The man taking a piss was just finishing when Maurice slipped up behind him and dispatched him with his Ka-Bar knife. The man didn’t even whimper as Maurice eased him to the floor.
Scott, Rusty and Perez took out a Taliban each before someone near Scott woke, sat up and shouted.
The remaining five Taliban leaped to their feet.
Two of the men were too late. Rusty and Perez were on them before they could raise their weapons.
As the last three men started firing, Maurice flattened to a prone position and took out another man, careful not to aim in the direction of the cells.
Rusty and Perez dropped low and opened fire on the last two.
In less than two minutes, the room-cave was silent, the scent of gunpowder and blood mixing with the urine and body odor.
When he was certain none of the enemy remained alive, Maurice rose. “Let’s go.” He and Perez hurried toward the cells.
The cells were secured with padlocks.
“Find the key,” Perez called out. “One of those bastards has to have it on him.”
Scott and Rusty turned over dead men until they found the one with a keyring hanging from his belt.
Scott tossed the keyring to Maurice.
After three attempts, he found the one for the padlock he was working on and opened the gate. He handed the keyring to Perez, who worked the other gate.
Inside the cell, Maurice found a man stripped down to his boxers, his back covered in long, angry slashes, and his feet caked in dried blood. He didn’t move when Maurice squatted beside him and felt for a pulse.
Maurice swore beneath his breath at the abuse the young man had suffered. But he had a pulse. If they could get him to help, he might live. He hefted the man onto his shoulder in a fireman’s hold and carried him out of the cell into the cavern.
Perez had the other man, who was equally brutalized. A moan sounded from Perez’s guy.
With Scott in the lead and Rusty following, they picked their way across the cavern and moved as quickly as possible through the tunnel.
Just as Scott reached out to push the door open into the building, Collins yanked it open, his face tense, his lips pressed into a tight line. “We gotta hustle. We’ve got company.” He didn’t wait for a response but turned and rushed back toward the front of the structure.
“Where’s Tingle?” Maurice asked as he followed Collins, the weight of his charge slowing his steps.
“I’m on top of the building,” Tingle said into Maurice’s ear. “We’ve got a couple of truckloads of enemy heading our way. They’re only about thirty yards away. They’ll be within sight in thirty seconds or less. Get out. I’ll cover.”
“Come down now, and head for the exfil site,” Maurice said.
They’d reached the front.
Collins burst through the door, rifle ready. Scott was out next.
Maurice followed. Then Perez.
Tingle, Collins and Scott covered while Maurice and Perez headed back the way they’d entered the village, with Rusty leading the way. The rest of the team fell in behind them, covering them from the rear.
Gunfire sounded behind Maurice as he entered a narrow alleyway. He didn’t stop. Didn’t slow. The team had his back. That’s all he could hope. He and Perez had to get the injured soldiers to the extraction point before the truckloads of trouble caught up with them.
From the sounds behind him, the enemy was hot on their tail. Closing in fast.
Breathing hard, Maurice could hear Rusty radioing for the helicopter. Moments later, they reached the edge of the village.
The helicopter swept in and lowered over the exfil location. Ten feet off the ground, the chopper exploded in a fiery burst, sending rotor blades and shrapnel in all directions.
His heart in his throat, Maurice dropped to the ground with his burden. Those people on the downed helicopter were gone. They’d been his friends.
