Laura Acton

AMBUSHED

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Democratic Republic of the Congo – Remote Town

Grabbing Raechella Rake’s sleeve, Max shoved her towards a building as he shouted, “Run!”

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Max gritted his teeth as he urged the annoying celebrity, known as RaRa to her fans, toward shelter. However, the image-conscious singer stumbled with every step because she refused to swap her impractical high heels for the serviceable boots Draper offered to her before they left the aircraft this morning.

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When one of her spiked heels snapped, Max managed to catch her before she face-planted in the dirt. Unfortunately, her uneven hobble further impeded their pace to a defensible position.

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“Move it!” Max roared as she halted for an unknown reason.

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“Don’t yell at me!” Raechella snarled as she stood firm. “This is all your fault, and now you are going to pay for my ruined shoes. They are custom made by Roberto … five thousand dollars.”

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Max would’ve laughed but didn’t have time. Whether he liked it or not, his job was to ensure Miss Rake stayed alive. Whoever authorized her trip to this war-torn hellhole should be raked over hot coals—or at least be the one saddled with babysitting her.

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But no, this shitty duty fell to him as Zulu’s rookie. To be honest, he lost the rock, paper, scissors throwdown with Zach when the four senior members appointed them as the lucky ones to deal with the rude and haughty celeb during today’s outing.

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Again, he seized her arm and propelled the imbecile toward cover. Only a few feet from relative safety, Max overheard Dave in his headset, “Zulu Six, down. Now!”

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Without reservation or hesitation, Max launched himself at RaRa, taking them both to the ground. His body covered hers as an RPG struck the third floor of the edifice he had planned to take shelter in. Rubble rained down on them, slamming into his back. Fortunately, his backpack and the armor plate in his vest provided his ribs some protection and cushioning from the shower.

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Although he used his arms to partially cover his head, one fairly large rock, brick, piece of mud-concrete … whatever, smacked the side of his skull, ringing his bell and making him wish he wore a helmet. But being incognito as hired bodyguards had been the plan of the day, nixing that particular piece of gear.

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When the debris deluge ceased, Max rose and dragged RaRa up with him. Though damaged, this building was still the closest refuge in which to assess his options without being exposed to the bullets kicking up dust around them.

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Once inside, he lowered his now quiet charge to the floor and peeked out the doorway, hoping to locate his teammates. Being separated from them would be a surefire way to end up dead—like the FARDC soldiers in the truck blown to bits by an RPG.

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Those men never stood a chance when the rebel attack came out of nowhere. Max refused to become a casualty in a conflict that tore apart this country for twenty-three years. Sighting a man on the roof across the plaza with a rocket launcher pointing in his direction, Max sent a bullet down range. Pink mist bursting from the man’s head confirmed he made a clean kill shot.

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Though Dave warned him to get down, Max wondered where his 2IC and the rest of Zulu ended up in the scramble for cover. His visual scan netted no results, so he tried comms.

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“Zulu Six to Zulu One.”

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Silence met his call.

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“Six to any Zulu element.”

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Nothing.

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“TOC, do you copy?”

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When he received no answer, Max grabbed his radio from his waist, and the reason became obvious. The durable device was no match for bullets. Though thankful the slugs found a home in the radio instead of him, now he wouldn’t be able to communicate with his team.

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“You didn’t have to land on me. I was going as fast as possible. You ripped my designer shirt. That will be another two thousand added to your bill.” Raechella scowled up at the soldier as she removed her shoe to dump the offending gravel.

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Having had enough of RaRa’s grating voice and total lack of comprehension of the reality of their dire situation, Max bit out, “Saved your fucking life. I’d call us even. Besides, all my money is taken up buying beer.”

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Max couldn’t believe the last slipped out, but it was the truth. He probably owed the team at least a dozen cases for all the firsts on this deployment. Rubbing the left side of his head, Max’s fingers came away damp with blood which he wiped on his dark jeans. He figured the rock must’ve created a gash, but he didn’t have time to worry about a minor injury.

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Too wrapped up in her own little world to notice the soldier’s bleeding head, Raechella spat, “Don’t you dare curse at me. You will speak respectfully, or I will inform your commanding officer of your foul language and rough handling.”

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Max could only stare—thinking the dye used to color her hair radish-red must’ve seeped in and caused brain damage. His life as well as the ridiculous celeb’s depended solely on him until he located the others. He turned away from her to peer outside.

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Squinting his eyes against the bright midday sun, Max wished his sunglasses hadn’t been knocked off his face and broken when RaRa slapped his face and stomped on his eyewear for no reason upon their arrival at the orphanage earlier today.

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His head aching, Max searched places where the guys might’ve taken cover. He wished he could locate Jake. Zulu One would have a plan to save their asses—he always did. Still awed Master Chief Marshall selected him for the Navy’s premier strike team, Max wanted to make the man who became his mentor proud.

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As his gaze hunted for his scattered teammates, Max realized Dave had at least spotted where he was headed since he called out the warning. As he scanned the rooftops and windows nearby with his scope without locating anyone, Max weighed whether staying put or moving out would be the safest course of action.

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The decision was made for him as he focused on a dust cloud in the near distance. It alerted him to the imminent arrival of a substantial force. With no way of knowing if they were friendly FARDC reinforcement or ISIS-aligned Allied Democratic Forces, Max couldn’t take the chance of it being the ADF.

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Pivoting and crouching, Max grabbed the foolish shoe from RaRa, snapped off the spike, and shoved it on her foot. After pulling the reluctant woman to her feet as she ranted at him about deliberately destroying her expensive footwear, he prodded her to the rear of the room.

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“Quiet! We need to haul ass. If more rebels are arriving, we’ll be overrun in less than five minutes. Our only chance of survival is to find transport or a hidey-hole. Move if you want to live.”

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As the mouthy woman pursed her lips and stopped resisting his attempt to make her go, Max hoped to locate a vehicle of some sort because it was unlikely RaRa would be able to keep her trap shut for long unless he shoved a rag in her mouth to gag her.

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Airport Tarmac – Zulu’s Plane – TOC

Richard Wimbly got into Lieutenant Commander Lockwood’s face, spittle coming out with his furious, berating words, “What do you mean you lost her? How could you lose RaRa?”

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Bryan wiped the flecks of liquid from his cheek but didn’t back down. His voice calm, Zulu’s commander replied, “A rebel force ambushed them.”

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“How? I thought you were supposed to be hot-shit, the best the Navy has to offer,” Wimbly scoffed.

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Undaunted by the rat-faced man, Petty Officer Kira Draper replied, “Perhaps if you hadn’t publicized her exact route on social media, they wouldn’t have had such an easy target.”

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“But RaRa is loved. Her adoring fans would want to come out to see her. A rare opportunity for them,” Richard retorted.

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Bryan turned back to the comms, giving a slight nod to Draper to relocate Rake’s slimy public relations representative. If anyone was to blame for this going off the rails, it was Wimbly. The idiot tweeted and posted her itinerary on several media platforms, blatantly ignoring all the security protocols designed to keep everyone safe in this hostile area.

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This Personal Security Detail assignment pissed him off. Zulu shouldn’t have been pulled from their main deployment objectives to act as a celebrity’s PSD. If Captain Athole hadn’t been court-martialed and convicted, he might believe the corrupt intel officer had arranged another attempt to murder Zulu.

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But Athole was in prison, and Max’s father, Preston Stirling, had been vindicated. So, Bryan wondered who possessed the power to divert a top-tier team from going after terrorists, even for a week, to play babysitter. He might understand if they were providing security for a prominent diplomatic envoy but not a two-bit singer on a promotional tour.

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Leaving the whys and wherefores on the back burner, Bryan focused on the current situation as he lifted the mike and said, “TOC to Zulu One, sitrep.”

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Village – Jake’s Position

As Grant Beckett, the unit’s medic, wrapped his left wrist and Zach Connors, their dog handler, guarded the doorway, Jake Marshall replied, “No change. Two’s scanning for Three. Rebels converged on the building Six entered with Cherub, but they aren’t celebrating. Think the rookie eluded them, but don’t know what direction he went. Thick smoke is obscuring our sight.”

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“Ours too, but hoping when it clears, ISR nets us a direction for you. How’s your wrist?” Bryan asked.

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“Sprained, but usable. Not an issue.”

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“Are the rebels aware of your location?”

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“Not yet, but they are searching.”

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Dave cut in, “Found Three. We gotta get him. He’s buried in rubble. Leg is stuck, but other than that, he is moving. We need to move now. A group will be on him in less than two mikes.”

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Racing down the stairs, Dave Katz met Jake, Grant, and Zach at the bottom and led the way. As they rounded the corner, Finn McBride had already rendered two of the eight rebels lifeless, but being trapped with no cover, if they hadn’t arrived when they did, he would’ve met the Grim Reaper today.

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Sustained gunfire alerted other rebels to their position, and they came running. Zach and Grant rushed to uncover Finn as Jake and Dave picked off rebels who were dimwitted enough to make themselves easy targets.

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Once freed, Finn endeavored to stand on his own, but pain radiated up his right leg. Grant noted blood covering Zulu Three’s jeans and, without wasting words, swung Finn’s arm over his shoulder to assist him. Zach took point, glad Rocketeer hadn’t come with them today. His furry, four-legged partner remained safe on Zulu’s plane with Draper and Lockwood.

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As a group, the five men rushed for another building. They entered, then exited out the rear and sprinted down the backstreet. Ducking in and out through a maze of buildings and narrow alleys, they didn’t rest until they put enough distance between themselves and the rebels. Once Jake deemed they had found a defensible spot, they stopped to allow Grant to check Finn’s wound.

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