Page 33 of Delta Mission
“Fucked if I know.”
Two bullets hit his vest on the ground, and one hit his water bottle, sending it flying.
“Fuck! I need to get my gear.”
I clutched his arm. “No, don’t.”
“If they hit a grenade, we’re toast.”
“Oh shit.”
Another bullet slammed into his utility vest.
He shifted his position, ready to sprint.
Clenching his jaw, he bolted out from cover, across the cave. Bullets kicked up dirt at his feet as he snatched up his vest and dove in behind me.
He shuffled in front of me to peer across the ravine. “We’re fucked.”
“What do we do?” I blinked at him.
“Hope they run out of bullets.”
The sheer hopelessness in his expression terrified me.
I leaned into his side, and as he wrapped his arms around me, bullets pockmarked the walls.
He huffed. “That’s it, you bastards. Use up your ammo.”
A deep thumping beat added to the chaos.
“Oh fuck. A chopper.” He shoved me against the wall. “Get down!”
I lay on the dirt, and Channing lay on top of me, pinning me down. But if they fired a missile, his protection was useless.
I kissed his cheek. “I love you, Channing.”
“Don’t you do that. Don’t give up. We’re getting out of here.”
The roar of the chopper grew louder, and wind blasted our cave. Rocks slammed into his back and my boots.
The boom, boom, boom of the chopper’s weapons echoed about the cave.
He stiffened, then he pushed up on his hands. “They’re not firing at us.”
“What?”
“It’s one of ours. Holy shit. We’re saved.”
I squinted through the debris cloud across the ravine. Bullets rained from above, taking out dozens of men.
“Woo-hoo!” Channing jumped to his feet and raced toward the cave entrance.
I followed him.
Across the ravine, the Arabs ran, but they didn’t get far. Soon, a field of bodies covered the opposite ridge.
The wind petered out as the chopper rose higher. At the edge, I peered up. A woman sitting in the doorway of the chopper with a massive weapon across her lap waved to me.
