The man shot back a look of confusion. Jonathan repeated the command in Afrikaans and received the same nonresponse.
Reece looked back into the valley and saw the hound trailing the creek toward the log that had been Raife’s Alamo.
“I’ll go check on Raife,” Reece said.
“Right. I’ve got this bloke.”
Reece didn’t run directly into the valley. Instead he took the high ground that made a sweeping path to his left, following in the footsteps of the assault team. He held his weapon at the low ready as he ran, just in case any of the bad guys decided they were no longer dead, remembering more than a few soldiers had been killed that way. It took two minutes for Reece to cover the distance to where the bodies were scattered. As he arrived, he yelled out to announce his presence to Raife. No sense getting shot by your best friend.
“Raife, it’s me!”
Reece checked each body as he approached, tossing weapons aside as he moved. The first stared skyward with lifeless eyes and the second hadn’t stirred from his face plant since Reece had hit him with Black Hills’ finest 77-grain projectile. He held his weapon at the ready and gave the boulder a wide berth as he approached the third figure, but his efforts were unnecessary; the head shot had been immediately and predictably fatal. The last downed man had been the one Raife shot before Reece had arrived and, despite what looked like a serious chest wound, he was still alive. Reece kicked the man’s rifle away as he fought for breath. Reece would render aid only after he was sure that his friend was safe and the fight was won.
He watched as Raife rose to one knee and changed magazines, relieved beyond belief that his friend was uninjured. Reece strode down the hill toward him and felt a smile spread across his own face as Raife clambered to his feet. Raife walked to where he’d ditched his bow and held it up in two pieces, its limb split by gunfire. Zulu stood nearby, his tail wagging so hard that it swung his torso like a pendulum.
“I thought you were going to kill that buck today?”
“Guess I’m slipping.”
“Maybe you should put some shoes on, in case there are any more bad guys to kill.”
“A rifle might be a good idea, too.”
“Good plan. We have two wounded,” Reece said, changing subjects. “This guy here and one Jonathan has detained up on the ridge.”
“Where’s Annika?”
“She’s okay. She’s with Katie, Liz, Thorn, and your mom at the house.”
“Good, Mom can take care of them, but we need to get back there, now.”
Raife worked his way up the creek bank to retrieve his boots and pack and, within minutes, had linked back up with Reece. Reece had a basic aid kit in his pack and was working to assess the man’s wounds. Saving this man’s life was a simple matter of necessity; they needed information. Raife shook his head as the man expired from the shot that had taken out both his lungs.
The last living attacker was seated against a pine tree. Jonathan was standing over him doing his best not to pull the trigger as the two SEALs approached.
“Jonathan, can you bring the truck down? Let’s throw this guy in and get to the house.”
The attacker was pale and his BDU top was soaked with blood. Reece unbuttoned the surplus uniform and cut through the undershirt. Beyond the blood, the man’s entire chest and abdomen were covered with crude ink: prison tattoos.
Reece did a primary assessment, noting the gut wound and an entry wound six inches above the knee. The leg was contorted, and Reece guessed his distal femur was shattered. He heard the sound of a vehicle approaching as Jonathan pulled the Cruiser into a nearby clearing and opened the tailgate. He carried a blanket from the SUV and spread it out next to their prisoner.
“Raife, can you grab a tourniquet from the driver’s-side door?”
“Sure thing, mate.”
Raife tossed the tourniquet to his friend, who quickly applied it six inches above the wound. Reece then stuffed some gauze into the hole in the man’s stomach.
“Let’s move him,” Reece said, positioning him and rolling him onto the blanket.
Their detainee screamed in pain as his severed femur ground into the flesh and arteries of his leg when they loaded him into the cargo area of the Toyota. A swift rifle butt to the head from Jonathan knocked