Page 8 of Delta Mission
I swung my weapon and fired twice, missing him by inches as he dove behind another steel drum. I aimed for the barrel and fired again. The drum exploded.
I flew backward, crashing into a pile of crates. The wind punched out of me as I slammed onto my back on the dirt. Flaming debris rained all over the place.
A shrill squeal rang in my brain, and I rubbed my ears, trying to clear it. Potent fumes burned my nostrils and piercing pain blazed through my left arm.
My NODs were gone. My Beretta was missing, too. Other than a few glowing embers, it was so dark I could barely see.
Groaning, I sat up, and a howl blazed up my throat.
Falling back to the concrete, I felt my left arm.
Fuck! A two-inch piece of shrapnel stuck out of my bicep.
Fighting against searing pain, I pushed my receiver back in my ear and found my mic. “Moose, do you read? Over.”
Wild crackling was the only noise.
Pain shredded my left arm as I searched the dirt around me for my weapon and night vision goggles. I found the NODs first and pulled them on.
Through the green glow, I searched the crap that had blasted everywhere. Bits of metal. Bits of timber. Bloody bits of the asshole who’d shot at me. What was left of him was a mangled mess against a large plastic tank.
Stupid fucker.
“Moose. Wildman. Can anyone hear me?”
An explosion cut through the silence, and I stared at a bloody spot on my thigh, straining to hear what was going on.
A stillness fell over me again that was so intense my ears squealed. I hated silence. It provided a highway to my thoughts. And they always tumbled to places I’d been trying to claw my way out of for years.
I heaved a breath, and toxic fumes burned my throat.
I had to get out of there. I pushed to stand again, and pain ripped up my arm.
Son of a bitch. The chunk of metal in my bicep was rusty and jagged.
Fighting a wave of dizziness, I pinched the metal between my fingers, clenched my teeth, and, growling, I yanked out the shrapnel.
The fucking thing was five inches long. It had buried deep.That’s gonna need stitches.
Not now though. I tossed the shard away, and blood dripped from my arm and splattered onto my pants.
Nausea swirled through me. My head spun.
A dark cloud swept over my eyes, and I slumped over.
Everything went black.
CHAPTER 3
Makenna
I aimedmy Glock at the woman in the green scarf and yelled at her not to move. But she was like a demon with her black robe swishing around her legs as she slashed the knife side to side. The way she held the dagger confirmed she’d had combat training, but her burqa shielded her movements, making it impossible to gauge which way she would lunge.
She would stick that knife into me at the first chance she got.
Lyle ran through the door. His wide eyes blazed with fear. “Makenna, we have to—”
The woman moved so quickly behind Lyle, I didn’t have time to warn him. She held the blade to his neck, using him as a shield.
