Page 1 of A Soldier's Destiny
Prologue
Paris, France – November 13, 2015
After the mayhem of their mission in Syria, it was a relief to hear laughter and happy chatter, even if he didn’t understand most of the conversations. It was Friday evening in Paris, and fate had given him an eight-hour layover to decompress on his way back to the states. He sure as hell wasn’t going to complain about the downtime.
Fancy food wasn’t his usual preference, but since it had been over twelve hours since his last meal, the gurgling in his stomach was getting insistent that he eat something soon. The flight attendant said he’d love the food atLa Belle Équipe. No matter what the menu contained, the thought of sitting down at a table to eat a real meal instead of the MREs he’d been feasting on for the last four weeks was heaven. Now, if he could just find the damn restaurant he’d be set. He was double checking the location on his phone when he heard a familiar sound. Too familiar. But not one he’d expected on the streets of Paris.
There was no mistaking the sound of machine gun fire. It shredded through the happy chatter like mini-explosions followed by terrified screams. The buzzing of the bullets tearing through the air prompted Jasper “Raptor” Ramsey into action. After he checked his six, he set off to locate the shooter or shooters. The rapid fire of the guns echoed in his ears. Terrified people pushed and knocked each other down as they tried to escape the madness. The chaos.
Following them to safety wasn’t an option. Instead, Raptor ran toward the pandemonium. As he moved through the hysterical crowd, he worked on a plan to handle whatever he’d find. It was what he did. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t on a mission, he’d do what he could to help.
As he rounded the corner onto therue de Chaconne, he found the source of the shooting. Bodies were strewn across the terrace of the restaurant. Moans and screams echoed in his ears as he arrived on the scene.
The police arrived as he did, and as they exchanged fire with the gunmen, Raptor maneuvered his way onto the terrace to check for survivors. It was as bad as any mission he’d been on with his team, and he would have been thankful for their help. But the Deltas rarely traveled together. To say they were secretive would be an understatement. Even most of their families didn’t realize they served on the elite team. And for now, he was on his own.
Moving from body to body, he checked each one for a pulse before moving on to the next. The first three he encountered were already dead and he was beginning to think he wouldn’t find any survivors. Then he heard a faint sound.
“Aidez-moi, s'il vous plaît.”
Turning toward the soft female voice, he stepped over the debris that was strewn across the terrace and searched for the woman. When he finally got to her, she was covered in blood and half-pinned beneath a table in the corner. Without knowing if it was her blood, he was careful not to make any sudden moves that might release pressure and increase the bleeding. Gently, he lifted the table from her lower body to assess her injuries.
Not sure if she was French or not, he struggled to recall his high school lessons. A bad joke for sure. Languages weren’t his strength, and he left that to Wolfman.
“Madame,vousokay?”
“I can’t move my leg but it’s burning,” she answered in English.Thank God.
“You’ve taken a couple of bullets in your calf. You’re in shock right now, but you’ll be okay,” he answered as he pulled a cloth from one of the tables and ripped off a strip and tied it around her thigh to help slow the bleeding. She’d been lucky if you could call it that. Her wounds weren’t life-threatening, but they’d still hurt like hell.
“Can you please help my parents?” Her voice was weak but steady and he was impressed she was calm.
“Where are they?”
“My mom is there.” The woman pointed to an older female lying about five feet away. “I don’t think she’s breathing. My dad’s over there, I think? He’s not moving either. And I can’t find Jim.”
Two fingers to the woman’s neck told him she was already gone. She’d never had a chance based on the bloom of blood in the center of her chest. The older male on her other side had several bullet wounds, but the headshot had probably been the one that had killed him. There was nothing Raptor could do for her parents, but he was determined to make sure she survived.
Her blue eyes were filled with desperation and pain, as he laid the tablecloth over her parents. It was so raw it forced him to look away. He couldn’t imagine what she and all the other injured were feeling at that moment. They weren’t used to this, shouldn’t have to be, it’s why the teams put themselves in harm’s way—to keep attacks like this from happening.
“No…please, help them. They can’t be dead.” Her heart-wrenching plea was a stab in Raptor’s chest. But there was nothing he could do.
“I’m so sorry.” He was, he didn’t know her or any of the dead or injured lying on that terrace, but it didn’t stop him from caring, although he’d never admit it to anyone. His hard exterior hid the scars he’d kept from everyone in his life. Most people he met thought he didn’t give a shit about anyone, but it was his armor. If he didn’t let anyone in he wouldn’t be hurt. There had been enough of that in his childhood.
The police dealt with the last of the gunmen and were separating the injured for triage and questioning the uninjured that were still in the vicinity. The bleating sirens from the approaching ambulances replaced the sounds of machine gun fire.
“Sir, please. Can you help Jim? He was… Oh. My. God.” Her face crumpled in horror. Raptor turned to see what caused her reaction. It was the other person she’d been searching for, he’d been revealed as the police moved an adjacent table. Half of the man’s head was missing, his remaining eye was open and staring, a look of shock forever captured on his face.
Raptor moved to block the sight, distracting her, though she’d never really forget what she’d seen. But he hoped that it wouldn’t be her final memory of him, whoever he was to her – boyfriend, brother – it didn’t matter. “They’re going to take you to the hospital.”
A small blood-covered hand reached out and he grasped it in his. His hand looked huge cradling her tiny one.
“Thank you for helping me.” Her voice broke as she tried to hold back her tears. The medics lifted her onto a gurney, and it was time to let her go, to see if there was anyone else he could help. Except he didn’t want to let her go. Something drew him to her. It made no sense, but it was there, the feeling that he was meant to help her, to be with her, to protect her.
But there were others who needed his help and he released her hand and stepped back. As she was wheeled away, the sense of loss almost took his breath away. He should have asked for her name, and where they were taking her, to make sure she was going to recover. It sounded false even to his own ears but didn’t matter, it was too late. She was gone.
“Es-tu blessé?” one of the officers asked as he grabbed his arm.
The question took him by surprise until he looked down at his bloodied shirt. “No, it’s not my blood,” he answered in English. No sense in trying to use his piss-poor French.
“Bien, good.”
As he continued to check for survivors and helped triage the wounded, his phone buzzed. Very few people had his number, and without looking he knew it was his team.
Report in asap. We’ve got new orders.
It didn’t surprise him, especially when he’d heard from the police that the restaurant hadn’t been the only location hit in Paris that evening.
