Page 37 of Indirect Attack
It was time.
The squad drew into formation, and we went dark, covering the last mile slowly, carefully, and silently. I was aware of every movement around us, behind every rock and every tree—every sense was crackling with tension, I knew, elsewhere beyond our hearing and senses, other squads converged on the same space. I had no idea where they were at this point, but I hadn’t heard any sounds of engagement yet. Whether that was a good sign or bad, I didn’t know. It could mean the terrorists weren’t lying in waitfor us, or it could mean we all were walking straight into a trap they just hadn’t sprung yet.
Ahead of us, a stone skittered. Thirteen rifles pointed in the direction, only for a deer to skip out from between the trees. It looked at us for a long moment, frozen, before leaping away, hooves on the rocky ground loud in the night’s quiet.
I heard Mitchell let out a relieved breath, and we exchanged glances, knowing I felt the same way.
At the designated coordinates, a place chosen beforehand, we stopped. I pulled the map from my gear and laid it out on a rock.
“We’re here.” I pointed to the rock formation rising around us. “Intelligence puts the terrorist base here.” My finger traced a path a quarter of a mile away.
“Our squad’s primary goal is to rescue the hostage, alive, and neutralize any combatant. She is our main priority. The other squads will focus on engagement, hopefully drawing fire away from us. Air support will come if we need it.”
I glanced at my watch before rolling up the map—it was nearly time for the coordinated attack. I waved my men forward, Mitchell on my six, their muted footfalls the only sounds.
By my estimation, we were only a few yards out when the fighting began—machinegun fire echoing through the trees from somewhere off to my right. Either a squad had attacked early, or they’d sprung the terrorists’ trap.
More gunfire erupted from our left now, the air filled with noise and shouts. That was the end of any surprise we had—now we could only pray the other squads provided enough cover so we could find our way inside and rescue Jasmine.
I gave the signal, and we converged swiftly on the terrorist camp. As they’d promised, the intelligence team had already cut some of the wire away on a small, out-of-the-way piece of fencing. Mitchell and another soldier widened it until it was big enough for us to slip through.
The terrorist base was in chaos, flashes going off, gunfire everywhere, shouts filling the air. Somewhere close, a grenade went off with a flash of light that lit the darkness and a bang I could feel through the soles of my boots, followed by screams.
But the other squads kept attention away from us—no one seemed to be tracking my men and me. We made our way quickly and efficiently to the building intelligence had marked as the probable place they were holding Jasmine.
Mitchell took out one terrorist who popped up, and several of my squad peeled off to deal with an attack from our right. One of my men fell, a bullet in his arm, and another signaled he would get him out. The building came into view, and we took on fire as the two men standing guard before the old side door saw us coming at them through the dark. But with our strength in numbers, we neutralized them quickly.
Pressing ourselves against either side of the door, Mitchell and I exchanged a nod before I pulled open the door just enough to throw in a flash grenade and shut it again. I heard the sound of the grenade go off, followed by yells, the only signal we needed.
We burst in firing, taking a gamble that Jasmine wasn’t in this hallway. But all we saw on the ground around us as the smoke cleared were terrorists. The hallway before us split into two—I sent half my remaining squad one way and motioned for the rest to follow me.
We moved cautiously down a long corridor that ended in a single door, and though I heard engagement echoing back to me from the opposite direction, it was oddly empty. An awareness of something prickled on the back of my neck, something Mitchell felt as well because we shared another glance.
Do we go?he seemed to ask.
But we had nowhere to go but forward, and I nodded.
With my hand on the knob, I signaled for the two soldiers behind me to stay and cover our backs, then motioned for Mitchell to follow me. Then, I yanked the door open.
I pressed myself back against the wall, expecting gunfire. But none came.
Pausing for another half a second, I pushed through the doorway first, Mitchell at my back. The stairway was dim, and every sense strained to hear, to see, to listen—anything that would give me a hint of what waited below.
But I wasn’t prepared for what awaited us at the bottom of the steps.
A large man stood in the center of a room lit only by a single lightbulb, his dark eyes glittering and trained directly on me. He stood beside a rusty, old pole, maybe a plumbing pipe. Chained to the pipe was Jasmine, the terrorist’s gun aimed at her head.
Our eyes met for a moment, hers large and filled with tears and terror.
Then the terrorist’s face split into a large, malicious grin. “Benjamin Rusev, welcome to your death.”
I had less than a heartbeat before my fate and Jasmine’s was sealed. It all came down to who could pull the trigger first.
The sound of gunfire echoed through the room, and then all went still and dark.
Chapter 18
Jasmine
