“Can’t sleep either?”
“No. Got…some…thing on my mind.”
“You mean someone.” 2-Stroke looked pointedly toward the barn.
“Is it that obvious?”
“Duh, yeah.”
“Well, it’s almost over. She goes back to DC and I go back to San Diego.”
“Yeah, long distance sucks, and with our schedule…it might be the right call.”
“How about you?”
2-Stroke’s first inclination was to clam up, but then he remembered that the brotherhood was about more than just operating together. “I love her. We got some things to talk over, some things maybe to figure out, but we’re putting that on hold until we get back to the States.”
“You think she’ll come back as our liaison? That could cause some problems.”
“I don’t know. I haven’t asked her, but she’s got some healing to do.” He stared toward the rough road. The wind had come up in the night, and there were streamers of snowdrifts in the lane. Thank God it wasn’t enough to slow them down. “I was really scared there for a while. I thought she was going to die. Chry and I have known each other for a long time, but I left her without a word when I went to BUD/S.”
“It takes a lot of focus to get through training, man. Don’t beat yourself up. It might have been the easiest thing to do.”
“It wasn’t easy. It was damned hard, and I missed her every day. But my reasons I thought were sound.”
“Like?”
“All my life, I couldn’t seem to protect the people I loved. My mom…she died from cancer. My brother was murdered. Dean left us to our abusive, alcoholic father. I thought for a long time that I didn’t deserve to have people in my life, that I didn’t matter. I became a SEAL with that mindset—”
“What the fuck are you talking about! Of course, you matter! We go out every goddamned day and put our lives on the line for anyone who needs us, to protect the US, for justice, for whatever we’re ordered to do. You’re an integral part of this team. You keep us from getting blown up. I’ve never heard such horse crap.”
2-Stroke held up his hands, surprised and warmed by Saint’s outburst. “Okay, Zach, tone it down. You’ll wake up Chry or Dean. And I don’t need him nosing in right now.”
“That pissed me off. Are you over it now?”
2-Stroke stared at his teammate, something in him melting, then grinned and shook his head. “I think I better be.”
He mulled over what Saint had to say about Chry staying on as their liaison and about how it was too difficult for him to handle a relationship with Aella long distance. 2-Stroke had to wonder if he’d talked to her about it.
He pulled into the gas station and got some of Chry’s money to pay for the gas. He filled up the tank, then went inside to pay.
Just as he finished the transaction, Zasha walked out of the women’s restroom, and their eyes clashed over the rows of merchandise.
She opened her mouth to yell, but he was on her, punching her square in the face. She flew back and he turned and ran past the open-mouthed clerk, slipping on the gravel as he exited. Pelting for the van, he climbed in and gunned the engine, fishtailing out of the station.
“What?” Chry asked as she looked at him in alarm.
“I swear we have the worse fucking luck! Zasha was in there.”
“Did she see you?” Saint asked.
“Fucking yeah.”
The three of them in the back of the van started to pull out automatic weapons.
Moments after that, as they headed for the safety of the back road, the sound of a chopper roared in the distance. The engine grew louder as it closed in, kicking up dirt and leaves in an opaque spin of debris. Then the door slid open.
“Holy shit! RPG! RPG!” Striker yelled, but for them it was too late.
Then the blast hit. The percussion of the explosion shattered whatever windows still had glass in them. With a giant shove, the blast kicked up the rear of the van, the ground rushing toward his face. The force tossed them ass up and over—inside three tons of machine filled with gasoline.
The vehicle landed on the roof, but the crunch of steel didn’t end, debris shooting over the van. 2-Stroke reached for Chry, but the after-blast kept coming, knocking the Mercedes so hard it pushed it several feet. Thunks of rubble slammed into the van for a full minute before it stopped. 2-Stroke froze as the shock vibrated through the vehicle.
For a moment, he couldn’t see, then realized blood was covering his vision. He looked back to find the other three all crumpled in a heap amongst the torn metal and rubber.
“Striker!” he shouted, his heart in his throat. His brother stirred, and 2-Stroke breathed a sigh of relief.
Striker woke with a jerk. Aella was whimpering and Saint came to slowly. He shook his head.
“We’ve got to get out of here. They’re going to be here any moment!” 2-Stroke ordered.
“I-I can’t,” Aella cried, and her gaze was on her leg.
“Fuck!” Saint said, now moving like lightning. “Compound fracture.” He looked at Striker. “Find my medical bag. Bring it,” he said, then he turned back to her. “I’m going to lift you, babe. This is going to hurt.”
Her jaw clenched and she nodded. He scooped her up and she screamed.
“Wha-wha—” Chry mumbled as she came awake and flailed for a moment trapped in her harness. 2-Stroke cut her out of her seat belt and caught her as she fell. She cried out and clutched her side. He turned and kicked out the windshield, clearing the glass.
“Let me get her out, then I’ll take Aella,” 2-Stroke said.
“I’ve got it,” Striker said as he kicked at the van’s mangled back door with powerful blows with his booted feet. “Saint! Let’s go.”
2-Stroke picked up Chry and started to run, the others close behind him. To his utter disbelief a sedan was heading right at them. “Striker! The car!”
His brother sprinted to the head of the line and held up the automatic weapon. The sedan stopped and the two people inside piled out.
They ran in opposite directions as the five of them sprinted to the car. 2-Stroke set Chry in the front seat and Saint set Aella in the back amid her cries of pain.
As soon as the doors closed, 2-Stroke turned the car around and stomped on the gas. The chopper was banking and coming around. Striker broke out the back window and took aim with his MK-14 as the chopper came in for another salvo.
With a popping noise, his brother discharged the weapon and there was a loud explosion. Looking in the rearview, he saw the helicopter falling out of the sky and landing in the road, breaking apart in a rush of debris. Out of the smoke and fire, five jeeps raced.
“We’re almost to the border,” Striker yelled. Up ahead, 2-Stroke could see the border crossing station and that it was currently unmanned. He looked beyond and cheered when he saw his LT and team. “Hoo-yah!”
Automatic gunfire sounded from behind them, peppering the vehicle. Saint and Striker returned fire, but as they neared the crossing, a tire blew, and the car swerved and ran onto the shoulder of the road.
“We have to run!” he shouted and was out of the car, lifting Chry into his arms as Striker used the passenger side door to lay down some fire. “Hold on,” he said as her arms went tight around his neck. Leaving one arm free to pull out his sidearm. 2-Stroke gave Saint and Aella cover as Saint picked up the writhing woman and ran for the SEALs who were pacing back and forth, gesturing for them to hurry. The jeeps stopped coming as the men piled out and took cover.