Page 26 of Hold On Through The Pain

The sky was getting darker, and Striker was ready to head out when a huge thunderstorm hit, making it impossible for them to move. The guys were antsy, and he didn’t blame them. Hell, he was antsy too and wanted to get this over and done with. Part of their crew had been hit hard; the mission was a failure so far. This group of idiots had placed themselves, and now others, in danger all because they didn’t want to stay at the embassy. If he were anywhere else but here, representing the US Army, he’d go off on a rant. This wasn’t the time or the place. He had to keep his cool because losing his mind while he was trying to protect people would end up hurting everyone in the end.

The storm cleared, and he rounded up his guys. They had five more miles to move before they hit the missile site. It was slow going with the water-logged mud, and streams that had gone froma trickle to near roaring rapids. It took them half the night to move the five miles.

Tired, he almost missed the clues when they were near their target. Another group of combatants was there. Striker and his team took cover, staying out of direct fire, but it was close. Some idiot fired an RPG at them, almost taking out the structure they were hiding behind.

“We have to end this,” Jackson said.

What an understatement. Being a snarky jerk wouldn’t help anyone, so he kept his voice even. “I know.” Striker moved into position, despite his throbbing headache. He blinked as he stared through his scope, hoping the pain wouldn’t mess him up. He needed all his focus, not just some of it.

More than twenty hours of heavy fire had drained them. Bishop’s crew was already injured, Whitney’s group was pinned in. Another RPG had struck the building they were holed up next to. The enemy was too close, and they would get resupplied, whereas his team wouldn’t, not until they took out the SAM site. There wouldn’t be another day of waiting. It was now or never.

His stomach tightened as he thought about what had to be done. Another RPG was fired and struck even closer. Dirt came down on them along with chunks of building. If only he could talk to Shannon one more time. He didn’t want to die here.

Striker pushed his pain away and concentrated. This was for Bishop and the guys. They had to get this unit offline. If he didn’t take this guy out, some of the men on his team would be dead and the embassy employees wouldn’t make it either. It was now or never.

12

A short breakin the firefight had Striker moving into position. He blew out a breath as he lined up the sight on his rifle. The man with the RPG had the thing loaded and was preparing to fire.

Striker’s throat closed with fear. He squeezed the trigger, staying steady though he was in the open and could be taken out at any moment.

The blast from his rifle echoed across the field and then there was silence. Had he done it?Another volley from his team struck true. There was no answering fire from the enemy.

“Is he down?” Jackson asked.

Brady lifted up, moving so he could look out the window. “No clue. Give me a second.”

Striker grabbed his sight monocular and looked at the man who’d been shooting off that devil of an RPG. Sure enough, he was slumped over, his arms hanging at his side.

“I got him,” Striker said.

“Good job,” Jackson called out. “It’s time to move out and get rid of that missile site.”

Striker didn’t allow the relief to get in his way of doing his job. Though they’d cleared the playing field, he still kept watch for more combatants to show up. Warzones were full of danger, and one slipup was enough to get you killed. The odds of surviving blew with the wind, so he had to remain flexible and aware.

Twenty yards from the missile site, he froze. The air seemed thick with danger. His throat closed as fear and anticipation twisted together.

“Something is off,” Jackson whispered.

“Way off,” Brady added.

Striker saw two guys decked out with rifles. This shit got very real, very fast.

“Two on the left side of the door,” Striker said.

“I got the one on the right.” Brady aimed his rifle, ready to fire.

Striker lifted his gun and prepared to take out the guy on his left. “Ready in three, two, one.”

They both fired, and both men dropped to the ground. Brady chuckled and then patted Striker on the back.

“Perfect timing,” Brady said. “That was good.”

“It was. Thank you. Good shot.” Striker waited a few seconds to make sure they were in the clear. When nothing else moved around them, he stood and headed toward the missile launcher.

Brady placed C4 at the base of the launcher and wired the firing device. With this bad boy gone, their helicopters would be able to move in. Brady tapped him on the shoulder, and they took off, making their way back to the resort. When they were fifty yards away, Brady blew the charges.

It was rewarding to see their hard work pay off.

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