Page 112 of Triple Threat

The claymores went off, and twelve was reduced to a handful of moans and one person shrieking horribly.

This was the worst I could ever recall. Worse than when the convoy had been hit and Roan lost his leg. Worse than Mazar-i-Sharif. Certainly, worse than all of the previous jobs I had pulled, even in the worst of those I hadn’t been hit so many times. That was a worrying thought, the armor could only take so many hits before it failed.

I heard other sharp barks and knew those were other claymores concealed through the house going off. How many of these assholes were there, and why were they so determined? Any sane foe wouldn’t have pressed so hard for so small a gain. We were only two guys, and only had three feet between us. How many of their own were they willing to get killed for the slight of being turned down.

This made zero fucking sense.

I pumped the last round into the chamber and used it to send a man with a maimed arm to hell. He fell silently. That was good because he didn’t put up any fight when I took his rifle from him.

I knew this drill, the fighting retreat. Men who turned and ran got shot in the back.

Burst fire, shelter.

Pause.

Burst fire, shelter.

Fall back.

The motions were almost mechanical. I just did them. The gun almost seemed to find the targets as they kept coming in. Body shot, body shot, body shot. They came, I fell back, they fell to the ground.

For each one I put a bullet in, two took their place.

There were more women in this group. I felt unsettled and shaken. I didn’t like shooting women, women were for kissing, fondling, fucking. Not for putting bullets in.

I was hit again, and again. The armor took one, then one grazed my thigh.

Fall back, suppressing fire.

I wanted my grenade launcher back. I wanted the shotgun back.

I wanted to hold Sadie, and for the world to be just me and her again. Shady and Kyle.

This wasn’t where I was going to die, that I was certain of. Fuck that. I had to get to Sadie, and to Roan. We weren’t done.

Burst fire, then click as the ammo was gone. I tossed the rifle and drew my last pistol.

How had it all ended up here?

There was more gunfire, brutal and effective. My improvised barricade was shredded and enough rounds came through into my vest to knock me to the ground. That wasn’t regular ammo.

“Come out you motherfucker!” Ajahi shouted. He was carrying a squad assault weapon. He didn’t see me in my prone position, which was good He unloaded another long blast from SAW, shredding wall and appliances in the kitchen. This was it. If he was in the house, the rest of the leaders would be close behind.

I scooted back against the wall and raised my pistol, putting the big black man in my sites when there was a barrage of familiar gunfire and he threw himself back behind cover. I knew that sound, that was Roan’s ridiculous P90. He saved my ass in that moment but I was pissed, if he was out shooting that meant the door was open and there was nothing between these assholes and Sadie.

I dragged myself back to my feet, my entire body felt like it had caught a truck head on, probably cracked ribs from that last punch. “Turn it all on, turn it all on Roan!” I shouted as loud as I could.

“You’re not clear,” I heard him in my ear.

“Fuck it, I might not get clear. Big dogs are in the house, arm everything.”

“Everything?” he asked.

“Everything but that, c’mon, do it!” I grunted and rolled onto the floor and belly crawled into the kitchen. There was debris everywhere. Shattered glass, busted marble from the counter tops, and mangled metal and plastic. I picked up one of his precious knives.

The sounds of gunfire ceased. There was just the crunch of boots in rubble, and the wet bubbling sounds of the wounded and the dying. I waited, head down. Three people stepped into the kitchen. “Look at this set up,” a woman said. She shined a gun mounted flashlight, giving her location away, but she held at the door. The other two flanked into the room.

“He is in here,” an older man said.

---