Page 130 of The 9th Man

“Can you two hear me?” he called out.

“We hear you.”

“Leave your weapons, grenades, and radios.”

“Go to hell.”

He put a round into the floorboards between them. “Guess you didn’t hear me. I said, leave your weapons, grenades, and radios.”

Each man shrugged off his equipment.

“Keep going and don’t look back.”

He waited until they left then ran out, collected their gear, and returned to the mine. In the distance he heard a flashbang detonation. Followed by shouts and sporadic gunfire that ceased almost immediately.

He did some quick mental math.

Between dead and wounded he’d removed four from the playing field. Of course, Talley would be keeping his own count. In most soldiers losing over half your number might cause hesitancy, but Talley was no ordinary soldier. Now is when he’d crank up the heat and seize the advantage.

He hustled back Jillian’s way with his cache.

“Change of plans,” he said to her.

“I’m listening.”

“Talley’s going to throw what’s left into the fray. When they find you, turn that walkway into hell. Don’t linger. Pour your ammunition onto them.”

He left her with one of the rifles and grenades. He still carried one of the flashbangs and shouldered the other rifle.

“You’re sure about this?” she asked.

“When you do, I’ll finish them.”

***

TALLEY SPOKE INTO HIS RADIO. “THIS IS BRAVO ONE. GIVE ME ANupdate on the wounded.”

“Stable, but no longer operational,” came the reply. “Daniels took their equipment. I suggest we split up and—”

“Negative, stay on mission. Find Stein’s position and overrun it. We grab her and Daniels will give up. Once you get the woman, do whatever it takes to get Daniels into the open. Is that clear? No holds barred.”

“Understood.”

***

LUKE DIDN’T HAVE TO LOOK UP TO KNOW TALLEY WAS SENDINGeveryone he had left into the fight. The roar of the Sikorsky’s engine converged over the meadow. The overlapping whomp of the rotors echoed and multiplied off the cliff faces until the cacophony filled his head. He kept his eyes fixed on the ore building’s west wall and bulldozed through the snowdrifts until what he judged was the last second, then dove headfirst into the powder.

He rolled onto his back and went still.

He would only get one chance to do this, and his window of opportunity would last mere seconds. He’d learned the hard way in Afghanistan that helos are at their most vulnerable when hovering for troop recovery or deployment, which was why most of them came equipped with a door gunner. The trick would be how quickly that gunner pinned down Luke’s firing position.

Overhead the Sikorsky swooped into view, banked hard over the millhouse, and stopped in a hover. Given the confines of the meadow, the only landing sites left were on the east and west sides. He readied the automatic rifle and rolled into a prone firing position, sighted on the door, and squeezed the trigger. His first burst went wide so he adjusted the aim and sent the next into the Sikorsky’s cabin. The door gunner responded, issuing an orange stream of bullets that ripped into the equipment shed and the headframe building. He centered his fire on the shadowed figure with an automatic rifle.

And fired.

The man fell back.

The gun went silent.

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