Headed for Trouble - By Suzanne Brockmann Page 0,112

civilian—assisted Tomasin Montague and her family.

“Give Lieutenant Laughlin what he needs,” the senior ordered Rick gruffly, then shot Magic a “Keep your opinion to yourself, Kozinski.”

Shane glanced at his dive watch. He was right on schedule. “I know I’m no longer in command, but we should move into position to intercept, Senior Chief,” he said as Rick handed a new packet of wrapped syringes to him and he stashed them in his vest.

They’d all studied the terrain in advance of the op. There were two possible exit routes out of the village and farther up into the mountains. Tomasin Montague and her son would have to take one of them.

The senior chief frowned. Rick and Owen, too, were perplexed.

Magic was the only one who’d caught Shane checking his watch, and because he knew Shane as well as he did, he also knew what was coming.

Boom!

There it was. The first hit of the air strike Shane had called in. He’d radioed the coordinates of that abandoned farmhouse that they’d passed on their way up the mountain.

Boom-bah-dah-boom! Bah-boom! Bah-dah-boom! It sounded like fireworks going off as the land mines that surrounded the farmhouse began exploding, too.

“I had Dex check to make sure the farmhouse was still abandoned,” Shane told the senior as he gave himself another healthy dose of the local and pulled himself up to his feet. His ankle still ached like a mother, and it felt weird as shit, but it held his weight. He didn’t need Magic’s glower and dire words to know that walking on an injury like this could make the damage permanent. But his choices were limited, and he had to do what he had to do. “I figured I might as well take out as much of the minefield as possible—two birds with one stone.”

The noise of the attack was like a red alert siren down in the village, and sure enough, from their hillside vantage point, Shane could see a small group of people streaming out of the back of the school’s Quonset hut. They moved quickly but carefully, heading toward the steepest of the two paths up the hillside, as if this were something they’d drilled.

“Move into position on both paths,” the senior ordered. “In case this is a decoy. Eyes out for our mislabeled former target, ID her, let her pass, but then follow. We’ll catch up to her when she’s feeling more secure.” He looked at Shane, who nodded back.

That was exactly what Shane had intended and planned for. Montague, and the people protecting her, were no doubt frightened by the sound of the nearby bombing. They’d be likely to shoot first, without asking questions, at least at this stage of the game.

“Rick with Kozinski,” the senior continued. “Owen and the LT with me.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Owen said, looking from Shane to Salantino to Shane and then back, as he corrected himself, “I mean, Senior. But I finally broke into the rogue team’s communications, and the order’s just gone out to launch a mortar attack.”

And there it was. Shane heard it, and he knew his SEALs did, too. The whump of a mortar launching was unmistakable, as was the silence that immediately followed. There was no way to know what the target was, because you couldn’t hear the damn thing coming.

No whistle, no warning. Just sudden instant death.

But then it hit—a direct blast to the school’s Quonset hut—and they all heard that, loud and clear, as the explosion ripped through the night.

The place was still packed with people—mostly children.

Another whump followed, and the SEALs all started to run.

“Do whatever you have to, to end those motherfuckers, whoever they are,” Shane ordered the senior chief as he scrambled down the hillside, even though he had no right to dispense orders anymore. “Make them stop, then help the wounded! I’ll get the woman and her family to safety!”

“Don’t you dare get your ass killed by friendlies, LT,” the senior shouted back as he headed directly into the kill zone, Rick and Owen on his heels, even as he opened a radio signal to Dex.

“Magic, you’re with me,” Shane shouted, but the taller SEAL was already at his shoulder.

“My Pashto’s shitty, so I’ll start with French,” Magic said. “Because of the whole Canadian-father thing.”

“Just start talking, and don’t stop until you’re sure they’re not going to kill us,” Shane said as the group of villagers that were halfway up the steeper of the two trails stopped, turning to watch in horror as yet another