Collateral Damage (28 page)

Her blunt answer seemed to throw him for a second. “Uh, yeah, I was in a really bad place mentally and… I’m sorry I acted like an asshole. I appreciate what you and Sarn’t Smithers did for me.”

Honor wasn’t about to make the guy grovel. “You’re welcome, and apology accepted. So, did Smithy send you over to help me out?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

And there was the Ipman she remembered. “Great.” She handed him a stack of files. “Filing cabinet’s over there on the far wall,” she said with a teasing smile.

They worked together for an hour and a half until Smithers came into her office, breathing hard as though he’d run over from the hangar. “Hey, you guys hear who the VIP is?”

“No, who?” Honor asked, giving him half her attention as she typed out an e-mail.

“The President and First lady.”

At that she stopped typing and turned her head to stare at him. “No way.” She knew he’d been in Seattle for some high-profile meetings with some other leaders in an environmental summit, but she hadn’t expected him to visit the base today. Jeez, no wonder the security was insane.

Ipman turned away from the filing cabinet, where he’d figured out a one-handed system of filing. “You serious?”

“Yeah, just found out. Was a last minute decision, apparently. Morale booster for the troops, maybe his party thinks it’s a good way to boost votes, who knows, but for sure he’s making an appearance. You two coming to the concert?” He checked his watch. “Starts in twenty minutes. If you want a seat, you’d better get there quick.”

“Wait, who’s performing again?” Ipman asked, stacking the last of the files atop the cabinet. Smithers named two big country stars and Ipman’s face lit up. “I’m so there.” He glanced at Honor. “You coming, ma’am?”

All her important work was caught up and an outdoor concert sounded perfect. “Sure, why not.” She shut off her computer, turned off the lights and locked up, sliding her cell phone into her front pants pocket. “What about the others?” she asked as they left the building and headed to the outdoor concert site that had been set up by the USO. The sun had just sunk out of sight and it was a beautiful, calm night. Perfect for a concert and fireworks. “Isn’t Andrews coming?”

“Nah, he and some of the other guys might come later,” Smithers answered. “Man, I wonder how many Secret Service agents are here?” he mused, looking around as they neared the venue.

A large stage had been set up at the far end of one of the PT fields, festooned with red, blue and white bunting and a huge banner that read
Thank You Troops
. A security checkpoint had been set up at all the entrances to the field. Honor and the others stopped and let the guards she suspected were undercover Secret Service agents search them. Beyond the temporary gates, young families were already set up on the field with blankets spread on the grass and picnic-style dinners laid out to enjoy.

Once they were through security Honor had a better view of the venue. There were a few rows of chairs set up near the front of the stage where she guessed the President would be sitting, then some low security gates. High-ranking officers and other officials were in the seats already, a dozen big men dressed in suits standing with their backs to the metal gates as they scanned the crowd.

“There’s some of your Secret Service guys,” Honor said to Smithers, raising her voice to be heard over the noise of the assembled crowd. It was no secret that Smithy had always dreamed of joining the Secret Service after he left the Army.

“That’s gonna be me someday,” he said to her and Ipman.

“I bet you will,” Honor answered. There’d be way more undercover guys dressed in uniform scattered throughout the crowd and elsewhere on base, and then there’d be the sniper teams and bomb-sniffing dog teams and the rest of the entourage that came with a presidential appearance. The air space around the base would be guarded as well.

Honor surveyed the growing crowd around her, a mix of mostly soldiers and their families. She remembered Liam’s warning about a possible insider attack, and now that she knew the President was coming—the perfect target for a terrorist—a shiver of foreboding ripped through her. But then she chided herself.

If the soldiers on base hadn’t known about him visiting the base tonight, then a terrorist couldn’t have known either. Besides, with all this additional security she was safer here than she’d ever been back at Bagram. That made her feel better.

Hundreds of people were already gathered in the large grass field, right up to the secured area, most talking in groups and some craning their necks with their cell phones raised toward the stage, taking pictures and no doubt hoping to get a shot of the President whenever he arrived. Zooming in with their cameras from this distance was the closest they’d get to him.

An official from the USO came on stage to get things rolling and soon the opening act got underway. With Ipman on one side of her and Smithers on the other she let herself relax as the chords from the two acoustic guitars blended with the singers’ voices.

The crowd joined in, singing along, whistling and clapping in approval at the end of each song. At the end of the opening act, just as dusk began to fall, the President arrived and the crowd went nuts, hollering and whistling like crazy. He smiled at the greeting and waved to the crowd before taking his seat, then the main act came out.

Ipman was obviously far more excited to see the headlining country artist because he whistled and yelled and sang along in a slightly off-key voice to the opening number. By the time it was over Honor was relaxed and enjoying herself. Didn’t matter that she only knew a few of the songs, the venue was awesome and the exuberant energy from the crowd was contagious.

The singer ended one song, said a little speech thanking the soldiers for their service, which was met with more raucous applause, then pointed to his drummer and the air filled with a complex rhythm a second before the electric guitar started up.

A sudden commotion broke out in the VIP area.

Honor’s gaze jerked to the President as a few of the Secret Service guys jumped the metal barrier and surrounded him and the First lady. The singer faltered and the rest of the band lost their rhythm. Honor stared in alarm, her heart seizing as the security team grabbed the POTUS and bodily rushed him out of the field.

“What the hell?” Smithers muttered, looking around in suspicion. The energy in the crowd had already shifted, everyone glancing around them, a chorus of concerned murmurs rising into the evening air.

“We should go,” Honor said, reaching for Smithers’ arm.

She’d just closed her fingers around his wrist when a shout sounded behind them. Whipping around, she caught the look of alarm on one soldier’s face as something streaked by overhead. Less than a heartbeat later, the world came apart in a blast of heat and noise that threw her off her feet.

Honor hit the ground face down, the impact punching the air from her lungs. A tremendous roar erupted, drowning out everything else. She struggled to her side as it faded, gasping for air.

What the hell?

Screams and shouting came from the area where the stage had been only moments before. Now it and the entire area surrounding it was a smoldering crater.

Heart pounding, she pushed to her knees and cast a frantic glance around. Smithers and Ipman were also climbing to their feet, looking slightly dazed. Whipping her head around, she checked in the direction where security had dragged the President. Was he still alive? She got her breath back, found her voice. “Did you guys see—”

More screams from behind her, another streak and a second explosion detonated in another wave of sound and heat. This time it was close enough that the ground rolled beneath her. She gasped and instinctively crouched as the shockwave blasted outward, beating at her body like a hurricane-force wind. Debris began raining down, pelting her head and back with bits of dirt and slivers of wood.

Honor covered her head to shield her face until the worst of it had passed. A strong hand wrapped around her upper arm. Pulled upward. She squinted up into Smithers’ grim face. “RPGs?” she shouted over the noise, climbing to her feet. Ipman was looking around frantically.

“Dunno,” he answered, hauling her upright. “From the size of those blasts though, I think it’s worse than that.”

Near the second impact site she saw bodies. Some moving, others not. A few of them naked, their clothes either burned or blown off in the explosion. She lurched toward them, stomach twisting when she saw some of the wounds. Other soldiers were already converging on them as she reached the scene. People were on cell phones and shouting for water, bandages, medical kits. A terrible helplessness washed over her, along with the fear that the attack wasn’t over yet.

“We can’t do any more for them. We gotta go,” Smithers urged, grasping her upper arm again.

Knowing he was right, Honor nodded. On unsteady legs she turned and ran with them away from the field. At the edge of it they got caught up in the surging mass of soldiers and family members scrambling for cover. Mothers, fathers, kids all caught up in the confusion. The level of chaos was unlike anything Honor had ever seen, even during the most recent attack on Bagram. Nobody knew what the hell was going on. That strike had clearly been targeting the President, but was there more coming?

She wove her way through the crowd and headed south as fast as possible, away from the field. They needed weapons to defend themselves if this wasn’t over. “Our arms room,” she yelled to Smithers and Ipman, running toward their company building. She pulled out her phone to call the armorer as she pushed her way through a knot of walking wounded, their faces and arms cut and bleeding.

Honor couldn’t afford to stop and help them. POTUS visit or not, the base was under attack and the nearest armed security personnel had just been obliterated in those explosions. Guards and MPs would be fanning out in an effort to stop further attacks but per regulations the majority of soldiers on base weren’t armed. The chatter Liam had told her about was right, and the security precautions taken had done dick-all to safeguard the facility, its soldiers and their families.

She and her fellow soldiers were the first line of defense now.

All around her people were racing in different directions. Some wounded, some carrying injured soldiers, others trying to rush their terrified family members and children to safety. Honor wheeled right around the corner of the next building, dodging a line of Humvees and emergency vehicles as they headed toward the PT field. She ran past without stopping.

Two hundred yards to the company building. Ipman and Smithers were right with her.

Then the unmistakable staccato shots of an automatic rifle shattered the air.

Honor faltered, automatically searching for this new threat. Enemy shooters? Or security agents firing on tangos?

The thought had barely formed when screams of agony came from her left, raising the hair on the back of her neck as she understood what was happening.

Active shooters were on base. Targeting unarmed soldiers and their families. They’d either forced their way through the security gates, or…

They were dressed in uniform to blend in. Maybe they were even currently serving. Liam had mentioned rumors of an insider. The thought enraged Honor.

Before she could move, another burst of fire opened up, closer this time.

Shit!
Honor grabbed the soldier closest to her and tackled him to the ground. Ipman. Smithers hit the deck beside them just as bullets slammed into the asphalt to their left, kicking up a spray of needle-like shards. Honor gritted her teeth as they pelted her left side like little beestings, her mind screaming at her to get the hell out of range.

Move, move!
She got to her elbows and began belly crawling toward cover, barely feeling the tears in her skin as she made for the shelter of the closest building. Her breath was sawing in and out of her lungs, her heart pounding her ribcage so hard it felt bruised.

“What the fuck is happening?” Ipman snapped, right behind her.

“Just move, go, go,” Smithers barked, crawling as fast as his large frame would allow.

Honor scrambled around the corner of the building and pressed her spine up against the far side, panting for breath. Her knees and elbows were raw and bleeding but she was barely aware of the sting.

She was shaking all over, fighting to wrestle back control of her body as she scanned the area in front of her, then risked a glance back the way they’d come. No sign of the shooters but she could still hear automatic fire in the distance, moving away from them. Soldiers and civilians were running in every direction to escape the deadly hail of bullets.

It was utter fucking chaos out there.

As the crowd cleared she could see bodies lying on the ground, people fallen where they’d been hit, some writhing in pools of their own blood. Others were limping away or being dragged to shelter by bystanders. Some were racing toward the barracks or the gun range, she hoped to get weapons.

Checking in the other direction, she gazed toward their target destination. Like-minded soldiers had reached their arms room and were rushing around with rifles, only adding to the confusion. Due to the nature of the attack there was no way to tell who was friend and who was foe until the shooting started. The timing didn’t help—all the shadows formed as dusk fell making it hard to see far away clearly even with the lights posted on the buildings.

“We gotta get weapons,” she told the others, mentally mapping out various routes to the company building. She settled on what was likely the safest route, given the direction of the shooting. Arming themselves was the only way to defend themselves and others against active shooters.

“Come on.” Her legs wobbled a second as she got to her feet but she turned and ran along the wall of the building to the end and shoved the door open. She raced down the darkened hallway then skidded to a stop and pressed against the wall when she saw other soldiers already hunkered down near the opposite doorway.