The Valley: A Lee Harden Novel, page 36
“Hey, when she’s right, she’s right,” Lander said, grinning. Then he looked over his shoulder. “That wasn’t even one of our big boys, Bea. I call that one Bobo, because he’s a runt and a fucking idiot.” He turned his gaze back on her, and though he was still smiling, everything in his face had changed. “Wouldn’t do me much good if you gave into a runt. No, I need better genetics than that. It needs to be one of the big ones. The strong ones. The smart ones. You need to save yourself for one of them. So, like Freya so aptly put it: fight harder.”
And before Bea could even wrap her brain around that level of defilement, Lander started running again. Bea was yanked up to her feet by her elbow, and shoved after him.
“Go,” Freya growled. “Run.”
Chapter 35
Full dark.
Lee had been watching the sky, like a kid wondering how long until the fireworks start. Except his impatience was much less excitement and a lot more nerves.
Funny how that works. When he was a spry, young corporal, he hadn’t even been all that scared before his very first engagement. Still full of piss and vinegar, he’d figured he was a badass, trained and equipped by the greatest military in the world, blah-blah-blah. Sure, he was a little jittery—heart definitely got thumping, that’s for sure. But other than that, it felt less like going into combat, and more like walking out to his first football game.
But that was because the consequences weren’t real to him. Yet.
Over the years, the consequences had become oh-so-clear. The last six years in particular had taught him that no matter your training, your experience, or your equipment, you couldn’t account for every variable. Sometimes bad shit happened, and there wasn’t a damn thing you could do about it.
And from his vantage point on that hill overlooking the ranch, Lee knew this was far from an ideal situation. Training and experience they had. Equipment was…lacking. He sure as shit would’ve liked to have his personal pack, with its NVGs and spare boots. And while he was wishing, he would’ve liked to have a support platoon. And some air support. And a medevac.
Hell, he and Marie didn’t even have their regular rifles. They’d had to go with minion rifles.
But, what he had was this: Himself and Abe and Jones and Marie.
One marksman.
One ground pounder.
Two grenadiers.
And a clear sky with a bright half-moon for illumination.
He had every reason in the world to worry, and worry he did. In a combat environment—more specifically, this combat environment—rational thinking was no antidote for anxiety. Because his fears were very rational. That was the problem.
So when he thought of the faces of each member of his team, and wondered if they were going to die tonight, he didn’t even have the respite of telling himself his fears were unfounded. Casualties were not only possible, but probable.
So, instead of trying to calm himself, which was a fool’s errand, he did what he’d learned to do long ago: Stop thinking. Focus only on the moment right in front of you. Let the innumerable possibilities of the future fall away.
It was only his vast experience that allowed him to do this. Because he knew he could trust himself. He didn’t need to anticipate every eventuality. If the eventuality arrived, he knew he could handle it in that moment.
He’d had a few special forces instructors that would’ve shit a brick to hear him say that. But at this point, Lee’d been stuck in the shit for six years straight, without a single break. The experience of those instructors and how they kept themselves alive—as well as sane—wasn’t even comparable anymore. Lee’s experience had surpassed previous military wisdom.
Probably ‘cause humans aren’t meant to do this shit for six years straight.
But whatever. He hadn’t lost his marbles yet. Hell, he was probably one of the world’s leading experts on how not to go apeshit in constant combat.
So, Lee put them all out of his mind. The images of his friends bleeding out and gurgling. The intimate knowledge of how that would mess with his head—not immediately, but later. In the dark. In the quiet. Whenever sleep was hard to find.
He put it all out of his mind, and thought only this:
Twelve armed combatants.
Four assaulters.
One hostage.
That was all that mattered.
He marked the location of the primary threats through his binos, then stowed them. Six of the twelve combatants were currently visible, patrolling or standing guard inside the fenceline of the ranch. The other six consisted of the four men that Lee had seen go into the main ranch house—presumably to guard Sam—along with Bran and Colin Horner himself.
The worst threat came from the two guys with what Lee assumed were coyote rifles. AR platforms with what looked like thermal scopes on them. The frequency with which they kept scanning the dark hills around them through their scopes led Lee to believe his suspicion was correct.
Abe had also weighed in, as the optic on his rifle was higher-powered than Lee’s binoculars, and he could see the weapon systems in more detail. Abe concurred that they were probably thermals, so they’d all been very careful to keep their heat signatures out of sight.
Lee slid backwards down the slope until he was confident his heat signature wouldn’t be detected, then rolled onto his side. The moonlight on Marie’s face cast her expression as severe.
“You ready?” he whispered as he hefted the M32.
“Yuh.” Her voice was tight.
“Focus on the moment,” Lee said, offering a confident smile that he didn’t feel.
Her eyes narrowed at him. “Yeah. Live, laugh, love, and all that horseshit. Let’s just fucking go.”
Lee sidled up onto his knees, and then into a squat. Keyed his comms. His voice came out a bit strained as he clenched himself against the pain from his earlier beating. “Abe, you good to go?”
“Yeah, we’re set,” the reply came back.
“Are you good?” Marie asked, looking at Lee pointedly.
“Nah, I think I’ll just sit here and lick my wounds.”
“Smartass.”
“Well, what the fuck do you want me to say, Marie?” Lee grouched under his breath. “Doesn’t matter if we’re fucked up. Still gotta do it.”
Marie looked at him for a long time. Or at least, he thought she was looking at him. The shadows across her face turned her eyes into black pits. Eventually she nodded and rose to one knee. “Alright then.”
He could tell there was a lot more she wanted to say. He preferred to imagine they would’ve been kind, encouraging words, recent history be damned.
He turned back in the direction of the ranch, now blocked by the top of the hill. Keyed his comms once more. “We’re a go. It’s on you, Abe.”
Abe took one big breath in through his nose, and let it out slow through pursed lips. At the end of the breath, he murmured into his mic, “Roger that. Standby to move.”
Through his scope, the details of the ranch below stood in monochromatic moonlight blue. He would’ve liked to have some sort of night optic, but a bright moon would have to do. He did have his NVGs, as did Jones, but they were unfortunately not compatible with his rifle scope. The ESR had a night-vision attachment, but that didn’t do him much good at this point.
God, he wished he had his ESR.
His crosshairs had drifted just a bit as he’d transmitted back to Lee. He eased them back onto target.
His target stood near the ranch’s main gate, facing away from Abe. He wore an old ball cap instead of the cowboy hat that the others seemed to prefer. He held a rifle with the front end resting on a fence post. One of the rifles with a thermal optic.
Usually, if Abe were doing a night op, he’d wait until the wee hours of the morning. Two reasons why that wasn’t so great in this situation: One, they didn’t know how long Sam had; and two, the residual heat of the day would provide some cover for Lee and Marie’s heat signatures. Or so they hoped. Thermal imaging spotted heat differences, not just heat. Every hour they waited, the ground cooled, and a 98-degree thermal signature became that much more obvious.
Abe spared a moment to glance over his scope at the second thermal-equipped guard. Abe was about four hundred yards away from the east side of the ranch, and that’s where the second guy was, more or less facing in their direction.
Beside Abe, Jones shuffled his body around so he was behind one of the tree trunks, then slowly rose to his knees. The guy had been shockingly quiet this whole time, but despite Abe’s constant harassment, he knew that Jones could be professional when the situation called for it.
Only when the situation called for it.
Back in his scope, Abe held the reticle on his target’s upper back, right between the shoulder blades. “You got the comms, Jonesey,” he whispered.
“Got it,” Jones confirmed.
Interminable seconds passed. The thermal-equipped guard at the west gate had proven to be Mr. Regular, scanning the terrain at pretty even intervals—about once every minute. Abe waited, counting the seconds. And right on time, Mr. Regular raised his rifle, brought the thermal scope to his eye, and scanned the hills.
“He’s scanning again. Get ready,” Abe said.
Jones didn’t need to reply.
Mr. Regular gave the terrain two passes, then lowered his rifle again.
“Now,” Abe said.
“Move,” Jones transmitted.
Abe had the urge to glance at the hilltop to see if Lee and Marie were moving, but stayed in his scope. They knew the plan. Move for thirty seconds, then drop into the grass and hope to all hell that it was thick enough to hide their signatures.
This was gonna take a while. Lee and Marie wouldn’t be running. In addition to the grenade launchers, they both had rifles strapped to their backs. If they moved too aggressively, the guards in the ranch would hear them rattling all the way down the hill.
Abe kept on counting the seconds. When he reached thirty-two, Lee’s voice whispered in his ear: “Down.”
They waited again.
Thank God they’d decided on only moving for thirty seconds, because Mr. Regular decided to get squirrelly and scanned the terrain at forty seconds instead of a minute. Abe relayed it to Jones, who relayed it over the comms. Abe wondered if Mr. Regular had heard something to make him break his usual pattern.
“Move,” Abe said, when Mr. Regular lowered his rifle again.
“Move.”
Thirty seconds later: “Down.”
“Distance?” Abe asked through Jones.
“Seven hundred.”
Two cycles had eaten up a hundred yards. They’d need to do this six more times. That was a lot to ask of Lady Luck. And Abe could already feel Murphy sniffing around the back of his neck.
On the fifth cycle, everything went to shit.
The only thing Lee heard was the distinctive sound of a bullet hitting flesh.
He dropped, instinctively, and heard Marie do the same. There’d been no accompanying rifle report, and that only meant one thing: Abe’s suppressed rifle had just taken out the guy with the thermal scope nearest to Lee’s position.
And the only reason Abe would have taken the shot is if the guy had seen them coming.
Then two things happened at once.
Jones’s voice erupted in his ear, full volume: “You’re compromised! Move and send it!”
And in Lee’s other ear, he heard the sound of a half-dozen men all yelling at once.
Lee rolled to his right side, slinging the M32, and bringing the rifle around from his back. “Marie! I’ll cover you with the rifle! Move!”
He popped up to a low crouch, just his head, shoulders, and rifle above the grass, as Marie surged to her feet. He had his red dot dialed nearly all the way down. The ghostly reticle swept across the ranch, and the scurrying shadows within. He could see movement, but not much else.
He held his fire as Marie bolted past him, trying to see if any of those shifting shadows looked like they’d spotted them. They had another fifty yards before they were within firing range. It might just be possible that they wouldn’t be noticed—
A shout from the gate.
Lee pivoted his reticle in that direction, spotting the faint glimmer of moonlight off of a man’s face that sure as hell seemed like it was looking right at Lee. And raising a big gun.
“Marie! Get down!” Lee yelled, then fired three rapid shots at the same instant that he saw the unmistakable muzzle flash of an M60 machine gun, and heard bees buzzing all around him.
He went down.
“Shit-fuck,” Abe spat, the second that initial round left his rifle.
The scope jumped, and when it settled again there was the briefest moment where the bullet was still in flight, and the target was still staring through his thermal scope, all his body language saying that he’d seen something he didn’t like.
Then the bullet smacked him square in the spine. He crumpled in place.
“Goddammit,” Jones seethed, then transmitted, “You’re compromised! Move and send it!”
The instant Abe confirmed the target was down, he shifted his hips violently to the left, bringing the east-facing fenceline into view. It took him a half second to find the second guard with the thermal optic, who was, at that moment, just spinning around to see what all the fuss was over on the other side of the ranch.
With his support hand, Abe grabbed the elevation turret of his scope and twisted, feeling each click as he dialed it to 400 yards from memory.
The guard was starting to walk towards the gate. Now starting to run.
Abe led him by a small degree and squeezed the trigger.
The round splashed just in front of the guy’s feet, making him skid to a stop and dance sideways in a panic, spinning as he did as though to locate the unseen threat.
Abe swore and brought the reticle to center mass in a brief moment where the guy was stupidly stationary.
A chatter of automatic gunfire hit Abe’s ears.
“Shit!” Jones yelped. “They’re hitting Lee and Marie!”
Abe fired and forced himself to stay on the guy as the peel of automatic fire continued to pull at Abe’s mind, seeming to grow in urgency with every round fired at a cyclic pace.
He saw his target’s body jerk. Stumble. Try to run two steps and then keel over, face-first into the dirt.
Abe ripped his rifle back to the gate.
Lee on the comms: “Abe! Take out that gunner!”
Muzzle flashes sparkled all along the gate—both gate guards, and now both of the roving patrol, taking up positions there and firing wildly out into the night. One muzzle flash more obvious than the others.
Abe didn’t have time to adjust his reticle. He’d started doing the math in his head the second he knew he’d have to make a rapid transition from the east fenceline to the gate. He held the reticle high over the shadow of a figure behind that automatic muzzle flash, and gently pressed his trigger to the rear.
The snap of his suppressed rifle.
The continued chattering of the machine gun.
Then a spray of red mist that turned the white muzzle flashes pink.
Then the machine gun went silent.
“Gunner’s down!” Jones transmitted.
“You’re clear on our side,” Abe barked at Jones. “Move!”
“Moving!” Jones squalled as he tore around the base of the tree and thrashed out of the copse at a dead sprint, heading for the ranch.
Chapter 36
Aside from all the obvious downsides of missing an eye, one of the worst was that Lee couldn’t shoot with both eyes open, and it vastly fucked his situational awareness.
He rocketed to his feet the second the machine gunner was down. There were plenty of bullets flying, but Lee didn’t hear any buzzing—the shooters were simply firing randomly into the darkness.
He settled the reticle on one of the shapes that was at least pointing their weapon in the right direction and fired five times, wishing he had the peripheral vision to know what Marie was doing at that moment.
Somewhere in those five rounds, the guy went down, screaming something fierce. Lee followed him to the ground and put two more into his writhing form through the fence.
He dipped his rifle, bringing his eye clear of his optic.
Two more shooters at the gate.
And where was Marie?
He got his answer in the form of a heavy, chest-thumping whump from far to his left. Saw the dribble of sparks from the launcher, like a comet tail in the darkness.
For a scant second, even the shooters at the gate paused.
And then the outbuilding directly north of them exploded.
The flash silhouetted the two men. Lee flinched away from the light as it dazzled his eye, leaving a purplish afterimage that obscured everything in Lee’s direct line of sight. He swore, bringing his rifle up, trying to sight the two guards. A cumulus cloud of dust and smoke washed over the whole area of the gate.
He couldn’t see shit.
WHUMP
In the instant of that second grenade’s flight time, Lee saw movement in his peripheral. His eye darted to the movement, but the afterimage obscured it. He got the barest impression of two men running. One lugging something heavy.
The M60?
Lee swore and clenched his eyes shut against the second explosion. When he opened them again, his feet already moving beneath him, the whole gate had been blown open, leaving tattered remnants of wood and twisted metal.
He transmitted as he ran for the breached gate. “Abe! Two running towards the ranch house! I think one of them has the machine gun!”
Ahead of him, and converging on the gate, he saw Marie’s figure at full-tilt sprint, M32 pumping in both hands.
Abe’s response came back breathless and shaking with the sound of his own running. “I’m already out of position! No visual!”
