Triple Team: A Military Reverse Harem Romance, page 27
The man that came running into the room was dressed in black and held a pistol in his hand. His dark eyes went to Blanco’s body first, which gave me enough time to aim and put two bullets in his chest. The gun fell from his hand and he crumpled like a rag doll.
“Okay,” Donovan said. “Let’s go!”
He pushed me out the window first—I had to trust that it was safe to go. Down the drain pipe I slid until my boots hit soft dirt. Donovan was close behind. Just as he reached me, more bullets started hitting the side of the building. We circled around the house until we were behind cover.
“We’re out,” Donovan said into his mic. “Think we can steal the helicopter?”
It was right there in the open, totally unguarded. We might be vulnerable while we sprinted to it, but if we could use that to escape we—
Without warning the helicopter exploded in a burst of flame and black smoke. Donovan pulled me back around the side of the house as smoldering debris landed on the open ground and bounced off the roof of the house.
“Goddamnit, Gregor,” Donovan growled. I heard what sounded suspiciously like a tinny cackle float out of his helmet earpiece.
He turned to me: “Time to run.”
We sprinted toward the trees, not bothering to stop to take cover along the way. Gunshots rang out ahead of us, and above: the muzzle flash told me Michael was up in the tree, sniping targets behind us. He must have done a good job covering us because we reached the trees unharmed.
Donovan immediately took cover behind the low wall and began firing back toward the house. Moments later Gregor came running across the ground, diving over the wall and sliding across the wet dirt in front of me.
“Sup girl,” he said smoothly.
“You had to blow it up, didn’t you?” Donovan said.
“Sorry, my man. I wired it with a timed explosive as soon as we got back.”
“Probably would’ve been too hot to use anyway,” Donovan muttered. “Michael! Time to bug out.”
“I will catch up,” he called down, punctuating it with another gunshot. Down by the house someone screamed as they were hit.
We ran through the jungle single-file. It was like our previous exit, except now the entire cartel army was chasing us.
I was still totally numb to the events around me. I killed Blanco. I repeated the thought in my head again and again, but it held no meaning. It was like it hadn’t happened at all.
But I knew it had. I’d pulled the trigger. I’d watched the light go out of his eyes. It was what I had dreamed about for years.
So why didn’t this feel like victory?
“You okay, kiddo?” Gregor asked, jogging alongside me.
“Sure.”
“Not that I’m unhappy you gave me a chance to play with all my toys,” he said, “but next time, maybe warn us before you go off script?”
“Can we have this argument later?” Donovan hissed.
We continued north, high-stepping through the thick jungle. I tripped over a high root and faceplanted in the dirt, but Gregor was there hauling me back up on my feet before I could complain. The mosquitoes were huge and left big red smears on my arms where I smacked them. The humidity was quickly rising along with the sun. I was glad to be missing my helmet since it gave me some fresh air on my face.
So long as a stray bullet didn’t hit me.
The enormous explosion from inside the bunker was unmistakably. We were half a click north of the compound when it went off and it still knocked all three of us off our feet. Like having the rug pulled out from under us without warning. The trees shook violently and a million birds took flight, screaming in the air all around us. The frenzied noises from the other jungle animals made it difficult to hear Gregor’s laughter.
“Oh baby!” he said. “Haven’t set one off that big in a long time. I’m gonna need to see my doctor in four hours, if you know what I mean.”
Donovan put his hand to his ear. “You get away in time?” A pause. “Good. We’re booking it to the river. Last one there buys tonight’s round of beer.”
The rest of our frantic run north passed uneventfully. No line of cartel soldiers appeared ahead of us with their guns drawn. No more explosions rang out in the jungle behind us. It was like Gregor’s bunker bombs had made the entire cartel throw down their weapons and run.
By the time we reached the river we were drenched with sweat. It had been a long time since I had run more than a mile. Donovan stopped at the edge of the trees and looked up and down the river.
“Looks like we beat him here,” Gregor said.
Donovan sighed. “Yeah. Guess I’m the best candidate to swim across the river to retrieve the rafts.”
Before he could strip off his gear we saw something floating across the river. It was tough to see him because of the way the sunlight reflected off the river surface, but we quickly realized it was a man swimming, towing a floating crate behind him. Michael swam right up to the shore and stood up on the bank. He wore nothing but a pair of tight boxers, and he stretched his arms over his head like he had only gone for an early morning swim.
“I will not be buying the beer tonight,” he declared, picking a few stray leeches off his body. His olive skin glistened with moisture, somehow making his corded muscles pop out even more. Even though I was still in shock from the events that had happened, the sight of him with the sun rising over his shoulder gave me the tiniest lady-boner.
While Michael jogged upriver to retrieve his gear, Gregor and I opened the crate and pulled out the tactical rafts. They were made of thick rubber and inflated by pulling a rip-cord, which activated a tiny tube of compressed air. Watching them unfold and then pop into form was like watching one of those bathtub water tablets magically turn into a sponge dinosaur.
Before we could load them with gear, we heard the rumbling of engines. Seconds later a line of boats came around the bend downriver, several hundred yards away.
“What are the odds they just want to give us a high-five for a job well done?” Gregor asked while grabbing his binoculars.
“Honestly, they might be locals,” Donovan whispered. “Our intel said fishing is popular on the river, especially right after dawn, so if we let them pass, we—”
Muzzle flashes like camera bulbs flickered from the boats, with the sound of gunfire reaching us moments later.
“So much for that idea.”
“Too late to hide.” Michael rested his sniper rifle against the trunk of a tree and began returning fire one bullet at a time.
“What do we do?” I asked.
The boats turned away from us and headed straight for the shore. Men hopped out and took cover in the trees, then began returning fire at us. All the while Michael’s rifle barked every few seconds.
“We can make a run for it,” Donovan said. “We should be safe once we sail around the bend in the river. But we’re sitting ducks out there on the water.”
Suddenly, across the river a flare shot into the sky. It blossomed into a bright red starburst, leaving an afterimage floating across my vision when I blinked.
“I see more men through the trees by that flare,” Gregor said. “They’ve got the river surrounded. It’s a death trap if we try to fight our way through. We need a new plan.”
“Fuck!” Donovan cursed. “It’s only a matter of time before they surround us…”
I didn’t think it could get any worse, but of course I was wrong.
The worst possible sound we could have heard drifted through the air: the thumping of helicopter rotors. It burst into view to the north, curving around the bend in the river while it flew low. It was a dark green color, and machine guns bristled on either side of the cockpit as it turned toward our location.
“Guess we know what that flare was for,” Gregor said. “Time to get the fuck out of here.”
“We can’t leave the rafts!” Donovan said. “We’re dead if we don’t get to the airfield.”
“We’re dead if we stay,” Gregor shot back.
“I may be able to hit the pilot,” Michael said. He went to one knee and aimed his rifle at a 45-degree angle. “Pray the glass is not bulletproof…”
“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” Gregor muttered as the helicopter slowed down, leveling out as it took aim. The two miniguns on the side of the cockpit would shred everything around us like a buzzsaw cutting across the jungle. But I wasn’t afraid. I still felt nothing but the same cold numbness in my chest. This didn’t matter. What happened after didn’t matter.
Nothing mattered anymore.
We waited for Michael to fire. Instead, he lowered his rifle.
“Michael? You want to do something?” Donovan asked in a worried tone.
“The flag on the side is green,” he said. “I think it is Brazilian…”
Gregor’s jaw dropped. “We’ll I’ll be damned. I’d recognize that mullet anywhere! Ernest!”
I stole the binoculars from him and looked for myself. Ernest was piloting the helicopter toward us, waving his hand like a mom greeting the afternoon school bus. I started laughing, and then the others joined in.
“He’s going to pick us up,” Donovan said. “Come on!”
Ernest got as close to the trees as he dared, then lowered a rope ladder down the side. We had to wade out into the river to reach it. Donovan pushed me ahead of him. “You first. Before they realize…”
Gunshots rang out all around us as the cartel realized the helicopter was here to help us. Michael stood tall in the water, firing his rifle to give us some semblance of cover while I climbed into the air. Bullets whizzed through the air all around me. Hand over hand I gripped each rung, certain that at any moment one of the bullets would find me and send me falling to my death.
I reached the helicopter and pulled myself up into one of the passenger seats. Ernest twisted in the cockpit and grinned at me. He was wearing those stupid Kanye West sunglasses with the plastic slats across them.
“What’s up darlin’? You look like you gone and killed a drug lord, am I right, or am I right?”
“I’ve never been so happy to hear a redneck drawl,” I said.
“Redneck? Honey, I’m a southern gentleman. This here’s a classy accent. What say we cut this ladder loose and you and I head back to Quito for our own little party, yeah?”
I gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Some other time.”
He grinned like he’d won the lottery. “Do me a favor and tell them other hombres to hurry the fuck up before we’re shot down.”
I helped Donovan up next, then we both pulled Gregor into the cabin. Michael was almost there when a spray of gunfire hit the side of the helicopter. Sparks flew across my vision.
“Motherfucker!” Ernest yelled. “Hold on tight, amigos—we’re gonna shut these assholes up for good.”
He banked the helicopter away. Michael’s ladder swung back and forth while we held on for dear life inside. I managed to climb into one of the seats and fasten the harness over my chest. Ernest leveled the helicopter out facing the opposite river bank where the boats had parked.
“Eat shit, fuckers!” he shouted as he mashed his thumb down on the control stick. The entire helicopter vibrated as the guns spun, filling the air with a deafening BRRRRRRHHHRRRRR sound. The muzzle flash from the guns was like two sunrises on either side of the cockpit.
“How the fuck do you like that!” Ernest shouted. “Y’all could’ve left Ernest alone but no, y’all had to be dicks about it. Now y’all got a bigger problem. This baby spits bullets as big as steak knives! Yeah, get sooooome!”
When he stopped firing a huge section of the jungle had been carved away by the barrage of bullets. Trees crumbled and pieces of leaves floated down all around. Nobody returned fire now.
“That’s what I thought,” Ernest said into the sudden silence.
I made eye contact with Donovan. He and Gregor had small grins on their faces, and Gregor was shaking his head slightly.
We got Michael the rest of the way up, then cut the ladder. The tall Israeli slumped into his seat and closed his eyes.
“What’s up my dudes?” Ernest asked as we turned east toward the sun, flying over the treetops and away from the river. “Y’all enjoy your little hike?”
“It was nice and relaxing,” Donovan said. “Thanks for asking.”
“More importantly, thanks for the evac,” I said. “How’d you know?”
Ernest snorted. “Y’all created one hell of a ruckus over at the airfield. Radio chatter like the whole goddamn world was ending, know what I’m sayin’? They had this bird parked there for some maneuvers they were planning on doing tonight. But I’m their best bud in the whole wide world so they let me take her for a spin.”
“They just let you take it?” I asked.
“Well… After I gave them a few cases of world-class American beer. Budweiser’s better than cash around these parts.”
“American piss water,” Michael said with a laugh.
“Boy, that beer saved your life today,” Ernest shot over his shoulder. “I’m gonna hold you down and give you a Budweiser tattoo on your ass when we get back to Quito.”
“Still got to get us there first.”
We reached Vila Bittencourt 15 minutes later. It was hardly a village at all: just a dozen metal-roofed shacks and a ruin of a landing strip cut out of the jungle. It looked like it hadn’t been used in ages. The moment Ernest put the helicopter down men in Brazilian uniforms came running up.
“Y’all let me take care of them,” Ernest said. “Just get to my plane and wait. Ola meus amigos! E otimo ver voce de novo!”
We slipped out of the helicopter and jogged toward the airfield where his plane Dorothy waited. Behind us Ernest was arguing with the soldiers. The Portuguese words sounded hilarious with his thick country accent. Like an American tourist trying to order dinner in a restaurant by speaking louder and louder.
By the time we boarded the plane and strapped in Ernest was already on his way over. “No problem,” he said while wiping sweat off his head. “No problem at all.”
“They are fine with us departing?” Michael asked.
“Not exactly. Not really at all, actually.” He started flipping switches and preparing the plane to leave. The propellers on either wing began spinning. “They’re real butt-hurt about their chopper gettin’ filled with bullet holes. They want to have a, shall we say, longer chat.”
The plane began moving. The soldiers down at the other end pointed and started waving.
“Ernest,” Donovan said. “They’re not going to shoot us down, are they?”
“No way, amigo,” he flashed a smile. “I mean, probably not. They’re madder’n a gator with a toothache right now, but this is Señor Ernesto we’re talkin’ about!”
The plane bounced along the uneven runway as it picked up speed. Aside from the Brazilian soldiers aiming their guns at us, I was terrified that the plane would hit a pothole and crash right then and there.
Gregor suddenly pointed at the soldiers on the ground and said, “Are those…?”
Ernest shot a glance over his shoulder. “Oh, those shoulder-mounted rocket doodads? Don’t you worry your pretty head about those, no siree!” He paused. “Okay, maybe worry about those just a little bit. Y’all religious? Jesus, Mohammad? That weird Mormon dude? Might not hurt to pray a bit, is all I’m sayin’.”
“They’re aiming…” said Gregor, deadpan.
I ducked and covered my head—which was dumb, because what were my hands going to do if we got hit with a rocket?—but after a few very long moments of nothing hitting the plane, I took them away again.
Nobody cheered as we climbed into the air. Not even Ernest. The primary reaction we all had was relief. I sank back into my chair, suddenly exhausted down to my bones.
The plane banked as we turned north-west toward home.
43
Juliana
The plane ride back to Quito was quiet. I wasn’t sure if my teammates slept, but they did keep their eyes closed. The exhaustion that came after several hours of adrenaline was powerful. Even though I was still too wired to sleep I didn’t want to do anything but sit there, savoring the sensation of not moving.
We landed at Ernest’s little runway that afternoon. “Y’all don’t need to put your tray tables and seat backs up, ‘cause we don’t require that bullshit on Ernest Airlines,” he announced.
“We’ve got a bonus for you,” Donovan said as the engines cut off. “To fix up Dorothy after all the trouble.”
We hopped out of the plane and then he handed Ernest a handful of the gold Bitcoin markers. “Bro, I hope y’all didn’t go all that way just for these,” he said. “Bitcoin’s held on the blockchain. Not some stupid coins.”
“Look more closely,” Michael said. “The private keys are engraved underneath the sticker.”
Ernest peeled away the center of the coin and practically jumped with joy. “Oh fuck, that’s what I’m talkin’ about! How much is on each of these bad boys?”
“About $10,000 each,” Donovan said. “Give or take.”
“Sweet Mary!” Ernest hugged him, then did the same to me. “This calls for a celebration. Y’all want margaritas? ‘Course you do. Let me whip up a pitcher. Nothin’ says a job well done like gettin’ a good day-buzz going.”
He disappeared inside while the four of us lingered on the runway. Dust swirled around our legs as the wind picked up.
“You did it,” Michael said, turning to me. “I can tell.”
“Did what?”
“When we rescued you from the compound, I made sure to shoot JGB in the gut,” he explained. “So that you could be the one to finish him off. The look in your eyes tells me that you did.”
I had been replaying it the entire flight back to Quito. I slipped away from my teammates. I sneaked back into the house. I put a gun to his head. I was captured, but I also got to explain to Blanco why I was going to kill him. That was infinitely better than him dying without knowing.
So why didn’t I feel satisfied?
“Not what you thought it would be?” Donovan asked quietly.
