Strength of the Pack (23 page)

Lucas’ feet didn’t want to move. Tim grabbed his arm and nearly dragged him from Santos’ office. He didn’t release Lucas until they were once again outside.

“I’m sorry about this, Tim,” Lucas said abruptly.

With a shake of his head, Madison replied, “Don’t be. It’s for the best. Now, you two need to get me up to speed on the operation of Toscano before the next
siege
hits.”

Lucas snorted.

Noah chuckled. “Care to meet your new werewolves, sir?”

“Lead the way, Sergeant.” Madison said with a smile, and his hand extended for Noah to precede him.

Lucas peered around the metal plate in the window of his Humvee. The landscape was beautiful, but Lucas was tired of not being able to feel his fingers and toes. He envied Noah his higher body temp.

It was two weeks until the next full moon. Two more weeks until Lucas could feel Noah’s heat, smell his scent, touch and taste his skin. He sighed heavily.

“Everything okay, sir?” Corporal Hubbard asked.

“Fine, Corporal,” Lucas assured him. “You’ll agree that escort duty is dull work.”

“Right up until it ain’t anymore,” Hubbard said with a smile. “You gotta admit, it’s exciting to be in the shit, sir.”

Lucas chuckled in agreement.

A mixed group of Marines from Fox-two and Fox-three were escorting several supply trucks. The drivers were civilians, but a tough breed nonetheless. Still, as civilians, they drove unarmed. A Marine rode along in the cab with each driver, the trucks sandwiched between a string of Humvees.

It was twenty-five klicks from Combat Post Toscano to Combat Post Barbosa, where they would hand off escort duty to a platoon with Golf company. They were currently at klick twenty. The day had been uneventful, but Lucas was determined not to let that lull him into complacency.

When the comm activated, Lucas’ alertness spiked. The only thing he heard though was Noah swearing, “Shit!” just before all hell broke loose.

An explosion sounded near the front of the convoy. Chaos erupted on the comms as Marines tried to identify the source and the target. A second explosion rocked the convoy from behind. Lucas understood the intent: destroy the trucks to the front and rear of the convoy, blocking both routes of escape.

“Fox-two, everyone out of the victors,” Lucas said into his keyed mic. “Get out of the vehicles now!”

All around them, gunfire erupted as the Marines took enemy fire and returned it. He listened to the radio chatter, hoping to determine who had been hit and if there were casualties.

As Lucas dove out the door of his Humvee and scrambled for cover on the far side, dread crawled into his gut like a living thing. Noah had been riding in a Humvee in the front of the convoy. He’d made that broken radio transmission.

Lucas tried to sense Noah and was relieved to feel focus and determination. He pushed back with thoughts of encouragement, trusting Noah would realize that meant Lucas was okay.

Hubbard and Catinella returned fire over the hood of the Humvee, Grant manned the .50 cal. Lucas fired around the rear of the victor. They were hard to hear over the roar of gunfire, but he finally made out some of his Marines calling for help.

“Echo-seven-mike; Fox-two,” Lucas said into the radio.

“Echo-seven-mike, go,” Vince answered, shouting over the gunfire.

“I’m sending Hammond forward to secure the disabled vehicle. We’ll handle the rear. I need you to call in the birds from the FOB.”

“Roger that, sir.”

“Echo-five-hotel, Fox-two,” Lucas hailed Noah.

“Fox-two, I’m making my way to the disabled Humvee. I’ll advise on casualties.” Noah’s voice was calm and steady, the background gunfire the only clue he was in the middle of a combat situation. It was equal parts frustrating and reassuring.

“Copy that,” Lucas replied. He had faith his men would do their jobs well. Now he needed to get to that disabled Humvee and help his injured Marines.

“Corporal Hubbard,” Lucas shouted over the gunfire, “you’re with me.”

Hubbard scurried to kneel next to Lucas behind the rear tire of the Humvee. “Whacha need, LT?”

“Can you tell if everyone made it out of the damaged Humvee behind us?” shouted Lucas.

Hubbard canted his head so that he could hear without interference from his Kevlar. Several moments later he tilted his face, eyes closed, in the same direction. “Too much interference to be sure, but I’d say no, they didn’t all make it out, sir. Even if they did, someone is hurt too bad to get himself to cover.”

“Understood.” It was as Lucas had feared. “On my mark, we’re going to make our way to the Humvee immediately behind us then to the supply truck. After that, we’re going to get to the disabled Humvee and help the wounded.”

“Catinella and I should be the ones to go, LT,” Hubbard replied.

Lucas shook his head. “I have to assess the situation to issue further orders.”

“Solid copy, sir.” Hubbard still looked reluctant for Lucas to go. “What about the disabled vehicle in the front of the convoy?”

“That’s Noah’s,” Lucas caught himself, “Sergeant Hammond’s responsibility to secure.”

“Roger that. Lieutenant, sir?” Hubbard made the last a question.

Lucas glanced back questioningly.

“If you get hurt, or worse, Noah is gonna punish me. Could you try not to get injured? Sir.” His expression was both anxious and imploring.

“That’s the plan.” Lucas turned to face the Humvee directly behind them. “On my mark, Corporal. Ready...go.”

Together they broke cover under heavy fire, AK-47 rounds striking around them, kicking up plumes of dirt and dust. They ran in a crouch to the Humvee directly behind their own, taking cover behind the front tire.

The gunner was in the turret, firing grenade after grenade. Three Marines returned fire with their M16s, using the Humvee as cover. A fifth Marine was propped against the rear tire, holding gauze to a bleeding wound.

This was a team from Fox-three, and Lucas didn’t know them. “How you holding up, Sergeant?”

“We’re good for now, Lieutenant,” the Sergeant answered between three-round bursts. “We’ll hold ’em off while you get help.”

Lucas gripped his shoulder briefly then crawled to the rear tire and the injured man.

“Hanging in there, Marine?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” the young man answered. “Just can’t feel my hand to hold my weapon.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Lucas assured him. “Once I find out how many wounded I have, I’ll get you all cas-evaced out of here.”

“Yes, sir.” As expected, the young Marine didn’t look happy at the idea of being evacuated and missing all the fun.

Hubbard was right on Lucas’ six as they darted toward the supply truck. They both skidded to a stop behind the oversized front tire. The Marine assigned to ride along was on his belly beneath the truck, engaging the enemy in the firefight. The civilian driver was behind the front tire also, hunkered down in his Kevlar and body armor, just as he’d been instructed to do.

“You got this, Marine?” Lucas shouted.

“Hell yes, LT!” he shouted over his shoulder.

Lucas thumped the sole of the man’s boot in reply.

“Lieutenant?” Lucas turned toward the driver. “You got wounded Marines back there.”

“I’m on my way to assess the situation and get them the hell out of there,” Lucas informed him.

“We had a corpsman riding with us, didn’t we?” the driver asked.

“We did,” he confirmed. “But we have to get the wounded to cover where they can be triaged and treated as safely as we can manage.”

“I think I can help you with that,” the man said, starting to crawl to the rear of the truck. He carefully reached around to the cargo doors, darting back under cover several times. Finally, he shoved the far door open so it hung perpendicular to the trailer. He opened the near one completely and climbed up into the rear of the trailer. “You bring ’em here, and I’ll haul ’em up and in.”

Lucas looked into the trailer and saw that the cargo, a lot of large, wooden crates, had been loaded in such a way as to leave space in the center. The crates themselves were lending an added barrier against the gunfire.

Nodding at the driver, Lucas said, “Sit tight, and we’ll bring the wounded to you.”

Now that he was close enough to see the damaged Humvee, Lucas was amazed anyone had survived at all. The vehicle was smoking, flames still visible licking up over the hood and beneath the chassis. Two Marines had made it clear and managed to crawl a few yards from the wreckage. The gunner was slumped in the turret. The remaining two Marines were just visible through the sooty windscreen, still in the rear seats of the Humvee.

“Let’s go get those two Marines to safety first.” Lucas inclined his head to indicate the prone and supine figures in the distance.

“Lieutenant, I can carry both of them by myself—” Hubbard started.

“On my mark, Corporal,” Lucas ordered.

Without further argument, Hubbard followed Lucas to the wounded Marines. They came to their knees and immediately assessed the injuries. Both men were unconscious, bloody and burned. At least they were alive.

Effortlessly, Hubbard tossed one Marine over his shoulder and started back toward the rear of the supply truck. Lucas fisted the collar of the second man’s armor vest and began to drag him in the same direction. He was halfway to the truck when Hubbard returned to him and tossed the unconscious Marine over his shoulder.

Undaunted, Lucas returned to the smoking Humvee. He reached the rear passenger door and yanked it open, feeling the heat even through the thick material of his glove. He quickly muscled the nearest Marine over his shoulder. When he turned, Hubbard was there.

“Get the gunner out of the turret,” he ordered. The corporal’s greater strength would make it an easier task for him. Lucas didn’t wait for an answer but started back toward the truck with his burden.

When he reached the rear doors, the driver was there to ease the Marine into the trailer. Lucas took cover for a moment, adjusting his gear and catching his breath.

He stood to make his return to the Humvee and caught sight of Hubbard, the gunner slung over his shoulder.

“Lieutenant, you stay under cover,” the corporal shouted. “You can’t help anyone else.”

Lucas was about to argue when he caught Hubbard’s meaning. He sank back down into a crouch, wanting to recover the dead Marine’s body, but knowing Hubbard was right. There would be time for that when the firefight was over.

“Echo-seven-mike; Fox-two,” Lucas called into the radio.

“Go for Echo-seven-mike,” Vince replied.

“I got five wounded back here,” he reported. “They’re secured in the trailer of the supply truck. What’s your sitrep?”

“HM3 Evans is making his way back to your location,” Vince answered. “Hammond found no survivors.”

Fuck. Lucas ran a hand over his face in frustration. “Copy that. Call for a cas-evac of the wounded. What’s the status on the gunships?”

“En route from the FOB, three mikes out. Golf’s got a platoon on its way as well. They’re twenty mikes out.”

The Navy corpsman appeared and leaped into the rear of the truck at almost the same moment Lucas heard the thump of the rotors of the inbound helicopters.

Two Yankees, Bell UH-1Y Venom helicopters, roared overhead. Each released a pair of Hydra-70 rockets at the entrenched enemy positions. Circling around for their second run, the .50 cal machine guns and the 7.62 Gatling guns opened up and strafed the same area.

On the ground, Marines continued to maintain their own fire. The result was deafening but effective. In just minutes, all enemy gun fire ceased.

Lucas listened to comms as Noah sent a team out to secure the enemy positions and check for survivors. He watched the Yankees set down in the field behind them, several hundred yards away. He climbed to his feet and began to walk toward the choppers.

Glancing over, Lucas saw both Vince and Noah heading out to join him. Now that things were calming down, he could feel Noah’s turmoil. His expression was as placid as ever, but he wasn’t quite able to mask the anxiety he was feeling. Noah wouldn’t look at him, but when he drew closer, Lucas could see his eyes belonged to a wolf and were glowing silver.

The crew chief of one of the choppers walked out to greet them. He spoke directly to Lucas, but his eyes darted repeatedly to Noah. Lucas wondered how much exposure to werewolves the chief had. Then again, even Lucas was slightly discomfited by Noah’s agitated pacing.

“We got twelve litters, Lieutenant. How many wounded have you got?” asked the Chief.

“Five wounded, six dead,” Lucas replied.

“We can take them all for you, sir,” said the Chief, his eyes again following Noah as he paced directly behind Lucas.

As Lucas headed back toward his Humvee, he radioed HM3 Evans to coordinate getting the Yankees loaded. Noah was on his six, anxiety and agitation both nearly palpable. Lucas kept his breathing steady, silently telling Noah that everything was okay, he was okay, it was over.