Lindsay McKenna – Down Range (страница 7)

Maya gestured toward Morgan. “Captain Boland had a couple of guns in that fight, Lieutenant Ramsey. What you don’t know is that the Special Forces team had to evacuate and hightail it to a rally point to be lifted out by the Night Stalkers MH-47 helicopter. Every person in that team was more or less wounded. So was Captain Boland. They fought until they ran out of ammunition, and only then did they run for their lives.”

Jake sucked in a quiet breath, twisting a look toward Morgan. She refused to look at him, her attention on her clasped hands in her lap. His heart squeezed with pain for her. Unconsciously, Jake rubbed his chest, remaining silent but wrestling with unexpected emotions about her being wounded.

“The next day,” Maya went on, “Captain Boland returned with reinforcements, but the damage had already been done. When Captain Boland landed with two SEAL teams and two Special Forces teams, they found a hundred and fifty people murdered.” Her voice lowered even more. “Khogani slaughtered innocent people because the elders of the village had refused to allow opium transport through their valley. This is why we’re initiating this op. We feel it’s best to send in a sniper team. And that’s the two of you. You will have time on target for as long as it takes. Snipers know how to stalk. And they know how to track and be patient in finding someone like Khogani. Questions?”

“This is a SEAL op?” Ramsey demanded.

Houston said, “Yes, but you’ll have any other military assets available you need via GPS satellite and/or radio communications. Camp Bravo, an FOB, has a squadron of Apaches on standby, a medevac squadron, the CIA is there with drones and so are a number of Special Forces teams. There are a number of Operation Shadow Warrior women combat operators who are already assigned to some of these teams.”

Jake asked, “Who’s my SEAL contact? Is he out of Camp Bravo or J-bad, Jalalabad?”

“Lieutenant Ramsey, let’s starting thinking plural here, shall we?” Maya met his startled look. “You said ‘my contact.’ It should have been our contact.”

Realizing his mistake, Jake nodded. “My apologies, ma’am. I meant our.”

Morgan almost felt sorry for Jake. He wasn’t about to back up on a General, man or woman. He’d backed up on her in many a furious argument about women being weak. She saw the banked anger and confusion in his eyes for a moment, but being a SEAL, he moved on to the next important item.

“Who’s running radio comms?” Jake asked.

“Captain Boland will,” Mike Houston said. “She’s taken SEAL schooling in every kind of communications gear you presently utilize.”

Relief sizzled through Jake, because that was not his specialty. “That’s good to know,” he murmured, lifting his gaze and meeting Morgan’s cool green eyes. He’d leafed through the report last night and seen her impressive list of training. If Morgan wasn’t in Afghanistan with black-ops teams, she was stateside getting more training. He respected her for that. And it could save their lives out in the field.

“You’re going to be working with Lieutenant-Commander Viera out of J-bad,” Houston said.

More relief showered through Jake. He might be forced to have a woman on this mission, but at least he had a solid SEAL officer supporting it. “Yes, sir. He’s the best.” And Julio Viera, or Vero, his nickname in the SEALs, was a badass Puerto Rican from the slums who had worked his way up through the ranks. He was a mustang, someone who started out as an enlisted person but eventually got to officer’s school. With a decade of experience behind him, Vero’s reputation in the community was as one of the best SEAL planners in the business. Vero would have their back, and Jake was grateful. His karma had just turned into dharma.

Houston looked at his watch. “You’re wheels up at 1100 from Andrews. You’ll be hopping a C-130 flight to Travis Air Force Base, California. From there, you’ll fly across the Pacific and get a hop on a C-5 heading for Hawaii. You’ll stay overnight at the Schofield Army barracks in Honolulu. The next morning, you’ll grab another C-5 flight heading into Bagram Air Base north of Kabul, Afghanistan. From there, you’ll meet Captain Khalid Shaheen, U.S. Army. He’s an Apache combat pilot, but works closely with the Black Jaguar Squadron out of Camp Bravo. He’ll fly you into J-bad. From there, the Night Stalkers will drop you into the valley where you’ll meet our ground asset, Reza.”

“Afghan local?” Jake wondered.

“He’s more than that.” Morgan spoke up, her quiet voice carrying emotion behind it. She quickly looked at General Houston, apology in her expression. She shouldn’t have interrupted a briefing.

“Go on,” Houston said, unruffled by her comment.

“Thank you, sir.” Morgan turned her attention to Jake. “Reza is a thirty-five-year-old Afghan from the Shinwari tribe. He’s worked with SEALs and Special Forces over the last seven years. He’s pro-American.” Her voice caught, and she cleared her throat, getting ahold of escaping emotions. When she spoke again, Morgan’s voice was husky. “Reza lived in the village of Margha that Khogani attacked. The only reason he lived was because he was out with another SEAL team twenty miles south of the village at the time it was attacked.”

“I see,” Jake murmured. But maybe he didn’t. He could have sworn he saw moisture come to Morgan’s eyes. For just a split second. Her lips, full and soft, twisted. He knew that gesture. She was trying to hide emotions. And when she tucked her lower lip between her teeth for a second, Jake knew there was a lot more to this story.

“Reza,” Morgan added, her voice low, “is the soul of Islamic kindness. He lives the Koran as it should be. He’s kind, gentle and helps others. He was beloved by everyone in Margha. He was responsible for bringing in the Special Forces and getting medical help for the children seven years ago.” Morgan blinked, pushing the tears away. She forced herself to go on. “He lost his wife and five children in the attack.” Bowing her head, she muttered, “I couldn’t even save one of his children….”

An unexpected lump formed in Jake’s throat. He swallowed a few times. There was pain mirrored in Morgan’s face, even though the wall of red hair hid most of her expression from him. This time, she wasn’t trying to hide anything in spite of the fact there were two Generals present. Her cheeks had gone pale.

Jake found himself wanting to reach out, touch Morgan’s tightly gripped hands on the table. But he remained still, buffeted by her grief. And that was probably how she ended up getting injured during the attack, trying to rescue Reza’s kids. She loved children with a passion.

Old memories began to rise in him. God, he had to contain them. He couldn’t afford to relive that two years back at the Academy when they’d been lovers. It had been a mixture of incredible happiness, brutal sorrow and serrating pain.

“War sucks,” Maya agreed in a quiet tone. “You did what you could. Sometimes, it’s not enough, Captain.”

Morgan nodded, blinking away unshed tears. “Yes, ma’am, you’re right.”

Jake saw the natural warmth between Maya Stevenson and Morgan. Clearly, they knew each other very well. For a moment, he wondered if the General was Morgan’s sponsor. Every young officer hoped that a higher-ranking officer would take them under their wing and give them opportunities other officers would never get. They were groomed for leadership and put on a fast track for higher rank and responsibility. Yes, he would bet his right hand Stevenson was her sponsor and mentor. “Any other questions?” Houston demanded.

“No, sir,” Morgan said.

“No, sir,” Jake said.

“Good hunting out there,” Maya told them, meaning it as she rose.

Both officers leaped to their feet, coming to attention.

“At ease,” Houston murmured, standing and placing two folders into his briefcase. The other two would go with the snipers. “Do yourself a favor and take advantage of the chow in the Pentagon cafeteria.” He smiled a little. “Pig out on hamburgers and French fries. Where you’re going, there won’t be any for a damn long time until you nail this son of a bitch. Stay safe out there.”

Morgan smiled at the tall, broad-shouldered General. “Thank you, sir. We will.”

“Makes two of us,” Jake said, standing aside to allow General Stevenson by him.

“Better load up on Butterfingers,” Maya called over her shoulder to Morgan as she left.

Morgan grinned, especially as Jake cocked his head. He knew her favorite candy was Butterfinger. For a moment, she felt happy. An emotion she hadn’t felt since… Morgan’s smile faded. She picked up her black leather purse and bucket hat. That spark of happiness died quickly in the wake of a wall of grief and loss. Her husband, SEAL Lieutenant Mark Evans, had been killed by Khogani five years earlier. She had two good reasons to hunt Khogani down, once and for all.

Jake gestured for her to leave the room first, his hand on the doorknob. His whole body responded when she managed a slight smile of thanks. Morgan’s face and those mesmerizing green eyes of hers radiated such intimate warmth. It was a peek into the real Morgan when she didn’t have to maintain officer and military decorum.