and crouched on one knee to push the door open a crack. He peered through the tiny opening, checking each direction before replying. “We’re clear.”

“Okay, on three,” she whispered. “One. Two. Three.”

Smithers pushed the door wide and Honor darted out, taking the lead in the sprint to headquarters. Several bodies lay crumpled a few dozen yards away, one of them holding a rifle in his outstretched hand. A shooter? Or a soldier who’d managed to find a weapon and return fire?

She didn’t stop to check as Smithers picked up the weapon, just kept running, intent on reaching the safety of her headquarters. The nape of her neck prickled as she ran but there were no more shots as she covered the last few yards. Relief slammed through her when they got inside without incident and shut the steel door behind them. She hurried through into her CO’s office, halfway between the front and rear doors of the building.

Sighing, Honor allowed herself to sink to the floor with her back to the wall and wiped a hand over her sweaty face. The civilian, Ipman and Smithers did the same, all of them breathing hard.

Smithers checked the weapon. “Fuck, it’s empty.”

Either the soldier carrying it hadn’t gotten to the AHA before it exploded, or he’d been a shooter and run out of ammo.

“Think it’s over?” Ipman asked, casting an anxious look at the door.

“Hope so,” Honor said. She got to one knee, started to push to her feet and go to where the pistols were locked up when her cell buzzed again with an incoming text. Grabbing it, she anxiously scanned the display.

Not Liam, as she’d been hoping. Her CO.

The message on screen made her stomach drop. Lowering the phone, she looked back at the others. “The President’s dead.”

Smithers cursed and Ipman lowered his head, shaking it back and forth as if he couldn’t believe it. Honor wouldn’t either if she hadn’t seen firsthand the damage the first two drone strikes had done.

Footsteps sounded outside the rear door.

Everyone tensed. Honor held a finger to her lips to signal for silence then sank back into her crouch. All four of them kept their gazes trained on the far door as the person approached. Her muscles contracted when the person tried the handle. It rattled, the entire door shaking with the force of the person’s frustration when it wouldn’t open.

Honor’s gaze darted to the left in the direction of her CO’s office. The gun safe was right there. So close but still too far away.

She jumped when the door jolted under the force of a solid kick.

Whoever was out there was about to force his way inside.

Chapter Twenty

Liam pushed the Chinook as fast as it would fly with its full load of Rangers and equipment in the back. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered to Freeman as JBLM finally came into view out the cockpit window, visible from miles away because of the towering plumes of black smoke boiling into the sky.

A deep, burning rage built inside him. Details were still sketchy but he already knew the most important points. The cowardly fucks had attacked not only the President of the United States and its military tonight, but numerous civilians and families on base as well. There were freaking kids and babies caught up in this.

And Honor.

She was down there somewhere and he didn’t know if she was one of the victims. If he thought about it he’d lose it so he shelved his fear for her and focused on flying his bird. The sooner he got on station, the sooner he could help end the threat and hopefully find her.

To his four-o’clock he saw several Black Hawks were already in the air on station, as well as one Apache, all hunting for targets. As far as he knew they hadn’t been able to identify any yet.

Liam blocked out everything but the task at hand as they approached the base. They’d been east of Yakima on a joint exercise with their Canadian counterparts to do live fire training, in the midst of delivering a rigid-hulled inflatable boat to a SF team already in the water when the call had come in about the attack. Command had ordered them back to base immediately to help combat the threat, and assist with helping the wounded. Liam’s crew had dumped the RHIB in the middle of the lake and raced back to pick up the Rangers waiting on shore. The 47 behind them carried both Special Forces A-Teams.

Every single soldier in the air with them right now was impatient to get on the ground and start kicking some serious ass. That is, as soon as they identified the tangos, at least four shooters who were reportedly wearing Army uniforms to blend in.

Liam wanted all of them sent straight to hell courtesy of American-made bullets for what they’d done.

“Razor three, you’re approaching restricted airspace. State your intended approach,” the tower said when they were a few miles out.

“Roger, request direct approach to the eastern PT field for touch down and unloading,” Liam responded.

“Roger, Razor three. Turn left to two-seven-zero. Land at your discretion.”

“Razor three out,” Liam confirmed, then banked to the southwest. The wind shifted, clearing the smoke enough to give them their first clear view of the damage on the PT field.

A giant, smoldering crater marked where the stage and VIP area had been. An unknown number of top brass had been killed in the initial strike. The President’s status and location were unknown. Soldiers and civilians were running in different directions, clogging the streets and snarling the traffic for emergency responders trying to reach the wounded.

Freeman shook his head in disbelief. “Damn, that’s a helluva mess down there.”

Liam contacted the other Chinook pilot. “No more drones reported in the area. I’ll take the west side, you take the east. Let’s see if we can help find some tangos.” His gunners had been doing weapons gunneries earlier and had plenty of ammo left over. They would fucking love to wipe the tangos out.

“Roger that.”

Over the ICS, Liam spoke to his crew. “You boys ready to rock back there?”

“Hell yes,” the FE replied, the two gunners responding with similar affirmatives.

Turning the helo to take the western edge of the base, Liam dropped altitude and did a low fly-by to allow his crew to take a good look at what was happening on the ground. Twilight had just fallen but their night vision equipment allowed them to see everything clearly. “Anything?” he asked as he finished the first run.

“Negative,” the gunners said.

“I saw plenty of bodies, but can’t tell friendlies from tangos because they’re all in uniform. There’re lots of civilian casualties too,” the FE added.

Liam swung the Chinook around and did another sweep back the way he’d come, slower this time, scanning the ground via the fancy avionics in the cockpit and looking through the chin bubble beneath his feet. Honor was down there somewhere. Knowing she’d been caught up in this, that she might be hurt or worse while he was unable to help made him feel sick to his stomach.

“Nope, still nothing,” the right-side gunner said when Liam had completed the second pass. He checked with the other pilot but his crew hadn’t seen any targets either.

Liam radioed the tower to request permission to land and received it. He alerted his crew via their comms. “Gonna land west of the PT field and unload.” The Rangers in the back would be locked and loaded, ready to go to work.

Checking once more to ensure it was safe, Liam descended into position, hovered for a few moments, then touched down. The FE lowered the ramp and the Rangers rushed out.

“Happy hunting, boys,” Liam murmured, wishing he was going with them. He and Freeman kept the rotors turning, checking in with command and the tower while maintaining vigilance about their surroundings. No further threats were reported.

Throttling down the engines, he dug his phone out of the ruck he kept between the seats. As soon as he turned it on, messages began to appear.

He held his breath when he saw Honor’s number on display.

Base is under attack. I’m okay. With Ipman and Smithers, have cover.

Thank God, Liam thought on a long exhale. Felt like an anvil had been lifted off his chest.

Then, a text time-stamped just five minutes ago.

I love you. Never stopped. Need you to know that.

The desperation in the message grabbed him by the throat. That she’d said those words to him now told him just how bad things were where she was.

Fear and grief welled up inside him, making it hard to breathe. He swallowed and ran a hand down his face. He loved her too, more than she’d ever realize.

God, he couldn’t lose her now that she was letting him back in. He’d give anything to turn back the clock to yesterday and spend the entire night holding her, making love to her. He knew she would have given in if he’d pushed, but he hadn’t wanted to coerce her into anything she wasn’t ready for. He wished he’d spent the night in her bed with her, her naked body pressed tight to his.

“That Honor?” Freeman guessed.

Liam merely nodded, afraid to voice his fear aloud.

“Is she okay?”

He cleared his throat. “As of five minutes ago, yeah.” But she’d been afraid she was about to die. No way she’d have sent him that message otherwise. And a lot could have happened in five minutes, especially considering the damage the drone strikes had caused and an unknown number of shooters on the loose with automatic rifles.

She couldn’t be dead. He refused to think it, and he refused to think of her lying wounded somewhere, scared and hurting. Ripped his heart out to imagine it. The scale of the attack was unprecedented and its effects would be felt throughout the country and around the globe in a matter of hours.

His phone buzzed in his hand. He lifted it, expelling a huge sigh of relief when he saw it was Honor.

At HQ with 2 others and civilian. Locked in, safe for now. Waiting for word.

I’m on base, he typed back. Hang tight. Love you.

Her reply came a few seconds later. Love you too. Can’t wait to see you.

Liam couldn’t wait either. The first chance he got he was going to find her and grab her, hold her so tight she couldn’t breathe and not let her go for a long, long time.

But a minute later another text came in.

Someone breaking down door. We’re unarmed.

Liam’s gaze shot out his window toward where her HQ building was located, his entire body tensing. She must be desperate for help if she was texting him rather than running.

Get out or lock yourselves in an office, he ordered her, frantic to get to her. He was flight leader, but if he abandoned his helo and crew now he could get there on foot in a matter of minutes.

She’s unarmed, facing a possible shooter with an automatic weapon.

His palms began to sweat as he imagined her huddled in a dark office with whoever else was with her, while a gunman kicked the door in. He kept his eye on the digital clock on the dash, made himself wait another twenty seconds. When no further messages came, he couldn’t stand it and texted her again.

Talk to me. “Say something, please,” he whispered, ignoring the sharp look Freeman gave him.

No answer.

Fuck protocol, he was outta here. “She’s under attack,” Liam said to him as he tore off his helmet and unbuckled his harness. “Someone’s trying to break into their HQ and they’re unarmed.”

Freeman’s features tightened. “Go.”

Liam grabbed his M-4 from the rack above his door. Heart pounding, he climbed out the helo and raced in the direction of Honor’s HQ.

An MP standing guard near the LZ saw him coming and moved to cut him off, holding up a hand. “Sir—”

“I’ve got three unarmed soldiers and a civilian trapped in an HQ building and a shooter’s trying to force his way inside,” Liam snapped without slowing. He’d knock the MP unconscious if he had to, but he wasn’t letting anyone or anything stop him from getting to Honor and he’d accept the consequences of his actions later.

As he neared, the man took in Liam’s rank, glanced at the Chinook he’d just jumped out of, saw the weapon in his hands and must have figured out he was no ordinary soldier because he nodded. “I’ll come with you, sir.”

Liam didn’t answer, just blew past him and sprinted toward Honor as fast as he could, praying he got there in time.

****

Honor sat completely still behind the door they’d just entered into her CO’s office, every muscle rigid as the pounding on the rear door continued. Her heart slammed against her ribs, clammy sweat coating her face and palms. A few more solid kicks to the right place and the dead bolt lock would be useless. She turned toward the cabinets at the back of the room, where the gun safe was hidden.

Then a male voice called out. “There’s another shooter. I can’t get in—somebody open the door!”

Honor held her breath. She knew that voice. She glanced at Ipman and Smithers, who’d both lifted their heads and were staring at the door. “It’s Andrews,” Ipman said in relief, sagging a little.

“Andrews?” Smithers called out before Honor could, needing to verify his identity.

“Yeah! Lemme in!”

“Are you alone?”

“Yes! Now goddammit, somebody open this fucking door!”

Honor started to get up but Ipman stayed her with a hand on her shoulder. “I got this,” he said and rushed toward the door.

“Check first to make sure he’s not under duress,” Honor commanded in a loud whisper, ready to bolt for the gun safe at the first sign of danger. Or that there’s not a shooter with the muzzle of a rifle pressed to Andrews’s spine.

Ipman nodded and approached the door, keeping his back to the wall. When he reached the door he snuck a peek outside the square-shaped window set into the upper part of it. “He’s alone,” he said, and turned the deadbolt.

Honor didn’t have a clear view from her position in her CO’s office. She caught only a glimpse of Andrews as he stormed in, his gaze cutting back and forth as he visually swept the room, holding what appeared to be a rifle in his hands. Ipman shut the door and stepped in front of him, cutting off her line of sight.

“Could’ve used that about ten minutes ago,” Ipman said to him, gesturing to the weapon. He turned and headed back toward the office they were in. Andrews’s face appeared over his shoulder and in that heartbeat his gaze connected with hers. He stopped walking.

A frisson of alarm streaked through Honor at the odd, fixed way he stared at her. Ipman turned and froze, his half-smile faltering as he watched Andrews uncertainly. “What are you…” He trailed off, his expression transforming into horror as Andrews raised the rifle and turned it on him.

Honor drew breath to scream a warning but it was too late. Andrews pulled the trigger, sending a burst of fire into Ipman’s chest. The bullets went through him and buried themselves in the wall at his back. The specialist fell against the wall, blood pouring from the lethal wounds in his chest, a look of pure disbelief on his face.

No! The scream locked in Honor’s throat and she recoiled, instinctively moving away as her brain struggled to process what she’d just seen.

“The fuck are you doing, man?” Smithers shouted, shoving Honor backward behind him and reaching out one leg to kick the interior door shut with his boot. Honor scrambled to her elbows as Andrews swung the weapon toward them. Smithers dove forward to twist the lock then threw himself backward as Andrews’s chilling voice rang out.

“Girard, I’m coming for you, bitch!”

What? He was after her?

With terrible clarity, she realized he had to be the insider officials had been worried about.

Honor lunged for her sergeant, intent on pulling him behind cover. Her fingers closed around the shoulder of his T-shirt. She hauled him backward, behind the steel desk set in the center of the room. “Smithy—” Her words cut off when Andrews opened fire on the door. Rounds punched through the heavy metal, pinging off the walls and the desk that now served as their only cover.

Honor gasped and hit the ground, flipping to her belly to avoid the deadly hail of bullets. “The back! Get out the back!” she ordered Smithers and the civilian.

Wide-eyed, face pale, the man turned and crawled as fast as he could for the door on the opposite side of the office. It was the only way out and they had to get through it before Andrews got in here or ran around the outside and beat them to the exit on the far end of the building.

As she crawled after the civilian Honor’s gaze locked on the cabinet holding the gun safe. There was no way they’d all be able to get out before Andrews blew through that door. She had to get a weapon and take him out, or at least hold him off until the others could escape. Maybe she’d get lucky and get off a shot quick enough to incapacitate him. She’d have only milliseconds to take him down. Time for only one shot if she was fast.

She could not miss.

More rounds punched through the door, spraying bits of metal and glass everywhere. Her hand gripped the cabinet handle. She yanked it open, frantically turned the dial and prayed she remembered the combination. Her heart was in her throat as she opened it.

Empty.

She had only a split second to absorb it, for her stomach to plummet toward her feet, when Andrews kicked through the ruined lock. The door flew open.

Her world went into slow motion.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Andrews standing there. He paused a moment, locked on her and began to raise his weapon. Honor drew on all the strength in her body and dove for the far doorway.

A burst of gunfire filled the room. Bullets slammed into the wall above her, their heat searing her right arm a moment before she landed in the hallway on her belly and rolled out of the line of fire.

She scrambled to her knees, then her feet, her heart about to burst from raw terror. She could hear Andrews yelling at her, heavy male footsteps coming at a dead run behind her. Chasing her.

Andrews was hunting her. Wanted her dead.

Honor kept her gaze pinned on the door at the far end of the hallway where the civilian was flying out of it. It was the only way out. She had to get out, find a place to hide before Andrews got her. And she had to be outside by the time he hit the hallway, otherwise he’d have a straight, clear shot.

Her boots pounded on the linoleum, her feet racing along with her heartbeat. Too slow. She was too fucking slow.

More shouts behind her. Another burst of rounds exploded into the hall. Smithers grunted behind her. He’d been hit.

Honor automatically stopped, the need to help ingrained deep within her. She wouldn’t leave him. Took a lunging step toward him.

Smithers was lying on his side, struggling to drag himself into the hallway. She could hear Andrews crashing through the office behind him. Coming closer.

In that moment Smithers turned his head toward her, the faint light from down the hallway illuminating his pained grimace. “No,” he yelled, face rigid. “Run!”

She ignored him, already halfway to him. She had to grab him, drag him to safety and—

“Dammit, run!” he snarled, one hand clutching his belly just as Andrews burst into the hallway. Honor skidded to a halt and ducked, choking on the fear. The barrel of his weapon swung toward her.

Staying to help Smithers now was a death sentence for both of them. She whirled and tore back the way she’d come, leading Andrews away from Smithers. If she escaped she could send help. It was the only way either of them would survive.

As she veered left, a short volley of shots blasted into the hallway, peppering the floor and wall mere feet behind her.

Andrews cursed and she realized he was out of ammo.

The doorway stood open before her like a gateway to safety. Twenty feet away.

She had to get through it before he reloaded.

Behind her she could hear Andrews loading a fresh magazine.

Her thighs burned. Her lungs labored. A crawling sensation tingled up her spine as terror forked through her. Andrews would kill her with his next sweep.

Her boots flew over the linoleum.

Ten feet.

Five.

The ominous sounds of Andrews reloading stopped. Her time was up.

Putting on a last burst of speed she kicked off hard with both feet, launching herself into the air in a desperate long jump, intent on getting through that door. She cleared the doorway, sailed outside into the cool night air.

The toe of her boot snagged on the edge of a stair.

A barrage of shots rang out. A searing pain cut across her left upper arm as she pitched forward and plunged headlong toward the ground.