Tuesday
The window had been short. Iniquus logistics oversight, apprised of the possible threat out of Syria, had been monitoring the situation using satellite images that had just come back online.
Oversight counted seven pickup trucks using a military formation moving from the direction of the border and five klicks out.
Ares reached out to the breakoff team that Dakota had attached to as they worked to extract McLeod from the bathroom, where he’d thrown himself into the bathtub. The ceramic sides kept the ceiling slab from crushing him.
With the comms open, the team formed a plan.
At the collapsed hotel, the team was so close to getting the hole through the wall large enough to reach that last pocket of students.
The pilot was preparing for flight.
With no visible big guns mounted onto the trucks, oversight would make the call for the flight crew. As soon as the insurgents pulled within shooting range, the plane doors would be closed, and the plane would take off with the people on board.
They would fly out of range and land on the highway at a safe distance.
Meanwhile, it was unlikely that the insurgents would want anything from the crushed village. Bravo team members on the ground would hide in the wreckage, wait for the men to takewhat they wanted and leave, then finish their work and get to the plane once it landed.
While Ares called George - with Team Quebec - to warn them of the dangers and to get their people and rescue supplies hidden, Dakota was desperately calling Rylee.
Shehadto get on that plane.
“Ares,” came over the radio. “We’re through! We have a solid headcount. We’re going to need to carry several of the students. I need one man.”
“I’ve got it,” Dakota said, standing and moving before anyone could counter him. He needed to see that Rylee and Tank had gotten on the plane safely. “I’ll be back to help with McLeod,” he called over his shoulder.
McLeod was his mission. But in this case, his heart came first. No oath or training would keep Dakota from Rylee when she was endangered.
As he raced, toward the hotel, he thanked the Fates he’d thought to leave Tank with Rylee.
He trusted his dog.
“Dakota, here!” Ares shouted over to him. “Can you take him?”
The student stood on one foot, clutching at a friend, steadying him.
“Is she okay to run?” Dakota asked of the friend.
“Good to go,” Ares said and slid back into the ruin.
Dakota turned to the kid. “This isn’t the most comfortable ride you’ve had, but at least you’ll be out of here.” He ducked his shoulder to align with the kid’s hips and put one arm between his legs. Then, pulling an arm, he had the student across his shoulders, partially held in place by Dakota’s pack.
“Grab my wrist,” he told the woman. “I want you looking down at the ground where my headlamp is shining. We’re moving fast. Don’t trip.”
The woman was asking questions about how far away the gunmen were as they jogged. And Dakota had to tell her to save her breath and focus on speed.
Dakota was gritting his teeth against the pain that shot through his back, radiating from the surgical site of his fusion.
It was bad. Each step sparked Dakota’s nerves.
Over the comms, Dakota heard. “The trucks are at the airport. The insurgents have dismounted.”
“Ares here. Push on with the students. Go. Go. Go. Team McLeod, hunker down now. Out.”
“Faster,” Dakota called. “You can do it. It’s a sprint, and then you’re on board.”
The woman gripped harder, leaned forward, and, just as Tank dragged Dakota through the K9 charitable mud race, he pulled the woman at a pace she probably didn’t know she could run.
