Talon: Combat Tracking Team (A Breed Apart) (2 page)

F
lames roared into the sky. A concussive boom punched the oxygen from the air. Eating an IED, the lead Cougar MRAP in the convoy flipped up. As if dancing atop the raging inferno. Shrapnel hurtled from the blast.

“Buffalo! Buffalo!” Sergeant Lee Dawson shouted into the mic, hoping to hear from the first vehicle.

“Anything?” Gunnery Sergeant Austin Courtland coiled his hand around the lead of his Combat Tracking Team dog. Talon stood braced, alert. His bark reverberated through the steel hull in warning.

Lee slanted a glance at the “observer” who’d come along. “Report!” Peering through the cloud of black smoke and debris, he searched the chaos to make sure the others were still alive.

A breeze stirred the flames just in time to see an RPG streaking toward the front end of their MRAP.

“Get out, get out, get out!” Courtland and Talon launched toward the back door.

“Oh cr—”

BOOM!

The MRAP bucked against the blast but held. Whiplash had nothing on the ramming sensation pounding into his chest now. Fire burst through the engine.

Fear of being cooked alive or choking to death on smoke shoved Lee from the Cougar MRAP. Coughing and with a hand over his mouth, he choked out, “This way!”

Sand and dirt blasted up, peppering his face. Tiny grains and dust particles swirled under the blazing Afghan sun as he took cover, shouldering his way around the side of the mine-resistant ambush-protected vehicle and out of their attacker’s line of fire. Plumes of heat warbled along the hull.

“Find me some terrorists,” Court shouted over the roar of the fire, then keyed his mic. “Base, this is Echo One. Ambushed and taking fire!”

Peering down the sights of his M16A4 gave Lee nothing but dirt…crumbled building with dirt…and more dirt. “I got nothin’.”

“Same,” came a shout from behind as Truitt “True” Anderson slid up behind him, a nasty cut across his cheekbone. “Where the
heck
did that RPG come from?” The muzzle of his M4 swept Lee’s periphery.

Lee kept his sights aligned, adrenaline pumping through his system faster than the blood. “Court,” he yelled over the gunfire that crackled in the blistering afternoon, “what d’you have?”

“Nothing!”

Staying behind the disabled vehicle, Lee searched the road. Only two buildings north. Several south. Focused ahead, he studied the structures. He scanned the roofs. Since the RPG’s trajectory had been downward, whoever fired it held an elevated position. The roof of one didn’t look strong enough to hold someone, and the other had more holes than coverage. He whipped back to the first, waiting.
C’mon! Show your coward head so I can—

“Quirk, report!” Court shouted to the Buffalo team again.

Only crackling and the shouts of the other teams dragging the lead team to safety met the command. Mind locked on the white plastered structure with the right half of the front wall missing told him that’s where the attack had originated.

“Use the drone?” Lee shouted, not lifting his gaze from the scope.

“It’s down!”

Lee wanted to curse. Everything had gone wrong. With the drone down, they’d have to do this the old-fashioned, bloody way.
Mano a mano
. Hand to hand.

Dark flashed in his reticle. “Court, two o’clock.”

“Let’s clear it out.”

Sweat raced along the side of Lee’s face and spine as he inched around the MRAP. His boot thumped against something. He glanced down—and flinched at the limp body of his buddy. On a knee, weapon still aimed at the building, he gripped the vest of Quirk, the young corporal.

Wide, unseeing eyes etched with the shock of the moment. Pressing his hand against the chest wound, Lee plunged into assessment mode, ignoring the warm wetness that squished through his fingers. The gaping hole— “Sniper!”
Sweet Lord, help us
. They were ambushed. Sniper. RPG. What prayer did they have left?

“Corpsman!” Lee gripped the man’s vest straps. “Quirk, hey. Don’t do this, man. No quitting.”

Another Marine sprinted toward them, allowing Lee to refocus on breaking this ambush site. Breaking the sick cowards who hid and played lethal games of tag with U.S. troops.

He met the steely gaze of his fire-team members—minus one. Another trio of Marines joined them as their cover team. As he lifted the weapon and trained it on the building, he nodded to Court and True, then darted across the fifteen-foot space that separated the partially disabled convoy from the hideouts.

Halfway across, Court dove to the left.

Tat-tat-tat!

The report rang in Lee’s ears as he threw himself against the plaster and cement wall.

“Base, this is Echo One, we need that air support—five minutes ago!” Court nodded to Lee before keying his mic again. “Going in.”

Stacked—True behind with his M4 trained on the point of entry—Lee waited for the signal.

A tap on his shoulder.

Lee fired a short burst against the door handle. Balanced on his left leg, he slammed his booted heel against the door.
Crack!
It whipped open.

Court stepped around him and tossed a hand grenade into the room. “Frag out!” He jerked back behind Lee, who spined the exterior wall.

Clink…clink…BOOM!

Lee threw himself into motion. Over the threshold, he registered the southernmost wall missing. He swung left. Dust puffed as he rushed the darkened corner. Light streamed in, taunting the smoke and debris rustled by the grenade. Two steps in, one foot from the wall. His weapon grazed the smoke-drenched interior and cleared a path to the left. He heard Court step in and do the same to the opposite corner. Lee hustled toward the left corner, tracking back and forth, adrenaline on high.

To avoid fratricide Lee called, “Next man in,” and hurried along the wall, pieing the room to divide up the coverage.

The swish of tactical pants preceded True as he entered. Effectively covering both corners and the door, the three-man team moved forward. To Lee’s left a door boasted a spray of bullet holes. Half a window frame drooped against the wide-open maw in the rear.

“Clear,” Court called.

A shadow killed the light.

Lee swung hard right. Movement skittered just beyond the hole in the wall.
Scritch-scritch-scritch—

“Stairs!” He hustled forward, staring down the muzzle of his weapon.

Behind him, he heard the others cluster. To his right, the wall was missing. To the left, cement and darkness—and that’s where the mystery guest had gone. They were blind, so they’d have to use extreme caution. He took up a dominant position. Experience told him Court was behind him and True pulled up the rear.

Eyes trained on the corner in case someone rounded it, Lee knelt and focused on the smooth movement of the team. They’d done this dozens of times. Still, one careless mistake and they were dead.

Court’s boots crunched against the dirt floor as he pied out to the right as far as possible. Then slowly advanced to increase his angle of fire farther into the dead space.

“Ready,” Lee grunted.

“Move!”

They both angled into the open, True tailing. In the blazing afternoon sun, Lee cleared left—stairs! Just as he’d thought. Open, cement steps. No railing. Just a path up to the roof. He climbed two steps, knowing Court would be one step down and to the side. Lee turned to cover overhead, mentally noting his partner oriented to the front, to cover him from getting shot in the back.

Tracing the edge of the upper level with the tip of his muzzle flash hider, Lee backstepped carefully up the stairs, sweeping. Covering. Pieing. Though adrenaline and a need to kill the puke who’d taken out the MRAP and killed Quirk sped through his body, Lee wouldn’t take another step without fully clearing the area. As he approached the roof, he bent lower with each level until he crouched, the roof skimming his head.

Lee drew in his fears and harnessed them into taking out some cowards. Glanced to the side—to Court. Then True. Both nodded their readiness. He blew a breath from puffed cheeks. Gave a curt nod.

Court went first.

Lee and True followed, weapons ready. They hurried over the lip of the roof, scanning…chairs, blankets, a Styrofoam cooler…a small room jutted up from the middle.

Tension high, stomach knotted, Lee hurried toward it. Scissor-stepping, he swallowed hard, expecting an enemy combatant to leap out at any second. He and Court cleared the L-shaped corner with ease. Nobody. He was almost disappointed.

“Where are they?” True growled through gritted teeth.

Lee glanced around. Looked over the front of the building and shouted to the team, “Where’d they go?”

Raised arms and shrugs replied.

He kicked the knee-high wall. Cursed. Swiped the beads of sweat from his face and eyes. Another fire team streamed onto the roof. Confusion squeezed his brain. How could he have gotten away? They’d chased him up here. Lee saw him!

“Looks secure,” one corporal said as he stalked across the terrace-like roof.

They needed to clear the other building. “Court,” he said, looking around. He frowned. Where’d his partner go? Had he already headed for the other building? Lee started for the stairs.

“Let’s see what some terrorists were eating and drinking while they waited to kill some Marines.”

An ominous fear washed across Lee’s shoulders. “No!” He spun—

Fire exploded. The concussion whipped his feet out from under him. Over his head. Lee felt himself sailing through the air, searing heat licking his backside. Then falling…falling…black.

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