“Pitbull?” Jake held his breath, awaiting his friend’s response.
“I’m good,” Pitbull said. “Shaken, not stirred. I shot the truck driver before he hit.”
“Good. Everyone else,” Jake said, “sound off.”
In quick succession, the other four men reported in.
“Harm.”
“T-Mac.”
“Buck.”
“Diesel.”
A man leaped up from the ground and ran toward Jake.
The navy SEAL fired, cutting him down, only to have another man take his place and rush his position. He pulled the trigger. At the last minute, the attacker swerved right. The bullet nicked him, but didn’t slow him down.
Jake pulled the trigger again, only nothing happened. He pushed the release button, and the magazine dropped at the same time as he reached for another. Slamming the full magazine into the weapon, Jake fired point-blank as the man flung himself at Jake.
The bullet sailed right through the man’s chest, and he fell on top of Jake.
For a moment, Jake was crushed by the man’s weight. He couldn’t move and couldn’t free his hands to fire his weapon.
Gunfire blasted all around. Dust choked the air and made locating the enemy difficult at best.
Jake pushed aside the dead man and glanced around.
“They fell back,” Buck said. “But they’re regrouping.”
“Get in the rear SUV and get the hell out of here,” Jake said. “I’ll cover.”
Buck and T-Mac jumped into the rear SUV. Diesel revved the engine and raced up to the destroyed one.
The doors were flung open. “Get in,” Buck said.
Harm ran alongside the vehicle, refusing to get inside. Pitbull pulled himself into the front passenger seat.
The enemy soldiers raced to follow them.
Jake laid down suppressive fire, emptying a thirty-round magazine in seconds.
“We’re not leaving without you!” Harm yelled.
Jake shook his head and kept firing. “Get in the damned vehicle. I’ll remain on the ground and cover.”
Harm complied and the SUV moved forward, using the crashed SUV for cover.
Jake popped out the expended magazine and slammed in one of the last two he had.
The enemy soldiers either hit the ground when they caught a bullet, or dived low to avoid getting hit. Either way, Jake’s gunfire slowed their movement. But not for long. “Go!” he yelled, lurched to his feet and backed up to the enemy truck without letting up his suppressive fire against the oncoming threat. “You have to leave now. It’s the only way any of us are getting out of this alive.”
Jake flung open the door of the truck, dragged the dead driver out and climbed behind the steering wheel. He hung his rifle out the window and fired with his left hand. “I’ll head for the hills, head south, get to safety and come back when you have sufficient backup.” He started the engine and attempted to reverse. The front grill of the truck hung on the grill of the damaged SUV.
“I don’t like it,” Diesel said into Jake’s earpiece.
“You don’t have to,” Jake said. “Just go before I run out of bullets.”
Diesel pulled away in the SUV.
Jake fired again, laying down a barrage of bullets at the men advancing on his position. He ducked low as bullets hit the windshield and pinged off the metal frame of the truck. He shifted into Drive, hit the accelerator and slammed the SUV. Then he shoved the shift into Reverse and gunned the engine. The SUV dragged along with him for several feet until the front grill broke free.
Jake backed up fast and considered racing after the other SUV. But, already, another truck had appeared from the direction of the village. If he didn’t take out the oncoming vehicle, the rest of his team would gain little lead time on the enemy.
Shifting into Drive, Jake revved the engine and shifted his foot off the brake. The truck shot forward, plowing through the line of attackers, knocking some down and scattering the rest.
Driving head-on toward the truck, Jake held true, daring the other driver to back down first but guessing he wouldn’t.
At the last moment, Jake grabbed his rifle, flung open the door and threw himself out of the truck. He hit the ground hard, tucked and somersaulted, his weapon pressed close to his chest.
The truck he’d been driving plowed into the other with the clash of metal on metal. Both vehicles shook and then settled, smoke and steam rising from the engines.
Jake didn’t wait around to see what the remaining jihadist would do. He jerked a smoke grenade from his vest, pulled the ring, tossed it behind him and then ran toward the only cover he had—the short, squat mud-and-stick huts of the village clustered against a bluff. He figured the enemy wouldn’t start looking for him there.
He prayed he was right. From the intel briefing they’d received, the ISIS faction was alive and well in the Tillabéri region of southwestern Niger and was known for the extreme torture tactics they used against their foes. He refused to be one of their victims. He’d die fighting rather than be captured. Surrender wasn’t an option.
* * *
REVEREND TOWNSEND BURST through the door of the makeshift schoolhouse, interrupting Alex’s reading lesson. “Alex, get the children out of the building. Now!”
Alexandria Parker’s heart leaped into her throat. “Why? What’s wrong?”
The reverend’s wrinkled face was tense, his hands shaking as he waved children toward the door. “Kamathi just came through the village and told everyone to get out. If I hadn’t been there, I wouldn’t have known.”
Alex closed her reading book. “Why do we have to leave?”
“Al-Waseka is coming.”
Fear rippled through Alex. One of the men in the village had been captured by al-Waseka, the most notorious Islamic State leader in all of Niger. He had been beaten, whipped and burned in many places on his body. The only reason he’d survived was because they’d thrown his body off the back of a truck, presuming he was dead. He’d crawled under a bush and waited until his captors had left the area. Then he’d used what little energy he had remaining to wait near the road for the next friendly vehicle to pass. Fortunately, it had been the good reverend’s.
In his seventies, Reverend Townsend got around well for his age. He worked hard and never complained. The villagers loved him and treated the white-haired old man and his wife like family.
Standing in Alex’s makeshift schoolroom, he appeared to have aged ten years. “By the time I left the village, every man, woman and child had gone. They ran into the hills. We have to get these children out of the orphanage as quickly as possible. Take them into the hills.”
Alex waved to her assistant, Fariji, the tall young man who’d been more than happy to help her with her lessons and, in the process, was learning to read himself. “Help me get the children out.”
“Yes, Miss Alex.” He had the older kids hold hands with the younger ones and led them out the door.
Alex herded the rest of the children toward the door. “Leave your books,” she said. “Older children, help the younger ones.”
The children bottlenecked at the door, where the reverend hurried them through. Once they were all outside, he faced the children. “Follow Miss Alex and Fariji,” he said. “Stay with them.”
Alex turned to the reverend. “Where do I go in the hills?”