Trinity: Military War Dog (49 page)

This … this was too familiar. Unease squirmed through Haur’s gut.

At this angle, Haur could not see the man’s face. But something …

Jianyu shifted.

And with him, so did Haur’s world. General Zheng.

“Ghost!”

His foot plunged into soft snow, shin-deep, the second fire ripped through it. Heath struggled to stay upright, to keep from dropping Jia. The weight of the world rested on his shoulders. She was an American operative with information that could put a lot of people in danger and countries at war.

Heath trudged out of the deep snow, staring at the path where Candyman stood with Trinity, each step felt like trying to plunge into a vat of glue.

“Sorry.” Jia’s apology warmed him.

“For what? This”—he grunted as he pushed up and over a crevice—“walk in the park?” She sucked in a breath that slowed him, worried he was hurting her with the ragged, jerky movements.

“Bomb.”

In the split second after she said that word, Heath’s gaze hopscotched over the terrain, a blast—literally—from the past still ringing in his ears. “Where?”

“Don’t know.” Jia moaned. “Jianyu … bombs … bases.”

He braved another step. “But not here?” He couldn’t help but assess the ground with more caution now. With the sun about to peek over the tips of the mountain, the pristine snowfall would soon be blinding. “No … bas …”

Hands pawed at him. Candyman tugged him into the safety of the passage. “Want me to take her?”

“No.” Heath surprised himself at the vehemence of his response.
Easy, chief
. “We’re good.”

“Tell him,” Jia wheezed out, then drooped.

Candyman’s gaze darted to him. “Tell me what?”

Thwat!

Heath ducked and went to a knee—which hit hard because of the incline.

“Move!” Candyman shouted as he zigzagged farther into the passage and up the mountain.

Heath pushed himself, ignoring the sweat sliding down his neck and back despite the chilling, bitter wind and the frigid temps. His nerves bounced, wishing he could stop and reassess Jia, but even though they had the protection of the passage, this walled-in passage would provide a perfect ambush point.

He propelled himself up the narrow path and focused on getting back to Watters and the others. It took a minute before they reached the top. Candyman crouched at the opening, Trinity too. She came to Heath and licked Jia’s face.

“We’ll go up some more, then beeline it for the team. They’re waiting and will cover, but going up over the ridge and down a little will provide cover.”

“Got it.”

Candyman’s gaze tracked over Heath and then Jia. “You okay?”

“Sure.”

“Let me take her the rest of the way.”

“I’m good.”

“Bull.” Candyman’s dogged determination held fast. “Your head’s hurting, isn’t it?”

“No,” Heath said as a thump inside his head argued with his answer. “Okay, a little.” Little? The thing felt as if it wielded Thor’s hammer. He hadn’t noticed.

“Your leg …”

Heath glanced down to where blood seeped into the snow. “Just a graze.” But standing here, not moving, the muscle contracted and squeezed, sending shards of fire up past his knee and into his thigh.

“You willing to risk her life on that graze and little headache?” Candyman stepped closer, his tone softer. “Ghost, listen—dump the pride. Work with me. We can move faster. You slowed down. You’re tripping. Let me take her.”

Heath considered the offer. But three things made him hesitate: They had less than a mile to go. The incline had been hard and completely in the open. The other element was Jia’s trust in him, her saying she was okay “now,”
now
that he was here, now that he held her. And third, jostling her from his shoulders to Candyman’s might inflict unnecessary additional trauma.

Then again, if he passed out, went down for five seconds like he had days earlier …

Heath nodded. “Okay.” He went down on a knee again, angling his back to his combat buddy. Weight shifted from his shoulders and unbalanced him.

Heath swiftly turned and aided Candyman with adjusting and getting back on his feet. “Got her?”

Straightening, Candyman nodded. “Let’s go.”

Only as he moved free of her weight did Heath notice the burn in his leg, the pounding in his skull, and the aches in his legs and arms. He couldn’t help but make the comparison to the moment of surrender … with God.

A month ago, he would’ve been too stubborn and filled with pride to admit that he needed Candyman to share the burden. Just as Heath needed to now admit he needed God’s help. He didn’t belong here. As much as he’d said he wanted to get back into combat, into the fray … he didn’t. His pride had been wounded by that blast. Shoved out the back door by the Army, his self-worth and identity took a hit, center mass.

He’d been so focused on proving he still had what it took, he nearly caused more harm than good. No wonder he hadn’t qualified for the chaplaincy.

“Do it,” Candyman grunted.

Heath turned to his beautiful partner, invigorated by the life lesson that had just dumped down his nerve network. “Trinity, go!”

She threw her muscular body around and launched along the ridgeline. Heath gauged the incline, making sure they were out of sight. Keying his mic, he reported in. “Base, Ghost and Candyman en route. One klick.”

“Roger. We have you in sight. Covering your six.”

And wasn’t that just like God, too? Surrender the load, admit you can’t do it alone, and He’s right there, ready to fight.
“The Lord will fight for you; you need only to be still.”
The verse from Exodus sailed across his mind and propelled him toward the team.

Help me be still, God
. Not literally, of course, but in heart and mind, in attitude. The fight wasn’t his. He needed to surrender the dreams, the hopes, the yearnings … God would defend his honor. God would prove the mettle buried deep within Heath Daniels.

A shape rose from the snow.

Heath’s breath backed into his throat.

“Ghost!” the form waved an arm.

Heart stuttering, Heath let out the breath. “Watterboy!” He spun around and guided Candyman into the safety of the team’s embrace.

Scrip and Doc rushed forward and took Jia. In a two-man carry, they lowered her onto a thermal blanket and litter. Candyman and Watterboy joined the others in lifting it. The spook and his objective were there helping—even though the other man’s face looked as beat up as Jia’s. A white bandage covered the guy’s neck as the team made a quick turnaround and got moving again. They navigated the treacherous terrain for about another klick before pausing near an outcropping.

Scrip and Doc knelt around Jia, probing, assessing. Scrip slid a needle for an IV into her arm.

“How bad is she?” Heath shifted to alleviate the throbbing in his leg.

Doc looked up, then dropped his gaze to Heath’s calf. “Let me see that.”

Heath tugged the leg back. “I’m good.”

“I didn’t ask, and I outrank you.” Doc wrapped a firm hand around Heath’s knee and ripped his tactical pants open around the wound. He grabbed a packet from his field kit, tore it open, and squeezed the clear contents onto the injury. Then he pressed gauze and tape around it. “Just a graze. You’re good.”

“Except now it stings.” Heath couldn’t resist the taunt and smirked when Doc glowered at him. “How’s the girl?”

“Can’t tell—messed up,” Scrip said. “Broken ribs for sure.”

“Means this hike could make this journey a killer.”

Scrip shook his head. “Watterboy, we need an extraction. She can’t make the hike.”

A curse stabbed the tension.

Heath looked at the team leader. “What’s wrong?”

“No coms.” Watterboy huffed. “Okay, pack her up. Let’s get moving. Putman, keep trying coms. First signal, I want to know.”

“Roger.”

Heath squatted beside Trinity and held her face in his hands, rubbing each ear between his thumb and forefinger. “Good work, girl.” Nose cold but dry, she panted and gave him that squinted “You betcha” look. Heath tugged the bite valve of his CamelBak and took a draught of water. Icy cold, but at least it hadn’t frozen yet. He sucked hard, then aimed it at Trinity. She lapped the water, but he could tell she didn’t have the stamina she’d had twenty-four hours ago.

Heath dug his hand into the fur along her chest, feeling for her pulse. Had she been injured and he hadn’t noticed? No noticeable bullet holes. No blood. “You just tired, girl?”

As if in answer, she lowered herself to the snow, pink tongue wagging with each rapid rise and fall of her chest. He slipped on the insulated doggie mitts.

“Let’s move. Last established coms was two klicks out.”

Heath lifted her onto his shoulders. Though she tensed at first, it wasn’t her first rodeo, and she settled into the hold.

The journey proved treacherous and laborious. Heath watched the path in front him, head tucked, gaze down to ensure he didn’t step off the path and plummet to his death. When Trinity whimpered, he wondered if she’d be better off walking. At least down among their legs, her back and ears weren’t exposed to the frigid air. Gently, he brought her around and lowered her. As he patted her head and took a step—his foot plunged downward. Stomach went with it.

Something tugged him back.

“Easy there, Ghost.”

Steadied and moving again, he glanced back. “Thanks, Haur.” Shaken that he could’ve plummeted to his death, Heath mulled over who’d saved him. The Chinese man. The dichotomous one. Whose words always seemed to have double meanings. Or maybe that was just Heath’s imagination.

Thanks to the narrow path covered with snow, every cell in his body felt frozen through. Howling winds tore at their clothes and exposed flesh. Heath’s head pounded in cadence with each step. He eased two tablets out of a packet tucked into his pocket and dumped them in his mouth. With a dry swallow, he hoped that would cut off the thumping in his skull.

Minutes bled into what felt like hours. In fact, two hours. Still no communication. Shadows overtook the team, drawing Heath’s gaze upward. Gray, heavy clouds shielded the earth from the sun. Thick, fat snowflakes swirled and danced on the tendrils of icy air. As Heath’s gaze roamed the sky, it hit the foot-deep ledge of snow that stretched over the mountain passage.

A foreboding wormed into his gut and took root.

“All quiet,” came the hissed words from the front.

Watterboy, too, had noticed the shelf of snow.

And the danger it posed. They didn’t need a missile. Or even a bullet. Just a sound. Just the right frequency, and the enemy could wipe the whole grid off the map and into an icy, suffocating grave.

            Thirty-Six