Page 164 of One Minute Out

Two seconds later I let go of the rope, curl myself into a ball, and impact the damaged window at twenty-five knots, because Carl has slowed to land on the roof. I fly in surrounded by shattered glass and shredded curtains, my hearing protection and goggles fly off, and I tumble through the air. I tuck in tight, expecting a jarring crash onto the floor, but instead I bounce on something soft, roll end over end, my rifle’s polymer buttstock knocking me in my mouth as I tumble.

And then, somehow, I end up on my boots in an uncontrolled run.

Above me the helicopter hovers over the roof, and gunfire continues all around.

I stumble across a room and finally do bounce against a wall, slamming my shoulder hard and dropping the Glock. I miraculously keep my feet, then turn back around and heft my rifle on its sling.

Yeah, I do all my own stunts.

I see what happened immediately. I came through the window, hit a king-sized bed in a large bedroom, and then momentum shot me back up and all the way to the far wall. As I look around I see the bed is unmade and there is a smell of candles in the air, and once I realize there are no threats present, I pick up the pistol and slip it back in its holster.

Stealth mode, I tell myself, has been disengaged, since I alerted anyone in the area by crashing through the glass.

Moving to the door I’m slightly dazed, and I feel blood on my lips, but it’s nothing I’m not used to. I’m operational as long as I have breath in my lungs and brain function, and I’m trained not to slow down for injuries that aren’t disabling.

Before I get to the door I hear running just outside. I step behind the door as it flies open, and I see a man with dark curly hair enter with a black AR-15 up at his shoulder.

He scans the room, and I wait patiently behind him, wondering if he has any buddies following, but when I don’t hear other footsteps after a moment and the man begins to turn back around, I fire once into the side of his head.

Blood ejects out his temple and he drops ten feet away from me. I fire once more into him as I spin out of the room, into the hallway.

Rodney’s voice is on the radio now, just audible through the gunfire raging outside. “All hostiles on the roof are down; we’re entering via the stairwell, west side of property.”

A.J. speaks up next. “I’ve got inbound forces, two vics, leaving the bunkhouse. Unknown number of hostiles; they loaded up the trucks out of my field of vision. They’ll be on your poz in under a minute unless I can slow them down. Will advise.”

Shep transmits, the thumping rotor pounding through my earpiece. “Harry? You inside, or did you hit the wall?”

I respond softly, not sure what threats lie ahead. “I’m in. Keep up that air cover as long as you can.”

“Roger that,” Shep says.

I call to A.J. “Overwatch, I need you to buy us some time with the hostile QRF. It’s gonna take a while for three dudes to clear this place and organize the hostages.”

A.J. replies coolly, “I’ll see what I can do. Targeting the engine blocks on the trucks.”

I push the worry about the enemy outside of the house from my mind, and I focus on the enemy inside with me now. Moving up the well-lit passage with my rifle optic up to my eyes, I see door after door in front of me, like a hotel hallway. The door just ahead on my right opens and, without a moment’s hesitation, I lunge at it, impact the person on the other side, and push them up to a wall.

It’s a young woman with blue eyes filled with terror. I hold my gloved left hand over her mouth while she deals with the shock of everything that’s happening around her.

She’s wearing a T-shirt and panties, her sandy brown hair is pulled back in a ponytail, and it appears as if she’s just taken a shower.

It’s not Roxana, and I have no idea if I saw this woman in Mostar or not.

Leaning close to her, I say, “English?”

When she nods, I ask, “How many guards?”

I take away the hand, and she speaks with a pronounced accent, which I take to be Czech.

“I, I don’t know. Many. And new men here. White men. Maybe seven, eight? They have guns. They dressed like johns.”

“How many johns are here now?”

Again, she says, “I don’t know. Not many. Maybe five?”

I transmit quickly to Kareem and Rodney. “Be advised. Enemy personnel mixed in with the johns. Treat every male you see as potentially hostile.”

Rodney responds, “This ain’t our first rodeo, Harry.”

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